Fic: Roadside Attractions (Smoke and Mirrors #7)
Title: Roadside Attractions
Series: Smoke and Mirrors #7
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
Spoilers/Timeline: Set some unmentioned time in S3
Summary: A call from the road.
*
Lindsey calls him sometimes. Usually in the middle of the night. Gunn knows the timing is deliberate, that Lindsey’s just being a little shit like always. Takes it with a grain of salt and a little bit of nostalgia. ‘Cause it’s been about six months since Lindsey went riding off into the night, and Gunn realized during week one that he kind of got used to Lindsey.
"Asshole," Gunn says into his cell after picking it up on the third ring. Lindsey’s still on the move, and Gunn can only guess that it’s him calling since the other man doesn’t have a permanent number yet. But, three a.m.? An area code on the caller ID that Gunn can’t identify? Sure bet it’s Lindsey. If not, whoever’s on the other end can just deal. It’s three in the fucking morning.
"Good morning, sunshine," Lindsey says, husky voice not due to getting woken up. It’s like fine sandpaper in Gunn’s ear, that voice. The kind that’s not rough enough to draw blood, but *just* rough enough to make his fingers tingle when he runs them against the grain.
Sits up in bed and rubs his eyes, tries to wake up and then just slumps back and closes his eyes. "Your timing sucks, you know that?" he gripes. "I only got about ten hours of sleep this entire week. This was going to be the night I *slept*."
"I’m crying for you. Really, I am," Lindsey drawls.
Gunn smiles in the darkness of his bedroom. Lets himself drift into a barely awake state and it’s like he’s floating.
The first call came seven hours after Lindsey hit the freeway out of L.A. It was the only time Lindsey called from a place he currently was, because it was so close to L.A. that it didn’t matter if the call was being listened in on. Told Gunn he was in four states at once, and Gunn heard that Lindsey was realizing the possibilities of, well, everything.
"So what dumbass thing did you see, lately, huh? Another big ball of twine?"
"Not lately, but yeah, I did see another."
Sometimes when Lindsey calls, he’s bursting with stuff to say. Like he stores it up while he’s wandering around. Like he doesn’t talk to anyone else. Gunn doubts that’s the case, but he does think that some of the calls are less about a big ass ball of twine, and more about Lindsey. Still, Gunn’s tired mind can’t really think much past the fact that Lindsey saw two really big balls of twine, in two different places. That is...something, all right.
"I read that book you sent," Gunn says into the silence. "That *American Gods* one."
"Yeah?"
"It was a head thing."
A raspy chuckle. "A head thing. You’re a poet, man. A real poet."
"It’s three in the morning," Gunn grumbles. "What else do you expect from me?"
"Exactly what I’m getting," is the reply Lindsey gives, and Gunn remembers.
Lindsey used to wake him up in the middle of the night, at whatever motel they were meeting in. Wake him up and ask him about everything under the sun. Lindsey still does it now, during middle of the night calls, and Gunn still has no idea why he can’t ask the questions when Gunn’s awake.
"Good or bad head thing?" Lindsey asks him.
Gunn thinks about that. Thinks about gods that were brought to America along with the people who believed in them. Gods who became echoes of themselves as time passed and new generations believed less and less in the old world myths, who faded away into nothingness when no one believed. Of a hall filled with statues of dead gods with no names listed, because the names were lost forever, forgotten that completely. Thinks about what they might do to never be forgotten, or to be entirely forgotten.
"Both, I guess. I mean, my line of work? Not really wanting to consider that there are *gods* just wandering around, plain as day. Especially not when they’re sorta powerful and temperamental. But, yeah, it was interesting. Guess I know what you’re about, now."
And Gunn does. He understands why, each time Lindsey calls, there’s another mention of another roadside attraction. Powerful places, that book said. Places where people build strange things, do strange things, because there’s something in the air, the land, the water, that compels them to. That demands it. So in Joliet, Montana, there’s a giant metal sculpture that skiing freaks pray to for snow. And in North Dakota there’s the World’s Largest Buffalo.
And in both of those places, and others, there’s been Lindsey, like he’s hoping to take some of the power away with him, or something.
"Got me to thinking," Gunn continues.
"What about?" Lindsey asks, and there’s genuine interest there.
"Graceland."
"As in Elvis?"
"Yeah. No. Not Graceland; places *like* Graceland. I mean, you’ve got places that naturally have this power, right?" Lindsey makes a noise of agreement. "But what about places that don’t have it naturally, but they get these...shit, what’s that word? Worshippers?"
"Acolytes," Lindsey says slowly, with certainty, like he’s on to where Gunn’s going. Probably is. That law school degree is legit, after all.
"Right. All those acolytes, all that belief in a space--it’s gotta fill that place with the power. Make it what it wasn’t."
Gunn lets the pause go on and on, his mind still pretty damn fuzzy and that floating sensation making him press his head down harder on the pillow beneath it. Absently counts the seconds that go by, and gets to four hundred and thirty two before Lindsey speaks again.
"Interesting theory," he says finally.
"Wonder if it works on people," Gunn mumbles. "Make yourself into something sacred. Something powerful. That’d be badass."
***
Lindsey’s in Vermont. He hates it. Thinks that maybe he got a little too used to the non-seasons of California. Tosses the motel’s scratchy comforter off and fingers the wood of his guitar, which is sitting on the bed next to him. It’s varnished and shiny in some places, worn down by his fingers and picks in other places. An uneven, confused terrain that Lindsey has to look away from because it hits too close to home.
Thinks about what Gunn’s just said and wonders if he’ll ever achieve that level of common-man brilliance. Because, it really *would* be badass to imbue the ground that he walks on--to imbue himself--with that power.
Doesn’t think it’ll ever happen, though. Lindsey is too much a product of law school and Wolfram & Hart: there are scales and ranks and measurable levels of success. Even if he has removed himself from it all and is just...Lindsey. Lindsey, walking this earth and hoping to stumble across something that makes sense along the way. Except he thinks he won’t. He thinks he’ll miss it all along the way, because that seems to be his pattern.
He’s been doing it since he was recruited straight out of law school, and even more so since he was pitted against Lilah. Constantly focused on the little picture, the eight-and-a-half by eleven picture of evaluations and reviews. Signed on the dotted line by his superiors. Nodded at by the Senior Partners.
He’s not really sure who Lindsey is, what that means. Took this little roadside trip in the hopes of learning something important--something deep. But nothing has jumped out at him. Nothing’s tapped him on the shoulder and presented itself to him with a little placard that says, "Lindsey".
Gunn, safely removed from it all, has seen it, though. And that’s why Lindsey calls him, even though it would be safer for everyone if he didn’t. Listens to Gunn’s easy, simple view of it and wonders if his life was always the confused mess of Wolfram & Hart. Was there ever something easy, simple? He doesn’t know. Back when he left L.A. he was sure there was. Hopes that some of Gunn’s wisdom will stick with him. Like Gunn’s a roadside attraction himself.
The further Lindsey gets from L.A.--geographically and mentally--the more confused things get. The more he forgets about who he was before getting to Los Angeles in the first place. It should be the opposite. It should be that he connects more with pre-L.A. Lindsey.
"Think it can work on people?" he asks Gunn. "That people can make themselves into something sacred--something worthy--just by thinking they are?"
And Gunn’s voice comes across the line; gruff and sleepy and delicious in Lindsey’s ear. It’s like crystal clear water; cool and true and easy on the stomach.
"Dunno," Gunn tells him. "But I figure--why the hell wouldn’t it?"
That doesn’t really answer anything Lindsey’s questioning. "Why the hell *wouldn’t* it?" he repeats.
"It’s like this," Gunn surmises in Lindsey’s ear. "You got the belief, the worship of yourself, right?" Lindsey mumbles some kind of acquiescing sound and Gunn takes that as a cue to continue. "And you live with it for a while. Live with it day-to-day. It gets ingrained in you and shit. After a while it’s like...well, where you walk? That ground’s got that special power."
Lindsey’s heard that things said when someone isn’t fully awake are brilliant things, *insightful* things. It’s always been the case with Gunn, but it doesn’t actually work for everyone. Because he picked up a small mini-recorder in Omaha, and taped himself in those fateful hours between two and four in the morning, and his musings aren’t very insightful. In fact, they’re bland, boring. Regurgitations of nothingness.
Nothing worth really noting. Nothing notable in the least. Nothing like the utter brilliance that is Charles Gunn.
"Or maybe the ground you walk on is just full of your own bullshit," Lindsey drawls to Gunn.
Gunn laughs, a crystalline sound to Lindsey’s jaded ear. "Guess it could be," he concedes. "But, you’ve got to keep perspective. Keep hope alive, right? So, instead of it being bogged down by crap, it’s all uplifted by your positive thinking." A hard, knowing pause. "You do know about positive thinking, don’t you? Not that new age bullshit. Just practical stuff."
And this is why Lindsey calls in the middle of the night, when Gunn is only partly conscious of the conversation. He gets the real deal from the other man. The no-holds-barred commentary. The honesty that no one else from his L.A life was aware of, and that no one he passes by in his new life can give since Lindsey doesn’t make an effort to get past the niceties.
"Practical stuff," he sort of grunts. "Yeah, I think I remember that from way back when."
"You do," Gunn replies, his voice certain. "Like, the crops grow no matter what. Or some other country analogy that probably makes more sense."
Lindsey’s lips twitch. "I know what you’re saying." He pauses for a moment to pull the phone away from his ear and take a look at the elapsed time of the call. "I should probably get going. I'll try to get a secure line next time."
"Good, and while you're at it, maybe try to call when I'm awake and can actually participate in the damn conversation, huh?"
"Maybe," Lindsey hedges, grinning despite himself. "Take care."
"You too, man."
Too much of what he's learned about himself is tied up in Gunn. Has been for a while now, and leaving didn't change that. It's like Lindsey can't really look at himself unless it's through Gunn's eyes, by Gunn's lead. And that's dangerous, because he knows that as honest as Gunn is, when push comes to shove there are things he doesn't say because they haven't come up yet. Important things that drill right to the heart of Lindsey and define him at his core, at his basest level. Things Lindsey knows all about, but can't really get a bead on because Gunn isn't there to somehow make him believe them beyond acknowledging them.
There was a time when things were different. When Gunn was looking for something from Lindsey, too. But that ended when Lindsey left L.A. because Gunn had figured it out for himself by that point. Gunn doesn't seem to notice or care that things have gotten all one-sided lately. That Lindsey really has no purpose in his life anymore, nothing to offer.
But Lindsey knows and notices, and he's always worried every time he calls that Gunn's just going to hang up on him. He never does, though, and Lindsey can only be grateful for that.
He needs the clarity he gets during the middle of the night calls with Gunn, when the other man is half-awake and talking without thinking.
And he hopes that maybe some of it will make a difference. Call him a pessimist, but he doesn't think this quiet time of his is going to last forever. Sooner or later everything is going to hit the fan again and he needs to be prepared.
.End
Next Story in Series - Likeness of Form
Series Listing in Memories here.
Series: Smoke and Mirrors #7
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Gunn/Lindsey
Spoilers/Timeline: Set some unmentioned time in S3
Summary: A call from the road.
*
Lindsey calls him sometimes. Usually in the middle of the night. Gunn knows the timing is deliberate, that Lindsey’s just being a little shit like always. Takes it with a grain of salt and a little bit of nostalgia. ‘Cause it’s been about six months since Lindsey went riding off into the night, and Gunn realized during week one that he kind of got used to Lindsey.
"Asshole," Gunn says into his cell after picking it up on the third ring. Lindsey’s still on the move, and Gunn can only guess that it’s him calling since the other man doesn’t have a permanent number yet. But, three a.m.? An area code on the caller ID that Gunn can’t identify? Sure bet it’s Lindsey. If not, whoever’s on the other end can just deal. It’s three in the fucking morning.
"Good morning, sunshine," Lindsey says, husky voice not due to getting woken up. It’s like fine sandpaper in Gunn’s ear, that voice. The kind that’s not rough enough to draw blood, but *just* rough enough to make his fingers tingle when he runs them against the grain.
Sits up in bed and rubs his eyes, tries to wake up and then just slumps back and closes his eyes. "Your timing sucks, you know that?" he gripes. "I only got about ten hours of sleep this entire week. This was going to be the night I *slept*."
"I’m crying for you. Really, I am," Lindsey drawls.
Gunn smiles in the darkness of his bedroom. Lets himself drift into a barely awake state and it’s like he’s floating.
The first call came seven hours after Lindsey hit the freeway out of L.A. It was the only time Lindsey called from a place he currently was, because it was so close to L.A. that it didn’t matter if the call was being listened in on. Told Gunn he was in four states at once, and Gunn heard that Lindsey was realizing the possibilities of, well, everything.
"So what dumbass thing did you see, lately, huh? Another big ball of twine?"
"Not lately, but yeah, I did see another."
Sometimes when Lindsey calls, he’s bursting with stuff to say. Like he stores it up while he’s wandering around. Like he doesn’t talk to anyone else. Gunn doubts that’s the case, but he does think that some of the calls are less about a big ass ball of twine, and more about Lindsey. Still, Gunn’s tired mind can’t really think much past the fact that Lindsey saw two really big balls of twine, in two different places. That is...something, all right.
"I read that book you sent," Gunn says into the silence. "That *American Gods* one."
"Yeah?"
"It was a head thing."
A raspy chuckle. "A head thing. You’re a poet, man. A real poet."
"It’s three in the morning," Gunn grumbles. "What else do you expect from me?"
"Exactly what I’m getting," is the reply Lindsey gives, and Gunn remembers.
Lindsey used to wake him up in the middle of the night, at whatever motel they were meeting in. Wake him up and ask him about everything under the sun. Lindsey still does it now, during middle of the night calls, and Gunn still has no idea why he can’t ask the questions when Gunn’s awake.
"Good or bad head thing?" Lindsey asks him.
Gunn thinks about that. Thinks about gods that were brought to America along with the people who believed in them. Gods who became echoes of themselves as time passed and new generations believed less and less in the old world myths, who faded away into nothingness when no one believed. Of a hall filled with statues of dead gods with no names listed, because the names were lost forever, forgotten that completely. Thinks about what they might do to never be forgotten, or to be entirely forgotten.
"Both, I guess. I mean, my line of work? Not really wanting to consider that there are *gods* just wandering around, plain as day. Especially not when they’re sorta powerful and temperamental. But, yeah, it was interesting. Guess I know what you’re about, now."
And Gunn does. He understands why, each time Lindsey calls, there’s another mention of another roadside attraction. Powerful places, that book said. Places where people build strange things, do strange things, because there’s something in the air, the land, the water, that compels them to. That demands it. So in Joliet, Montana, there’s a giant metal sculpture that skiing freaks pray to for snow. And in North Dakota there’s the World’s Largest Buffalo.
And in both of those places, and others, there’s been Lindsey, like he’s hoping to take some of the power away with him, or something.
"Got me to thinking," Gunn continues.
"What about?" Lindsey asks, and there’s genuine interest there.
"Graceland."
"As in Elvis?"
"Yeah. No. Not Graceland; places *like* Graceland. I mean, you’ve got places that naturally have this power, right?" Lindsey makes a noise of agreement. "But what about places that don’t have it naturally, but they get these...shit, what’s that word? Worshippers?"
"Acolytes," Lindsey says slowly, with certainty, like he’s on to where Gunn’s going. Probably is. That law school degree is legit, after all.
"Right. All those acolytes, all that belief in a space--it’s gotta fill that place with the power. Make it what it wasn’t."
Gunn lets the pause go on and on, his mind still pretty damn fuzzy and that floating sensation making him press his head down harder on the pillow beneath it. Absently counts the seconds that go by, and gets to four hundred and thirty two before Lindsey speaks again.
"Interesting theory," he says finally.
"Wonder if it works on people," Gunn mumbles. "Make yourself into something sacred. Something powerful. That’d be badass."
***
Lindsey’s in Vermont. He hates it. Thinks that maybe he got a little too used to the non-seasons of California. Tosses the motel’s scratchy comforter off and fingers the wood of his guitar, which is sitting on the bed next to him. It’s varnished and shiny in some places, worn down by his fingers and picks in other places. An uneven, confused terrain that Lindsey has to look away from because it hits too close to home.
Thinks about what Gunn’s just said and wonders if he’ll ever achieve that level of common-man brilliance. Because, it really *would* be badass to imbue the ground that he walks on--to imbue himself--with that power.
Doesn’t think it’ll ever happen, though. Lindsey is too much a product of law school and Wolfram & Hart: there are scales and ranks and measurable levels of success. Even if he has removed himself from it all and is just...Lindsey. Lindsey, walking this earth and hoping to stumble across something that makes sense along the way. Except he thinks he won’t. He thinks he’ll miss it all along the way, because that seems to be his pattern.
He’s been doing it since he was recruited straight out of law school, and even more so since he was pitted against Lilah. Constantly focused on the little picture, the eight-and-a-half by eleven picture of evaluations and reviews. Signed on the dotted line by his superiors. Nodded at by the Senior Partners.
He’s not really sure who Lindsey is, what that means. Took this little roadside trip in the hopes of learning something important--something deep. But nothing has jumped out at him. Nothing’s tapped him on the shoulder and presented itself to him with a little placard that says, "Lindsey".
Gunn, safely removed from it all, has seen it, though. And that’s why Lindsey calls him, even though it would be safer for everyone if he didn’t. Listens to Gunn’s easy, simple view of it and wonders if his life was always the confused mess of Wolfram & Hart. Was there ever something easy, simple? He doesn’t know. Back when he left L.A. he was sure there was. Hopes that some of Gunn’s wisdom will stick with him. Like Gunn’s a roadside attraction himself.
The further Lindsey gets from L.A.--geographically and mentally--the more confused things get. The more he forgets about who he was before getting to Los Angeles in the first place. It should be the opposite. It should be that he connects more with pre-L.A. Lindsey.
"Think it can work on people?" he asks Gunn. "That people can make themselves into something sacred--something worthy--just by thinking they are?"
And Gunn’s voice comes across the line; gruff and sleepy and delicious in Lindsey’s ear. It’s like crystal clear water; cool and true and easy on the stomach.
"Dunno," Gunn tells him. "But I figure--why the hell wouldn’t it?"
That doesn’t really answer anything Lindsey’s questioning. "Why the hell *wouldn’t* it?" he repeats.
"It’s like this," Gunn surmises in Lindsey’s ear. "You got the belief, the worship of yourself, right?" Lindsey mumbles some kind of acquiescing sound and Gunn takes that as a cue to continue. "And you live with it for a while. Live with it day-to-day. It gets ingrained in you and shit. After a while it’s like...well, where you walk? That ground’s got that special power."
Lindsey’s heard that things said when someone isn’t fully awake are brilliant things, *insightful* things. It’s always been the case with Gunn, but it doesn’t actually work for everyone. Because he picked up a small mini-recorder in Omaha, and taped himself in those fateful hours between two and four in the morning, and his musings aren’t very insightful. In fact, they’re bland, boring. Regurgitations of nothingness.
Nothing worth really noting. Nothing notable in the least. Nothing like the utter brilliance that is Charles Gunn.
"Or maybe the ground you walk on is just full of your own bullshit," Lindsey drawls to Gunn.
Gunn laughs, a crystalline sound to Lindsey’s jaded ear. "Guess it could be," he concedes. "But, you’ve got to keep perspective. Keep hope alive, right? So, instead of it being bogged down by crap, it’s all uplifted by your positive thinking." A hard, knowing pause. "You do know about positive thinking, don’t you? Not that new age bullshit. Just practical stuff."
And this is why Lindsey calls in the middle of the night, when Gunn is only partly conscious of the conversation. He gets the real deal from the other man. The no-holds-barred commentary. The honesty that no one else from his L.A life was aware of, and that no one he passes by in his new life can give since Lindsey doesn’t make an effort to get past the niceties.
"Practical stuff," he sort of grunts. "Yeah, I think I remember that from way back when."
"You do," Gunn replies, his voice certain. "Like, the crops grow no matter what. Or some other country analogy that probably makes more sense."
Lindsey’s lips twitch. "I know what you’re saying." He pauses for a moment to pull the phone away from his ear and take a look at the elapsed time of the call. "I should probably get going. I'll try to get a secure line next time."
"Good, and while you're at it, maybe try to call when I'm awake and can actually participate in the damn conversation, huh?"
"Maybe," Lindsey hedges, grinning despite himself. "Take care."
"You too, man."
Too much of what he's learned about himself is tied up in Gunn. Has been for a while now, and leaving didn't change that. It's like Lindsey can't really look at himself unless it's through Gunn's eyes, by Gunn's lead. And that's dangerous, because he knows that as honest as Gunn is, when push comes to shove there are things he doesn't say because they haven't come up yet. Important things that drill right to the heart of Lindsey and define him at his core, at his basest level. Things Lindsey knows all about, but can't really get a bead on because Gunn isn't there to somehow make him believe them beyond acknowledging them.
There was a time when things were different. When Gunn was looking for something from Lindsey, too. But that ended when Lindsey left L.A. because Gunn had figured it out for himself by that point. Gunn doesn't seem to notice or care that things have gotten all one-sided lately. That Lindsey really has no purpose in his life anymore, nothing to offer.
But Lindsey knows and notices, and he's always worried every time he calls that Gunn's just going to hang up on him. He never does, though, and Lindsey can only be grateful for that.
He needs the clarity he gets during the middle of the night calls with Gunn, when the other man is half-awake and talking without thinking.
And he hopes that maybe some of it will make a difference. Call him a pessimist, but he doesn't think this quiet time of his is going to last forever. Sooner or later everything is going to hit the fan again and he needs to be prepared.
.End
Next Story in Series - Likeness of Form
Series Listing in Memories here.