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Situating the Self
by Spyke Raven
Email: (spyke_raven@yahoo.com)
Spoilers: 'To Shanshu...' That's about it.
Summary: The first few days of Darla's return to the mortal realm. Definitely NOT canon. Pairings... not really. Or all kinds.
Rating: R, for language. Slashy-ness.
Warnings: Conceptual weirdness, written as a labour of love for the author's sake alone.
Improv: moist, escape, pure, fist, grace
Disclaimer: Not mine, none of the characters here are mine.
Notes: Constructive criticism will be highly appreciated.
**
*And in the darkness there was a great void, and in the void there was...silence*
*Was there really? *
*No. *
pause.
*I just thought you'd expect me to say something like that. *
- Extract from a conversation with subject D710X, recorded 05/30/00
(From the confidential records of Holland Manners.)
**
It wasn't about need, Lindsey was quite sure of that. Desire, power play, games of attrition... now those were concepts he understood.
But need?
He wasn't *needed * by anyone. He wasn't *irreplaceable*.
Though he wanted to be. God, yes.
Yes, he really wanted to be.
So he was on his knees, begging for Holland's cock, when the alarm erupted - discreetly - and they found out that subject D710X had somehow
*goddamnit*
*escaped *
Escaped from third level security and was wandering the streets of Los Angeles, quite probably mad, (afraid?) and definitely leaking very specific pheromones.
*Shit. Too soon, too soon *
Expletives poured through his mind, even as he watched Holland dress, calmly, methodically, while he put on his own pants and hunted for shoes -
For a moment he thought bizarrely of calling in investigators.
Didn't they specialize in helping the hopeless? Or something.
He smiled.
What a pick-up line this would make.
*I rescued your dam from hell. *
Appropriate pause. Suggestive smile.
* Don't I deserve some sort of reward? *
"Lindsey." Holland tossed him a sock and watched proprietarily as he put it on. Matched his smile. (We'll finish later.)
Unspoken thought - good boy.
Lindsey tried very hard not to shudder.
**
"Give me the torch."
Lilah merely shot a cool glance at him, and cocked her head before nodding decisively. "This way, gentlemen."
Of course the security guards followed, eyes locked on the lush figure swinging with practiced grace.
Ox-men. Morons. Oxymorons.
*My legs are longer than hers. And I've a better complexion too. *
Of course the tunnels were a dead end, but they only found that out after Lindsey slipped in an open drain and fell ignominiously, forever ruining his fit-for-royalty Italian cut suit.
It helped somewhat that Lilah was next, and the murky drain water made her blouse see-through.
Chivalrous ox-man #1 offered her his coat on the instant. #2 glared daggers while volunteering to go first from now onwards. Lilah smirked, while Lindsey contemplated murder suicide.
They were fighting off a family of anxious Mucktha mites
(No we DON'T want your garbage stash! Back off, you little demons, what would I DO with twenty condom wrappers? Shit, Security, just fire at will - no, not at will when they're at my fucking FEET! Hell, give me that - back OFF you rodents! )
When Holland finally (finally! Son-of-a-bitch) checked in.
"It's over. Go home."
*Go home? * He suppressed the urge to yodel, turned it into well-modulated passion, whispering into his cell phone, "But I thought we had a date?"
"Lindsey." Reproving. (Ah-ha!) "Go home, son." Incestuous bastard.
He flipped the phone off, and started squelching back to his troops. Lilah's lips - full, moist, red bitch lips - were compressed and unyielding. Her suit splattered with purple yuck.
"Target located." He'd always wanted to say that. "We're off. Go home."
Ox-men #1 and #2 glared mournfully as he escorted Ms. Morgan to her car. Lilah was his ride home after all.
In payment he didn't say anything until she dropped him at his block. And even then it was a whisper soft, "Purple is really you."
She gunned the engine and was out of there in record time. Leaving him smelly, and stinking, but definitely dateless.
Which meant Holland was up to something. So he was alerted, though unprepared.
**
*Shit. *
The irony gods were paying attention.
The fucking universe was paying attention.
Even in the half dark, the profile was unmistakable.
*Well fucking horse apple shit*
She'd been sitting in the darkness of his living room, perched comfortably on the couch while he'd been soaking wet and pissed to the bone, roaming the sewers with *Lilah*, looking in all places smelly and cold for god damn her.
While she
Had been here
Warm and safe
In his fucking living room.
Without a key.
"How the HELL did you get in?"
*I REVOKE your invitation. I'm calling fucking security. *
But his hand stopped halfway towards the light switch when she whispered, "Leave it alone. Please."
**
Please.
It was the first time he'd heard her speak. To his knowledge, the first time she had spoken. And it was to him. *To him. *
She'd spoken to him.
Of course his cock began to harden.
Thank God she didn't notice.
He stood a moment, incongruous, then with an effort, brought his arm down, and stood erect, palms facing into his thighs.
He had no idea just what to say. So he fell back on etiquette.
"You must be hungry. If you'll give me a minute, I'll... get dinner started."
Then he fled into the bathroom, where he took a hot shower and resisted the urge to smash his fist into the wall.
Holland phoned the second he was finished. Lindsey took the call while knotting a towel around his waist.
Damn, that bastard had almost a sixth sense when it came to catching him in compromising positions.
"Take care of your houseguest, Lindsey."
*How the fuck did she get IN, sir? *
But of course, he only said, "Yes. I will."
The 'good boy' remained unspoken, but Holland let him have the satisfaction of hanging up first.
**
What do you say to an uninvited guest who's also a hell-returned fugitive?
*You came back * made no sense. She'd never been here before.
The silence was whisper-full of her breathing. Gentle, ragged breathing; near sobbing, yet controlled.
*Control * his mind told him and he willed himself to stay still. Forced his feet to remain immobile and not rush towards the woman on the couch.
"You remember me. I'm Lindsey McDonald. I was there the night we - found you."
He heard her breathe, saw the slight tilt of her head.
"Lindsey."
He started at the sound of his name.
*Slowly. Slowly. * And his feet obeyed, taking him to her, softly but deliberately.
She didn't move when he knelt before her and placed his palms on her thighs. Didn't look up, didn't meet his eyes, didn't do anything but fucking *sit* there.
He felt a slow heat spread from their contact, from the pulsing of the blood and life that coursed through her skin and communicated itself through the thin fabric of her skirt.
*Not vampire. Human. Not dead. Alive. ALIVE. *
He wondered if she felt it too, the increasing awareness of soft heat of skin. *Soft... * his mind purred, and his hands shifted unconsciously.
Slightly, hardly bunching the cloth, but she looked up at that and met his gaze.
Blank-hurt understanding and a need so deep he fell right into it, into those eyes of midnight screams and devastation.
So unprepared to hear her voice break -
"Lindsey."
Break saying his name; so he gathered her into his arms and carried her with him, light, hot and bird thin, inside and onto the sheets of his bed. Laid her on cool white silk and covered her as for fever, fetching water which she drank, and pills that she refused, then knelt again on the floor by *his * bed, holding her frail human hand with his legitimate one, so that both of them could feel the heat of their lives.
*you exist. yes you do *
"I'm dying," she said softly, just once, and not for him to hear. He heard her anyway, and what was worse, he believed. Made him clasp her hand tighter, as if he could throw strength through the barrier of skin.
*I exist. We exist. *
But she was dying, and so was he, therefore he knelt next to the bed all night, knowing as he did that she wouldn't sleep, even when finally, worn out and hungry, he dozed on the carpet, clutching her hand to his.
He woke in the morning with his head pillowed on their hands. Her eyes were wide-open, looking at him, right straight through him, as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes and carefully disentangled himself so he could make coffee.
Strong, bitter coffee, that would keep him awake and able to deal with all the tangled knots in this skein.
**
They had coffee together, in the living room. Or at least he drank his, while watching her ignore hers completely.
He sat in the sunlight, holding the warm cup, painfully trying not to track her every breath.
She sat curled on the couch, body half defensively shielded from the rays, forgotten cup already forming a sticky ring on his $500 coffee table.
He couldn't bring himself to offer her a coaster.
Intent on not watching, pretending everything was all right, he nearly missed her say,
"I used to miss this."
He looked in time to catch her nodding towards the sunlight.
"It feels warm."
He couldn't think of anything to say.
"I used to stay awake till dawn."
*Dawn*
"Dawn. To watch the sun rise." Her brow furrowed infinitesimally. "It hasn't changed very much. At all."
Breath hitched, but she didn't move a muscle.
He watched as she didn't cringe. Didn't give in to the urge to cry. Simply remained still, letting the sunlight stream in through the window and hit her full in the eyes.
At some point he realised that it must hurt badly.
He was smart enough to leave her alone. He didn't pull the blinds down anyway.
**
Two hours late. He took a quick shower, drying carefully and noting the absence of Ivory soap. He'd have to remember to get some. It was sexually neutral and she might like the scent.
When he came out again, she was still sitting in the same position.
"I have to"
She didn't look away.
"Darla. I. Have to. Go."
"So." He stopped and thrust his fists into his pockets.
Half turning, "The kitchen is through that door. There's... food. In the fridge. And the phone is there...I left numbers. For take-out. You just call the -"
*Shit. *
"And my number. If you need me to -"
*Crap. Crap, crap.*
The constriction around his chest sucked all the air out of the room. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to leave, to escape this, this strange...
*Everything*
His heart contracted painfully.
*Shit. *
How could he leave her like this?
"Lindsey."
He turned back at that.
She didn't look at him, but her mouth was quirked in what could pass for a smile.
"I remember phones."
Pause, as he wondered how it would be NOT feel like an idiot.
She remembered phones. Well. Okay.
He took a deep breath.
"Okay. I'll - I'll see you."
He was halfway out the door before he heard the reply.
"Yes. Yes you will."
Didn't turn in to demand to know what she meant by that.
**
*Flower. A soft pink flower, that's opening in the winter. Then the wind rips it open, scattering the petals viciously. *
Pause. A small cough. *You've done some reading on these tests, I see. *
*Perhaps. Does it matter? Isn't this what you expect me to say? *
Rustle of paper. Sound of footsteps.
*Frankly, Darla, we weren't expecting you at all. *
Laugh.
*You're very good...*
*It's what I'm paid for. *
- Extract from a conversation with subject D710X, recorded 06/03/00
(From the confidential records of Holland Manners.)
**
Debbie was flustered, but then she was always flustered.
"Mr. Manners is waiting to see you."
"How did she get in?" He entered his room without preamble, letting the door swing shut behind him.
The older man smiled at him. "Lindsey. How are things?"
Hot rage surged across his mind. *You fucker. You goddamned supercilious bastard*
"My question. Sir. What the fuck is going on?"
He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
Holland's smile lost none of its brilliance, but his words gained an edge. "Did you say something Lindsey?"
Exhale. "No. Sir."
"Good." A pause, as Holland walked towards him. "The senior partners are worried."
There was really no appropriate response.
"Sir." So he made one anyway.
"She trusts you." Faint hint of a question. He shrugged.
"She's confused right now. Tired. Ill."
"Then you'll take a leave of absence till she is better."
"I can't." He thought of reasons. "The Curtis - "
"Take a leave of absence, Lindsey. Fully paid for, of course."
Nodding, "Sir." Thinking, *shit *
"She feels safe with you. Good. Take good care of her, Lindsey."
Holland smiled.
"We have the utmost confidence in your - abilities."
When he was gone, Lindsey suppressed the urge to massage his temples.
*Maybe it's time for lunch. *
**
Lilah joined him for coffee.
He watched her daintily pick at a croissant. Tear off tiny bits and chew them delicately.
Moist red lips parted and he realised she was smiling. Speaking. Had been for some time.
"Lindsey. You're really not paying attention, are you." She was laughing at him.
Well.
"Well we've all been having some busy nights." Her tone was low and intimate, the words suggestive.
Her eyes were feral, and her body language spoke of predation.
Immediately the world sharpened into focus.
Her nose was twitching, picking up the underlying scents of
*Anger. Hatred. Disgust. No fear. Not of you. Bitch cat. Hell cat. This isn't your style. *
Possessive rage and triumphant jealousy swept over him.
*You wanted this. You didn't get it. Tough. Not yours, baby. Mine. MINE. Live with it. Mine. *
He took a sip of his coffee. Crap stuff. But it would keep him awake.
"Is everything all right, Lindsey?" She couldn't keep the shit-eating snide ness out of her tone.
It took an effort to keep his voice steady.
"Info-dump's really not my style. Lilah."
Saw in satisfaction her cheeks colour at the intonation.
De-lilah.
They'd been lovers once. He'd kissed those lips.
Until.
Well.
He caught her staring at him and smiled carefully. "You should know that certain things need to be kept - confidential."
One could safely say that the rest of the meeting was not a success.
**
The apartment was dark when he finally got home. And apparently, she hadn't moved.
*Shit. * This wasn't good.
On top of everything, he was running out of cuss words.
"I'm turning the light on." He warned, and did, only to see
She was asleep on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
He stood there, watching, till he'd memorised every feature. Only then did he turn in, to take his shower and plan dinner.
It hit him then.
He was being domesticated.
**
"Darla?"
She shifted slightly and opened her eyes. He cleared his throat, and tried to keep his voice low.
"Dinner?"
"Not hungry."
Okay. So she could speak.
Wonderful. Now could she eat?
"You must be hungry." Now he sounded like his mother. "I made omelettes." Ok, maybe like his grandmother.
She tilted her head, and grimaced slightly. "Not tomato juice?"
Huh?
"The first few days, tomato juice was all they would feed me." She drew her teeth back slightly. "Talk about bad taste."
His lips moved before his brain caught up. "All I can offer is burgundy."
Her mouth quirked a little. Caught off-guard. "You'd drink wine with your eggs?"
"Of course not. Only champagne."
A smile. A definite smile. "Then I'll have dinner with you, Lindsey."
The way her lips wrapped around those syllables was absolutely mesmerising.
**
Fragile. So fragile.
He tried to make light conversation. She responded some of the time, but mostly used her fork to trace out patterns in the food.
Glass. Sparkling, brilliant glass. Any minute his words could shatter her.
Why couldn't he stop speaking?
*The senior partners are worried, Lindsey. *
*So am I. *
She rose suddenly and went into his bedroom.
Lindsey finished the rest of his meal in silence.
He took his time doing the dishes, putting things away. Giving her time. Lots of time.
When he finally went in, she was lying in his bed.
Naked. Her eyes an invitation. The entire bloody welcome wagon.
He swallowed and retreated, closing the door softly behind him.
Perversely he spent the night on the couch, even though he had a spare room.
**
He woke with the sun in his eyes, coffee at his fingertips, and Darla sitting opposite him.
Easier to drink coffee with morning breath than get up with those eyes upon him.
The coffee was surprisingly good.
"I don't suppose you consider me as a sister?"
He choked, and ruined the finish of his table forever.
She eyed him calmly as he frantically mopped up the mess. "Definitely not a sister, then."
His cheeks burned. "Darla..."
She stopped him with a raised hand. "Was the refusal an attempt to gain my trust?"
"Was the nervous breakdown a nice try at winning my sympathy?"
She dropped the hand and smiled at him, cold hard and glittering in the morning light.
Pure diamond. Not glass. How could he have been so stupid?
He rose, muttering something about breakfast.
**
She joined him in the kitchen.
"Isn't it my turn to cook?"
He didn't look up, concentrating on not slamming bread into the toaster. "When was the last time you were in a kitchen? Sometime in the 17th century?"
"I think I can handle this."
"I don't think I want you near my food."
Suddenly her hands were pinning his down. He struggled, just for a second, before deciding it would be better to remain still with dignity. She released him immediately, and he fought the urge to rub his wrists.
"That's childish, Lindsey." Her voice actually sounded pained.
He thinned his lips and walked over to the fridge.
"Please," she said, and his body froze.
*What the fuck do you want from me? *
"The chance to make breakfast."
He hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud.
**
Grilled cheese on toast. Darla cut hers up into tiny pieces before eating it with a fork.
It was a long time since he'd had this, actually. One of the comfort foods his mother used to make for him... slathered with ketchup and lots of cheese.
Didn't he have ketchup somewhere? Or would it be bad taste?
The hell with it.
He got up, found the ketchup and poured it over his toast. She stopped eating, and watched him quizzically.
"Should I apologize?" He took a big bite of toast. "I'm sorry if my lack of taste offends you."
She got up and went into the living room.
He sat alone, calling himself several versions of heel.
**
She was studying her hands when he joined her. They sat a moment in silence, trying hard not to look at each other.
She spoke first. "If I put my hand to my chest, then I can feel my heart beat. I'd forgotten what it was like."
His heart beat so loud. Was it possible she didn't hear?
She folded her hands carefully in her lap. "I'm not going to thank you for reminding me."
"Darla..."
"No." She was rocking a little, back and forth. "No. I was. Not mortal. For four hundred years. I. Was not. Like this. I did NOT. Ask. To be brought back. Like this. Like THIS. You had no right. No right. No right at all. No right. No RIGHT."
And he was holding her and they were rocking together and she was ungrateful in her weakness.
"Let go of me. Bastard. I'm not. Going to fall apart. Not going to do. What you want me to. This isn't. This isn't about."
"I know," he whispered, wanting to kiss her hair. So soft, and so tempting, just below his lips. "I know. It's all right."
"Why are you doing this?"
*Because I'm an idiot.*
"Let go of me."
His arms tightened around her.
"Please. Let go."
No. He shook his head and realised she couldn't see him. "No. Tomorrow, we'll forget this. Tomorrow, we can... go again. But today let's just pretend."
"What?" she stopped rocking.
"Oh. That you're my sister?"
She chuckled.
"Seriously. Platonic non-judgemental interaction." His hand moved to her hair. Stroking it. Lightly. "If it makes you feel better, I'd like to. If you."
Silence, and he felt her body curl into itself; huddling against pain. He held her, waiting for the cracks to appear.
Again, she surprised him.
"It hurts," was all she said, and he answered by pressing a soft kiss to her hair.
She let her body relax against his, close as skin. They sat entwined on the couch and watched morning turn into day. Then he insisted on feeding her lunch.
**
He fed her lunch by hand. She didn't react, except to open her mouth for the first bite.
"Platonic non-judgemental interaction."
"Exactly." He waited till she'd taken a bite, before dipping the chopsticks into the bowl for his own share.
"You've never had sisters." Her voice was very dry.
His hand shook as he lifted the offering to her lips. "One. She died."
"Oh." She swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He fished around for a prawn. "You?"
"Perhaps." Her face set.
He waited.
"I can't quite remember."
Suddenly she smiled. "Aren't you going to ask me about death?"
He shrugged.
"Why not?"
"Not all that curious."
She nodded approvingly. "Don't be."
**
*Very good, Darla. You're doing very well. *
*Have I proven myself a healthy, well-adjusted member of the human race yet? *
A chuckle. *As much as any sociopath... you've been faking the tests well. *
Pause.
*What makes you think I'm faking? *
*As you just remarked, I am very good. *
- Extract from a conversation with subject D710X, recorded 06/03/00
(From th
e confidential records of Holland Manners.)
**
Holland answered his phone immediately. "Manners."
"Holland. She's feverish."
"Feverish."
"She was fine this afternoon, tired a little. Started shivering an hour ago... her body temperature's sky rocketing."
Silent pause. He imagined the older man was cursing.
"It could be a reaction to stress."
"Sir."
"You can handle this."
"I can try."
"She's human. Try ibuprofen."
"Excuse me?"
"Try hot water. Cold compresses. Use your imagination, son. And call Lilah in an emergency."
"Sir." *Fucking reverse psychology bullshit... *
The phone clicked off.
**
"I'm cold."
"I'll turn the heat up."
"How do you stand it? Hot, cold, light, dark..."
"I don't know. I suppose I'm used to it."
"Do you feel your heartbeat ticking your life away?"
"Sometimes. Not always."
"I'm cold."
"I'm holding you."
"Harder."
"I'm holding you."
"Lindsey..."
"Ssh."
"Is it tomorrow yet?"
**
By midnight he'd changed the sheets for the fifth time. At least she was warmer now, and calm. Sleeping, as he plumped up her pillows.
He took a shower and came back to watch her breathe.
One a.m. and all appeared well.
He drew the covers over her, and checked her forehead.
Hmm. Cool. But fingers weren't too sensitive and he didn't want to wake her to use the thermometer.
Hesitated before doing as his mother would've. Pressed an (asexual) kiss to her forehead, and felt skin against skin.
Just enough warmth. Not too much, not too cold.
So his lips didn't really have an excuse to linger.
Or to travel south.
Because it wasn't about need.
(As he told himself later. Repeatedly. With increasing sternness.)
Necessity was a different matter.
Neither one tonight.
**
He allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in a little. She was already awake when he went in.
It took some effort to smile at her. He was still very tired.
"Hello."
"Lindsey."
He handed her a glass and pills. "Swallow this."
She swallowed. "Why?"
"Well, you've had a fever, and this -"
"Tastes horrible."
"But you're alive," he grinned.
She stilled.
So did he.
But at last she whispered, "Yea."
Perhaps that was even a smile on her face.
Kind of sad. Kind of wondering.
But definitely, maybe, a smile.
**
*You've had an eventful first week here. *
*Critiquing my performance? *
*Applauding it. * Rustle of papers.
*I should say thank you. *
*I notice you didn't. *
*You really are very good. *
Pause. Rustling of papers. End of interview noises... sound of a tape being spooled.
*We're done now. A final question if I may? *
*Anything. Holland. *
Pause.
*This is off the record, of course. *
*Of course. *
*Just for my own peace of mind.*
Pause.
*Could be rather embarrassing, actually...*
*Embarrassing?*
*For us. For the senior partners. For the firm.*
*Your question?*
*The question is... who are you, Darla? Who are you, really? This woman we called back...who did we call back into this... self? *
Pause. A very long pause.
*...why don't you tell me who you want me to be? *
Soft, low chuckle. *Excellent answer, Darla.*
*The only possible answer, Holland. It's the only one you want from me.*
- From a conversation with subject D710X, recorded 06/03/00
(From the confidential records of Holland Manners.)
~ End
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