Title: Black and White
Summary: An exercise in contrast (in so many ways, they were the enemy)
Characters: John/Angela
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't claim to. All hail the almighty Vertigo Comics for their ingenious creations, and the script writers/director/actors for bringing the characters to the screen. I'm just taking them for a walk while Warner Brothers is counting the takings. Don't even bother trying to sue, because I'm sure that the court case will cost more than the 50c you'll get from my dwindling bank account at the end of it.
Black tie. White shirt. Black trench coat.
He was a demon with an amulet.
Always looking faintly dishevelled, he had an air of dark unpredictability that left strangers on edge. The result of a combination of the work he carried out and, perhaps, an internal defence mechanism.
White shirt. Black jacket. White shoes.
She was an angel with a gun.
Presenting a calm exterior to the world, her internal turmoil was only ever a single breath away. A complex construct of her police training and, perhaps, her ability to See.
Charred nightmares. Ashen daydreams.
The world around them was so full of the shades of Heaven and Hell that they'd started to see in monochrome. It made the hues of midnight fall as liquid black shadows, and morning sunlight took on a blindingly stark quality.
Empty, hollow eyes. Broad, expressive smile.
In so many ways, they were the enemy. In an indirect sense, they almost embodied those that they fought against. The selfless and selfish merged, and they balanced on the line between possessed and innocent. Wavering between killing angels and saving demons.
Scarred and resurrected. Broken and saved.
When the moment came; the end of the world was nigh; and the ultimate choice was made; they'd been to the ends of the Earth for each other. And beyond.
Silent curses. Whispered promises.
He'd walked through Hell for her. She'd protected the Spear for him.
It was a sacrifice, but not without compensation.
Delicate, white fingertips caught in tousled black hair.
They sat on the old sofa in his apartment, neither wanting to break the silence as the sun set further over the horizon. Cool darkness was uninterrupted by the sharp protest of fluorescent lights, and instead blended with the soft, white glow of the almost-full moon.
Kaleidoscopic grey.
Through Heaven or Hell, somehow they'd make it work.