Fic: Medley of Extemporanea (Angel/Lindsey) PG13

[idyll]

Title: Medley of Extemporanea
Pairing: Angel/Lindsey
Timeline: Future-fic set post-Not Fade Away
Note: rubywisp and violetsmiles pulled beta duty for this. Ruby also provided me with the pairing and scenario because I can whinge and moan like you wouldn't believe.

*

Medley of Extemporanea

Downtown Pittsburgh after nine at night is a sad and pathetic entity made up of empty streets, darkened buildings, gated storefronts and so few people that sometimes a person gets a little startled when he comes across another soul. Downtown Pittsburgh at three in the morning? Exponentially more sad and pathetic.

Lindsey's standing on the corner of Liberty and Smithfield, in the midst of what feels like a wind tunnel because this area is surrounded by rivers and there's no escaping the wind. Especially in the middle of February. He'd rather be anywhere else, but he's only got himself to blame.

"I don't know why you insisted on here. At this time," his companion complains.

Lindsey glances at the statuesque Balrosh demon standing to his right. Her name's Carmen and she's got six inches on Lindsey. Not to mention broader shoulders, preternatural strength, thick cartilage-like skin that takes a bit of strength to pierce, and more innate magic than he could shake a stick at. But she's far too cocky for her own good. "Because it's safer," he reminds her.

"He comes very highly--"

"Save it," Lindsey says, holding up a hand. "I don't want to hear this guy's references again. He's a stranger, coming into our territory to beg for something he apparently really fucking wants from us. If you don't think that'll make him a mite desperate and unpredictable, you're fooling yourself."

Carmen raises a dark black eyebrow. "I managed to run this region just fine for decades before you got here, Lindsey. Don't talk to me like I'm some naïve human."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not. I'm talking to you like you're an arrogant demon who thinks she's damn near invulnerable on her own turf. You take too many chances, and that's your own business. But when it involves me, I like a little more security."

"Oh, please. You're an incorrigible adrenaline junkie."

Lindsey flashes her a grin. "Well, yeah. But I don't go skydiving without a 'chute."

"At least not anymore," Carmen adds wryly.

Lindsey shrugs. "What's this guy willing to pay?"

"About three times the highest going rate," Carmen tells him happily, which explains why she was willing to let the guy come to the main house before Lindsey told her how stupid that idea was.

"Greedy bitch," he says fondly, and she makes a noise of agreement. He shakes his head, then frowns. "I always wonder why they come to us. There are other places to get it that don't have any strings attached and are a fuck of a lot cheaper."

"We're the best," Carmen says simply. "And very few resent the strings that come along with what we do for them."

Lindsey snorts. "I know the money's good and all, but we maybe need to stop doing so many of these."

"One every three years is not 'many'," Carmen drawls.

He hunches his shoulders against what feels like a gale force wind that makes him stagger in place. "What I meant is, I don't want Pittsburgh to turn into some kind of fucked up retirement ground. Or be seen as one by the rest of the world. That's just asking for trouble, right there."

"I know," Carmen says quietly. "And I do keep that in mind. Mostly because you always bring it up. You're like a broken record sometimes, you know."

"Yeah, well, then explain to me why we're on number two in three years, then?"

"I didn't want you here for this one," Carmen says abruptly.

Lindsey frowns. "Would've liked to see you do it without me. What the hell is going on, Carmen?"

She turns and looks down Smithfield, and Lindsey follows her gaze and sees a figure making his way up the street, right towards them. Lindsey's frown deepens when he makes out the billowing black coat and the confident and familiar stride. It takes a moment for it to click, and when it does, Lindsey closes his eyes.

"Carmen," he says almost pleasantly.

"Yes, Lindsey?"

"Tell me you didn't."

"I did," she says, not unkindly.

"Son of a bitch."

*

Lindsey leaves his apartment door wide open, because it's been a while since he saw Angel, or even thought of Angel, but he remembers how his doors and Angel don't get along.

He's mixing a drink at the counter that divides his kitchen from his living room when he hears Angel say, "Can I come in?"

"Sure thing," Lindsey says and adds a healthy dose of vodka to the splash of orange juice already in the tall glass. "Want a drink? No blood, but plenty of vodka."

"Whatever you're having is fine," Angel says, and he sounds cautious and wary.

It surprises Lindsey for a second before he remembers the history the two of them have. Time's a tricky thing. It's not always as linear as one expects it should be and the past fifteen years have been packed tight and full of life for Lindsey.

"Here you go," Lindsey says as he turns around, holding out a glass for Angel and bringing his own to his lips. Angel takes the drink absently, holds it like he doesn't know it's there, and stares at Lindsey's chest.

And, yeah, Lindsey purposely made sure he was bare-chested for this meeting because he thought it would go a long way to answering most of Angel's questions. That doesn't stop Lindsey from feeling self-conscious and naked in a way that has nothing to do with a lack of shirt. He downs his drink quickly and turns back to the counter to make another.

When he turns around again, Angel's gaze falls unerringly on Lindsey's chest, and Lindsey shrugs and then brushes a hand across seemingly fresh and raw bullet wounds. "Damn things are almost one-hundred percent glamour proof. Did you know that?"

Angel shakes his head.

"Carmen went on this massive search for me and it took--shit. Must've been eight years before she finally found this Inuit in New Foundland who put together one that worked." Lindsey's lips twitch. "It turns my piss blue for a week after I use it."

"The contract," Angel says abruptly and drains his entire drink in one swallow. "The Wolfram and Hart contract with the perpetuality clause."

"Ding ding ding," Lindsey intones. "Give the vamp a prize."

Lindsey makes his way to the couch and falls back onto it, then gestures at Angel to take a seat on the loveseat across from him.

"Put all the pieces together yet?" Lindsey asks after Angel sits.

"Gotta say that I'm not sure why you're here instead of Hell," Angel says immediately.

"After I left Los Angeles that first time, Wolfram and Hart sold my contract."

Angel blinks. "To Carmen?"

Lindsey nods and runs a hand through his hair. "Would've been a big slap in the face if I'd actually tried to go back, you know? 'Sorry, but we've sold you to the highest bidder. Buh-bye.'" He waves a hand and snorts. "All that shit. They called Carmen to come pick me up when I was in that holding dimension. But you got me out and locked me up, and she decided to wait it out for a while. Turns out I didn't have a while. Not in the traditional sense. Lorne shot me, I died, and--poof. All of a sudden I was in Pittsburgh with Carmen."

"She...owns you."

Lindsey laughs. "Technically, yeah. She had to remind me of that in the beginning because I wasn't really pleased at the latest turn I'd taken at Albuquerque. But now--it doesn't really come up much. We're partners."

"And you're dead."

"Very."

"Huh."

"Look," Lindsey says carefully. "Me and you, we've never been friends." Angel gives him an incredulous look at the serious understatement Lindsey's just made. Lindsey acknowledges it with a wry grin before his face goes serious again. "But we used to know a thing or two about each other. Seems to me, the Angel I knew wouldn't be doing what you're here to do."

"And the Lindsey I knew wouldn't be offering me drinks and trying to talk me out of something that'll make him a whole lot of money. What's your point?"

"There's no need for a Champion here," Lindsey states. "Carmen's people made this region a neutral territory years ago, and Carmen keeps it that way through whatever means necessary. Demons come here to have quiet lives. There are all kinds and no one makes trouble."

"Don't make it sound like paradise, Lindsey," Angel drawls. "Even I've heard about the war the Bolrash are having with the Ftolt."

Lindsey rolls his eyes. "Internal squabbling that's been around as long as the neutrality movement. It's a cakewalk compared to what you're used to."

"Maybe I want a cakewalk," Angel says loudly. "Ever think of that? I mean, it's not like I'll ever--" He breaks off and turns away from Lindsey, and that's when Lindsey gets it.

"This is about the Shanshu you signed away, isn't it?" Angel spins around and narrows his eyes at Lindsey, who snorts. "Once the dust settled in L.A. all the little details eventually came out. Hate to break it to you, but what you're after isn't the closest thing."

"You know what I've learned, Lindsey?" Angel says tightly. "There's no such thing as redemption. I did what they told me to do, and all I got out of it were bodies to bury and more burdens to work off."

Angel's eyes are suddenly bleak and desolate, and Lindsey remembers that back in the day he would have offered up sacrifices to any deity who would listen to see that look on Angel's face. Remembers, too, that he used to try to put that look on Angel's face. Eventually he says, "Way back when I would have laughed at you for taking so long to figure out what the rest of us already knew."

Angel looks down, shoulders rounding as he slumps. "And now?"

Lindsey shakes his head, says, "Poor bastard."

*

Two days later Lindsey spends the afternoon and most of the evening getting his ass knocked around by Bolrash magic. It can take form and it has personality, and it offers Lindsey no sufferance when he has to call upon it. Not even when the Bolrash headquarters are vulnerable, the entire Ftolt tribe is on its way, and Lindsey's the only being in the building with enough magical energy to change the wards. It kicked his ass, changed the wards like he asked, then tossed him across the room and broke his leg for shits and giggles.

He's in a foul mood when he gets home and the last thing he expects to see when he flips the lights on is Angel. Sitting on his sofa, a glass in his hand and his feet propped up on Lindsey's coffee table.

"Do you hate me so much, Lindsey?" Angel asks flatly.

"What?"

"Do you hate me so much?" Angel repeats.

Lindsey frowns and limps into the room, shrugging out of his jacket and then out of the flannel shirt he's wearing that has been reduced to shreds and is hanging off his shoulders by the single seam that's still holding strong. His t-shirt is mostly still whole, if not bloodied. He strides into the kitchen, tosses the flannel in the trash, and drapes his jacket over the counter.

His left arm is a patchwork of torn open flesh. It looks like a set of claws dug in, held on, and then tore away. Which is exactly what happened. He glimpses bone and sighs disgustedly before looking at Angel again.

"What are you talking about?" he asks in confusion.

"I'm talking about the fact that this was a done deal," Angel says, still in that same flat voice. "Until I got here and you saw it was me. Now there's a waiting period and *counseling*."

Lindsey's jaw clenches, because he's really not in the mood for this. Not even a little. "What the fuck do you expect with your track record, huh?"

Angel stands up and pivots on his heel so that he's facing Lindsey. His countenance is shadowed but Lindsey can feel those eyes on him, like something serrated and scarring. Too bad Lindsey's already dead or he might be worried.

"I've got some prissy human asking me questions about Connor, Buffy and Faith. Call me crazy, but I think that's your doing."

"It is," Lindsey says evenly. "And her name is Lucy. She's a damn good counselor."

And all Lindsey does is blink once, but suddenly Angel is no longer on the other side of the room, behind the sofa. Instead, he's right at Lindsey's shoulder, looming over him. Lindsey rolls his eyes, because apparently there are some things that never change, and Angel being melodramatic is one of those things.

Lindsey gives an overdramatic and patently mock shudder of fear. "Oooh, scary! What--am I supposed to back down, now? Call Lucy off and do the ritual tomorrow? Not gonna happen."

He tries to step back, but Angel is like an immovable force behind him. "Why are you doing this to me?" Angel growls.

"I'm not doing anything to you!" Lindsey says impatiently. "This isn't about you, for fuck's sake. It's about protecting ourselves, our people, and what we do here. And for the record, shit like this doesn't help your case."

"I've got," Angel bites out distinctly, "someone asking me questions about things she can't possibly understand and that she has no right to know. I really doubt it's for anything other than your amusement."

Lindsey turns himself around because he's tired of talking to the empty living room in front of him. Angel barely gives him enough room, makes Lindsey fight for the two inches he needs, and doesn't back up. Lindsey has to crane his neck back like an idiot to look up at him.

"You want something from us," Lindsey reminds him. "If you don't like the hoops you have to jump through to get it, then go somewhere else for it. Simple as that. Now get the fuck out of my way because you're not the least bit intimidating anymore and the effort's wasted."

Angel arches a brow. "Yeah, I suppose there isn't much I can threaten you with that'll scare you. Zombies are pretty impervious to pain and dismemberment."

Lindsey tries not to let his surprise show, doesn't think he does, but he must. In some way. Because Angel's lips pull into a mean little smile.

"You seem to be slightly smarter than the average zombie," Angel concedes. "But, come on. Did you think I wouldn't notice? You reek of decay and graves."

The front door slams open suddenly, flying back to bounce off the wall, and Frank, one of Carmen's people, is rushing into the apartment, head ducked down as he rummages through a bag. "I came as soon as I could. We'll--"

Frank blinks reptilian eyes when he looks up and sees Lindsey backed against the counter.

"You should be with Carmen," Lindsey says with a frown, ignoring Angel. "She was still in bad shape when I left."

"The twins got back in town this morning and they're working on her," Frank says absently, still staring at Angel and Lindsey. "Do you need a hand, Lindsey?"

Frank is a five-feet three-inch tall snake with arms and legs. He looks rather unimpressive, but every one of his hundred and twenty pounds is pure muscle. Lindsey's seen Frank wraps his arms an eight-foot tall Fyarl demon and shatter its torso in five seconds.

Lindsey shakes his head. "Frank, this is Angel. Angel this is Frank, Carmen's third-in-command."

Frank smiles widely, displaying two very prominent fangs that are coated in viscous liquid venom. "Angel! Our newest resident," Frank says cheerfully, his voice full of snapping hisses. "Cool. Nice to meet you. Lindsey, I've got the chicken feet and the entrails. Get naked and we'll start."

Angel steps away from Lindsey quickly, his face twisting in distaste. "Um, well. I should probably go. Leave you two to your…whatever."

Lindsey rolls his eyes and limps around the counter into the living room, falling back on the sofa and waving Frank away. "Go back to Carmen. The twins--"

"Are far better at organ regeneration than I will ever be," Frank finishes sibilantly. "And Carmen was already up and about when I left to come here. So, strip and let's do this."

Angel has been heading towards the door, and Frank turns to him suddenly. "You want to stick around? It's quite a show."

Angel's eyes go wide and horrified. "I've got--somewhere to be."

"He's talking about a voodoo ritual," Lindsey drawls and Angel frowns in confusion. "Corpse repair," Lindsey explains. "Frank here has an in with the Loa, what with him being a snake and all."

"Naga-descended," Frank corrects indignantly. "I have *heritage*, Lindsey."

Lindsey holds up his hands in acquiescence, even though he's of the opinion that being part naga is something the Loa simply tolerate. "Right. Sorry." He looks at Angel for a long moment and then waves him tiredly towards the loveseat. "Sit."

"All right," Angel says hesitantly, looking back and forth between Frank and Lindsey before settling himself down carefully.

Lindsey strips with the help of a knife to cut his jeans away. He grumbles and tosses the ruined denim to the floor as Frank anoints him with some nasty smelling unguent whose ingredients Lindsey has no interest in knowing. It's bad enough he knows what's in the pouch Frank hangs at Lindsey's neck.

Lindsey's been told the details of the ritual and he's had it performed on him dozens of times over the years, but he's never actually cogent enough to remember going through any of it. At the first muttered hiss that Frank issues all Lindsey knows is pain.

The Loa love Lindsey. They don't come so easily because of Frank's naga heritage. They come because they can visit a thousand years of full out torture on Lindsey in mere seconds. Destroy him and rebuild him an infinite number of times. Break him open, suck him dry, wring him out for eternity, and only fill him up once.

They take exponentially more than they give, but what they give is better than what any other similar ritual offers. Lindsey's bodily integrity will be invulnerable for months before he starts becoming susceptible to damage again.

When the pain finally subsides, Lindsey is shivering on his living room floor, the damage to his body healed, with the exception of the bullet wounds that will never go away. It feels like eons have passed, but he knows from previous experience that it's only been about two minutes. Frank is already packing up his gear and asking Angel questions about where he sees himself in the organization once his own ritual is done. Angel is staring at Lindsey, not answering any of Frank's questions, his brow drawn low.

"I'm off," Frank says, snapping his case of components closed. "Lindsey, Carmen's called a meeting for tomorrow at seven to discuss the breach we had today. Angel, she wants you there, too. See you guys tomorrow."

Angel watches, puzzled, as Frank walks out with a jaunty wave. Lindsey struggles to his knees and sways slightly.

"Great friends you've got here," Angel comments, turning back.

Lindsey shrugs. "Frank's a cold-blooded creature," he slurs slowly. "Can't expect much from him in the way of cookies and juice."

He reaches out and fumbles at the sofa, trying to reach the blanket draped across the back of it, but everything is too far and too close at the same time, and he can't make his hand meet up with what he's aiming for. He flails for a bit before a shadow falls over him and Angel presses the edge of the blanket into Lindsey's hand. With slow, awkward movements, Lindsey wraps the blanket around himself, mumbling a weak thank you to Angel.

"That really was quite a show," Angel says softly. "You've got some lungs on you."

Lindsey's brow wrinkles and it takes a moment of foggy thinking to make sense of what Angel's saying. "I scream? Huh. Explains some of the notes the neighbors leave on my door."

"Might want to look into sound proofing," Angel suggests, then shifts awkwardly as Lindsey drags himself up onto the sofa and curls up under the blanket. "I, uh--look, do you--I mean--"

"Get the hell out of here, would you?" Lindsey mumbles into the sofa. "And cut the lights on your way out. I'll pick you up for the meeting tomorrow night."

*

Angel makes a strong impression on everyone in Carmen's organization at the meeting, which Lindsey was expecting. He was also expecting Lucy to pull him aside and tell him that Angel has been entirely uncooperative during their conferences.

Lindsey scans the room for Angel, sees him sitting on the outskirts of everyone and simply watching. "I'll take care of it from here," Lindsey tells Lucy, then makes his way over to Angel.

"There are a lot of humans here," Angel notes.

"Carmen likes to keep the locals involved," Lindsey replies, then jerks his head at the door. "Come on. The rest of this is just schmoozing."

Angel arches a brow. "That used to be your favorite part."

"Yeah, well," Lindsey answers Angel absently, "I don't have much use for schmoozing here."

They wind through the fifty or so people and demons in the room, and more than a few eyes follow Angel every step of the way. Lindsey shakes his head minutely at Carmen when she arches a brow at his and Angel's departure.

"I thought I was supposed to meet with Lucy again," Angel says pleasantly when they get to Lindsey's truck. "I was looking forward to it; I sensed a breakthrough on the horizon during last night's session."

Lindsey gives him a look over the top of the truck. "I think it's safe to say that you won't be alone in a room with Lucy again for a long while."

Angel's got a little smile on his face as Lindsey pulls down the driveway of the old steel mill that serves as the headquarters for the Bolrash and the neutrality movement.

"Stop looking so pleased with yourself," Lindsey says after a few minutes. "That 'prissy human' you terrorized last night just so happens to be Carmen's adopted daughter."

"Oh," Angel says blankly, his face falling. "So are you giving me a ride out of town, then?"

"Nah," Lindsey drawls and coasts to a stop at a red light. He glances at Angel, who's looking at him with surprise. "Carmen didn't agree to do your ritual just because of the money," Lindsey tells Angel. "The Ftolt are getting bolder every year and you're a scary fuck. All you did was prove it."

"Then where are we going?"

"We're going to do a little border patrol," Lindsey says cryptically.

At the Pennsylvania-Ohio border, nestled away from the Turnpike, Lindsey pulls under an overpass where a Ford Taurus is idling. As Lindsey cuts the engine of his truck, the doors of the sedan open and three girls climb out.

Beside Lindsey, Angel tenses and then snarls at Lindsey.

"All part of life here," Lindsey says without concern and gets out to greet the Slayers.

*

Four hours later, Angel and Lindsey are back at Lindsey's apartment. Angel's been drinking since they walked in half an hour ago. His back is a straight tense line and his hands curl into fists every time he slams his glass back down on the counter.

"We're two hours from an active Hellmouth," Lindsey says into the charged silence. "Is it such a surprise that we work with the Slayers stationed there?"

"Yes," Angel grinds out. "That didn't come up when I was checking into Carmen and the Bolrash."

"Yeah, well, you didn't check around enough. A few years back the Slayers came to us because demonic traffic to the Hellmouth was coming straight through us. They asked us to work with them to control the flow, we agreed and put out word that we wouldn't be used as a safe passage route to a possible apocalypse. Then we backed that word up by manning the border."

"With the Slayers," Angel says tightly and tosses back another half a glass of vodka.

"We have to present a united front." Lindsey pauses, then adds, "Faith has been by a time or two to lend a hand."

Angel spins around and throws his glass across the room. It shatters against the far wall and Angel rubs his forehead. "And here I thought the therapy sessions were over."

Lindsey rises from the sofa and brushes past Angel to mix a drink for himself. "I'm not a therapist or a counselor, and I've got no interest in probing the dark recesses of your psyche," he says finally. "All I'm here to tell you is that we have concerns. We're not sure you've considered everything that you need to." Lindsey turns around and leans against the counter. "So, no questions about what you're feeling. Just some facts."

"I know all the facts," Angel says immediately.

"Well, suck it up because you're going to hear them again," Lindsey says firmly. "Once the ritual is done, it's done. There's no gem to smash, no turning back a day, and no wiping the event out of existence. It's done and it's forever. And after it's done, you can't leave this territory. Not even for a second."

"I know all of this, Lindsey," Angel huffs impatiently.

"If your son needs help, you can't go to him," Lindsey says sedately. Angel straightens up and glares daggers at Lindsey. "If Buffy finally decides that you two can be together, you can't go to her. If Faith has a crisis of conscience and needs you to come pull her back from the brink, you can't go to her."

Lindsey lifts his drink and tips it in Angel's direction. "Ritual's scheduled for a week from tomorrow. Cheers."

*

"Do you feel anything?"

Lindsey doesn't startle or jump two nights later when he hears Angel's voice, just sighs as he closes his front door and turns on the lights.

"Depends on what you mean," Lindsey replies and hangs up his coat.

"Pain, for example."

Lindsey tenses. "Again, depends on what you mean."

Angel shakes his head. "Emotions, Lindsey. God knows your animated corpse doesn't feel a damn thing, so I'm wondering if that place inside you that's you can feel anything."

"I feel what's done to my body," Lindsey says quietly, and Angel turns and stares at him in surprise. Lindsey shrugs uncomfortably but meets Angel's eyes. "I'm not exactly a zombie, you know. Similar concept, different execution. I feel everything. Good and bad. But it's all…muted. Toned down. Takes a fuck of a lot more to get me drunk, too."

Angel seems to consider this while Lindsey kicks his boots off and pads into the kitchen.

"You don't breathe," Angel says lowly, but Lindsey hears him. "Your heart doesn't beat."

"Same applies to you."

"You don't need to drink or eat or sleep."

"Yeah," Lindsey says. "You coming to a point anytime soon, or are you just going to keep stating shit I already know?"

"You're not a *person*, Lindsey; you're not human," Angel finishes.

Lindsey's grip tightens around the bottle of vodka he's just picked up. "Now who's bringing up shit just for amusement, huh?" Lindsey asks tightly and slams the bottle down again.

"This isn't about messing with your head," Angel denies and gets to his feet.

"No? Then tell me what the hell it is about."

Angel shrugs. "I'm not sure. What I saw the other night when Frank patched you up--" He looks at Lindsey with eyes gone dark and dense, with features smoothed out to blankness. "I know torture when I see it," he continues flatly. "No human could have survived that."

More than a few people over the years have seen Frank perform the ritual and Lindsey's always assumed there wasn't much to see since no one ever told him there was. He wants to ask what exactly Angel saw. What no one's been telling him because, as Lindsey is just now realizing, they were trying to respect his privacy. Respect him. Leave it to Angel to just put it out there like they were talking about a fucking hockey game or--

Lindsey closes his eyes. Or, the way Lindsey did the reminders about Connor, Buffy and Faith.

"How small is your life," Lindsey asks, eyes still closed, "that you're still holding on to shit that stopped mattering years ago?" He opens his eyes again and glares at Angel. "But fine, if you want it that way, we'll have it that way. I'm more human than you are, you leech; I'm just dead. And if you want to continue the pissing match, I happen to be more dead than you are, too. Happy?"

Angel arches a brow and starts to say something, but Lindsey stomps down the hall to his bedroom and slams the door shut.

*

"Deader," is Angel's greeting when Lindsey walks into his apartment the next night.

Lindsey rolls his eyes and heads straight for the bathroom because he's covered in the innards of a Ftolt demon that jumped him while he was sitting at a red light in the strip district.

Angel's in one of his persistent moods, though, and he trails Lindsey down the hall. "Deader, not more dead," he clarifies helpfully from the doorway of the bathroom.

"Got a jingle to go along with that grammar lesson?" Lindsey says, his voice and words muffled by the shirt he's pulling over his head. Another for the trash, and fuck it, he really liked this one.

"I'm not much of a singer," Angel says.

"Yeah, I think I remember hearing about that." Lindsey toes off his boots and socks, then pulls at his belt-buckle with one hand and reaches for the door. "Out. I need to get this shit off me before it hardens all the way."

When Lindsey's done with his shower, he walks into the living room to find Angel on the sofa again with a drink in his hand. There's another on the coffee table, and Lindsey recognizes the double strong screwdriver for what it is. Which is both his and a peace offering.

He shakes his head and dumps a garbage bag with his most recently destroyed clothes into the hallway next to his door.

"Didn't Carmen give you a house of your own?" he comments as he sits on the loveseat and picks up his drink.

Angel shrugs. "It's kind of…yellow. Very oppressively cheerful. Makes my skin itch."

Lindsey looks around at the warm earth tones that make up his apartment. Nothing is too dark, or too bright. It's quiet and comforting and it reminds him of Oklahoma land, minus the dust and the poverty.

"Tell the twins," Lindsey grunts. "They did this place up."

"About the twins," Angel starts, and Lindsey snickers. "They're not really twins so much as--"

"A body with two heads," Lindsey finishes.

"Yeah, what happened there?"

"Got hit with a spell of some kind. Details are hazy because it happened before they got here and they don't like talking about it. Most fucked up thing is that neither of those heads actually goes with the body."

"Huh. That's messed up. So, what--is this the city of rejects?"

Lindsey shrugs one shoulder and drains his drink. "Depends on who you ask," he answers after a pause. "You could look at the twins and see some kind of ugly Frankenstein experiment. Me? I see the ability to patch up damn near any wound on any living being. They're an asset."

"When did you stop hating me?" Angel asks, and Lindsey barely manages not to choke on his drink.

"I thought we had an agreement about not probing psyches," Lindsey mutters, looking down at his drink.

"I'm just curious. I would have thought you'd be spitting in my direction instead of letting me come and go from your house and demolish your vodka supply."

"Yeah, about that," Lindsey says without looking up. "You need to start bringing your own."

"Lindsey."

For a while Lindsey stares into his screwdriver, then he blows out a breath and frowns. "It's been a long fifteen years. Feels like Los Angeles happened a few centuries ago to someone else."

Lindsey lifts his eyes and Angel meets Lindsey's gaze, direct and curious. "Do you ever think of Darla?"

"Yeah," Lindsey says tightly and drains his drink.

"Can you remember how you felt about her?"

There's an intensity in Angel's voice, in his eyes, in the tension of his body as he leans forward, that makes Lindsey swallow thickly and close his eyes. He sees Darla in his mind, lush and deadly, soft-voiced and hard-handed, and everything in him sparks and flares. "I remember," he whispers.

"Did it happen to someone else, Lindsey? Or did it happen to you?"

Lindsey laughs harshly, bitterness and tears lodged at the back of his throat. "Oh, it happened to me."

"But I didn't," Angel says, his voice measured and slightly curious.

Lindsey opens his eyes and arches a brow. "What are you getting at, huh?"

Angel shakes his head slowly. "I don't know."

Ten minutes of silence later, Lindsey gets up without a word and shuffles down the hall to his bedroom. He hears the front door open and close, signaling Angel's departure. Lindsey doesn't sleep that night. He can't, because his head is too full of things he remembers all too well, and things he made himself forget.

*

The next night Lindsey stays away from his apartment until nearly dawn, figuring there's no way Angel will have stayed at Lindsey's so long that he won't be able to make it to his oppressively happy house in time to hole up for the day.

"Goddamn," he says loudly when he sees Angel on the sofa.

"I still hate you, Lindsey," are Angel's first slurred words.

"Good for you," Lindsey snaps and slams the door shut. "For future reference, my apartment is not a flop house. Push me on this and I'll have one of the witches do an uninvite spell."

"I mean, I *really* hate you," Angel goes on, and staggers to his feet. "Just as much as I used to."

"I'll get you a medal," Lindsey says impatiently.

Angel stares down at Lindsey, swaying slightly. He holds up a finger and waves it at Lindsey. "But I don't hate *you*."

Lindsey opens and closes his mouth in confusion, then asks, "How the fuck much have you had to drink?"

"I brought my own!" Angel says indignantly. "Then I drank what you had, too."

There are eight empty bottles of vodka on the counter. "Perfect," Lindsey hisses. "Really fucking perfect. My apartment's not the local drunk tank, either."

"I like it here," Angel says with a contented look around, then falls back on the sofa because obviously standing still and turning his head is too much for his drunken equilibrium. "It's homey. Not like that apartment you had in L.A. The air tasted like metal in there."

"Isn't that special," Lindsey drawls sarcastically and finally gets around to jerking his coat off. "I'm going to bed. Sleep it off, will you?"

Angel slumps sideways on the sofa and passes out while Lindsey's closing the living room curtains. Lindsey stands over him for a long moment, then turns on his heel and leaves the room.

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow and wakes up an hour later to the uncomfortable feeling of being stared at. Angel is standing next to Lindsey's bed, still swaying, but looking infinitely more sober. Lindsey blinks, groggy and disoriented.

"What?" he rasps.

"I hate you, but you're not you anymore," Angel says quietly.

Lindsey closes his eyes briefly and inhales deeply. "Angel…" he sighs, but doesn't know what he meant to say or ask, so he trails off.

Angel answers him anyway, in a voice that's wretched and lost. "They were just done with me."

"The Powers?" Lindsey asks after a moment of thought.

Angel nods. "They never gave a damn about anything except what I could do for them. And when I finished what they wanted me to do, that was it. They were done with me."

Lindsey pushes himself into a sitting position. "Is that why you're here?"

"Connor's got a sane, normal life. Buffy's never going to be ready for me. There's an entire organization in place to support Faith in every way she needs." Angel looks at Lindsey again, and even in the gloom of the shaded bedroom, Lindsey can see the weariness on Angel's face. "I don't have a place anymore."

Lindsey remembers the first time he left L.A., ready, willing and eager to go back to simpler times. It was easier said than done. He didn't even know what the fuck simple was anymore. He drove, aimless and lost, getting more tired and frustrated with each day, each mile. He had nothing to do, no one to be, and it was killing him slowly but surely, sucking the life out of him with every click of the odometer.

Then he met Eve, and he had a plan, a purpose, a role. There was something to do, someone to be, and it made his heart pound and his blood flow for the first time since drive out of L.A.

Lindsey's body doesn't do things like beat or flow anymore, not in the technical sense, but in the figurative sense, it's been doing both since he got to Pittsburgh. He wants to tell Angel all of this, and opens his mouth to do exactly that.

What Lindsey says instead, is, "You didn't happen to someone else; you happened to me."

Angel leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

*

Lindsey stays in the next night because it's Wednesday, and he and Lucy have had dinner at Lindsey's on Wednesdays since Lucy was still in junior high school. They sit at the counter, Lindsey on the living room side and Lucy on the kitchen side, with take-out from a local Italian place between them.

Despite having been raised by a Bolrash demon since birth, Lucy's just an all-American girl with her happy brown eyes, worn jeans, college sweatshirt and bouncy black-haired ponytail. In Lindsey's mind, Lucy *is* what the neutrality movement is all about, what Pittsburgh is all about.

"Why do you keep this little bitty place, Uncle Lindsey?" Lucy asks him as she digs through her steak salad with a fork, in search of French fries hidden among the lettuce she's successfully avoided eating.

"I like this place," Lindsey tells her, and shifts on his stool to reach the breadsticks. "It's more than big enough for me."

"Mom gives you first dibs on all new real estate and you always say no," Lucy says thoughtfully, and Lindsey nods. "Why don't you get yourself some big place that's befitting of your position?"

"Befitting of my position?" Lindsey repeats drolly.

Lucy waves a hand and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, okay, that sounded a little pretentious." Her face falls into curious lines. "But, let's face it, one of the perks you get when you work closely with Mom is prime housing. Yet you've been in this same cramped apartment since you came to Pittsburgh. Why?"

Lindsey looks around, at the brown suede furniture that's been worn smooth from eight years of use, at the hardwood floors that haven't been shiny with varnish for two years, at the coffee table whose surface has been abraded by boots and shoes, at the deep orange walls that are nicked and dented in places, and the raw pine shelves that hold knickknacks he's accumulated since coming here, most of which were given to him by Lucy during her school years.

"This is my home, Luce," he says eventually. "You don't just walk away from your home because it doesn't befit your position."

"I didn't mean it that way, Uncle Lindsey," Lucy hurries to say. "Not exactly."

"I know, but that's the way I mean it." He meets her eternally curious gaze and smiles. "I know where I stand, Luce. So does everyone else. I don't need a big house to prove anything."

"No," she agrees and tilts her head. "And you're avoiding the real question."

Lindsey reaches across the counter and taps her on the nose. "Clever girl," he says indulgently. "You should have been a lawyer instead of a counselor."

"A-void-ance," Lucy sing-songs and props her elbows on the counter.

"I've had the trappings before," Lindsey says dismissively. "Don't have any use for them anymore."

Lucy narrows her eyes. "So the question then becomes, are you afraid your ambitious nature will be triggered again, or are you just trying to live a lesson that you learned in your former life?"

Lindsey nods. "That's the question. Among a dozen possible others. Yes."

"Uncle Lindsey," Lucy whines. "Work with me, here."

"Luce," Lindsey mocks her. "Stop trying to analyze me, here."

She tosses the end of a breadstick at him, then stares over his shoulder. "Why is there a vampire in your apartment?"

Lindsey turns around sees Angel standing just inside the front door. Their eyes meet and for a long uncomfortable moment Lindsey can't look away, even though that's all he wants to do. He was kicking himself all day about saying what he did to Angel, and he'd been hoping Angel would stay away so that they could avoid this awkwardness. Angel blinks finally and shifts his feet.

"He's taken to visiting," Lindsey says as he turns back to Lucy and nods at her plate. "Are you going to keep picking, or do you want me to wrap that up for you?"

"I'll take care of it," she answers Lindsey absently, then addresses Angel. "Do you always sneak into people's homes and eavesdrop?"

"Don't be a sore loser, Luce," Lindsey says bluntly.

Lucy's eyes go wide. "I'm not--"

"You are," Lindsey insists. "You're tough, but he's got centuries on you. Of course he scared you off."

Lucy retreats into sullen silence, and Lindsey waves Angel further into the apartment. "This is now a vodka-free house," he informs Angel. "But I restocked the blood supply."

"I think I'm done with alcohol for the next decade or so," Angel admits with a wince as he's hanging his coat on one of the hooks on the wall by the door. "I'll take the blood, though. I'm starving."

Lucy glares at Angel's back, and Lindsey raises a warning brow in her direction. She huffs out a "fine" and puts on her best professional face. "So, Angel," she says conversationally. "How do you like Pittsburgh so far?"

Angel considers the question as he tosses a blood packet in the microwave. "I like it. It's nice. Quaint."

"That's good," Lucy replies, and the conversation dies then and there, with her smiling blandly and Angel dumping his blood into a mug.

Lindsey gets up and starts reaching for food containers, ducking his head to hide his grin. Lucy is stubborn as a mule, and far too proud to be able to take defeat gracefully. He slips into the kitchen, squeezing around both Lucy and Angel to get to the counter by the sink. Lindsey wraps up the leftovers and then packs them up in a bag for Lucy to take when she leaves.

"You sticking around for a movie, Luce?" he asks her.

She shakes her head regretfully. "Shana and Ruth are on border patrol this week and I haven't seen them in ages, so I'm going to head over and catch up with them. I should probably leave now if I'm going to meet up with them before they start."

Lindsey follows her to the door, where she bundles up for the cold winter night. "Be careful out there," Lindsey says and straightens the collar of her wool coat.

"Always am," she assures him soberly before grinning and throwing her arms around his neck. Lindsey returns the hug, lifting her off her feet briefly before letting her go. She snatches the bag of food from him and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Bye, Angel," she calls out disinterestedly, and Lindsey closes the door behind her.

"She's a smart girl," Angel says from the kitchen, and he sounds like he means it.

"She is," Lindsey agrees as he goes to the sofa and plants his feet on the coffee table. Angel could damn well take the loveseat for once.

"Seems nice, too," Angel continues and strolls into the living room. "I feel bad for scaring her. I don't think she's going to let that go."

Lindsey rolls his eyes. "She will. Eventually. That girl was threatened by a cadre of Ftolt when she was twelve and spit in their faces when they threatened to dismember her. It's a bit of a blow to her ego that one vampire made her piss herself. Figuratively," Lindsey clarifies when Angel gapes at him.

"I actually know the answer to that question she asked," Angel says and sits across from Lindsey on the loveseat. "I wonder what that means."

"It means you know more about me before I came to Pittsburgh than Luce does," Lindsey says flatly.

"Simple as that, huh?"

Groaning, Lindsey slams his head against the sofa back. "Haven't we had enough of these conversations? I would have thought you'd had your fill after last night's drunken mumblings."

Angel stretches his legs out in front of him and regards Lindsey with a steady gaze. "I woke up on your couch yesterday and for the first time in fifteen years, I felt good. Hungover, but good."

"You get hungover?" Lindsey asks curiously.

"For about five minutes," Angel dismisses. "That's not the point."

"I'm ignoring your point. In fact, I think ignoring you, period."

"Okay."

Lindsey dozes off some indeterminable period of time later. Before he's fully asleep, but after he's no longer fully awake, he hears Angel's voice. "You stay here because you've made it yours, on your own terms. It's the first thing that's ever really belonged to you."

*

"I stopped hating you when I stopped hating myself," Lindsey says before he's even all the way in his apartment the next night. The words are rushed and choppy, because he's let them loose against his better judgment, and he had to send them flying out as fast as he could so that they'd be said.

Angel looks startled, a glass of blood frozen halfway to his mouth, which is already open for it. "Um," he says and lowers his arm. "Is there anything I can say in response that won't set you off?"

"Pretty much no." Lindsey holds up a shopping bag. "Vodka?"

"God, yes."

They don't bother with glasses or mixers, and instead pass two bottles back and forth until the vodka is gone and they're both feeling a fleeting and slight buzz.

"I'm not sorry for having you killed," Angel says thoughtfully, breaking the silence that's lasted since Lindsey broke out the vodka. "I keep thinking I should be."

"What, you don't have enough burdens to bear that you have to try to toss me onto the pile?" Lindsey snorts. "For what it's worth, I don't give a shit."

Angel tilts his head and frowns. "That helps, actually."

"I'm so glad," Lindsey drawls.

*

Neither one of them say anything when Lindsey comes home the next night. Truthfully, Lindsey's not sure what else they have to say, what deep conversations they need to tackle, back away from, and then finish abruptly and strangely. Everything's been touched upon.

Angel seems to sense it, and they spend a long while looking at each other before Lindsey crosses the room and sits next to him on the sofa.

"So," Lindsey says. "What did you do today?"

"The twins came over," Angel answers. "They brought paint swatches and fabric samples."

"Make your head spin?"

"Like a top. Lucy came by, too. Just before I left."

"Yeah? What'd she want?"

"She brought me a conciliatory cake. It was ice cream."

"It's her trademark."

"What about you?"

"I listened to Frank petition for a pay raise for four hours, then spent another five fielding complaints and suggestions from the rest of the population."

"Sounds fun."

"I was tempted to rip my own head off to make it end."

Angel looks at him curiously. "You can do that?"

Lindsey nods. "Yeah, but I can still see and hear after. I don't think anyone knows that, though, so it would have worked."

"Huh."

"Tomorrow's your big day," Lindsey reminds him. "You nervous?"

Angel frowns. "Surprisingly, no. I'm looking forward to it."

"Good."

Angel shifts on the sofa. "So, uh--"

"Darla said she wasn't the one I really wanted to screw," Lindsey cuts in, because it's the last thing that hasn't been acknowledged, and for some reason he can't let it go unsaid. "She was right."

"Oh," Angel says quietly.

"Yeah." Lindsey gets to his feet. "Frank will pick you up at sunset tomorrow," he says on his way out of the room.

*

Angel's already at the mill, bare-chested and ready to go, when Lindsey gets there an hour after sunset. The twins have set up the circle, Frank's manning the fire extinguisher that Angel's eyeing warily, and Carmen's standing next to a translucent apparition of Bolrash magic.

The surprise is Lucy, who is off to the side and looking green around the gills.

Lindsey looks from Lucy to Carmen and arches a brow. "She wouldn't take no for an answer," Carmen says irritably.

"Get out of here, Luce," Lindsey says impatiently.

"No," Lucy says, her voice dry and cracking. "I can't keep avoiding this."

"You can and you will," Lindsey snaps, then stalks over to her and grabs her elbow. "I'll drag you out of here, see if I won't."

"Lindsey," Carmen calls out, and he looks at her. Her eyes are sad but resigned, and Lindsey lets go of Lucy's arm and curses. "It's time, whether either of us likes it or not."

She's right, of course. Lucy may not be Carmen's successor, but she already is, and always will be, near the top in the hierarchy. Lindsey just wishes it wasn't him that had to be her last rite of passage.

"Get her a bucket or something," Lindsey tells Frank, then takes hold of Lucy's chin and tips her face up. "You listen to me. The only thing fatal to me is your mother ripping up that contract. Everything else is just a passing inconvenience. You understand what I'm saying?"

Lucy swallows. "I understand."

"Good," Lindsey says softly. "And no one's going to think less of you when you blow chunks. They've all done it, too."

"What's going on?" Angel demands to know. "Carmen told me the ritual was simple."

"It is," Carmen confirms.

"Then what is the fire extinguisher for, and why does Lucy look like she's ready to pass out before anything's happened?"

Lindsey moves Lucy to the other side of the circle, so that his back will be facing her when everything starts. There's no way in hell he wants to see her face when this goes down. He kisses her forehead, smoothes her hair back from her face, and then turns to Angel.

"The fire extinguisher is just a precaution," Frank says as he sets a bucket next to Lucy.

"My part in the ritual isn't easy on the eyes," Lindsey tells Angel with a shrug.

There's a jumbled collection of sounds from the Bolrash magic, and Carmen looks at Angel and Lindsey. "It's time to start."

"How not pretty on the eyes?" Angel pushes, his face set and his lips turned down.

"You'll find out soon enough, now get in the circle before the magic decides it's been put upon enough," Lindsey says and starts removing his clothing. He nods at the twins. "Get ready."

"Wait a minute--"

"Get in the goddamn circle, Angel," Lindsey grinds out from behind clenched teeth.

Angel does, his brow lowered ill temperedly. "Is this going to be like what happens with the voodoo ritual?"

Lindsey avoids Angel's eyes and focuses on getting his jeans off. "No," he answers. "Carmen, you and the magic set?"

"We're set," Carmen agrees. "Angel, you'll need to step outside of the circle when I tell you, or else that fire extinguisher will be necessary. Until then, just repeat what I say and do what the twins tell you to."

Angel stares at Carmen. "And what's Lindsey going to be doing?"

Carmen smiles blandly. "He's our closer. Now, be quiet."

The Bolrash language is seemingly without consonants, and Lindsey's never quite been able to pick it up, even though he's tried. Even Lucy, who grew up with Carmen speaking it to her, only knows enough to ask for a beverage and the location of the nearest restroom.

Once the magic drifts to Carmen and surrounds her, all Lindsey can make out are strings of vowel sounds and grunts that run together. Angel does a passable job of repeating them. At least, it's good enough that the magic accepts it, which is a relief because there was one vamp they tried this on who mangled everything so badly they had to refund her money and send her on her way. The twins walk Angel through anointing his chest and adorning the necessary talisman.

And all the while, Angel stares at Lindsey, his gaze probing and demanding and furious by turns. For his part, Lindsey tries to keep his mind as blank as the face he's giving Angel. This doesn't get any easier, no matter that he's done it half a dozen times, and thinking at all about what's going to happen won't do anything but make *him* blow chunks.

When Angel recites the last line of the ritual, the Bolrash magic wafts away from Carmen and seeps into the circle to envelop Angel. There's a suctioning sensation as something innate is drawn from Angel and into the magic. Angel grimaces in discomfort and grunts; Lindsey starts bracing himself.

"Angel," Carmen says when the magic pulls away from him. "Step outside of the circle."

The magic thins and widens, forming a wall in front of Lindsey that's starting to glow softly and warmly, and Lindsey's skin begins to smoke. Angel blinks dazedly and shakes his head.

"Angel!" Carmen barks.

Lindsey sees the tight set of Angel's jaw, notes the lack of motion, and knows that when Angel does finally move that it's going to be in the wrong direction.

"Get out of the fucking circle!" Lindsey snarls just before the magic light flares bright and hot. Then he can't say anything else because he's on fire.

He's vaguely aware of various people shouting--none of which are him because the heat has made his jaw lock up--of the circle being broken, of a struggle, and of the fire extinguisher being wielded. But none of that really coalesces into anything sensible for Lindsey because he's covered in flames that have melted his skin and are now working on his muscles.

It's beyond agony. So much so that once the flames decimate Lindsey's nerves he's profoundly grateful, even though he knows it's only a brief reprieve because what Angel came here for doesn't come without a price. The fire changes slightly, and Lindsey feels is just as fiercely as he did before, even though he shouldn't be able to.

He's being melted, destroyed, reduced to a burnt charred thing who is entirely aware. It happens slowly, and that's another price, another agony. If the Loa fucking with him feels like an eternity, this feels like an infinite set of eternities strung together. The light shines and the fire burns and he's nothing more than a crisped husk now, but it keeps going on, and Lindsey's mind slips away to protect his sanity.

Awareness returns a long while later with a different but familiar pain. The Loa take their pound of flesh with veritable cackles of fucked up joy, and Lindsey is suddenly in possession of the knowledge that they like him this way best of all: destroyed in every conceivable way; broken to pieces figuratively and literally; full of suffering and desperation before they even start on him.

Once they're done with him, Lindsey screams of his own volition. He wants to do it forever but he passes out within moments.

*

Lindsey wakes up in his own bed and for long minutes he frowns up at the ceiling because for some reason he doesn't think this is where he should be. He tries to sit up but everything he is just *hurts* and he's too *weak* to do more than flail his hands feebly. And that's why he shouldn't be here: Carmen always makes him hole up at the mill so that Frank and the twins can watch over him.

He can smell the ointment that Frank usually slathers on him to dull the residual pain, and when he painfully dips his head, he sees that his skin is shiny with it. His fucking sheets are going to have to be trashed. Maybe even the mattress itself if the shit's soaked through. Who the hell decided he should be here instead of at the mill?

"You're awake."

Angel. Of course. Lindsey closes his eyes again and tries to block out the memories of what happened before he passed out. In the process, he remembers that Lucy was there. Fuck. He opens his eyes and rolls them to the left where Angel is sitting in a chair next to the bed.

"Lucy?" he croaks out.

"Upset but recovering," Angel answers.

Lindsey grits his teeth and fumbles his right hand, trying for the phone on the nightstand. Angel's grip around his wrist is gentle but restraining. "You might want to wait until you can talk without sounding like your throat's bleeding," he tells Lindsey softly.

"How long?" Lindsey manages to ask, and damn if it doesn't *feel* like his throat is raw and bleeding.

"It's been a few hours. I thought you'd be out longer."

Lindsey grunts and licks his lips. "Nasty drink?"

Angel reaches onto the nightstand nearest him and picks up a glass jar full of yellow liquid. Lindsey tries once more to sit up, but his arms give out after he raises himself a mere inch off the bed. The slime covering his hands doesn't help much, either.

"Here," Angel says and sits on the bed. He braces his free hand under Lindsey and hauls him upright. The room spins and turns for a bit and Lindsey blinks the sensation away. The jar is at his lips and Lindsey opens them, then tilts his head back to swallow the liquid that Angel tips into his mouth. The stuff tastes like ass and stings like a bitch on the way down, but then the blessed numbing effect kicks in and Lindsey sighs in relief.

"Why the hell am I here?" he asks once the sensation has spread, and his voice sounds mostly normal. Angel props Lindsey against the headboard and sets the jar on the nightstand again. Lindsey gets a good look at him when he turns; Angel's face is bruised and he's not moving all that smoothly. "And what the hell happened to you?"

"Frank had to, uh, forcibly remove me from the circle," Angel admits reluctantly.

Lindsey snorts. "Every other vamp fled as soon as they realized what was going on. You *would* have to be a pain in the ass about it." Lindsey frowns. "Did I hear the fire extinguisher?"

Angel nods. "Yeah, my pants caught fire before Frank hauled me back."

"You're an idiot," Lindsey tells him plainly.

"That seems to be the consensus."

"Why am I here instead of at the mill?" Lindsey asks again.

Angel looks away and busies himself with wiping his hands clean of the ointment on them and then drinking down half a glass of blood that is also sitting on the nightstand. "I thought you'd be more comfortable here. How are you feeling?"

"In need of a shower." Lindsey swings his legs to the side and sets his feet on the floor. He's still naked, but he can't be bothered to care. Angel's seem him bare-assed already, and is probably the one that slathered the stinky goop all over him.

He waves off Angel's help and gets to his feet, stumbling and swaying, but managing to make it to the bathroom without falling. Once the door is shut behind him, Lindsey collapses to his knees and takes several deep breaths through his nose. "Motherfucker," he hisses out.

Lindsey's not used to feeling like crap anymore. The Loa aftereffects are the worst that he suffers nowadays, and even that's just some exhaustion that a few hours of sleep cures. This pain and weakness, on the other hand, is going to stick around for a day. Maybe two. Which isn't that long of time in reality, but in practice…Lindsey doesn't have much patience for being limited anymore.

He crawls to the tub and turns on the hot water tap, then flips the metal tab that directs the water out of the shower nozzle. He clambers over the tub edge and sits under the spray. The soap is all the way up on a rack that's hanging from the showerhead, and Lindsey looks at it longingly before latching onto a bottle of shampoo that's sitting on the edge of the tub and upending half its contents onto his chest.

The room steams up as Lindsey washes himself with uncoordinated motions that send his elbows jamming against the porcelain tub more than once. When he's done what he can, he slides along the tub until he's lying down. The heat of the water has lulled him into this state of being that's warm and sleepy and he can't keep his lids open any more.

Lindsey wakes up when the water starts to turn the wrong side of cool. He's in the middle of trying to summon the energy to get his body to move when the water miraculously turns off.

"Stubborn bastard," Angel says and Lindsey blinks his eyes open. Angel's standing at the side of the tub, a small smile on his face, and a big thick towel in his hands. "Come on."

Lindsey dozes off again after Angel hauls him out of the tub and falls into a deep sleep before they're even out of the bathroom. He wakes with a jerking start, and Angel's hand comes to rest in his hair. "It's just a dream, Lindsey."

Another thing no one's ever mentioned to him, apparently. "Nightmares?" he groans.

Angel's fingers rub at Lindsey's scalp. "Pretty ugly ones." Angel's hand curls into a fist around Lindsey's hair. "You were clawing at your face," he adds lowly, and then relaxes his hand and takes it away.

The bedroom is shadowed because of the shades that are drawn, but Lindsey knows dawn is within spitting distance; he must've slept a good eight hours straight. He turns his head and looks at Angel, who's lying next to him with a deep frown on his newly unbruised face.

"You didn't have to do any of this, you know," Lindsey says uncomfortably.

"Yes, I did. Are you feeling up to a change in scenery?"

"Huh?"

Angel slips out of the bed dressed only in a pair of black boxers and moves the chair from next to the bed to in front of the window. He opens the curtains and Lindsey sees that false dawn has come.

"Come on," Angel says, and waves Lindsey at the chair.

"This is something you should do on your own." Lindsey drags himself off the bed and to his feet. He wraps a sheet--ointment free, Lindsey notices; Angel must have changed the bedclothes while Lindsey was in the shower--around his waist, intending to leave the room. Angel takes hold of his arm, though, and leans into Lindsey's side, head tilting down so that his mouth is just a few inches from Lindsey's ear.

"Stay," he whispers. "Please."

Lindsey closes his eyes and tugs at his arm. "What I told you Darla was right about? It's--"

"Please," Angel whispers again, and Lindsey lets himself be pulled around and led to the chair, which Angel pushes him into. The sky is getting lighter by increments, and Lindsey watches it happen while Angel stands behind him.

"Angel--"

"Be quiet, Lindsey."

The window faces true east and when the sun finally rises above the horizon the first rays of sunlight shine right on Lindsey and Angel. They both flinch, Angel because of more than two centuries of habit, and Lindsey because of what he went through last night. Lindsey settles into his own skin again, and he hears the awed exhalation Angel offers. He cranes his neck back and looks up.

Angel's eyes are closed and his mouth is parted, and he's tilting his face forward, offering it up to the sun streaming in.

Lindsey frantically tries to push himself to his feet because he can't do this and he can't be here for this and he most definitely can't watch Angel like this. It's too much to take in stride. They may not be adversaries anymore, may not hate each other anymore, but that doesn't mean much of anything. Not in the way Lindsey will need it to mean if he doesn't get the fuck out of this room right this goddamn second.

Angel's hands settle on Lindsey's shoulders, too strong and tight, and Lindsey knows the only way he'll be able to get out of the chair is to break his bones against the steel of those hands. And he's prepared to do it, is tensing to do it.

"I never wanted to screw you, Lindsey," Angel says sedately, his tone mostly absent, and Lindsey forgets about breaking his bones because he feels like an eighteen-wheeler doing sixty has just slammed into him. "And I don't want to screw *you*, either."

The eighteen-wheeler backs up and runs him over again, just for the fun of it, and Lindsey stares unseeingly ahead. "Let go," he says tonelessly.

"Magic has a price," Angel goes on, as though Lindsey hasn't spoken, "and you paid for every moment of sunlight I'll ever have with your own flesh; you took every bit of damage onto yourself tenfold last night. The price had to be paid, I know that, but all I could think when you burst into flames was that it wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth that."

Lindsey's not sure what to say to that, mostly because he's not really sure what Angel is trying to say.

"After it was done," Angel finally murmurs, "I realized that if it had been anyone of the others--Carmen, Frank, the twins or even Lucy--I would have stepped out of that circle without a second thought."

"What are you getting at?" Lindsey asks tiredly, and he remembers asking Angel this same question not too long ago, in a context that was somewhat related to this one.

"I don't want to *screw* you, Lindsey."

It takes Lindsey a moment to catch the change of inflection, of emphasis, but when he does he goes very, very still. "Oh."

"Yeah," Angel breathes, and Lindsey can hear the tiny smile that he knows Angel is wearing.

They stay at the window until nearly noon. Lindsey drifts in and out of sleep until Angel eventually helps Lindsey back to bed and slips in next to him.

They're facing the window; Lindsey's in front with Angel curled up around him from behind. Angel's hand reaches around Lindsey's waist and splays across his chest.

*
.End