Charlie winced as she saw Angel Dust being led by the detective through the lobby. They had given him an office which she admittedly regretted. When she had spoken with Alastor and Vaggie about where the new guest could set up shop, Alastor had snidely insisted that the only room that would do was the coat room and the crackling air had forced her and her girlfriend to concede for the moment.
When she relayed the news to Nick he had barked out a laugh.
"It's safe to assume this was Ali's decision?" his eyes danced.
"We're really sorry, it's just temporary until we can free up-"
The detective had waved away her apology, still chuckling to himself as he wandered off.
Now as she saw Angel Dust look at her with pleading eyes she felt uneasy. Maybe these one on ones weren't such a good idea after all. Detective Davies, opened the door and she watched Angel Dust reluctantly go in, followed by the white wolfish man.
The door closed gently, but the sound still seemed to ring in the quiet space. Everyone had been hiding in their rooms since the detective's arrival. A tension that had only built over the past two days.
Charlie had tried to avoid Alastor specifically after the meeting about the office. She could feel he was on edge and understood why. But now she felt it was maybe time to have a chat.
Angel Dust sat on the chair in the cramped coat room. It was a small empty space except for a table and two chairs. Nick had offered him the one closest to the door and was now awkwardly sidling past him to the other side, taking care to not hit his head on the hangers.
It looked silly. And Angel Dust would have laughed if it weren't for his nerves. The detective finally sat across from him, and rested his head on his hand, staring at the spider demon with those dancing eyes and a slight smile.
Angel cleared his throat, fighting to keep his voice from cracking. "So, uh, usually it costs money for a private room with me. Lucky day for you pal," he tried to sound casual, unfazed.
To his surprise, the Detective laughed. "So I've heard. You seem to be top shelf for what you do."
Angel Dust blinked. Unsure how to react. The Detective just stared.
Finally he felt his nerves snap. "Ya just gonna ogle me or are we supposed to be doing something?"
Nick laughed again, dropping his hand from his cheek and picking at his cuticles. "It's Annie?"
"Angel Dust," Angel Dust corrected, going flush.
The detective's eyes flickered up to him for a moment, a sharp and piercing glance, before dropping back to his hands. "Why not Annie?" He asked it quietly. Curiously. No trace of mockery or challenge. Angel felt himself bristle all the same.
"Cuz I said," Angel shot back.
The detective smiled slightly but didn't look up. They sat in silence for a minute that felt like an hour, and Angel Dust could feel his skin prickle in the tension. He finally let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't like people using my old name. It's Angel Dust because I say it is. Annie doesn't exist anymore. It's Angel Dust."
"It means a lot to you," the detective said slowly, still not looking up. "Not to be Annie." Angel Dust faltered, and Nick's eyes finally flickered up. "What makes Angel Dust better?"
Angel Dust bit his lip and looked away from the detective's intense eyes. They weren't warm like Katherine's. They were piercing.
"Annie was better than Anthony?"
Angel Dust winced.
The detective's eyes moved to the ceiling, as if he were reciting a poem he had memorized. "Born Anthony Petalucci, went to work for the mob after getting thrown out at 13. A friend brought you in I believe. Easy cash for a kid, I assume, housing if nothing else. You tried to leave when you were 17. It went less than ideal…"
Angel Dust squeezed his eyes closed. Willing away a memory of bleeding on pavement.
"You tried again, but this time under a disguise, or you called it a disguise. I don't think I'm wrong in assuming it felt more comfortable. Anthony disappeared and Annie was created. The same friend who brought you in helped with a new fake ID. A laundry list of trouble with that, a couple scrapes you got yourself out of by-"
"They deserved it," Angel Dust cut in, his voice barely a whisper. The detective regarded him for a moment before turning his eyes upward again.
"Ultimately you met your demise at 21 at the Stonewall in 1969. One of the riots-"
There was a small sniffle and Nick paused, again looking at Angel Dust as he roughly swiped at his blurry eyes. He could see the tension in the spider demon's jaw as he willed himself not to cry.
Nick looked around the room, only finding a discarded scarf from the floor. He offered it awkwardly as a tissue which Angel sneered at.
They sat in silence while the spider demon collected himself, covering his eyes as if he were pushing tears back into his head. When he finally dropped his hands he was glaring. There was a loud scrape as Angel pushed his chair back and leaned into it, popping his feet onto the table in front of him and crossing his many arms in defiance.
"There supposed to be a point to this?" Angel snapped, a new steely resolve coloring his manner and biting into his words.
Nick seemed surprised. "Don't you want redemption?"
"Don't think we need to drag up the past for nothing."
"You don't think you deserve redemption?" Nick was now leaning forward in his seat. His words came softly but his gaze was magnetic.
Angel Dust felt himself mesmerized, his hard exterior cracking. He tried to speak, choked on a sob, cleared his throat, "I don't know."
"Angel Dust doesn't." Nick smiled softly. "But Annie might."
