§ PROFILE   § LIBRARY   § PARTNERS   § RESEARCH   § MISCELLANIA   § HOME Come Inside by Dale Edmonds E-mail address: dale@oggham.com Website: http://www.oggham.com/slash/ Rating: R Pairing: Lindsey/Angel Disclaimers: Yadda Yadda Notes: Originally, I planned to write two endings - one with Angel at the door, one with Cordelia in a Santarina outfit, but it was just too depressing for her. She's way too upbeat for Lindsey. Un-beta'd (and it shows!) mush for Christmas. (Santa Monica by Everclear as the song) ----- The cleaning lady had left his radio on, tuned to endless repetitions of Christmas carols. She'd stood all his business christmas cards on the mantelpiece with a box of cookies and a note wishing him a good holiday. It was the only present he'd received. The firm made an effort to suppress any Christmas cheer to avoid offending their clients. Halloween might be tacky for the undead but Christmas was simply painful. He had no friends outside of backstabbing scheming colleagues and his family might as well be dead. Probably were. So here he was. Christmas eve with a glass of whisky in a hand faker than L.A's snow from an aerosol can. The only person who'd spared him a good thought was his cleaning lady. Sweet woman, she'd made no fuss about the bloodstains and the bandages after the Event. He made a mental note to get his secretary to send her a bonus, find out her name. L.A. sparkled, lights strung out on black velvet, every City of Angels' cliche come beautifully to life. He'd pushed the balcony doors open, let the breeze spill in, the distant noise of a couple of million people far away. Pulled a chair up to the edge of the balcony - the wards placed around every door, every window even the godamn garbage chute, meant he never went out there, even in daylight. Stretched his legs out and sipped his whisky. Silent Night came on, and there was a moment of piercing painful clarity. Everything hurt. He managed to put the glass down without spilling any. His control over his hand had improved considerably. Still shook when he hit the CD player open, slotted in Brahms. Chords washing over him, gorgeous, melting music. Standing there, in his empty apartment, holding himself upright by sheer force of will. Crying soundlessly, knowing if he moved, he'd start sobbing, messy hot open pain. So he stood there in the dark, watching the sleek black console get wet under his hand. It stopped eventually. Pins and needles in his hand when he could move stiffly again. The music receding into the background. A familiar numbness sinking over him. Tomorrow, a couple of quiet soirees by the firm's mostly human senior partners. He'd brought home casefiles and notes to go through. Last year, he'd been grilled over his familiarity with South American politics, bluffed badly and ending up losing that promotion and transfer to Marshall, who by office rumor, was doing very well in Brazil. This year, he wasn't going to screw up. Holland had murmured something about Asia, a possible China position. China sounded good. Far away from L.A., from Angel and his band of do-gooders. Someplace full of strangers, where no-one looked familiar. No more of this walking down the street and catching sight of someone from the corner of his eye. Whirling round to discover it was just some tall dark guy. Another out of work actress. No more Christmases. That sounded good too. No more damn carols, no stupid trees loaded down with rubbish. No billboards of families glowing with good cheer around some enormous turkey, kids grinning ear-to-ear with their new Toys 'R' Us gadget. He'd never liked the holiday anyway. Not since he was seven. Seven and Mama was in hospital. Daddy had brought in a tree, a gorgeous green tree that went all the way up to the ceiling. The box of ornaments all the kids had made at school, packed away by mom the year before. Unwrapping them with the other kids, with daddy telling the stories behind them, just like mom had done. Hanging up stockings at the end of the big bed. Lucy, Lucas, Laura and Lindsey. The other two stayed in the box. Lily and Linda. Then Daddy pulled him aside, knelt down, all serious, and told Lindsey that he'd have to be the man that night. The hospital had called the neighbours, and Mr Brent had come down in his pickup to fetch Daddy. There was food in the cupboard, Goodwill hamper of biscuits and canned ham. Between him and Laura, they managed to make a hot meal. They were supposed to go to church, but Mrs Brent didn't come to fetch them, so Lindsey made them sing the carols they remembered and say a prayer. They were in bed when Lucas asked his question. "Lindsey, what time's Santa coming?" "After you sleep," he said instantly. But he didn't know. Now it was kind of funny, remembering how he'd laid in bed with his siblings snoring next to him, staring up at the ceiling. Not worrying about mama, but about whether Santa was coming. Mama wrote the letters to Santa, gave them to Mrs Brent to mail off. She hadn't had time this year, and maybe Santa wouldn't remember them. He climbed out of bed finally and went round searching all the hidden places in the house. There weren't many. Two cupboards, a shelf, a loose floorboard and the shed outside. Nothing. So he made up presents. Two biscuits in each stocking, a quarter of a bar of chocolate. Nearly full moon, so he could find flowers from the garden outside. He wasn't meant to pick them, they were Mama's, but he thought it'd be okay. Flowers for Laura and Lucy. His church-shirt for Lucas. Bit too big, but he'd grow into it. The hamper had come with ribbons and pretty plastic wrap so he did up the presents as best as he could. Mrs Brent came the next morning. They'd unwrapped the presents, and Lucy and Lucas had cried a lot for Mama, but they were sitting around eating oatmeal, pretty damn happy. Sun was out, Daddy was coming home and maybe he'd bring Mama with him. Spent Christmas Day at the hospital, watching Mama die. Took her all the way to New Year's, but that was it. Some nurse brought them to the cafeteria, better food than they had at home, but no-one wanted to eat. January, the house went to pay for the hospital bills. Enough money for a crappy truck, and off they went, sharecropping for the next four years. End of Christmas. He snorted. Now he was drunk and maudlin. Sitting in an apartment that cost more than a hundred shitty shacks. Pointless. He flipped his suitcase open and drew out his files. Better to work. Then the doorbell rang. "I know you're in there, Lindsey!" He froze. Surely there was a limit to how crummy his Christmas had to be. Shouldn't the gallant staff of Angel Investigations be busy getting merry at their hotel? He'd driven past earlier, the familiar detour he made each day. Just checking. Great big banner across the top, wishing everyone Happy Holidays. A dwarf Santa standing guard. All the downstairs lights on, blazing warmth and good cheer. Crap. Maybe this was their way of celebrating. Make Lindsey's Life Hell. He could understand. He snapped his suitcase shut and went to the door. "What the hell-" his voice trailed off at the apparition in front of him. "And a Merry Christmas to you, Lindsey!" "You're drunk," he said flatly. Angel was flushed, his hair tousled. He'd abandoned the traditional all-black for a shade of clotted blood and leather. No duster either, just one drunken vampire leaning against Lindsey's door, holding a bottle of wine and a sprig of mistletoe. The bottle had a ribbon clumsily tied around the neck. "Here." Angel shoved the bottle at him. "Delia wrapped it. Says to say hello." He blinked. "Said a bunch of other stuff but I don't think you want to hear it." "Probably not. What do you want?" "Can I come in?" "Tell me what you want first." It was unnerving standing on one side of a door, knowing that Angel couldn't put his hands through, couldn't grab him. Couldn't touch him though they were so close he could smell the cologne under the booze. If Angel'd been human, he would've felt Angel's breath on his face as he leaned closer, whispered his answer. "You." "You've had me." Three days. One night before the theft, with Angel sleeping on his couch. Following him around the flat, talking occasionally about the plan, but mostly watching. Watching Lindsey eat, drink, sleep. Standing behind him while he brushed his teeth in the morning, just him in the mirror, the half-dressed vampire behind him. Putting his hand on the small of Lindsey's back. He'd jerked in the mirror, startled at nothing while cold strong fingers smoothed up and down his spine. Then his eyes had been closed while Angel kissed him. Couldn't brush his teeth for weeks without a hard-on. Three days coasting along on a lie. Angel had driven him and the kids to a temple outside of town. Two hours trembling from adrenaline, lost in comforting three frightened children. Wesley met them there, surrounded by women in pale blue robes. The kids had gone with them, and Wesley had come to the car, standing outside. Moonlight made the Englishman look taller, gaunter. He didn't look at Lindsey at all. Stared hungrily at Angel while his voice was calm and controlled, explaining that the new mentor was on her way. Lindsey wasn't dumb enough to slide his hands through Angel's hair there and then, kiss him senseless while the geek watched. He waited till the temple had disappeared behind a bend in the road. Made Angel pull over and then climbed onto him. Moonlight made Angel's body glow. Made him look like some fallen angel, all heedless beauty naked on a car seat while Lindsey licked, kissed and finally, took. Weekend in Angel's bed, sex and talk. Wesley avoiding them, Cordelia rolling her eyes. Monday came, and he slept through it. Evening and they went out for dinner, italian-japanese fusion that was so terrible, they bought hotdogs along the boardwalk. L.A. alive at night, sense of holiday in the warm air, and Angel's hand slipped into his. Tuesday, he went back to Holland. Woke up in the morning and looked at Angel asleep beside him. Got out of bed, took a cab to his apartment, changed and went back to Wolfram & Hart. There was power involved, ambition and wealth. Underneath, the terrible aching fear that he'd fallen in love. He'd run back to the firm. "Let me in." Lindsey sighed. He'd said no once, lost his hand. Lost his heart, lost his head, lost everything. Angel wanted in, he got in. "Come inside." He found two clean glasses, uncorked the bottle and poured. Decent wine as far as he could tell. He pushed the other glass across the kitchen table to Angel. "How much have you had?" He shrugged. "Lost count. Gunn made the punch, so that was rocket fuel mixed with Tang. Cordelia kept opening bottles. They were all eating, and I was just -" he knocked back the glass with one swallow "- drinking." "And you decided to come here because?" "Phantom Dennis got hold of the mistletoe. Cordelia got Wesley to do some spell, bring him over to the hotel for the night. Great big lump of brick in the middle of the room. So he started floating around, waving the sprig. Made Cordelia kiss everyone. 'Cept me. Even Spike got kissed. And Kate." "Spike kissed Kate?" "Nah. Cordelia kissed Kate. Dennis undid all her buttons, last I saw them slipping under the table. Spike was with what's her name. Ginia. Got a thing for vampires. Wesley's got a thing too. So all of them. 'Cept Gunn. He was too drunk." "Uh-huh. And you decided to come here because?" He'd read somewhere that it took about twice as much alcohol to get a vampire drunk as a human. No hangovers, they shook it off pretty fast. Angel was recovering, the Irish lilt in his voice vanishing. When he looked up from twirling his empty glass in his hands, he didn't look drunk. He looked worn out, sad and tired. "Missed you. It's Christmas and I remembered you don't like Christmas." "You should be at the hotel, with your friends. Not here, Angel." Lindsey snatched the glass back, took them to the sink. He poured the rest of the bottle away, washed the glasses and set them out to dry. There was no sound behind him. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was alone. "Go home, Angel." There was such comfort in saying his name. Speaking what he'd forbid himself. Angel, Angel, Angel he wanted to whisper, to shout, to moan. Angel. "Go back to the Hyperion or Sunnydale. I don't want you here." "Buffy's spending Christmas with her family, her friends. She's got a new guy, kid called Riley. No-one at the hotel noticed I was leaving, except Cordelia. She made me take a cab, put a ribbon round the bottle. Said I was an idiot, and Christmas was about forgiving, so she forgave me for being an idiot. Then she gave me the mistletoe." Lindsey sat down at the table again. Spread his hands out and stared at them. Plastic and flesh. "I can't forgive you." "I can't forgive you, either. I still miss you." "I hate you. I won't leave the firm." "I'm not trying to save you. Why'd you leave me, Lindsey?" "Why'd you forgive Faith and not me?" Angel looked away first. "I didn't sleep with her." Then it was easier somehow to stand up, cross the room and fall against Angel, slide down into his arms. Balance on his knees, against the kitchen chair. Hands roaming, kissing blindly, drunkenly. Remembering how broad his shoulders were, the way his nipples tasted under his tongue, the slow sweet rock of leather against his thighs. He shut his eyes, fucked Angel's mouth and feathered the ridges of his forehead with his fingers. He was spread out on the kitchen table, undressed and left shivering when Angel rummaged through the cupboards. Then there was the cold wet tongue travelling up his thighs, warmth of friction and finally, finally, god he'd missed this, the weight of Angel's body on his. Legs between legs, chest to chest, his face pressed at the veins on Lindsey's throat, nuzzling, licking, biting without breaking the skin. "Come inside," he whispered. Then there was no sound but flesh, the table trembling with each thrust, and Lindsey's fevered breathing. He wrapped his arms around Angel, said his name. Came and lost himself in Angel's need. Then it was just their names, hands stroking hair and Angel wet from Lindesy's sweat, sticky and messy and holding him, dragging them up to sit on the table, Lindsey curled up against Angel, shaking and unable to stop saying his name. "Shush," Angel said and kissed him gently. "I'm here. Shush."