Title: The Small Italian Place
Author: Anna
Disclaimer: Not mine. Restaurant is, though.
Rating: G
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia
Notes: Inspired by the date found at the end of Ando's Living a Lie.
Set after the end of AtS season 4.
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It was a small Italian place, red gingham on the tables, red candles stuck in wax-encrusted wine bottles. The lighting was dim, but pleasantly so. Over in a murky corner and old guy with thick-rimmed glasses played tinkling tunes on an upright piano. A cigarette dangled from his lip, occasionally glowing bright orange, and he looked like he'd been there for years. Maybe he had been. There were other couples there too, only couples, each here because it was their secret place. The place they went when they wanted that perfect evening together, with real conversation, long, heartfelt talks over good food and red wine. It stayed open late, this little restaurant, and no one ever coughed to ask you to leave.
This is where Angel brought her on their first date. He'd passed it a few times on long walks he had taken at night when he needed to think. He had always envied those inside, their faces close over the table, the smell of tomato sauce and garlic woven into the dark air outside.
He guided her through the door, a hand hovering over the base of her back. A middle aged man with a healthy paunch over his apron showed them to a table by the window where the blue of the night met the warm golden glow of the candles. Angel held Cordelia's chair and then took a seat opposite her. He smiled to the man as he passed them the menu and the wine list and then stepped discreetly away.
Cordelia opened the menu and began to peruse.
"Are you having anything?" she asked, her finger trailing down name by name on the page.
Angel nodded.
"Yeah," he said. He watched her for a few more seconds before opening his own menu.
The silence did not hang heavy over the table. It was comfortable, the silence of a long friendship. And yet it seemed so new.
She folded her menu after a few minutes and placed it on the table, opening the wine list.
"What wine do you like?" she asked.
"Anything you like," he replied, smiling ruefully. "I can't really taste it."
She smiled in reply. She knew he didn't really mind.
The man once again appeared at their table.
"A plate of antipasti, then tagliatelle arrabiata, and a bottle of burgandy," she said.
"Same for me. Tagliatelle," he said.
The man jotted down their order and took the menus with a brief smile and some comment on the weather. They laughed with him and then were left alone again to wait.
"Thanks, Angel," she said.
"For what?"
"For taking me here." She rested her arms on the table, her hands joined in front of her.
Angel smiled.
"My pleasure." He looked around. "I always wanted to take you here, you know. Even before I got to know you well. I thought you'd look good in here."
She laughed.
"Why didn't you then, silly?"
"Because I didn't think you'd like it. I mean, I don't think it's the hot hang out spot for casting directors."
Cordelia looked down.
"Yeah, well. Maybe you were right." She looked back up at him. "I've changed, Angel." Her eyes were bright, but he saw the ache behind them. It was an ache he knew he would see if he could see his own face in the mirror.
"I know, Cordy." He leaned close over the table. Her skin was so perfect in the candlelight. Her hair was longer now, and the blond streaks caught the flickering light and glowed.
"I guess you do," she said. "Who ever thought we'd have so much in common?" She grinned.
"You think it's funny?" he asked.
"Sure. Come on. Apart from, you know, the bad stuff." She bit her lip, but brushed away the thoughts. He knew she had no choice. "You and me, our evil alter egos defeated, sitting here having dinner. You don't think it's even just a little funny?"
"I guess so," he said, toying with his napkin. "I never thought of it like that."
She nodded.
"Yeah, I get that too. Maybe now isn't the time to think about it."
"Maybe not," he agreed quietly.
Their food arrived, melon and prosciutto arranged prettily on a large oval plate. There was also some thin bread spread with olive oil, tomato and basil. The man opened their wine with a quiet pop. Angel gestured to Cordelia's glass to taste.
"Mmm," she said. "That's great, thank you."
He poured and once more left. He left the bottle on the table beside them.
As they ate, their conversation turned to other things. Movies, music, childhood reminiscences. A little office gossip and the discussion of little worries, family and friends. They could talk about Connor now without a flicker, and Angel spoke about Spike with real fondness. Cordelia smiled to hear it. Their family was finding its feet again, stabilising itself after the disasters and pain of the year gone by. Fred and Wesley laughed together now in a way that made others watch them with interest, and Gunn was to be found less and less in the office, except when needed, and more and more with his new girl, bringing them business and finding his own way.
They talked for hours, through the antipasti, the main course, the home made ice cream that Cordelia ate with relish. A second bottle of wine was uncorked, as Angel found he could make out something of the texture and quite enjoyed the vague flavour on his tongue. He puzzled over the chillis in the arrabiata sauce, wondering what it felt like to taste them. Cordelia drank gulps of water and waved her hand on front of her mouth when she bit into a large seed. He laughed at her, and she slapped him playfully on the arm, making some joke about spiking his O neg. He loved the ice cream because it made even his mouth feel warm.
Sometimes their fingers would brush against each other across the table. Neither pulled their hands away, and their eyes shared special looks that explained why.
It was well after midnight by the time they stood up to leave. Angel wrapped Cordelia's light jacket around her to keep out the chill of the late night ocean breeze. They walked slowly through the streets, Cordelia's hand looped through Angel's arm. Light pooled under the street lamps, casting dancing shadows on her face as she moved. He walked with her to her apartment door, and waited until she was safe inside before he turned and walked away.
He did not kiss her. He thought maybe he could have, but he was afraid, and perhaps he knew that she was not yet ready. It had been hard for her to come back, to work through all that had happened. The last thing he wanted to do was rush her, and so he took his time. There was no hurry. It was just their first date.
There would be more, he thought with a smile.