XI.

LUCI'S

If you believe in stupid things like love,

Then we could sit in the sun,

Let the days all roll into one…

Roll Into One, Bic Runga

"Oh my god, it's everywhere!" Trixie squealed.

Chloe laughed along with her daughter as she wiped away a river of ketchup and shredded lettuce from her chin with a paper napkin. The afternoon sun was at its highest point, bouncing its heat onto the cracked asphalt and bathing their bare legs in its radiant glow. The two were sitting on the curb in front of Luci's Burgers'n'Malts, a grease-dappled paper bag sitting between them along with two plastic cups of Coke. Chloe's bare leg brushed up against the sweaty condensation of her own cup and the contact filled her skin with bright pricks of white cold. Melting ice gave out a dull rustle as she brought the straw up to her lips to wash down the rich, satisfying grease of her double stacker with cheese.

"Watch me, mom!" Trixie lifted her own small smashburger and took a hefty bite, her face stretching to comical lengths as she pulled away a mess of cheese, burger meat and a large round tomato that thwapped against her bottom lip. Tiny yellow seeds dripped down onto the pavement as her daughter tried to huff the dangling bits into her mouth.

"Your shirt is eating more than you are." Chloe grabbed the bottom end of the tomato and tried to tuck it into Trixie's chewing mouth. "We're each gonna have to order another burger at this rate."

The young girl's eyes lit up and she tried to talk through the mound of food in her mouth but it came out as a garbled mess of pickles and onions. She pointed dramatically to her full cheeks, red with strain but also with absolute delight. The concrete was warm under her legs and the burgers were as good as she remembered, their crispy edges and soft buns reminding her of all the other summers they had sat on this exact same curb while wiping at their chins. As a family. A moment of sadness passed over Trixie's face as she swallowed, unconsciously running her hands along the curb next to her where her dad would typically sit. Little Bea, nestled between her parents. Safe in the middle with the two people she loved most in the entire world. The whole entire universe. Still, looking at the laughter in her mom's eyes, at the vibrant sound of her voice, it felt almost okay. The last few weeks had felt like the deepest part of the ocean. Trix had felt as though she were holding on to a little piece of wood as the bigness of a storm raged around her, threatening to throw her into the black mouth of a whale. Like Jonah from the Bible that abuela would read from during bedtime tuck-ins. Her mom had felt far away, also lost on her own little piece of wood and dad was swimming between them trying to save them both. Maybe, somehow, a ship had floated by, had seen them struggling and had scooped her up out of the ocean. Another tinkling of laughter cast bright rays of sunlight onto Trixie's face. Maybe mom had been scooped up too.

"Can we get a chocolate malt for the road? Y'know, like we used to?" She took a smaller bite from her half-eaten sandwich, carefully careening it over her knees so that any stray toppings would fall onto the pavement to join the Rorschach splotches from previous bites.

Chloe smiled and crumpled the foil that her burger had sat in, white droplets of mayonnaise and burger juice leaking from within. "Sure. Maybe we can pick one up for your dad too."

"Is he gonna be mad that we didn't get him a burger though?"

"I dunno, what do you think? Should we get him a Luci burger too?"

"Yeah, a double. But no bun. Daddy's trying to watch his carbs."

The detective threw back her head and laughed loudly, surprising the couple that was sitting a few feet down from them, having their own curbside Luci's picnic. They shot her an annoyed look but Trixie responded with a shrug of her shoulders as if to say, yeah, I'm funny, so what. Chloe wiped at her eyes, chuckling softly, falling into another bout of giggles as she recalled the seriousness of her daughter's face.

"Must have been some joke."

She looked up and smiled at Michael's approaching figure. "I'm raising a regular Rhea Perlman here."

Trixie jumped up, the half-eaten burger still in her hand and waved him over. "Michael! Are you here to eat Luci's with us?"

"If that's okay with you." He placed a hand on the girl's shoulders and she squeezed against his side, leaving a small smudge of ketchup on his shirt.

"Sure! Is your brother with you?" She took another small bite of her sandwich.

"No, I'm sans-Lucy for the moment. No twin escapades today, I'm afraid." He hunkered down next to Chloe and gave her a soft smile. "If that's okay with you."

"That's more than okay. It's preferred." Chloe bit the urge to lean forward and kiss him, instead giving his arm a playful squeeze. Trixie may have formed a friendly bond with Michael, but it might be too much to see her mom being more than friendly with him. Navigating the divorce had already been tricky with their young daughter, but dating seemed downright impossible. Also, did one night of hot, back-against-the-wall-hands-all-over-the-place sex count as anything other than the impromptu connection of two people who were in a state between shock and fear?

Well, let's not forget about this morning, babygirl.

Right.

She had awoken earlier than her normal time that morning, her head filled with murky dreams of her new scarlet letter as a disgraced officer serving time in a women's correctional facility where being a cop, even a fallen one, was met with overt dangers. The greys of a morning that hadn't quite yet begun had painted the walls of her bedroom in the half-hazy shades of the dream world. Soon the tinges of gold and soft pinks would glow through the large windows along the back wall, but for now, just the gradients of grey.

Michael had been fast asleep beside her, his usually parted hair now a torrent of loose waves and mellow curls. The first shadows of an unshaved face caressed his cheeks and trickled down his neck. Her eyes traced the gentle slope of his shoulder, lingering on a thick twisted scar that ran from his collarbone and disappeared under his armpit. The gentle rise and fall of his chest seemed to breathe life into the shiny mass of tissue, winking at her in the conspiratorial colors of pre-dawn. It fascinated her. Called to her. What was the story behind something that cantered his entire body and caused him to look as though he were permanently carrying something under his arm?

Lithe fingers hovered over the darkened skin, wanting to understand its touch, wanting to understand its history. Unconsciously her other hand brushed over the yellowing bruise above her own breast, almost as though she were trying to connect the ways in which they had both been hurt through their duty to others. A shiver ran through her as she edged closer to his warm form, finally allowing herself to trace the rope of his scarred skin.

"I'd be careful if I were you." His hand folded over her fingers and gave a small squeeze. "You're gonna get quite the reaction if you keep that up." The comfortable brown of his eyes, the same shade as the faded leather books in Daddy's small but treasured library, peered at her from a face still silky with sleep.

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "And what kind of reaction is that?"

He turned towards her and smoothly slipped a hand around her hips, pulling her in. It lingered for a moment before gliding its way up to the small of her back, the rough calluses on his fingertips scratching against her pale skin. She had felt so small in that moment underneath the colorless curtain where night had passed but the new day was still en route. Nestled under the thin white blankets, their bodies close and radiating the warmth of a shared bed, her hand pressed up against the steady beat of his heart, her face so close to his neck that she could smell the faint remains of the mystery soap she had whiffed all those weeks ago in that lousy champagne-colored rental. It embraced her in its familiarity, grounding her in the reality of what had happened last night-shooting, chaos, that shitty argument with Lucifer-while unwinding her from last night's other side of reality-Michael. A part of her felt as though she should have been embarrassed at her lack of control, for allowing herself to give in so fully to her base desires especially during a time when having a strong head was tantamount. But she didn't. In actuality she felt free.

No, not free. Not exactly. But...unbound.

From that looming feeling of being a victim to helplessness...of things happening at her. It had compounded into a stifling coffin where all she could do was powerlessly bang against the heavy lid. Buried alive by fate, by chance, by duty. Allowing herself a modicum of pleasure-one she had complete and utter control over-had felt like the first gasp out of the grave. She had gulped it hungrily.

There had also been an honesty to their night. No games, no acting, no wondering of intentions and purposes. It had been the truest swatch of black-and-white, cut-and-dry: he wanted her, she wanted him. There were no muddled grays of maybes and innuendos. No whys.

Chloe had reached out and brushed her fingertips against his lips, tracing their shape as the first sprays of dusty pink light colored the windowsill, filling up the gray spaces she had first awoken to. The sex that followed had been slow and sweet, the scale of last night's fervor toned down to the intentional.

Michael, the one in the here-and-now, lightly brushed her hand with his and gave her a raise of his eyebrows. She blushed furiously and a knowing look passed over his face. His hand lingered for a moment longer, the small crescent of a smile blooming on his mouth. Chloe fought the urge to run her fingers over his bottom lip, recalling the soft way it yielded to her touch earlier this morning. It had felt silly to be so physically preoccupied, as though she were reliving her teenage-hormone-incited dating years where desire won out over everything else. Memory betrayed her as she tried to remember if she were just as greedy to jump all over Dan when they had first started dating. Or maybe it was the long drought of physical touch between the two years of their separation and divorce that had made her forget.

Don't forget the near-death experience. Facing one's mortality also had a way of conjuring up some of those good old fashioned tools of satiation. Reminders of why we choose to stay alive.

"Mom, can I have money to buy a malt?" Trixie had finished the last of her burger and was wiping at her mouth with a crumpled napkin.

Michael reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill. "How bout this, lil Bea? You get me whatever you were having just now and I'll buy you that malt."

"Deal. I'm also supposed to buy dad a double stacker." She held out her hand.

"You run a hard bargain." He pulled out another ten and placed it on top of the other one.

Trixie skipped away, the two bills flapping against her thin thighs as she rounded a few plastic tables and got into line behind an elderly couple with a white curly-haired dog.

A cool hand slipped around the thin fabric of her sundress as Michael leaned in and placed a short kiss against her temple. "I'm sorry you had to rush out this morning. Didn't mean to overstay my welcome."

"You were most welcome, especially after that morning wake-up call."

He gently brushed a lock of hair from the side of her face. "How could I resist? You're much too beautiful with that mess of bedhead in the morning."

"I know. It's how I hook em."

Their bare arms touched for a brief moment, hers warm from sitting in the sun, his cool and bright from the air conditioned car ride. Goosebumps dotted the back of her neck in their electric currents. Okay, she was swimming beyond just teenage hormone territory, this was downright physical infatuation. Did Michael feel just as ridiculous? She scanned his warm brown eyes, studying their autumnal notes of late blooming helenium and marigolds; how looking into them with the sunlight painting his face in its hues of white and yellow, reminded her again of running through the open prairies of Iowa all those years ago. Free. Open. Golden. He also didn't try to hide what resided there. His own hunger. His own need to consume. Her. Them. All of it.

It felt like the one stable and straightforward thing in these past few topsy turvy weeks. One of the few things that had given her the choice: consume or be consumed. She had chosen both. Had needed both. Still wanted both.

"Would I be too forward if I said I wanted to see you tonight?" A touch of apprehension flickered across his features.

"Wow, this morning must have left quite an impression, Mr. Demiurgos." She laughed lightly.

"Absolutely."

And it had, hadn't it? Michael the Archangel-Mikha'el, great captain, leader of the heavenly hosts-who had up until recently viewed humans as an afterthought in his spiritual duties, had indeed garnered an impression from last night's carnal pleasures. When Amenadiel, in preparation for their undisclosed stay on Earth, had first warned him about the occupations of the flesh, Michael had brushed them off as an annoying aside. He was here to carry out a mission. Getting tangled, physical or otherwise, with any of these humans had been a sour thought. No way, no how. But the flesh was indeed weak. Occupying a mortal front was a lot harder than he imagined. Much more confusing. But...hadn't he already known this? Had already danced the dance all those decades ago in St. Petersburg where the ethereal sounds of a celesta had almost torn his soul apart? How the seemingly insignificant could create chasms so wide that he couldn't even be bothered to take off his scratchy dress shirt so that he could take flight, back to the knowing safety of Heaven. How the seemingly insignificance of an inquisitive detective doing her job all those nights ago had created...well, this. His entanglement. His willing and utterly helpless fall into the flesh. Control or no control, it was all the same in the end.

"Due to your brother's meddling, I'm still the lead on the case so I'll be burning that midnight oil tonight. How about Friday?"

"Leave it to Lucy to strong arm things to go his way. But otherwise, that's good news, right? I mean, it definitely weakens my defense on last night's stance that we had to make the most of our limited time together. Y'know, if that happens to be the main reason why you slept with me." He smirked.

"It wasn't the only reason." She timidly reached out and linked her fingers around the hand on his knee. "And frankly, I don't think I would have needed a reason other than I wanted to. It felt right. It felt...honest."

Trixie came bounding up to them, two paper bags in one hand and a large white cup in the other. Chloe released her fingers from his and slid back, motioning to her daughter. "I hope you're planning on sharing that because there's no way you're going to be able to finish an entire extra large chocolate malt."

Michael held out his hand and Trixie plopped a five dollar bill into his palm. "Can I keep the change?" She shook a handful of coins in her dress pocket. "Service fee?"

He stuffed the fiver in the jangling pocket. "With tip. I'll make sure to write a good Yelp review."

"Mike, no one uses Yelp anymore except old people!" She giggled and took a big slurp from her straw. "Plus, I'm too young to be working. Child labor laws. Mom said I hafta wait til I'm at least sixteen but did you know Macaulay Culkin first started working when he was four?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Listen, kiddo, your dad and I are not trying to raise our own little Macaulay Culkin, okay? Now give Michael his burger."

"Yeah, and you can tell me a little bit more about this Macaulay Culkin kid. What's his deal?" He took the spotted bag from Trixie's small hand.

"You don't know about Home Alone?" She slapped a hand to her forehead in disbelief. "It's an American classic!"

Michael turned to Chloe and winked. "Nope. Never heard of it."

Trixie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she was full on Spotlight Trixie the Performer. "Well, do I have a story for you. It all starts with Kevin McCallister…"

The hot afternoon sun seemed to stand still, as if listening to the three of them laughing and talking on the asphalt outside of Luci's, wiping their chins and drinking down the rich grease with icy colas. Picture perfect smiles and dimpled cheeks captured in glowing snapshots of a quintessential summer afternoon in the City of Angels.