Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Bare Minimum Requirements
by Lar

EMAIL: HERE
RATING: R
PAIRING: A/L
DISCLAIMER: They belong to M.E., not me.
SUMMARY: Hell is not just any other people...
A/N: Fic #4 from a prompt by itsabigrock: "I thought you'd never die"

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There was no drama to dying. Not the first time and not this time. Angel's not surprised but he is disappointed. To go from a rain soaked and epic battle with demons and dragons, to be cut down by the blade of an enemy and fall to the blood soaked dirt of the alley in a shower of ashes, only to awaken in the bland and non-descript room here is somewhat short of the glory of the great hereafter.

Even Hell should have something more than a cot, dirty white walls and the unmistakable scent of a New York subway in the air.

He sits up, hand rubbing absently at the place where the sword neatly split him in two. He's not sure why the lack of scarring annoys him but it does. As does the ruination of his coat. He shrugs off the mangled garment and drops it to the floor, standing in the light of the flickering fluorescents overhead and squinting into the dim parts of the room where it stretches into shadow.

"Hello?"

His voice falls flat and dead, no echo at all. He frowns at that, rubs the back of his neck, sighs heavily before he moves away from the cot itself. He's not ten paces away before he hears the sounds of rustling bedclothes and he turns slowly to look at the metal frame and thin mattress where he woke.

The man sitting on the bed is smirking at him. It's a good, solid, 'fuck you' twist on his lips, and Angel considers apologizing for all of three seconds before the possibilities of this situation sink in. The smirk grows wider as the man watches Angel grasp the concept.

"You know, I thought you'd never die," he says as he stands and shakes too-long hair out of his eyes. "I was pretty fuckin' sure for a while there that you were gonna beat the odds, give the Partners one seriously wicked hump, and walk away from this whole thing on top. I gotta admit that this is the first time I'm actually glad to be wrong about you."

Angel's silent as he watches Lindsey pace around him. He can only assume that the blood stains on Lindsey's shirt are the ones from the shots Lorne fired under protest, under orders. There's not much he can say here that wouldn't be a lie anyway. So he lets Lindsey talk. It's not like Angel has anywhere else to be.

Lindsey walks around him once, then stops, folds his arms, stares at him with eyes that are bright and hard. Death apparently took none of the venom from him. Then again, Angel supposes getting shot in the heart might piss a person off some. Finally he shrugs his own shoulders and sighs.

"What do you want from me, Lindsey? You want me to fall down on my knees, tell you I'm sorry that I lied to you? Not happening, so get over whatever sad little scenario you've been cooking up while you were waiting for me to die. I gotta tell you, as speeches go? That one... not your best work." Angel offers a tight smile, no humor in it.

Lindsey nods. "Yeah, I thought you might say somethin' like that. That whole on your knees thing though? Kinda makes me wonder how much thought *you * been puttin' into our reunion. I mean, come on... you didn't think you could screw over the Partners and not get sent right to your own special Hell the minute you got dusted, did you?" Lindsey chuckles and rubs his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.

"Hell was a lot more impressive when Holland Manners was giving the tour," Angel tells him.

"Sales. They always show you the best rooms before you sign on the dotted line. Then you get shoved in here where it stinks like piss and you end up with .... questionable roommates." Lindsey walks back to the cot, flops down on it, lays back. He kicks his feet up and crosses them at the ankles and puts his hands behind his head, shit-eating grin on his face. "You got a couple hundred years on me so I'm thinkin' you'll get bored way before I will."

Angel watches him silently. "You're telling me this is my eternal punishment? Hell is a snotty lawyer with a chip on his shoulder and a room that smells like the subway? Man... standards have dropped since I was here last."

Lindsey chuckles at that and settles in, whistles some bit of a tune that Angel almost recognizes. "Don't worry," he says idly and there's that grin again, too white and too amused. "We ain't hardly got started yet."

--end



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