Title: Best Laid Plans a Lindsey story
Author: Brenda Antrim
Email: bren@bantrim.net
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.

The third attack Lindsey deflected against Angel came as a surprise to both of them. He should have known immediately that was a bad sign, but at the time he was too busy wondering what the hell was going on to realize how deeply awry the best laid plans of lawyers and wizards could go. Not to mention how quickly.

One moment he was walking through the parking garage headed for his Benz. The next moment Angel was prowling toward him like a hungry jungle cat stalking raw meat. The third moment a human male he vaguely recognized as an occasional Magickal contractor for the firm -- Ethan somebody -- was throwing a glowing ball of blue fire at Angel.

Lindsey was moving to intercept before his mind could remind his body that getting between targeted Magick and the intended target was a supremely stupid thing to do. He had no idea why he flung his body between Angel and the threat. Subliminal adherence to his plan, perhaps, or habit, by this time. Maybe even instinct, although as usual lately his instincts were severely fucked up when it came to Angel.

The ball of fire hit him like a sheet of lightning. Dimly, he heard a scream, and thought it must be coming from himself, although he couldn't tell. All he could hear was crackling as his skin was enveloped in electricity, and his world collapsed into a single, drawn-out implosion of energy.

Eternity finally ended and, with it, the pain. He took a shaky breath and looked up, only then realizing three things. One, he wasn't in the parking garage any longer. Two, he was curled up in a very small ball with his arms over his head, peeking up through them like a frightened child. Three, he wasn't alone.

There was a dark-haired, irritated-looking man staring down at him. He was wearing a blue patterned shirt so bright it was practically neon, a cardigan in a clashing orange plaid, and scruffy brown trousers. He looked like a refugee from a Sixties thrift shop.

He was glowing.

His skin was very pale, making his eyes seem even brighter than they naturally were, and Lindsey got the impression they'd been pretty bright to begin with. He had a half-smile on his face that didn't reach those pissed-off eyes, and a careful slouch in his posture that wasn't matched by the intent stare he was giving Lindsey.

Slowly, with no idea what the hell was going on, Lindsey uncurled and sat up. Then he stood, dusting off his slacks with shaking hands. He started to challenge his apparent kidnapper, then froze.

Looked down at his hands against the dark gray wool of his slacks.

Both hands.

Neither of them plastic.

"What the fuck is going on?" He couldn't look away from his right hand long enough to address his captor.

"Now, that's the sixty four thousand dollar question, innit?"

The Irish brogue tickled Lindsey's ear. He finally ripped his gaze away from his miraculous new hand and looked at the glowing man. He had to squint. The light made his eyes hurt.

"Ye've got a choice, now. Make the right one and ye get to keep yer life, such as it is. We'll even toss in a nice new mitt there fer ya." The man nodded at Lindsey's hand and it twitched, making Lindsey jump slightly.

"What are the options?" Ever the negotiator, Lindsey kept his voice even and his expression cool, masking the apprehension that was making his stomach crawl up into his throat.

"Well, on the one hand, such as it is," the man winked at him, and Lindsey blinked, not sure how to take bad puns in his current situation. The man sighed sadly at his lack of response and continued. "Ye've got the choice to do yer damnedest to make sure Angel stays on the side o' the angels. You do that, and ye get ta keep yer hand, and ye get ta keep yer life, and I make bloody sure ye don't get shopped by the mind-snoops."

"And if I don't?" Playing cool disinterest for all he was worth, Lindsey sorted frantically through his mind trying to remember from his research who would have the power to shield his thoughts from the Firm's mind readers. He was still trying to puzzle it out when pure fire struck him, melting his eyes in their sockets, fusing his joints together, turning his tongue to slag in his mouth even as he tried to give voice to his agony.

"That'd be the second option," the man said whimsically. "Hell. Pure an' unadulterated." Lindsey barely heard him through the screams shredding his brain.

Another eternity later, so much worse than the first, and he was lying, crying helplessly, at the glowing man's feet. "Take the first," he managed to whisper through the strained muscles of his throat. The torture finally ended and he quite happily passed out cold.

Angel didn't believe it.

He'd come to the garage to waylay McDonald and beat out of him precisely what kind of mind game he was playing this time. It was all too pat, too staged, too obvious to believe. No way was the lawyer out to save Angel. Not unless it ended up benefiting Lindsey McDonald. It was up to Angel to find out how. Even if he had to throttle the man senseless to find out. In fact, preferably if he had to throttle him. Lindsey looked good when he was all stretched out and fussing. Smelled good, too.

As usual when it came to not-so-born-again-boy, nothing worked out the way Angel expected.

He stared at Lindsey as the man threw himself with abandon directly into the line of fire of a shadowy figure muttering Latin in the corner. Angel sniffed instinctively, catching a whiff of Magick and something that reminded him, oddly, of Rupert Giles. Then the spell hit Lindsey and dropped him like a sack of potatoes. The wizard and would-be attacker yelped, "Bugger it!" then turned tail and ran as if his heels were on fire. Angel ignored him.

Lindsey was much more interesting to watch.

Crouching down over the twitching body, Angel watched intently as sizzling blue fire danced over the surface of his skin. Muscles twitched randomly and violently. Arms and legs spasmed, his spine arched, his mouth opened although no sound escaped. He looked like he was having an incredible orgasm or dying slowly. For Angelus, it had often been difficult to tell the difference, and his inner demon growled in approval, enjoying the show. Angel fought to ignore him, too.

With a muffled howl, Lindsey suddenly snapped into a fetal position, and Angel winced despite himself. There was a broken stream of muttering coming from the ball of human rolling around at his feet, but try as he might Angel couldn't make out any distinct words. The tone was clear enough.

So was the smell. Pain, terror, astonishment. Then as suddenly as the seizure began, it ended. He heard, quite clearly, "I'll take the first." Lindsey's eyes flickered open, staring sightlessly at Angel through his protectively crossed forearms, then drifted shut again as he slid gracefully into a full faint.

"Well," Angel said thoughtfully, pushing at the sprawled body with his toe, watching Lindsey's chest rise and fall, "hell."

Unsure what else to do with him, not willing to let the man go until he'd gotten the clarification he'd come for, Angel scooped Lindsey up and draped him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Trying to ignore the warmth of the body against his chest, shoulder and back, he wrapped his arm around Lindsey's thighs and hauled him over to his car. Once there, he dumped him with little care into the back seat and headed through the late-night LA streets back to his hotel lair. He stopped at four red lights on the way, idled next to a police car, was propositioned by a working girl and nearly picked up by a man in a Jag.

Nobody noticed the body in the back seat.

Lindsey would not have been pleased at the lack of attention. Angel'd be sure to tell him all about it. As soon as he woke up. As soon as they had a few things worked out between them.

As soon as he finished throttling him.

The thought cheered Angel up all the way home. He hoisted Lindsey back over his shoulder and carted him into the lobby, then for no reason he could articulate, up the stairs to his room. Angelus was rattling his chains, but Angel wasn't listening.

At least, that's what he told himself.

By the time Lindsey finally came around a half hour later, Angel wasn't quite so sure about that. The instinct for violence was fighting the instinct for patience, and the need to know was nearly outweighed by the need to thrash. The first words out of Lindsey's mouth could tip the scales either way. Knowing how easily Lindsey irritated him, Angel had a hunch he was going to end up beating the snot out of Lindsey, then asking him questions. He perched on the edge of the bed where he'd tossed his burden and leaned over, deliberately looming as menacingly as possible.

As usual, Lindsey didn't do what he expected.

Instead of using his words as a weapon, Lindsey used his tongue. His eyes opened, his arms reached out, and Angel barely had time enough to wonder where the hell the second hand had come from when Lindsey's mouth attached itself to his and attempted to suck out his lungs through his lips. The stray thought struck him that it was a good thing vampires didn't need to breathe, then Lindsey broke off the attack.

It had been too ravenous to call it a kiss.

"Hand?" Angel asked, trying to stretch his jaw back into working order. Lindsey shrugged. Reached out with that brand-new human-appearing hand and had it down Angel's pants before he could finish the question. The rest of what Angel intended to say disappeared in a flash of lust.

"Perk," Lindsey muttered against his mouth, then that tongue was back, and Angel couldn't have stopped the onslaught if he'd tried.

Not that he was trying. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him with quite this combination of need and expertise. Even longer since it had been a mortal. The combination of strength, speed and body heat bowled him over. By the time his brain caught up with the action his body was half-stripped and totally turned on.

Angelus approved mightily.

Unable to fight the battle on two fronts, Angel slid instinctively into the protective mode he'd perfected since being cursed with a soul and did everything he could to keep Angelus from taking over, tearing Lindsey's throat out, drinking him dry then raping his corpse. He was sure Lindsey would thank him. Eventually.

When Lindsey got done mauling him.

It was the only description that fit. Lindsey's hands, both the original one and the new one, ripped at his clothes until the fine silk and wool were shredded and shed. His mouth wouldn't leave Angel's skin and everywhere it touched fire followed. Angel hadn't been so warm in so long he couldn't remember. Buffy had been a gentle warmth, lost in the moment of having. Since then he'd been afraid to wander too close to the fire. The only other time he'd had her, he'd been the only one to keep the memories, and now they felt more like a dream than any version of reality. But even then, her warmth had been a comforting blanket.

Lindsey was an inferno.

He'd barely wrestled Angelus into wailing, frustrated submission when Lindsey, having managed to get himself naked while never quite letting go of Angel, crouched over Angel's supine body and sat down on the erection Angel hadn't been paying attention to in all the confusion. Angel's scream startled both of them. Lindsey paused mid-sink, then planted both hands on Angel's chest and worked himself down onto Angel with the skill of a high-class harlot and the patience of Job.

The scream died to a gurgle. An appreciative one. Lindsey was quite a sight, all straining muscles and sweat-shiny skin, fingers kneading his chest like a cat. In heat. Thighs slipped against the outside of Angel's hips and the fine hair rubbing against him was just erotic enough not to tickle, not quite hard enough to satisfy. Angelus was clamoring madly under Angel's skin, demanding more, demanding blood, demanding climax. Demanding any kind of death he could get, little or total. Angel growled, feeling his features shift into game face as Lindsey ground himself as far onto Angel's flesh as he could get.

Inferno? Make that volcano.

Then Angel was moving, and Angelus was appeased, and Lindsey was moaning deep in his throat. His head fell back and Angel stared at the length of his throat, bared, sweat running down the tendons, shining in the light from the lamp. Tempting him. Angelus howled.

Control stretched to the breaking point, Angel had no choice. He sat up and caught Lindsey's writhing torso in his arms, burying his face in the curve of Lindsey's throat, licking up rivulets of sweat, sliding the tip of a single fang into the pulse throbbing wildly out of control alongside Lindsey's windpipe. The single spurt of blood wasn't nearly enough to satiate him, but it triggered his climax, and he arched helplessly up into Lindsey's heat.

Those hands were around his back now, one cradling the nape of his neck, pushing his face insistently against the tiny puncture wound as if the madman was encouraging Angel to drink. Encouraging Angelus to emerge. Encouraging his own death.

Begging for it.

Begging for something, anyway, as the second hand dragged itself down his spine, clawing at his skin, and Lindsey bucked against him. Angel could feel the blood-hot salt-smelling fluid scald his chest, drip down against his belly, as Lindsey came. He could taste it in the blood tricking over his tongue.

Addictive.

Hating himself, hating Lindsey, hating the warmth surrounding him for highlighting the ice within, Angel fought with every ounce of strength his soul had ever given him. Gradually, as Lindsey panted against him, Angel's face smoothed out until his human visage was all that could be seen.

Flames still burned in his yellow eyes.

But, for the moment, the danger was past. He forced himself to pull his arms away from Lindsey's back, place his scarcely-shaking hands under Lindsey's arms and hoist the exhausted mortal off his lap. Throwing him back against the bed linens with little regard for his comfort or Angel's own need to hang on, he glared down at Lindsey.

The bastard looked too damned happy with himself.

"Get out of here," Angel growled. He'd get his answers later. At least, he'd ask the questions. No doubt Lindsey'd lie. "If that was supposed to be my moment of bliss, you need some practice. That sucked." Angel's turn to lie.

"No," Lindsey told him with a calmness Angel could smell was feigned. "That was for me. I deserved something from the deal." Barely wincing, Lindsey rolled off the far side of the bed and reached for what was left of his clothes, dressing with an economy of motion a seasoned whore would envy. Before Angel could ask him what deal he was talking about, Lindsey threw him completely off balance by shooting him the sweetest smile he'd ever seen on the man. "The sucking comes later."

He was out of the room and clattering down the stairs before Angel could gather his wits from the mental image those words painted. Angel told himself it was just as well. There were too many question to ask, and he didn't have enough brain cells left unfried to ask any of them. Especially when the only question he could cogently form was 'When?'

Eventually he walked into the lobby and stared around, feeling a bit at a loss. He spotted a small white rectangle of cardboard sitting next to the telephone and stalked over to it. Lindsey's business card, only this time his home number was scrawled across it in bold black ink. Not allowing himself time to think, Angel picked up the telephone and punched in the numbers. Lindsey answered on the first ring.

"Yes?" He sounded sleepy. No wonder, really. He should be exhausted.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Angel asked incredulously. It didn't have quite the threat behind it he'd been aiming for, and that irritated him even more.

Lindsey didn't even pause before firing back, "That's what I'm trying to avoid!" then hanging up abruptly.

The dial tone was loud in Angel's ear. He pulled the receiver away and stared at it grumpily before banging it down on the rest. Damned mortal. There had to be some twisted logic somewhere in all this. Lindsey never did anything unless he stood to gain by it. Angel spent some time staring into space again, but couldn't figure out what the payoff could possibly be. He licked his lips, then shuddered at the flavor of sex, blood and sweat.

Sulkily, he wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a bag of A positive, wandered back into the lobby and slouched on the couch. Staring into the darkness, he washed the taste of Lindsey off his tongue. He didn't want to go to bed. Not until he'd changed the sheets. Maybe burned them. His thoughts chased themselves in circles trying to figure out what Lindsey was up to. When he did doze off with the rising sun, he had no idea he had a smile on his face.

He didn't feel the phantom touch of long slender fingers on his brow, or the sad look in bright eyes staring down at him as he slept. The Powers that Be would get Their wish. Angel might even enjoy it.

Their Servant didn't even pretend to be happy about it.

Morning came too damned early, and it took a good half hour in the hottest shower he could stand before Lindsey felt reasonably human again. The wound from Angel's fang on his throat was at an angle and of a size he could explain it away as a razor nick, but the new hand and the awkward gait might draw comment. His mind chewed over cover stories all the way to the Firm.

For once, the traffic worked to his advantage. By the time he walked in the door, he had a workable scenario. It was a damned good thing. Mr. Hart was waiting for him in his office. Lindsey barely managed not to jump a foot straight up in the air when he unlocked the door and Hart spoke from the shadow of the door directly behind him.

"Good morning, Lindsey."

He swallowed. "Yes, sir. I mean, good morning." He ran a hand nervously through his hair. His right hand. Hart's eyes sharpened further until they felt like a surgeon's knife going straight through Lindsey's wrist.

"I see you've made some changes." His nose twitched.

Lindsey reminded himself that he'd taken a very long shower that morning and there was no way on Earth the man could smell sex or Angel. He smiled weakly. "I've been practicing." Then his mouth kept moving although he had absolutely no idea where the words were coming from. "The hand was a gift from a grateful client."

Hart stared at him, then walked over to the door and ushered in a mind reader. The bald woman with the large, dark eyes walked over to him with the steady tread of an executioner. Lindsey couldn't tear his eyes from her.

"Tell me about this client," Hart purred.

Lindsey's mouth opened and more words came out. Giving up control for the moment, curious to see how it would all play out and if the Powers that Be would keep Their promise or if he'd be dead in the next five minutes, Lindsey listened to himself speak.

"She was Voujun, a soul-eater I've had working for the Firm on a free-lance project out in Castellammare. Got in a jam with the locals and I got her out of it. She called in a favor from a Fresla demon and gave me my heart's desire." To his ear, the words had a distinct Irish brogue, but Hart didn't appear to notice a difference from his usual soft drawl. He waved his hand in the air, once. Hart ignored the motion to stare at his face.

As did the telepath. There was the usual tickle at the base of his skull as she probed, but there was another sensation, unique in his experience, at the same time. It felt almost as if a veil had been drawn across his thoughts, invisible to the mental eye but impermeable to the mental touch. Thoughts that weren't his own, memories he'd never experienced that matched the words coming from his mouth, danced across the fabric of the veil. Lindsey could practically see the mind reader watching the images, caught up in the play, never reaching beneath the surface to the truth.

Dark eyes withdrew from him, then snapped back, but the veil was firmly in place. She looked over at Hart and nodded once. He nodded back, a silent dismissal. Lindsey stared after her until the door closed, then took the breath he had forgotten to take while she was reading the thoughts in his mind that weren't his.

Nine o'clock in the morning and he could feel the headache starting already.

His door opened and Lila stepped in. He glared at her. Before he could get his mouth open to ask her what the hell she wanted, Hart floored him again.

"Why did you have sex with Angel?"

His mouth fell open. This time, no words came out. Lila, equally startled, squeaked. He glared at her again, then closed his mouth and licked his lips, trying to work up enough spit to be able to speak without squeaking himself.

"We know, of course," Hart continued smoothly. "We know everything you do. But not necessarily why." The pause that followed made it abundantly clear he soon would. Lindsey swallowed.

"I'm doing my utmost to ensure that Wolfram and Hart's best interests are protected," he finally forced out. Lila started to squeak again and he spoke a little louder, a little faster, drowning out whatever she might have tried to say. "Angel has proven to be uniquely impervious to direct assault and incredibly difficult to fool. He can't be bribed, so I'm seducing him."

Hart stared at him. Lindsey spread his hands and shrugged. "It's not perfect bliss, but it might be a chink in his armor. If I can get him to care enough about me not to kill me, it may be the advantage we need when it comes down to the wire and he has to choose."

Lila managed to interject, "I would have thought I'd be more his type." She sounded offended. Lindsey didn't know if it was because Angel hadn't tried it on with her or that she hadn't thought of the plan first. He smirked at her.

"Should have done your homework. Or moved a little faster." Too late, his tone mocked. She glared daggers at him. His smirk widened.

Hart took a step toward him, breaking up the silent pissing contest. "It's worth the attempt. Keep us informed of your progress." With that de facto approval, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. Pausing with his hand on the handle, he added gently, "Don't do anything too stupid, Lindsey." For a moment, he sounded uncannily like Holland. Then he stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind him.

Lila was still standing to the side of his office staring at Lindsey. He leaned a hip against the edge of his desk, careful of the lingering soreness in his butt, and returned her basilisk impression with interest. She opened her mouth three times to say something before she finally gave up, a confused look on her face, and stomped elegantly out of his office, muttering to herself. He couldn't hear all of it, but he caught enough to know she was fuming that she hadn't known Angel swung both ways. He shook his head. The vampire was two and a half centuries old. There was very little Angel hadn't done. Surely she should have known that.

Shrugging off the threat from that quarter for the moment, Lindsey walked around his desk and settled himself gingerly in the leather chair, grateful for the thick seat cushion. He stared at the highly polished surface of the desk for a long time, tracing abstract forms on it with his new fingers, thinking about veils, and sex, and plans, and players, and ventures into hostile territory without road maps. He'd been devious all his life, but he'd never been a double agent before, and he'd never played such an important game with terminal stakes before.

On the other hand, he'd always been out for himself first. He grinned. The playing field had metamorphosed into a whole new universe, the plan had shifted until it was unrecognizable, but it was still his game. He was going to win. Whatever he had to do.

The more things changed, the more they remained the same.

end