Brass Bar Serenade

Summary: All Chase wants to do is finish early, it's just a shame Angela has other ideas. Oneshot.

A/N: My attempt to brush up on writing after a 3-month inspiration drought. I hope it's at least mildly enjoyable.

It's just a spark

But it's a start

The Brass Bar was almost empty, as was the norm for this hour. The residents of Castanet tended to depart the establishment around eight or nine on weeknights; to stay out any later would result in an unbearable hangover, exhaustion and an all-round unpleasant morning after. Kathy and Hayden had clocked off already, mostly due to Chase insisting he was happy to handle the kitchen and bar alone before closing up. The peach-haired man's desire to do so stemmed from the fact that by ten o'clock he could usually finish up early, go home and still get paid to work until eleven o'clock – after all, the bar was empty and no one was any the wiser.

Tonight, however, seemed to be an exception. Angela was currently seated on the stool furthest away from him, a blueberry cocktail in one hand and a lock of hair being twirled by the other. He had never really spoken to Angela socially – only the occasional polite greeting when they passed each other around town. As such, he felt the same towards her as he did most people in Castanet; he didn't like nor dislike her, and he presumed she was a good person, but their relationship was not remotely close to friendship. However, it also didn't appear that Angela was intending to leave any time soon and that annoyed him.

Then, as if sensing Chase's impatient gaze, she drew the cocktail to her lips and rapidly skulled the liquid inside of it. However, instead of leaving like Chase expected, she settled herself back into the chair with a soft smack of her lips

Chase, irritated by her lingering presence, jibed scathingly from his corner: "I'd drink that faster if I were you. After all, the cocktail might grow legs and run away."

Angela blinked, her eyes focused on the mist of condensation clinging to the empty glass rather than the man addressing her. "Where's the fun in drinking slowly?"

"Let's see," Chase drawled, his voice dragging on the last syllable before he paused for effect. "Not passing out tonight and being hung-over tomorrow."

"Spoilsport." The farmer sassed. Chase glared at her.

"You asked," he pointed out, wandering across the bar so he was standing in front of her.

"It was a rhetorical question," said Angela, and she looked up, her fingers idly running over the curves of the glass in front of her. "After all, you wouldn't know what fun was even if it came over and introduced itself to you."

Chase rolled his eyes before stating: "There is a difference between 'having fun' and drinking to the point of outrageous intoxication."

"Who said anything about outrageous intoxication?" Angela asked with a smile, pushing a lock of mahogany hair behind her ear.

He gestured to the empty glass in front of her. "You just finished your third drink, it's implied."

Angela cocked her head to the side, looking thoughtful. "I'm shocked you think I'm merely drinking to get drunk."

"What other reason is there?" Chase asked.

"Well, would you believe me if I said I'm drinking for the delicious taste?"

"No." Chase shook his head. "No I wouldn't believe that, Angela. Not in a million years."

Angela laughed good-naturedly, not in the slightest bit troubled by Chase's incredulousness. There was a small lull in conversation where the farmer, seemingly unable to think of anything clever to reply with, began drawing shapes in the condensation. Chase watched her intently; her lips were curved in a secretive smile and her hair slid from behind her ear back to the forefront of her face, grazing her cheek once more.

Angela paused, her finger pausing mid-swirl, and asked: "And why the interest in my drinking habits, anyway?"

"The more you drink, the more work I have to do," Chase replied in a heartbeat. Angela traced a happy face onto the glass.

"I can only imagine how difficult it must be to stand there and serve people drinks," the farmer teased, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Chase scowled, he hadn't expected her to verbally bite back, and a small part of him – the part of him that wasn't hoping to leave work before eleven – was somewhat impressed by it. "I also wipe the occasional table and break up drunken brawls."

"Oh please," she began sceptically, "when has this town ever had a drunken brawl?"

"Never," admitted Chase. He smirked. "But it's a distinct possibility with the way you're downing those."

Angela beamed up at Chase, unperturbed. She pushed the empty glass towards him, turning the glass so the side with the smiley face was in his direction. "On that note, I'll have another Blueberry cocktail."

Chase glanced at the clock and frowned. Had Angela not been here he could have started closing up by now. "You probably shouldn't have another one," he said and then, noting Angela's darkening expression, went on to defend himself, "you've had a lot already, do you really need another one?"

"Well Chase, I think the decision to have another drink is entirely my business, not yours" Angela countered, and whilst her words could have been harsh they were delivered with nothing but her usual airy nonchalance.

"And this," he gestured around the bar with his left hand and remarked sardonically, "is my business - literally."

The farmer rose her eyebrows before pointing out: "Technically the Brass Bar belongs to Hayden."

"Oh really?" Chase asked her with contempt, and he crossed his arms across his chest. "Thanks for that, I had no clue who my boss was until now."

"Glad to be of service," Angela countered flippantly, once again unaffected by the intimidating sharpness of Chase's words.

The peach-haired man eyed the ticking clock again and narrowed his eyes – the sooner she left, the sooner he could pack up – and then turned his attention back to the empty glass in front of him. Seeing no way out of mixing Angela another drink, Chase placed a handful of ice cubes inside of it and began to stir the various liquids together, creating a wind-chime noise as he did.

Angela grinned when Chase handed her the cocktail. "So, tell me, why did you move to Castanet in the first place?" She took a sip. "Kathy told me you moved here a few years back."

Chase began stacking glasses into precarious stacks of five and placing them under the bench. "That's funny, I didn't know we served small talk on the menu."

Angela made a face at him. "Are you this friendly to all your customers?"

Petulantly, Chase made a face back. "Are you always this talkative?"

A tiny part of him stirred – was she? Did she go visit Julius up at the mines and joke to him about his fashion sense? Did she go and see the Wizard so she could tease him about his crystal ball? He found himself hoping that she didn't, that this banter they were having was unique - that it was only him who got to experience this side of her.

"You're working by yourself, and I'm drinking alone." She told him. "Why deny ourselves the pleasure of each other's company?"

"Fine," The bartender conceded with a sigh (as it was turning out, he admitted, she wasn't the worst company in the world). "What would you like to talk about?"

"Well, if you recall, I did ask you why you moved to Castanet." Angela prompted, twirling the stem of her glass with two fingers. She looked extremely pleased, Chase thought, with the way her eyes were shining brighter than the lights around her.

"I was working at this restaurant in the city and one of the guys I shared a kitchen with told me about Yolanda, and how her food knowledge was unparalleled." He inhaled. "So, I travelled here in the hopes she'd make me her apprentice – which, thankfully, she did."

"That's a long way to go for a whim."

"It wasn't a whim, it was a necessity. If I want to be the best, I have to learn from the best," he informed her.

"And are you? The best?" She asked.

Chase shrugged. "I think I am."

"And I bet you're not biased at all." Angela teased.

He placed another set of glasses underneath the counter before shaking his head. "Not in the slightest."

"What if I said I thought Maya was a better cook than you?" Angela taunted, her smile sly.

Chase's eyes darkened. Angela was referring to Maya's appalling reputation in the kitchen, which no one knew better then him (he still had nightmares about the birthday cake she made him last year). It was a comparison that he did not take lightly. "That's cruel, Angela."

Angela winked at him, all unapologetic with her innocent beam and rosy cheeks. "I know, but earlier you were being a damper on my drinking parade so I felt was justified."

"No." He paused, frowning. "No, that was cruel. I mean that was really cruel. That was like me kicking a puppy cruel."

She rolled her tongue over her lips. "I hope you're not speaking from experience."

"That depends." Chase smirked. "How's that Labrador of yours?"

"Fine," Angela said, clearly confused as to the direction he was taking the conversation. She bought the cocktail to her lips and downed the remainder of its content, her brows knitted.

Chase pressed on, his smirk widening. "You haven't noticed him limping?"

Angela shook her head slowly. "Nope."

He paused while placing one cup on another. "Any swollen paws?"

"No I haven't, why? He just looked at her – waiting - until finally she said: "You're so not funny." Angela glared up at Chase; he shrugged, amused. Moments later, the farmer straightened her back and tilted her head to the side. "You know what I just noticed, the bar is empty."

"That's an astonishing observation." Chase said, once again mocking her. "I'm so glad you took the time to share it with me"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Seriously though, where is everyone?"

Chase frowned and resumed placing the glasses underneath the counter. "How would I know? Do I look like someone who cares what other people are doing?"

"You look like someone who pretends not to care" she said, correcting him.

"You sound like Kathy." Chase told her.

"Perhaps we're onto something then." Angela said, running her finger along the side of the counter.

"Or," he said, "you're both equally delusional."

"Me? Delusional? Never."Angela sang somewhat childishly. Chase sighed, unamused by her antics.

"Everyone's probably sleeping by now," Chase said seriously, in answer to Angela's earlier question. He gave her a pointed look before he continued, "I usually finish up at ten thirty because the bars cleared and there's nothing left to do."

Angela slammed her palms onto the counter, the pieces clicking together in her mind. "That's why you didn't want me ordering another drink before - it had nothing to do with how much I'd had!" Evidently seeking conformation for her suspicions, she asked, "I'm keeping you here later than usual, aren't I?"

Chase nodded. "Yeah." His lips twitched and the corners of his mouth tensed, betraying the fact that he didn't mind too much anymore. However, this didn't stop him from seconds later adding: "And you're not even tipping me for my overtime."

"Maybe I would if you were friendlier."

"I'm humouring you with inane small-talk," Chase replied, "how much friendlier do you want me to be?" Angela opened her mouth to reply but he swiftly interrupted her. "That was a rhetorical question."

"Moving on then," she said slowly, "what should our next topic of 'inane small-talk' be?"

Chase - abandoning the idea stacking cups in favour of winding up Angela - grabbed himself a glass and poured himself some water before turning to face her. "Why don't we talk about how early you have to wake up tomorrow to feed the rest of your animals and how – on a completely unrelated note – it's almost eleven o'clock." He smiled devilishly as he took a sip of water. "What time do you usually go to bed? Is it eight o'clock or nine?"

Angela leant back in her chair and exhaled loudly. "Chase, it's almost like you're reminding me of my bedtime so I'll leave sooner rather than later."

"Oh no. I'd just hate for you to be tired tomorrow," Chase replied dryly.

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "Luckily, I know better."

He rolled his eyes before deadpanning: "I'm thanking the Goddess for my good fortune as we speak."

What a miracle it was that Angela was constantly at ease around him. She seemed to understand his dry humour and sharp tongue, and more so then that, she appeared to be enjoying it (that damn smile never left her face). He hadn't expected her to be like this – like him, almost – and it was, Chase realised, a rather nice surprise.

"Well, I think it's time for me to order another drink." Angela paused, shifted her weight and with a serious voice stated: "You know, seeing as you're so desperate for me to stay."

"How considerate of you, Angela," Chase said, feigning gratitude. Without hesitation he pulled an empty glass out from underneath the counter and looked at her expectantly. "Blueberry flavoured?"

"How'd you guess?" The farmer joked, referencing the fact that it was the only drink she had ordered tonight. Angela's face brightened at her own witticism, lips parted in a giddy, pretty smile and eyes lit up. She looked lovely, that much was undeniable to the bartender as he appraised her in that moment. She cleared her throat and Chase, realising he hadn't begun making her drink, flushed. He mumbled an apology and hastily mixed the vodka, soda and blueberries together; his hands were sweaty and he fumbled as he put the ice in.

Had Chase claimed that he was annoyed she was still ordering drinks it would have been a lie (on the contrary, it was anything but). He didn't though. Rather, he carefully slid the drink towards her and said, "you know, Angela, there are otherflavours you can try."

Angela traced the rim of the glass with her finger. "Oh, and I thought this menu was just for show."

"A common mistake." Chase said, amused. His fingers were drumming against the sides of his glass.

"Thank goddess I have you to inform me otherwise." She crooned, voice sarcastic.

Truthfully, Chase was enjoying Angela's company, so much so that he hadn't noticed the minutes slip away. It wasn't until he checked his watch during the break in their conversation that he noticed it was past eleven – 11:07PM to be exact. The Brass Bar was officially closed, yet instead of telling Angela to leave, he asked: "Why did you move to Castanet?"

"Can you please repeat that?" Angela asked, all faux sweetness. Chase simply stared at her. "Sorry, I didn't catch that. You see, I don't think my ears are used to the sound of you making sincere conversation."

"Don't ruin the moment," Chase told her flatly before raising an eyebrow and waiting for her to answer.

Angela's slender fingers plucked at her shirt, contracted once into fists – and then released (she was nervous, Chase noted). "I used to be a massive party girl, as you can probably guess from how much I've had tonight." Angela paused and Chase nodded. "Well, back when I was in college I got mixed up in a pretty bad crowd – you know, the kind that was always drinking or experimenting with drugs on weekends." She took a breath, clenched her hands into balls and continued, "I ended up failing all of my classes and I knew I had to get away from it all. From there I suppose the whole farming thing just happened – you know, one minute I was travelling and the next minute I was being recruited."

"So, let me get this straight." Chase hesitated and mulled her story over in his mind. "You escaped that lifestyle only to end up drinking cocktails at a small-town bar." He stopped and shook his head, "that makes perfect sense."

"This," Angela pointed between the pair of them before informing him, "is tame in comparison." Chase watched the farmers expression turn wicked, her red lips curving playfully. "But, if you'd like, I can start dancing on the tables and doing shots."

There was an undertone to her voice, soft and flirtatious, that made Chase's mouth dry. He licked his lips and collected his thoughts. "Please do, then I can kick you out for disorderly conduct," he finally said, and he was positive Angela could see the emptiness of his threat because as soon as the words left his mouth she gave him a knowing grin.

A moment of silence passed between them. Angela crossed her legs and lent into the counter, lessening the space between them and resting her chin in her palm. She was close enough that Chase could see the scratches on her knuckles, tiny red marks tainting the backs of her fingers. "Oh really? Because I have this theory."

Chase rose an eyebrow at her. "And what would that be?"

She shifted her chin to her other hand and smiled at him with some satisfaction. "You see Chase, I don't think you actually want me to leave."

Chase froze momentarily; he hadn't expected her to call him out on that fact. "You mustn't be a very good listener then," he pointed out, denying her claim.

She straightened slightly in her chair. "Oh but actions always speak louder than words. I admit, all night you've been saying you want me to go away." Angela paused, her eyes beating into his like a drum. "Yet it's past eleven – past official closing time - and you haven't asked me to go." Chase blinked. "Why is that?"

The bartender swallowed. "Did you ever consider in your hypothesis that I just hadn't noticed the time?"

"I did. Which is why I know you checked your watch about a minute ago."

Chase gestured lamely to the glass in front of her, his cheeks reddening. "Maybe I was being polite, after all you haven't finished your cocktail."

"Maybe," Angela said and promptly downed the rest of her drink. "How about now though?"

"And now…" Chase repeated before sighing; it seemed he could no longer deny he had wanted her to stay. "And now, it's my pleasure to inform you that the Brass Bar's trading hours have been extended until midnight." He took a breath. "So, how about another drink?" Chase paused, and then as if the farmer needed convincing (which she didn't), he said: "on the house."

"Oh," Angela grinned, "if you insist."