Challenge story for ats_endofdays

Title: (r e) mission
Author: elynross
Episode: Redefinition
Pairing: Angel/Lindsey
Rating: R
Email: elynross@gmail.com
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Written for the challenge at ats_endofdays
Summary: Darla didn't kill him, and Lindsey wants to know why.

Notes: Thanks to doyle_sb4 for starting this, and sockkpuppett for helping me figure some of this out.



(r e) mission

Lindsey held it together, just barely, until Lilah climbed up from behind the couch. And even then nobody could tell from the outside that he was falling apart. He made sure of that.

Darla and Dru were long gone by the time the firm's advance team came in, followed quickly by non-corporate emergency personnel, followed by various corporate scavengers, hoping to reap the blood benefit. The advance team kept a close eye on what was seen and said, while a paramedic tried to convince him that he really needed to go to the hospital, even though none of the blood covering his expensive suit was his. The ghouls hovered just out of sight, waiting for their chance to get a piece of him.

He didn't remember any of them arriving; all he could see were the panicking suits as they scrabbled at the door or tried to find someplace to hide from the bitch sisters, twin beauties who gloried in playing with their food, licking their fingers, licking each other's fingers, like some kind of lesbian porn slasher film. This hadn't been a film, though, it had been 3-D four color blood-red live-action, holographic horror with him right in the middle, closer than he'd ever let himself come to being involved.

It seemed now that Dru had kept up a constant droning song, and at one point she'd stopped in front of him, stroking the backs of her fingers against his cheek and murmuring things about the fool's mate and a backward pawn, her eyes wide and dilated. She swayed close to him, mesmerizing, like a snake, and he wasn't sure what had saved him, although he had a faint memory of a laughing voice calling her name, Drusilla, come play with me. Eenie, meenie, miney, mo, catch a lawyer... and then there were more screams. Someone had fallen into him at some point, knocking him over, and he'd just lain there, not hiding, just...waiting. For death, for Darla, but she never came, and there were only more bodies piling up. More bodies, fewer screams, until there were none.

He ignored the ubiquitous Wolfram & Hart underlings pleading that they be allowed to drive him home, or to call a company car, or do any of the many, many things they wanted to do for (to) him in hopes that he would remember them well enough to allow them to crawl out of the equivalent of the professional typing pool.

He could have told them that if they were really good enough to make it at the company, they'd be back at the office prepping their arguments for why they should take over the many cases left hanging due to the unscheduled slaughter. The only way to make it big at Wolfram & Hart was over dead bodies -- literally. The senior partners took "survival of the fittest" very seriously. Here wasn't the place to be, though; nobody in their right mind would want to be too closely associated with this fiasco. It didn't fit the corporate image at all, not even at Wolfram & Hart.

What was unusual about this particular instance was threefold: that it took out someone as high up as Holland Manners; that the company wasn't the one behind the culling; and that there were survivors. Two of them.

Until Lilah stood up, he thought he was the only one -- that he was special. That Darla had saved him for personal reasons. Now he wasn't sure why he was still alive. That was the point at which he pushed his way out of the abattoir and headed for his car, ignoring calls for him to stop. He had someplace to be -- if he could just figure out where that was.

The parking valet had disappeared. Lindsey figured he'd probably turn up behind one of the cars once they got around to looking. It took him a few minutes, but since he'd shown up last, his car wasn't too hard to find. Five seconds later he was peeling out of Holland's driveway, his tie taking a flying leap out the window.

He didn't have a destination in mind, he just drove hard and fast, nearly hitting a couple of cars as he cornered across the inner lane to avoid the sheer drop of the expensive hills that lay between the Manners' mansion and the refuse of LA itself. As much as he thought at all, he kept expecting flashing lights in his rearview mirror -- but then he realized that they were all behind him, sorting bodies and probably letting the firm convince them that it could all just disappear. No headlines in the paper out of this mess; Wolfram & Hart didn't like uncontrolled publicity. They hadn't approved this, and it would be hard to spin it in their favor, even to build their reputation in the darker corners of their practice.

Holland had been a valued member, but he'd sure fucked up this time. The firm would want payback. In perpetuity. Lindsey idly wondered how much of that payment would come out of his own hide, and the laughter that broke out at the thought showed him how shocky he still was.

Halfway back to town he realized he still had a manic grin carved onto his face, and his clothes were stiffening with dried blood -- but he was alive. For whatever reason, Darla had saved him. But what had she saved him for?

By the time the car slid to a stop at the curb, a frenzied jizm of rage and euphoria was shooting through his veins. When he looked out the window to see that he'd driven straight to Angel's hotel, the laughter bubbled up again, only this time it sounded to his own ears like hysteria. Dru's singsong voice echoed in his ear, accompanied by one long, slender, metronomic finger. Bad boy. Bad boy, don't go, Daddy doesn't like you...much.

He was out of the car and halfway to the door without thinking about it, his feet carrying him forward, and he didn't have a clue why he was here. The idea that he knew exactly why he was here was strangled faster than Holland had died. And after all, it really wasn't that puzzling; after all, who knew Darla better than the creature she'd created?

The hotel lobby was oddly silent, and none of Angel's lackeys came out to insult him, let alone stop him. He thought in passing of Roanoke or Anjikuni, with their less-than-mysterious circumstances explained in the case files passed around the office. It was unlikely the sanctimonious bastards had had the grace to vanish, with help or without, but their absence seemed almost like a benediction, a sign as to the righteousness of his quest. He couldn't have said why he knew he'd find Angel himself.

The tattered opulence of the hotel reminded him of the mansion he'd just left, and echoes of terror drifted through the ether, making him shiver, but whether it was pleasure or something more conventional, he didn't know. After a moment, the fading sounds were punctuated by distant thumps, as of flesh meeting flesh.

The sound pulled him along, each slap sending a shiver of anticipation through him. Around the corner, down the hall, he reached an open door at the head of a flight of stairs just as he heard a flurry of blows, then nothing. He stood there for a moment, not thinking, just...waiting. Then he heard something whipping through the air, and stepped through the doorway.

He could see Angel from the top of the stairs, dancing with his sword, muscles bunching and flexing, a blur of speed and violent grace. His undershirt clung to damp skin, stark and white, almost glowing in the dimly-lit space. He watched, mesmerized, then started down.

Lindsey froze halfway down the stairs as Angel sank his sword into a nearby piece of junk with a clank, then flinched as he kicked the punching bag across the room. He had to know Lindsey was there, but he showed no sign of it, staring off into the shadows, so Lindsey continued down the stairs.

Angel turned to face him as he reached the bottom, his face absolutely blank, his eyes shadowed, no evidence of surprise, of dismay or regret. It was the face Lindsey had seen as Angel shut them all into hell, not even a smirk of pleasure lurking in the corner of his mouth.

Lindsey waited, and the longer he waited, the more unsettled he got, anxiety making him want to move, to flex his hands, shift his stance, something.

"She didn't kill me." He was surprised by the sound of his own voice.

The change was barely perceptible, a slight forward tilt of his head, the bare raising of an eyebrow, but it made Angel's contemptuous amusement clear. Lindsey flushed, feeling like the stupid, redneck hick he'd fought to put behind him.

"You should have seen them.They were incredible. Vicious, beautiful, and they seemed to have so much fun." Lindsey knew he was babbling, and he didn't care. "But you have seen them, haven't you? You knew exactly what it would look like. All the bodies piled up, blood everywhere. I think Shimmerman was the best; Dru cut his throat with her fingernails so Darla could fill a bottle to take with them. And then they tried to convince Ellis Burchard that they'd turn him and take him along if he helped them with the others. Now that was funny."

Angel kept staring at him, as if waiting for something more, and Lindsey couldn't think of anything else to say, anything that might get a reaction from him. Angel finally turned away again, as if Lindsey weren't even there, and rage spilled out to drown the euphoria. Lindsey walked over and grabbed Angel's shoulder, trying to turn him around, but it was like trying to move a wall. Angel reached up and grabbed his hand, and before Lindsey knew what was happening, Angel had spun him and had him in a headlock. Lindsey felt a gleeful satisfaction that he'd gotten a response.

"Did you come here to ask me to finish the job?" Angel's voice was low and quiet, as blank as his face. "Disappointed she didn't end it for you?" Angel bent close to his ear, barely whispering, his words teasing Lindsey's skin. "Do you even know what you want, Lindsey? Why you're here?"

Lindsey struggled for a moment, and then stood there, his hands on Angel's arm, pulled up on his toes by Angel's unthinking strength. It was dead quiet now, nothing but his own labored breathing. Angel was completely still, not moving, not breathing, tight against his back. He found that he was scared of Angel in a way he hadn't been of Darla. Darla was simply following her nature; she was who she'd been made -- who he'd help make her. She was clever, but basically straightforward. Even as human, though, there had been a viciousness to her character, a pleasure taken in wounding others, particularly those who tried to care about her.

Angel, though. Angel was more complicated than Wolfram & Hart had ever given him credit for. He was acting out of character, behaving unpredictably, making choices that didn't fit his profile, a profile carefully constructed and consulted by everyone involved with his case. And according to his profile, Angel protected people from the monsters, even when they were no angels themselves -- only the rules of the game had apparently changed. Or maybe Angel just wasn't playing by the same rules, anymore. Smart move, really. Something Lindsey should keep in mind, maybe.

Lindsey thought maybe he was the only one who hadn't been surprised that Angel left them all to die. He'd recognized the barely contained violence in Angel's eyes, sometimes, the impatience -- and not always directed where you'd think. Holland, though. Thinking he could control Darla, direct and manipulate her, was his first mistake. His second was counting on Angel to save him -- but that one hadn't lasted long at all.

And Lindsey? Lindsey had just watched, watched Angel shut the doors, watched Darla and Dru take down his colleagues. He was the bad guy, but a good boy, always doing what he was told, following orders like a good boy, never too creative, a fucking pawn on Wolfram & Hart's chessboard, where Angel was a major player too valuable to discard. It was always all about Angel.

"Let go of me," he said roughly. To Lindsey's surprise, Angel did, and Lindsey turned to face him, rubbing his throat, feeling cold. "Some hero you are, man. Some of those people you let die never did anything to you, didn't even work for us. People brought dates, spouses..." He trailed off, as Angel looked bored and started to turn away again.

"You know, I'm glad the company brought Drusilla in. I'm glad you weren't the one who saved Darla. She was right, you're too weak--" This time he ended up slammed face-first into the brick wall.

"You think you saved her? After what you watched, you think she's saved?" The growl in Angel's voice made Lindsey shiver, and he felt hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat again.

"I know she didn't want to die!"

Angel slammed him up against the wall again, bracing him with his arm. "You fucking worthless piece of shit. None of us want to die, but there are things worse than dying. You didn't just kill her, you destroyed her soul. But you wouldn't know anything about having a soul, would you? You gave yours up voluntarily. It was probably in your original contract with Wolfram & Hart."

Lindsey started to laugh, and the effervescent feeling was back in his system, pushing down the rage, prickling over his skin. He could be either angry or giddy tonight, but apparently not both. The brick was cold against his cheek, and Angel was cool against his back, and everything smelled cold and dead, but he was hot, he was burning up, stuck between a rock and a hard body, and the laughter wouldn't stop.

"She doesn't care, you know. If she left you alive, it's because she needs something. You should understand that, right? After all, you never really cared about her, just what she could get for you. You happy with the deal now?" Angel leaned into him, making it hard to breathe.

Lindsey's laughter trailed off, and he closed his eyes, wanting to deny it, all of it. Who better to know why she'd leave anyone alive?

Angel bent closer, whispering right into Lindsey's ear again. "So, now you've got me, and I'm never going to leave you alone, you and those monsters you work for -- the ones who are left. You happy about that, Lindsey? You get the answers you came for?"

Lindsey gulped for air, answers he'd never dreamed of spinning through his head, and he thought he really must have had some kind of death wish to come here, not knowing what he was looking for. He was a lawyer; how could he have made the beginner's mistake of asking questions to which he didn't already know the answers? He just hoped he could get out of here before Angel figured out those answers, too, because surely he didn't know them already.

Angel jerked him back from the wall, but slid an arm back around his throat, keeping him still. "You didn't answer my question. Did. You. Get. Your. Answers?"

Each word was punctuated by a popping button as Angel tore his shirt open, and Lindsey shivered. "Maybe this will help. Think of it like...charades."

Angel pulled Lindsey's head back and bent in again, and Lindsey heard the shifting, sliding noises as Angel changed, felt Angel's teeth sharpen against his throat. Lindsey braced his hands against the wall as Angel closed his teeth lightly over the column of Lindsey's throat, sliding up and down as his palm slid down Lindsey's chest, flattening his nipples, tugging at hair painfully. His breath was harsh in his own ears, and all he could think to say was, "Jesus Christ."

"I don't think he'll have anything to do with either one of us," Angel murmured in his ear. His hand slid firmly across Lindsey's belly before yanking open his pants, exposing him to the cool air of the basement. Lindsey stood there, naked from throat to cock, gutted and jutting as Angel took him in hand and started roughly jerking him off, no gentleness, no passion, and it made Lindsey's knees buckle.

Angel kept him upright with his other arm, his strokes hard and fast. "This is what you wanted, isn't it, Lindsey? All that time you were after Darla, all that time you spent trying to reach her softer side, you were after me. You were using her to get to me, and you didn't even know why you were doing it."

Lindsey's fingers dug into the wall; a shard of brick broke off and slid under his nail, and the sharp pain just blurred into the words murmured into his ear, the echoes of screams, the stench of blood and entrails, and when he came, spattering onto the wall, his knees gave out entirely. Angel let him drop down onto his hands and knees on the floor, and stood over him. Lindsey looked up to see him shake his hand and send pearly drops flying, then casually wipe his hand along the front of his undershirt.

"Take your time, but be gone when I get back. I've got some things to take care of." Angel turned and headed up the stairs, stopping halfway. "Oh, and Lindsey? When I want you dead, you'll know it. This wasn't personal; you were just in the right place at wrong time."

Lindsey rolled over to sit on the floor, away from the wall. His body still ached, unsatisfied, if spent. He wasn't sure if Angel was referring to the earlier massacre, or the current debacle. He wasn't sure it mattered; it probably applied equally well to both.

The shape of his world had changed, and it affected everything. The rage and exhilaration were both gone, and he had nothing to replace them. He knew the anger would be back; it was a constant companion in his life, one of the things that had driven him to achieve, to make sure he was never in a place where he was under anyone else's control, ever again. The irony didn't escape him.

He'd bided his time at Wolfram & Hart, under Holland's guidance, their promises like music to his ears. But now Holland was gone, his tutelage in question, and Lindsey was tired of being everyone else's pawn.

He climbed to his feet, grimacing at his stained clothes. He dressed as best he could, tucking his shirt into his pants. It was good enough to get him home. He shuddered slightly as he touched his own skin, still sensitive. He could still feel Angel's hand against him, cool and hard, and he tightened his jaw. He might not have admitted it to himself before, but now it was out in the open, and therefore it couldn't be used against him as a weakness. He'd been a fool too much lately; it was time to start looking out for himself better, plan for the future. Wolfram & Hart had seemed the perfect avenue just out of college; maybe he needed to reevaluate that plan. He'd have to be careful. They didn't like variation, and it made them uneasy when people changed.

But he could do it. It was all a matter of changing the rules of the game.

I don't understand how you could watch 'Becoming, Parts I & II' and *not* be a Buffy-Angel 'shipper. And I don't understand how you could watch anything I wrote, and not be a Darla-Angel 'shipper. But really, I'm an Angel-Lindsey 'shipper.' --Tim Minear, interview on E-online