that's the angle.

Angelo’s answer made M’gann slump her cheek onto one hand. “Gee, whatever could you be after that isn’t volatile or radioactive.” Theft was still theft, even if she was in no mood to take Angelo out for stealing, say, a painting from some wealthy bigwig. “Why do you even bother? You seem like you’re set for life. Is it the thrill?” she asked hopelessly. 

“Can you teleport yourself?” M’gann asked, easing off of her cheek and tilting her head to the side. “Sorry. There’s such a wide range within all of these powersets. I’m just curious.” It was the truth. M’gann was easily fascinated and eager, ever eager, to learn more. About everything. Truly, learning was among life’s greatest pleasures to M’gann. It was that same curiosity that had brought her to Earth. The same that had led her to improve her own skills. 

M’gann looked down. “We were sisters.” She swallowed. “I know that I’ll never amount to the same level of sisterhood Donna and Diana share, but I was one of Diana’s mentees as well.” It was clear that M’gann was afraid that such a discrepancy was the reason Donna had been so difficult to pin down. “We spent our days together. Sparring, traveling, fighting crime. Watching movies in the dark so scary I had to snake around her for safety.” The thought made her feel like a terrible person, especially when Donna and Diana were so very good. It made her feel like she didn’t deserve the right to be called sister. “I miss her. ”

That was the thing about these superhero types—so many of them were so earnest. Angelo almost, almost felt the tiniest flicker of shame at the clear disappointment in M’gann’s pinched little face, then let the feeling flutter away into the wind. “Why do we do anything we do, Miss M’orzz?” he asked unhelpfully, then focused on her questions instead. “Myself, objects, and other people, yes. Though personally I prefer to just teleport long distances and play with angles instead. I find that my capers are much more fun that way.” 

She bit her lip, trying hard not to gasp or show pity in her eyes. Angelo probably didn’t want pity. He certainly didn’t need it. “Have you really stopped stealing? No more major capers?” M’gann regarded him with a softness she hadn’t been able to afford moments before. “I don’t suppose you’ve taken up any, er, new hobbies in your spare time,” she said, hinting at hero work. “I… I’m afraid I don’t think I know what your exact gift is other than that it has something to do with angles.” More or less.  

M’gann quirked her head to the side. Obvious? It took her a moment, but once she understood, once she was given confirmation, M’gann found herself feeling the slightest bit sad. She tried hard to smile and kicked herself inwardly for not being entirely delighted as she should be. It wasn’t that she was not amazed and overjoyed that Donna was alive, after all. Far from it!

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen her yet, myself,” she quietly admitted. “I was away for a time and even now that I’ve returned and she’s returned,” M’gann looked away, misting up, “we appear to be two ships in the night. Oh, I am sorry.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t happen at all often that anyone should return from beyond and I want to see her so desperately, but we keep missing each other! It’s eating me up inside.”

“Mm...” Angelo was an excellent liar, though he doubted that would mean anything when speaking with a telepath. And somehow—he remembered, idly, how the little Martian had eyed Donna’s sister worriedly, all those years ago, how she’d drifted towards her side—he doubted that lying to someone who was likely considered a friend by Donna was a wise thing to do. Those Wonder Women and their preoccupation with truth and whatnot. So. “It depends on what you define as major,” he replied cheerfully. “I promise that I haven’t stolen anything radioactive or volatile, as far as I know. Nothing your people would be called for. That surely is something?” he asked with a grin that as just-barely short of smarmy. “And the gift, my dear, is teleportation and bending gravity. Quite handy in my business, and generally fairly harmless.”

But the redhead across from him seemed to dim at his admission about Donna, and he straightened up a bit. How odd.

“Honestly, Angelo. You don’t have anything to worry about . Going gray is simply a part of life,” M’gann said as she pulled a single gray hair from under her red locks with a little smile. “See? Even I have one or two.” She leaned her head back to stretch as she made a psychic check that absolutely no one was watching them before she looked back at him, herself, but not herself. She’d aged herself a graceful thirty years in half a second. Still beautiful, still collected, but a matured face with a softer red filled with strands of gray. Then the moment passed and she ran a hand over her face. “Ah, to be young again.”

She nodded in grim understanding. Heroes such as herself and, yes, even lesser criminals like Angelo, were working in the open every day. They drew much of the attention away from the Mousehole, at least. “A simple entrepreneur,” M’gann repeated quietly, almost under her breath, but still with a smile. “And where, pray tell, do your interests lie in Sokovia?” 

M’gann frowned, leaning forward on her elbows to get a better look at him. Barbara Minerva. “Cheetah? Goodness gracious, Angelo.” She held herself back from reaching out to gently inspect his face for scratch marks. “I’m so sorry. Are you quite alright? When was this?”

She signaled the waiter for a second mineral water for herself, smiling sweetly before settling back in to look at her menu as well. Without intending to, she found herself glancing up at him in concern.

Perhaps the little Martian was less severe than he’d initially thought, Angelo figured, given her shenanigans. It was impossible not to crack a smile and raise a brow at her shifting self. But they had other things to discuss, didn’t they?

…

The phone in her hand was ringing, and Donna stared at her for several rings. Answering it would be the simple solution, but nothing about this was simple. Even in her lifetime (short for an Amazon, long in Man’s World), this was the first she’d experienced anything like this; the curse had loomed over head like a stormy, ever-brewing cloud since before she’d left home….and while Donna knew the power of magic and the gods and fate, she’d questioned its validity until it had manifested in a very real and tangible way. She was Stacey Hinkley and Donna Troy, somehow having had lived two lives where she could remember everything. Two lives, two people, tangled and knotted into one being in a way that may drive her mad. Nothing about this was simple, not even answering a phone call. “Ciao.” She’d answered on the last ring, deciding she may as well fully jump in since she’d already taken the plunge. “I’ve been working through some rebrand related issues,” an understatement, considering the identity crisis, “and you know, I think I remember you saying that Troia meant something very unsavory in Italian. Figured I might need to go right back to the source, for ease.”

Embarrassingly, Angelo’s breath caught. Nothing that could be heard over the phone, nothing so loud, but—he realized, the moment Donna spoke (mocking him, as she was wont to do,) that he had forgotten what her voice sounded like. 

Nearly seven-years dead, it was no wonder. And yet he’d thought that he’d kept her memory alive, only to find that it absolutely paled in comparison to the real thing. Even miles away, with the quiet almost-fuzz of cellphone service. She spoke to him as though they hadn’t chatted in seven days, not seven years, and Angelo, ever calm, felt a bit unsteady at the barstool at his kitchen counter. 

He was silent for probably a beat or two too long before he was able to string together a response. “It was a horrible superhero name, yes,” he said, voice coming steadier than he had expected. Almost disconnected from his brain. “What alternatives have you come up with?”

She shot him a coy little grin. How fine it was to hit a nerve on Angelo ‘Last Name Unknown’ Angleman. “Sorry, it’s just that one gray hair. It’s rather eye-catching. You look very distinguished,” M’gann teased, knowing full well that there was no such hair on his impeccably well-groomed head. “Silver foxes get the silver fox treatment, sir.” 

There was something about the way that strange man looked at Donna’s photos that made M’gann worry. She worried about so many things these days. Diana, first and foremost. Her team. Her own future on the team after she failed to protect… Failed to protect… And now this man who was gazing over Donna’s photos with such longing that she could swear…

M’gann huffed. “Why, thank you, Angelo.” She allowed him to spin her out a bit to show off the detail in her skirt. So many different pies. Each one detailed enough to eat. “Your suit is also quite dashing.” They wandered over to an outdoor table. All the better to speak without being overheard. “Lunch would be delightful, thank you. Oh, I’ve been around. Maybe not making headlines these days, but who is?” She took off her light straw hat and tucked it into her purse. “I suppose it’s easier for quite a few people in these quiet European countries, if you’re here and I’m here. Less press. More to do. So what about you?” she rhymed. 

.

If nothing else, it was at least fun to converse with a superhero who had a sense of humor. So many of them were so terribly stuffy—even Donna had needed a bit of instruction on how to relax into enjoying some banter. Angelo supposed it wasn’t for everyone. Do-gooders were such a boring bunch.

Angelo folded himself across from the alien with an entertained hum, unbuttoning the blazer of his suit as he settled in comfortably. “Who indeed,” he replied airily, though they both knew the answer: a number of them. Whether through foolishness or fearlessness, he wasn’t sure. “Oh, me?” he asked rhetorically, smile sharp. “I’m but a simple entrepreneur, Miss M’orzz. And I assure you that none of my business is half so interesting that it should warrant your attention. Or that of your friends. I learned my lesson after that overgrown feline, Barbara Minerva, nearly tore me to shreds.” 

…

The phone in her hand was definitely dated by technology standards, the one she’d been actively using up until recently much more recent and new. The one in hand was like a time capsule, flashes of her life before it had ended and before she’d somehow become Stacey Hinkley - photos, messages, memories that were able to be relived and to sort her life from Stacey’s and rearrange everything into order. In truth, she was surprised he’d responded at all - there was no saying he’d had the same contact, that he’d even have this number saved. So many variables were to be considered, and so Donna was genuinely a little surprise when the old and familiar phone vibrated in her hand when she was mid photo gallery scroll, his message popping up onto the screen. Naturally, he’d assume ill will - there was no surprise there, considering the circumstances. Donna Troy was dead, had been dead for seven years. [ TXT ] It’s hardly plundering. Hard to plunder one’s own possessions, you see. [ TXT ] Not to mention, Wonder Woman was quite pleased to give them back to me. 

Almost immediately, he received a response. A little whoosh as the first appeared, and then as he stared down at it, another for the second. His mind, usually so quick and calculating, felt—

Sluggish. Stuck. As though he didn’t understand the language they were communicating in, though he surely did. No matter how many times Angelo re-read the texts, they meant the same impossible thing. Impossible, but... 

His thumb flicked across the screen and before he could think too deeply about it, he was raising his phone to his ear. 

@thatstheangle april 2021.

The clarity that she’d found was incredible - sharp, clearer than crystal with everything that had been blurry and strange for the past seven years suddenly making sense. The haze that she’d been living in had finally cleared, she could see clearly now and the clarity was both incredibly relieving and overwhelming. One step at a time, one day at a time, she was re-learning life as Donna Troy; Stacey Hinkley was no more, had been so real even if Donna felt like she was waking up from a too-long dream. One day at a time. She could do one day at a time, breathe a little easier after each one. There were still things to handle, pieces to slide into place, and one particular loose thread had been rather perplexing in how she was best to handle it. One day at a time. One breath at a time. Hell, he might not even be able to be contacted the same way any more - it had been so long, after all. [ TXT ] I’ve been staring at my phone, trying to figure out the best thing to say or the best opening. [ TXT ] Maybe you can help me find my angle?

Angelo stared down at his phone, the bite of quiche he’d speared on his fork clattering, noisily, onto his plate. The sound echoed even as he blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. 

Because the text he’d received had come from a contact he hadn’t spoken with for nearing on seven years. Someone he hadn’t spoken with because she was dead. All of the messages they’d shared with one another had been lost with time, the only things he’d saved having been a couple of pictures of her and a voicemail he hadn’t listened to in about three years. 

—But. This was ridiculous. Angelo hesitated, then shook his head, disdain overcoming his shock as he typed out a quick response, uncaring whether this was some sort of trap. If it was, he had full faith that he could escape it. What this was... This was tacky. In the worst way. Gauche. Disgraceful.

M’gann remained unruffled, despite nearly swallowing her tongue to keep herself from retorting with a ‘Hello, Mister’ to a person whose last name she did not know. That moment of hesitation gave him the opening he needed to take her arm in his. Smooth. It did, at least, send the last of the nosier passersby off the scent of intrigue and action. 

She gave him a rather pointed look and then rolled her eyes. “You look well, Angelo. Almost like someone who wasn’t spending the waning days of his youth evading arrest.” Her tone was friendly, despite the harshness of the words. M’gann decided that she would leave it up to Angelo to decipher whether she meant every bit of righteous indignation or if she was simply toying with him. Or both. 

M’gann eyed him warily from across the room. In her grief, it had taken some time to process his telepathic signature, but once she had there was no doubt. He was the only one of his kind at the proceedings. The only one M’gann had noticed so far. A criminal. Yet he seemed to be genuinely remorseful… Not a speck of malicious intent on his surface mind. Only mourning, the same as hers. Almost… 

“I would say it was a half-truth that turned a whole-truth the moment you laid eyes on me, dearest.” She added the last bit for the benefit of yet another interested shopkeeper. Between their good looks and their fine clothing, especially his, they would be drawing attention for as long as they were out and about. “Or perhaps it was my dress.” A classic a-line patterned with pies on a robin’s egg blue background. She allowed him to lead her wherever he had in mind. For the time being.

.

“Waning? Now, that’s just cruel,” Angelo noted, though—well. He had been younger when she’d seen him last, hadn’t he?

Donna Troy’s photography was lovely. She’d clearly been well-traveled, and yet—Angelo’s eyes had caught on a picture or two where he thought, ‘I could have taken her to a more perfect angle,’ or ‘I could have shown her what this place looked like from the inside.’ So many missed opportunities, time they’d thought was infinite; spent lingering on teasing messages and phone calls. Wasted without even having told her his name, relishing that she still called him by his moniker, that she was waiting his name out patiently. 

‘I should have told her my name,’ Angelo thought, as he turned from a portrait of the sisters and caught Miss Martian’s eye; inclined his head and ducked his gaze. 

“I, unlike you, am very kind and will say that your dress is lovely,” Angelo complimented dutifully as he meandered them towards a café. “You have excellent taste. And as I see I’m not escaping anytime soon, I suppose lunch is in order?” he suggested with an easy smile, cocking his head to the side. “I’m more curious as to what you are doing here, after having just about disappeared off the face of the earth for years.” 

@thatstheangle​

There she was minding her own business, just walking down the street in Matchak when she picked him up. M'gann looked furiously in the direction of his telepathic signature and sure enough, there he was. There he was!

He had the nerve to be here in broad daylight! She stomped over to him, fully prepared to hoist him up by his ankles to interrogate him. But they weren’t alone. 

She changed tactics. 

It appeared gentle and it was gentle enough. Gentle enough to show that she had restraint, but could hold him much harder than that. She pressed him against the wall. “Man of angles,” she hissed. “Do not think that I—”

She brushed his elbow accidentally as they silently passed each other. There was nothing to say. No apology necessary at such an event. M'gann merely nodded and walked back to Diana. Diana, who needed her a little more now that Donna had… Now that Donna was…

“ —Have forgotten you.” Someone looked at her strangely and she turned her hiss to a more familiar whisper. Almost sensual, as she grabbed his wrist to keep him from trying anything. “What are you doing here, Angelo?”

.

What was it with his luck? And why were all these people so constantly sure that he was up to no good? Angelo blamed Wonder Woman’s influence. And here he’d thought that the amazon’s opinion of him had improved all that time ago in their shared grief. (No, genuinely. Perhaps the one thing he wouldn’t joke about. And he could be blasé about so much.) And certainly after the kindness he’d done her amnesiac lover! 

Typical. You steal a few paintings (and artifacts and jewels and—well, anyway) to keep food on your table, and how the superheroes turn on you...

“Hello, Miss M’orzz,” Angelo replied magnanimously, at least pleased that she remembered him. He rested his hand over the little one at his wrist, tucking his arm close and inclining his head; it would appear to onlookers rather that he was escorting the lovely lady somewhere, rather than being accosted in the street. “And it’s lovely to see you again as well,” he added, a smile in his accented voice, just to be annoying. “Would you believe if I said I was enjoying the local cuisine?”

x

Discretion was not a useless specialty to have, particularly regarding the current topic of discussion. Scott’s scrutiny of Angelo had increased with the revelation of how privy he was to the secrets of Sokovia’s fugitive hero population. He would not allow this man to create a threat for them. He resolved to speak with Donna Troi, though they were not close. The Justice League’s collaborations with the Avengers and the X-Men in New York made him familiar with her. Their acquaintance ended there, but perhaps she could be forthcoming about the kind of man Angelo was. Scott did often rely on his instincts regarding new faces, but without any context he couldn’t pass judgement on Angelo. He had to accept his word. Donna could confirm if his word was worth anything at all, or if this was a security risk which should be addressed with leadership. “We would appreciate discretion,” he said.

“I like kids, but I don’t have much ground in Sokovia. I only just got here. I don’t know if my scolding could get them to change. Has Donna addressed it at all? As the subject, she must have earned some of their respect.”

.

“I believe she’s tried, but the children seem insistent,” Angelo noted, shrugging. “I have no idea how one goes about asking children to do things, but I hear that little ones can be quite disagreeable with they want to be.” Ah, he really didn’t like children in theory. Donna’s little hangers-on were tolerable, but just that much and little more. 

It wasn’t particularly fun, people-watching in Matchak; most folks were wan and seemed fairly miserable to be alive and kicking, though their clench-jawed grit was admirable. But every now and then, when Angelo found himself there waiting on his companion (who really needed to keep better track of time), he found his eyes wandering. 

Often, he wondered if he could clock her people out in the wild. He’d succeeded a couple times before, after all; they weren’t all so very subtle. 

But this time...

He saw someone he recognized. Angelo’s eyes narrowed. And then he smoothed the expression away, reaching into his jacket to get a grip on his angler—

@thatstheangle

While she may have mastered different accents over the years, languages were a different story. Mary Jane had grown up speaking English and Spanish, knew some basics in a few other languages (enough to smile and wave her way through premieres, maybe a little more if she really studied), though her Sokovian was still not where she wanted it to be. She was sure that was yet another criticism somewhere on the internet, found her teeth gritting together with a clenched jaw every time she thought or that or stumbled through a particularly difficult conversation. Ordering lunch should not be so difficult, and Google translate was useless in this department. “ – You go ahead.” The crowds surrounding some of the stalls in the markets were growing, and MJ took a few steps back as she tried to gather the words she needed in an order that made sense. “I’m still figuring out my order.”

For all that he’d usually consider ordering street food out of the window of a run-down old building beneath him, Angelo had to give it to the Sokovians—they knew how to barbecue. He’d never order pasta in the country again after the last time he’d tried, but a pljeskavica for the road before he headed back home where no one could watch him inhale it? Now, that sounded like a lovely idea.

The waver in his smile told her all she had to know. There was still something there. It was reassuring in a way. She had died, come back to life, found a new way in this new world, and still could rely on his affection for her. Perhaps it was the most honest thing about him.

Months of affection and contact had not dulled his irritating nature, nor his penchant for thievery but, behind that, she was beginning to see the warmth in his voice when he spoke of things he loved, the light in his eyes when she offered up a gesture of care.

She smiled at the boys, who were watching with rapt attention, and ruffled their hair. “Eat your cake,” she scolded gently in Sokovian before glancing back up at Angelo and canting her head slightly. “Perhaps some day,” she said, switching back to English.

Angelo hid a smile behind his cappuccino at Donna’s confirmation, though he was sure she’d be able to see the brightness in his eyes. Whatever that possible ‘some day’ might have relied on wasn’t something he’d trouble himself with; it was either meant to be, or it wasn’t, and Angelo was content just spending time with Donna until then.

x

“My people?” He repeated. Scott was unclear on how much Angelo knew about the situation here in Sokovia. He wouldn’t confirm or deny the accusation, especially not before Angelo explained what he meant. He had Scott’s attention for a difference reason, caution settling over his shoulders and straightening the casual slope of them. He subtly transferred his weight, evenly distributing it as his eyes remained trained on the man in front of him, awaiting his elaboration.

He only had a working knowledge of the events surrounding the discovery of the murals, but the report mentioned the frequency with which they were appearing. “Makes sense that they would. If it’s important enough to paint the first time, it’s probably worth touching up.”

.

“Excuse me, possibly your people,” Angelo corrected with a puckish grin, unbothered. “I’ve only met a handful thus far. Donna, Scarlet Witch, Wonder Girl, Superman. But I figure that means there are more than these few around. Worry not, I’ve gotten the impression that discretion is appreciated, and discretion happens to be my specialty.” And how.