October 1983 - Fairfield, CT
Wendy's party was a smash hit. The neighbors danced and laughed and drank. Michael came in with some other men from the deck, plates of freshly grilled steak strips in their hands. He looked over and saw Angela sitting on the counter, talking with her friends. He smiled as he watched her, her fairy wings flapping via physics when she leaned forward to laugh loudly. Despite being pushed toward the snacks by the wave of men trying to fill their plates, he kept stealing glances at her.
Herb elbowed Michael in the ribs and nodded toward the women. "We should have costume parties more often, huh?"
Michael squinted down at the little man and stepped away to get a glass of punch. He continued to watch Angela as he poured in a shot of bourbon.
Angela noticed him watching her and smiled silently at him. He gave her a wink, and her smile broadened. He watched as one of the ladies asked her a question, and she answered, smiling.
Michael turned to get an appetizer from the table. When Angela glanced back up, she saw him making his way into the living room with some of the other men.
Angela hopped off the counter to go with him, but refilled her cup on the way.
Wendy and Isabel followed a few feet back, pulling their conversation along. "Nice dancefloor," Isabel remarked on the swatch of carpet where once resided a coffee table.
"Hey, be glad this is the evening's activities. Herb wanted to bob for apples! I told him no woman is going to waste her hair and makeup dunking her head in a vat of cold water."
They laughed and Isabel nodded, "You've got that right! I spent over an hour on this look!"
Wendy continued laughing, "Besides, we'd all be bent over and falling out of our costumes and…and…" Wendy's voice drifted off into silence, her stalled gaze off to the side. After a few seconds, she braved a look back at Isabel's compassionate face. Tears covering her eyes, Wendy hugged herself tightly and sniffed. Isabel reached for her friend's hand, but Wendy pulled away and marched into the kitchen. She slugged back a glass of rum, skipping the punch entirely.
Angela followed after Michael, though the throng of guests slowed her down. She'd noticed how he'd kept watching her in the kitchen, and couldn't help but find it endearing. She moved past some people and found him chatting it up with a guy on the couch. An enamored half smile grew on her face; they appeared to be admiring Michael's hiking boots. She shook her head. Boys.
Angela was just about to go over to Michael when she decided to hang back. All she wanted to do was sit in his lap, but felt a big, cartoon warning light telling her not to. Appeased by her view, she leaned against a bookshelf, and watched him while she sipped her punch.
Michael caught Angela staring at him and smiled back at her. He waved her over, and shyly, she closed the distance, not looking at anyone else.
Michael slapped the guy's shoulder, and as Angela neared, she heard the end of Michael's boot review. "No, the last thing you want at 5300 feet is steel toes. Trust me, Joe," Michael laughed. "And go with the jump boots; the breathability and flexibility can't be beat."
"Thanks, man. You just saved me a bunch of money and time." Joe tipped his head far back to finish off his beer.
Michael patted the arm rest next to him and Angela sat down as requested. "Joe, this is my wife, Angela. Angela, this is Joe. He just got back from hunting in the Rockies, and," he laughed, "discovered he needs some new gear before next season."
Joe laughed, "That's for sure. I'm not hiking one more mile in those clunkers."
Angela smiled, "Well, coming from someone who has been foolish enough to ignore his advice on what to pack, I can attest: the man knows his stuff." Whoops! She instantly regretted bringing up that trip. What? It's just on my mind? Damn target fixation...
Michael looked up at her, smiling widely. "But hey, if you had listened to me, I'd never have gotten to see you all mad and ripping your clothes off in the taxi."
He's joking…about Panama…that part, at least. Angela let out a relieved laugh. She wanted to kiss him full on the mouth. Instead, she took another swig of punch.
Joe laughed and waved him off, "My wife's like that, too. I've been an orthopedic surgeon for 18 years, but when she sprained her ankle, she wouldn't exercise it until her best friend told her it was probably a good idea to listen to me." He shook his head, "I think it's in the fine print of the wedding vows or something."
Michael laughed, and Angela dutifully took up the woman's case. "Yeah, you boys talk a big game, but look me in the eye and tell me you didn't wish you knew half of what she knows about your kids."
Michael scoffed, "Hell, I wish I knew half of what you know, period."
Angela's head spun toward him.
Joe laughed loudly and clinked his empty bottle against Michael's punch cup. "To smart women!"
"May we someday deserve them!" Michael finished, raising his glass high in the air.
Angela nearly fell off a cliff.
Joe looked down at his empty plate. "Man, those shrimp puffs were alright! I'm gonna go get some more. Excuse me." He got up and left them in a now unblocked beam of faint, purple light.
Angela stared at Michael for several glorious seconds and felt herself start to slide down to him on the cushions.
Wendy bustled right up next to her carrying a bunch of lit candles, and Angela stopped sliding. "Angela! Will you please help me bring these to the kitchen?"
Michael looked up at Wendy like she was crazy, but Angela just kept looking at Michael. I've always wanted him to think-
Wendy leaned down near Angela with her armload of flames, "Angela! I could really use your help!"
Angela turned her head and swiftly blew out the candles. "Careful," Angela said almost absently, returning her attention to Michael. "You could get hurt…"
Wendy sighed and slowly stood up, "Yeah. Thank you." She slumped back toward the kitchen, shaking her head at Isabel.
Michael frowned as he watched her leave. "That was weird," he said, turning back to Angela.
She hadn't looked away from him. "What was?"
His eyebrows went up, trying to get her attention. "Wendy. The candles?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?"
Okay? I want to climb all over you, right here! My, God. Where you have you been our whole marriage?
Just then, Isabel turned down the stereo, carefully stepped her pointy black heels up onto the hearth, and addressed the crowd. "May I have your attention for a moment, everyone?" The room quieted, save for the inorganic fog, beastly howls, and rattling of chains. "I just wanted to speak up and say how much I appreciate my dear friend's generosity tonight!" She clapped, inviting the room to join her. "This is a spectacular party, and I'm just so grateful for friends who love to celebrate together and have a good time-" Isabel looked at Angela, then at her glass of punch comically, "–not too good a time – this is my second one…" she laughed nervously, and the rest of the room joined her. "But a good time, nonetheless!" She lifted her glass. "To friends!"
"To friends!" the room chanted. Angela mouthed the phrase along with everyone else, but nothing came out. She gave a little sobering shake to her head.
"Thanks, again, Wendy!" Isabel smiled. "…Herb," she said quieter, and started to step down.
"Oh, you don't have to get down just yet!" Herb yelled ruefully, the steely jingle of chains backing him up.
After a second, from the couch, Michael spoke just as loud, looking directly at Herb. "Shut. Up."
"What? It was a great toast, and you're all very welcome!" Herb bellowed with his arms outstretched. Scowling at Michael, Herb walked to the stereo. "But let's get this going again!" He turned it up even louder than it was before.
Angela looked around, but she didn't see Wendy. She couldn't find Isabel, either. Angela leaned over and put one hand on Michael's cheek and kissed the other side. "I'll be back," she said quickly and got up to go find them.
Michael's hand brushed hers as she let go and fluttered off toward the kitchen.
Angela ran out to the back yard, but it was so dark, she couldn't see anything past the well-lit deck. Going back inside, she hurried up the stairs. She checked the master bedroom, bathrooms, even closets. She walked past Jenny's room and her eyes flickered when she thought she saw a movement inside.
Slowly creaking the door open, Angela found Wendy and Isabel on the floor by the foot of Jenny's bed. Carrying her heels, Angela stepped across the soft carpet and sat down on the other side of Wendy. None of them said anything; they just sat in a row, leaning their backs against the bed. Straight in front of them, past the French doors of Jenny's balcony, the darkness wanted in.
"You should get going," Wendy looked down at her knees, then up at each lady. "I don't know what time it is, but it's probably really late."
"It's 12:03," Isabel said, matter-of-factly, "and I couldn't care less."
If it were any other night, Angela would've said the same. But even with her dear friends snapping her out of her Michael-trance, she still knew he was waiting for her downstairs. Plus, her confusion about him didn't go away just because she was thinking more level-headed. In fact, it was worse. And she felt terribly guilty. Them coming to my rescue is what started this whole disaster, and I can't spare them a few - well, even a lot - of time?
Wendy smiled a little and squeezed both of her friends' hands. She looked beseechingly at Angela, "Well, you've got Michael waiting for you down there. This has been embarrassing enough as it is. Please go, Angela. Thank you for being with me," she finished quietly.
Angela nodded quickly, and kissed both of their cheeks. She formed a tight group hug before she got up to go.
Just before Angela made it to the door, Wendy said quietly, "Tell Michael I said, 'Thanks'?"
Angela turned around and nodded seriously. She twisted the knob when she shut the door, leaving her friends in the sacred deference they deserved.
Angela swung her shoes dejectedly as she plopped down each stair. She found Michael leaning against the corner of an alcove, arms crossed. Angela walked right into him and hugged him solidly. Michael squeezed her tightly back, under her wings, and kissed the top of her head. Leaning his face down to her, he asked, "Can we go home now?"
Home? She nodded quickly, a tear rolling down her cheek. 'We' don't have a home. But whatever it is, it's better than here.
She slipped on her shoes, and Michael led her out to the front porch with his hand at her waist. Angela didn't know where Wendy had put her shawl, but she could get it later. She hugged herself against the wind and Michael yanked off his BDU top. He was about to throw it around her shoulders, when he was reminded of her enormously intrusive wings. "May I?" he said, a little annoyed.
She nodded, and he unclipped them and helped her into the oversized shirt. Snugging it close at the neck, Michael let go and put his arm around her. They walked to their house, huddled together, Angela pressing as close to him as possible, Michael's free arm dangling the wings.
Angela took off the Army shirt and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair.
"You want some coffee?" Angela asked distractedly, rubbing her now-chilled arms.
Michael dropped his cap on the table and put his thumbs in his pockets. "Sure. Thanks," he said quietly.
He leaned up against the counter and watched Angela fill the coffee pot. "Is Herb always like that?"
Angela shrugged, "Once is too much."
Something hardened in Michael's face, but he didn't respond.
Angela flicked on the button and looked over at him. "Wendy asked me to thank you."
He made a slow nod.
She turned her whole body toward him and latched her eyes with his. "But I wanted to thank you, too. From me."
A little, warm smile came to Michael's serious face, and he stepped forward. Angela started to breathe faster. She could almost see her steadiness, and whatever resolve she had, disintegrate into dust before her.
What. Do. I. Do?
Angela looked down at the floor for answers and Michael stopped.
Gently, he tipped up her chin. "What is it?" he asked almost too quiet to hear.
With tears in her eyes, a full-on cry asked him, "Do you want to sit on the couch?"
He let out a confused laugh. "Okay."
Forgetting the coffee, Angela took his hand and walked to the living room, wiping her eyes with her free hand as she went. She sat down, scootched all the way to the back of the couch, and he sat next to her.
After a second, Michael made an irresolute motion to put his arm up on the back of the couch. Angela was still looking forward, stiff as a board.
Finally, Michael sighed, "Angela, what's wrong?"
Taking a breath, Angela looked down to her lap, then up to his face. "I've wanted to be held for a really long time."
Michael's face looked relieved, "Wel-"
"Just held," Angela interrupted. "I miss you so much. But I am seriously frozen in regard to anything else. But you don't like to just hold me. It's work for you. I'd feel like I were being mean if I asked - and patronized if you said yes."
Michael brought his hands around and waved them in front of himself. "Wa-wa-wait…You're getting all congested, here. What do you want?"
Without hesitating, she turned her seated self to face him. "I want that man I was with tonight to really be you." Michael's face noticeably hardened, but she kept going, speaking with a deep sincerity. "You were sweet, and kind, and easy-going, and-" she put her fingers lightly up to the side of his chin and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. "Absolutely valiant," she finished quietly, brushing her lips against his.
She slowly sat back on her cushion but kept eye contact. They both were breathing deeper and acting less inclined to speak.
After a second, Michael leaned forward. Right before he got to her mouth, she asked in a tiny voice, "When will this stop, Michael?" A tear fell down her face and a frown formed on his.
"What?" he asked, drawing back a little.
"When are you going to leave me?"
"Wednesday. We fly out this Wednesday. That's been my point, we don't have-"
"No. I mean, when are you going to yell at me, accuse me, break my heart…? How long do I have?" she cried.
Michael slumped back against the couch and exhaled. "When am I going t-" he looked at her. "…You ever hear of a self-fulfilling prophecy? Shit." He shook his head.
Angela turned fully toward him and looked him in the eye. "Michael, don't you know me at all? Don't you know how much I want you?"
He threw his arms up. "Angela, if you want to, then do it! I'm right here!"
Full of pain, and fighting the will to care, Angela slowly reached out to finger his hair. He seems so real…but I know he's a ghost.
With a blink, Michael's face softened and he leaned toward her again. Her eyes were covered in tears, but she thought he was alternating glances between her eyes and her mouth. Not that it mattered. All she could see was Michael at the party. His darling smile. His uplifting speech. His daring protection. That's one hell of a costume, mister.
Angela wanted to pretend. She touched his warm jaw, the midnight stubble poking into the pads of her fingers. Sucking in her breath, his lips softly reached hers. Her heart thumped fast and hard.
She kissed him back, her other hand curving around his side as he scooted close to her. He kissed her harder, deeper, six months of power behind every motion. And then muscle memory, nearly seven years in the making, orchestrated the fluidlike return of his body over hers. Before she completely melded into him, she took a huge breath and put her palms against his chest. "Wait," she pushed.
Breathing heavily, he held himself on his palms above her. "What?"
Desperately wanting to smooth things over, or maybe just to shamelessly steal, Angela reached her chin up and kissed his throat. Squeezing her eyes shut, she kissed him again, down his chest, nearer her, as her tears exceeded her eyes.
Slowly, Michael lowered back down to her face, leaning on his elbow. When she saw his eyes, she whispered, "Please don't leave me, Michael." She kissed his unmoving mouth and moved her hands around him to hold his back. "Please don't leave me."
Michael's brows scrunched, "Angela…I'm. I'm leaving on Wednesday."
"No!" She cried. "I told you. I don't mean-"
"I do!" Michael interrupted. "We don't have to be apart! That's so much of our problem. So much of our tension is related to what little time we have together." He gently slid wisps of her hair between the fingers of his other hand. "But you can still come with me. I'll rush around. I'll make it work! I want you with me!"
Angela tried to cry silently with her eyes shut, digging her nails into his t-shirt. If he could just understand!
"Angela…I don't have to leave."
Her eyes flew open, but he was still blurry.
"I want to. Talbot moved up and his position is open. That's the promotion. He wants me to take it, but I'm never going to be happy in Manhattan. I have to be outside. This will always be an issue with us, and it's not going to get better. Please come with me. Be with me!"
Refusing to let go of his back, Angela leaned up to wipe her eyes on his shoulder. She leaned back and sniffed. "I can't," her tiny voice demanded.
Exhaling, Michael licked his lips and looked up, past her head. He took a couple of breaths, then looked back down at her. "Well…then let's – finally - enjoy tonight." He leaned down and kissed her lips.
"I can't," she said soberly.
Michael blinked and pulled back. "What?" he said, confused.
"Michael, I'm not okay. I can't keep playing Russian Roulette with you. I need us to be steadier." She could see him getting angry in a hurry, and she found that the fresh tears it inspired helped her. If nothing else, when she couldn't focus on his eyes, it was easier to hold the line.
For many seconds all he did was stare down at her with his mouth open. Then he started to gulp and stutter. "So… all this? …Th-this whole night…?" He slowly pushed himself up. "The dress?" He squeaked, shaking his head. "All these months? ...Damn it, Angela!" He dropped his head into his hands, and then popped it back up. "…You're really not going to-? Not even before I leave for half a year!?"
"Michael, I want to. I promise. I'm so sorry-" She was breathing heavily. She knew she screwed up and she knew it wasn't all her fault. But it didn't matter. It all just feels like shit.
Michael swiped his hand in the air, "Save it!" Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he raked his fingers through his hair as he processed.
She bit her lip and sat up, pushing her weight onto her extended arms holding the couch cushions where she sat. She felt like a teenager. Maybe it was being scolded. Maybe it was feeling scared to have sex. Whatever it was, it left her feeling immature and wrong.
But I'm not a teenager. And even if I took more than I should've from him tonight, I didn't get here on my own. I'm not ready. Whether he's leaving in two days or not, is completely irrelevant.
Angela exhaled and sat back against the couch. I'm able to own my part, if he's able to hear it. She took another breath, "Michael-"
Michael whipped his glare toward her. "I told you. I don't want to hear your excuses, Angela. Do you have any idea how much I look forward to being with you? Even if we can't get our heads on straight 99 times out of a hundred, we've never missed goodbye sex. Even after Panama! We held onto each other. We wouldn't let go. And now you are." He stood up and powered toward the kitchen door.
Turning around, Michael squinted his eyes down at her, "I'd say, 'Go fuck yourself!' but we both know you're just a tease." Shoving through with both palms, he blew out, leaving the door swinging behind him.
A/N: I took two phrases from the show and popped 'em in here for good measure.
In the last chapter, there was Angela's blessing over future events (taken from the pilot), where she decides "to let whatever happens happen".
The other was in this chapter, when Isabel (pre-?) references Tony's warning from It Happened One Summer to "have fun…[but] not too much fun".
Those aren't mine, but I had a good time including them. ;)
We're getting there, guys! Thanks, again, for hanging with me.
