Mayumi Hernandez, Alone At The Bar. 
It felt like the beginning of a bad joke, the kind Angel liked to make from behind a TV screen or a set of prison bars. Jokes weren’t their thing, but any supervillain worth their salt was a bit of a performer. Of course, this meant that, by some authorial writing rule, Angel’s nemesis had to be broody and serious and boring. He sat at the bar, tan fedora somehow casting dark shadows over his entire face, save for one eye glaring out tormentedly.
“I’ll have… my usual,” Kendall declared, staring off into the middle distance. The bartender, who Kendall insisted on calling ‘barkeep’ despite his name tag clearly saying ‘Ethan,’ sighed quietly. “And what would that be?”
“The strongest thing you got. I have a case.”
Kendall didn’t have time for friends, for simpler minds who didn’t know what it was like to go toe-to-toe with superhuman evils, protecting the city from their schemes. But sometimes, explaining his cases to Barkeep helped him get a new perspective.
“My nemesis has returned. The vile Fallen Angel, scourge of the Vegas strip. I got her arrested, she broke out, I got her arrested again, and she broke out again.” Barkeep nodded, clearly hanging onto every word. “But now, her own criminal allies have turned against her.” Kendall leaned in conspiratorially, a horrible cigar suddenly between his fingers, the kind that belonged staunchly in the 1940’s. Ethan could’ve sworn that he hadn’t walked in wearing that long brown trench coat, but he was wearing one now.
“I went to the black market.”
A group of women laughed from the booth across the bar, and Kendall lowered his voice further. “This item,” he said, pulling out something that looked suspiciously like a teal scented candle, “can shut off any… superhuman abilities.” There was a button on the bottom of the candle.
“Need a light?” Angel said, beside him at the bar. The cigar was between his lips now, though it fell as he realized who she was.
“You.”
“Me.” She said it with a smile, the lighter she had offered still extended. The gears seemed to turn slowly in his mind. He was probably monologuing. Only the snap of her beginning to put it away shook him out of it. “Aren’t you going to attack me?” he managed incredulously.
Angel shrugged. “I’m off the clock.”
“Justice never sleeps.”
“Justice doesn’t seem to have a problem getting drunk, though. Anyway, I wouldn’t go after you now. You’re no match for me without the whole pyrokinesis bit.” That was too true for Kendall’s taste. She was nearly his height, decent at hand-to-hand combat, and while he didn’t know it, she had a revolver in her other hand.
She what? Kendall thought, looking down at the hand of hers that was beneath the bar counter. Oh. It was true. That made no sense. How had he known?
“What are you even doing here?”
“I’m out with friends. Getting out of jail certainly calls for a celebration, right? Not that you’d know anything about that, having friends.” (Kendall, as longtime readers will know, went to prison in issue #28.)
“It makes sense that you’d have no issue finding people on your level,” Kendall retorted.
“I’m not the one who’s difficult to be around.”
She had no business saying that. Kendall felt rage build up inside him, that this villain would call him ‘difficult’. Well, I never said that. I suppose to lesser minds, I may seem distant.
This is the part where he gets mad. No. I’m actually feeling pretty good right now, he thought, incorrectly. That magic plot device was doing a whole lot more than just shutting off his powers, it seemed.
“I’m…”
You’re the hero. You know what you’re supposed to do. Don’t give in to temptation. Kendall traced the rim of his shot glass, listening in to the fabric of his world. Did she hear it too?
“Could I buy you a drink?”
No, what? You have a job to do. Angel. You can’t possibly agree to this. She smiles. A real smile, one that never should’ve been possible. Angel is evil. The name’s a misnomer. That’s how she was written.
She sits down beside him, and tells him about a life she was never supposed to have lived. She’s, all of a sudden, so real. And at the end of the evening, when it’s time for the hero to walk his nemesis home, she tilts her head as if she can almost hear the rustling pages that no longer bind her.