Title: Fine Print
Author: Brenda Antrim
Email: bren@bantrim.net
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended
Spoilers: For seasons two through four of Angel.
Author's Note: AU from end of third season (because, honestly, I can’t believe they turned Gunn into a shark).

“The key to Wolfram & Heart: don't let them make you play their game. You’ve got to make them play yours.” Lindsey MacDonald, ‘Dead End’, season 2.




He really should have taken his own advice.

“You can have this place,” he’d told Angel as he climbed in his truck and sped away. Only to get stopped by irate, suspicious, and eventually amused highway patrol officers three times before he found the stupid sign on the back of his truck and pulled it off. Too bad he hadn’t expected Hell to freeze over.

Although that wasn’t really it, he realized as he gently set his guitar case against the door jamb and stared through the open door at the vampire slumped behind the mahogany desk, glaring with an obvious lack of comprehension at an array of legal papers spread over the surface. After all, Lindsey had expected Hell would freeze before the stipulation in the fine print of his contract with Wolfram and Hart would be activated.

Who’d’ve thought the law partnership that patented Original Sin would turn to the path of the Light?

He sure as, well, Hell, hadn’t. Yet again, Angel managed to fuck up his life. This time without even trying.

It had been like any other Wednesday night, heading out of the Oasis, the tiny bar in east Texas where Lindsey’d been singing six nights a week for the past few months. Bleakwood wasn’t the complete ass-end of the world, though it was close. But it was small, friendly enough to accept without questioning and let the silence slide off when a question did come up. There were hills a little ways off where he could escape during the day, and the gig paid enough to keep him fed with a roof over his head. It wasn’t great, but he’d had great, and he preferred quiet.

Then a hole opened up under his feet in the middle of the alley out back of the bar, and he fell through a rush of wind and black walls that shone and echoed of screams he felt more than heard. Voices whispered to him and he automatically stored the information he’d need even as vertigo made him feel like Alice going through the rabbit hole. He landed with a jarring thud of boots against marble in the hallway outside what used to be Holland’s office.

Before Darla and her girlfriend cum granddaughter cum mother ate him.

Shaking off the dizzy aftereffects of a short ride through one of the wilder nether dimensions, Lindsey stepped cautiously up to his old mentor’s door and blinked several times at the sight that met his eyes.

The Champion of the Light, the Vampire with a Soul, the Tormented, Angst-Ridden Royal Pain in the Ass that was Angel, slouched in a three thousand dollar leather chair like it was a wooden pub stool, looking as out of his depth as a dead man ever looked.

Pretty damned far out, at that.

“I can’t believe they got mad at me for hitting him.” Angel muttered, looking frustrated as well as confused. Then he raised his head and sniffed the air. Very slowly, he turned his head until he was staring right at Lindsey.

Who didn’t know whether to laugh, scream, or stake the son of a bitch. So he did what he did best. He stood there, let the static in his brain settle, and tried to find an expedient and lasting way out of the latest fiasco that was his life. With every ounce of panache he could muster, Lindsey stalked into the office and made himself at home in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

“Is this where I say it’s good to be home?” he smirked at Angel, who gaped at him. “Polish up my lyin’ skills?”

The papers were forgotten as Angel’s mouth snapped shut and a feral grin lit his face. Rising silently, he circled the desk until he stood directly in front of Lindsey, too close for comfort, as always. Leaning against the desk, he crossed his legs at the ankles, crossed his arms over his chest, and matched Lindsey’s smirk with one of his own.

“I thought I told you not to come back?”

“Wasn’t my idea.” Lindsey relaxed and looked up at Angel, enjoying the confusion creeping back to overtake the smirk.

“Then why are you here?”

“You.”

By now, all traces of enjoyment were gone, and Angel was starting to look pissed. This cheered Lindsey up enormously. Things were getting back to normal, only instead of Lindsey being the one off-balance and angry, it was Angel. A change Lindsey could live with.

Or maybe not, he mentally amended, as Angel uncrossed his arms and hooked a hand around Lindsey’s throat before Lindsey could duck out of the way. Lindsey’s fingers clenched against the soft leather arms of the chair as he fought to breathe.

“I’ve had about enough runaround from lawyers in the last couple days, Lindsey. Say it plainly or I’d really enjoy hitting you. A lot. And I think they wouldn’t get mad at me for that.”

Needing air and room, Lindsey’s right hand shot out and grabbed Angel’s balls in the fiercest grip he could muster, given that black dots were starting to dance in front of his eyes. Angel’s mouth dropped open again, and, thankfully, his hold on Lindsey’s throat eased.

Lindsey kept the balls caged, just in case. Couldn’t resist mentioning the movement under his hand as he rasped, “You really get off on chokin’ me, don’t you?”

Angel growled. Lindsey shivered with arousal at the sound, then forced his brain back out of his own balls and to the situation at hand. The pun made him grin, and Angel growled louder. Lindsey cleared his throat.

“The sole stipulation of my return to my old stomping grounds is that, in the event of a change in management to such an effect that Dark would turn to Light, previous mutually agreed-upon disengagement between the Firm of Wolfram and Hart and one Lindsey McDonald is set aside and my service would be reinstituted.”

The flesh beneath his hand moved again, and Lindsey raised a brow at Angel. Who knew the Champion got off on legalese? A flash of yellow in the dark eyes glaring down at him had him easing his grip. A little bit. Not that he was scared, or anything.

It’s just that Angel vamping out had the same effect on Lindsey that hearing legal wording had on Angel, and if Lindsey didn’t bring the conversation around to contracts and services, they’d be discussing a whole other kind of servicing very soon. Naked. Horizontal. On top of all those papers.

Angel sniffed the air again, and the flash of yellow grew more pronounced. Lindsey cleared his throat once again and carefully let go, sitting back in his chair and drumming his fingers restlessly. Angel sat back and glanced down at Lindsey’s hand, then grinned.

“So, how’s the hand?”

“Still evil.” Pleasantries and ritual death threats out of the way, Lindsey got down to business. “First things first. You have a client threatening to annihilate California if you don’t get him off. I can take care of that.”

That earned him a blank look and a blink. Lindsey grinned. This was fun.

“How?” Angel finally asked.

“Financial conflict of interest on the judge’s part. Mistrial. Months before it comes up again. Easy stuff. Never would’ve dragged on this long if I’d had the case from the beginning.”

“Which you didn’t, because you weren’t supposed to come back to LA!” Angel sounded triumphant, then switched to plaintive, “and how do you know about it?”

Lindsey shrugged. “Reactivation included an information download on the trip in. You’d be surprised at what can be accomplished in some of the hell dimensions around here.” He reconsidered that for a second and added, “Or maybe you wouldn’t. Anyway, since you decided to go corporate, you brought me back. Believe me, I’d much rather never set foot in this place again.”

“All indications are that the container is breachable only by death of the carrier or use of the keyed word – oh, hello, Lindsey.” Wesley looked only mildly surprised to see him. Angel grumbled under his breathe. Lindsey didn’t catch what he said but Wesley must have, because he shrugged. “The signs and portents division went into high gear half an hour ago or so. Entrails, bones, and computer scenarios conflicted, then we got a power surge through the scrying mirrors and I recognized the Hall of the Oracles.”

Angel jolted. Lindsey brought up the relevant memory from Angel’s file, the early days of Angel Investigations, a sacrificial half-demon, and the massacre of the Oracles during the time of Darla’s raising. A chill went down his back. This wasn’t a good sign.

Wesley started talking again, but Lindsey didn’t hear him. No sooner had he thought about signs than one hit him in the skull with the force of a sledgehammer.

“Hurts, dunnit?” a soft brogue asked him. Forcing tearing eyes to open, knowing the only reason he wasn’t writhing on the floor in agony was the high pain tolerance level years of working at Wolfram and Hart had given him, Lindsey saw a faintly glowing form standing at his elbow.

“Don’t tell me,” he gasped. “I can see dead people.”

Wesley stopped talking to stare at him. Angel stopped staring at Wesley to stare at Lindsey. Lindsey ignored both of them and snarled at the blue-eyed, black-haired specter grinning merrily down at him.

“Somethin’ like that. The Powers send their regards.” A transparent hand reached out and stroked Lindsey’s brow, and all hell broke loose.

When Lindsey was in college, he’d had one very short, very intense drop into recreational pharmaceutical use. Only one, because he had plans, and spending what little money he had on drugs instead of tuition wasn’t part of those plans. But that one trip had stayed with him; one little round tab that sent him through the looking glass.

What happened when the ghost touched him was the reverse angle of that trip.

Sure, the walls melted, and the clock slid down to puddle on the floor, and the world contracted to a mass that smelled like a harpsichord and sounded like cotton candy and tasted like bright yellow. But this time instead of flying through it he sank into it. This time spikes came out of the melting walls to impale him, the harpsichord shrieked of demons and burnt flesh, and the taste was black as pitch. He thought he was yelling but couldn’t hear over the cotton candy tightening like a wire web around his brain.

As abruptly as it began, it ended. Ghost, pain, bad trip and all. Lindsey was sprawled on the floor, Wesley kneeling behind him cradling his head, Angel crouched over him peering at him like a demented Elvis impersonator.

“Ouch,” Lindsey wheezed.

“Good show,” Wesley congratulated him. On what, Lindsey had no idea.

“I have it,” Angel said incomprehensively, the norm with Angel.

At that moment six commandos dressed in black from stocking caps to combat boots, carrying AK-108s, burst in the office. “Ready to deploy, Mr. Angel, sir!” the one in the lead barked.

Angel looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Wesley jumped and dropped Lindsey’s head against the carpet.

“Ouch!” Lindsey wheezed again, louder this time.

“Sorry,” Wesley muttered.

Angel blinked. Shook his head. Scowled at the commandos and told them, “I’ll take care of this one.”

Lindsey couldn’t help it. He started to laugh, breathlessly, helplessly, one hand going to his aching head to hold it in place, since it felt like it was going to fall off or explode at any moment.

“I see you’ve met the wet work team,” he finally got out. Angel was now looking at him as if he’d grown another head. Lindsey ignored him to look up at Wesley. “I take it I’m a Seer now?”

“So it would appear,” Wesley agreed.

“Let’s get to it, then,” Lindsey said with as much cheer as he could manage with a splitting headache. Angel put a hand on his chest to stop him from rising. A streak of lightning raced from the spot Angel’s hand rested straight down to Lindsey’s crotch.

So very not good, Lindsey thought, forcing his expression to remain impassive. Angel sniffed the air again, and grinned down at him.

“Lemme up,” Lindsey growled. “I’ve got a client to get off the hook and you have a helpless victim to save from becoming Kebl’r kibble.”

“Oh,” Wesley interjected, “it was a Kebl’r? Hunting pack or scout?”

“Partial pack from the look of it,” Lindsey told him, pushing off Angel’s hand and gingerly sitting up. “Only three, old wounds, no sign of the fourth. But the human they’re hunting doesn’t have a lot of time.” He looked pointedly at Angel, who looked at the commandos and sighed.

“I’ll take care of this one,” he repeated, standing up and striding through them toward the door.

“According to protocol,” the leader began, only to have Angel wave a hand at him and cut him off with “Fuck protocol” before the door slammed shut behind him.

The commandos looked at each other, then turned as one and headed after Angel. Lindsey wished he could be there to witness the fun when the irresistible force met the immovable object, but he had work to do. Well, aspirin to find, then work to do.

He’d barely thought it when a bouncy blonde vampire came in holding a Hugo Boss suit bag hanging from one hand and a Prada box in the other. Lindsey rose to his feet, hiding the residual shaking from the vision, as the blonde babbled at him.

“Gorgeous! Just gorgeous, I love that heathery charcoal color, and it’ll look so good with your eyes. You have the prettiest eyes! The tie’s Versace, royal blue silk, it’ll so bring out the color. Cream shirt, and oh, won’t that set off your tan! And the shoes! Softest black leather, they’ll feel like heaven…”

Lindsey reached out for the bag and box before the woman actually swooned. “Thanks,” he said shortly, then tugged harder when she was reluctant to let them go. She was still babbling, at Wesley now, who looked a little bemused, as Lindsey went into the executive washroom and slipped into his lawyer skin.

He could feel the façade snapping into place as he cinched the thin leather belt, buttoned the jacket, knotted the tie, stepped into the shoes. The scent of fine wool and leather, the feel of linen and silk; it was as if he’d never left.

Fighting the urge to throw up, he walked out of the washroom a different man than the one who went in. Wesley’s eyes narrowed, the blonde stopped babbling and started to whimper, and Lindsey strode out the door. He had a scumbag to save. For the greater good.

And how fucked up was that?

Once downtown, he walked quickly through the courthouse. He entered as the judge was reprimanding the Wolfram and Hart lawyer and preparing to wrap up the case.

Just in time.

From behind him he heard a whispered, “Sweetpea!” and knew Lorne was in the room. The thought of a friendly face at his back made Lindsey smile as he walked up to the front of the court room and interrupted the proceedings.

Five minutes later, facing the judge in her chambers as he presented her with irrefutable evidence that putting away his client would have direct financial benefit for her, the smile had taken on a distinct resemblance to a shark. Scenting blood in the water.

Ten minutes after that, a mistrial was declared, and California was safe from being bombed into oblivion by yet another illustrious client of Wolfram and Hart. Lindsey wanted to vomit again. Instead, he nodded at the underling gazing sycophantically at him, suffered getting slapped on the back by the scumbag, then walked back out the door.

Lorne waited for him around the corner, out of the way of curious eyes. His bright green face glowed and his crimson lips split in a huge smile at the sight of Lindsey. Lindsey’s own smile softened and broadened as he walked directly into Lorne’s hug. For the first time since he’d been snatched back by the Senior Partners, he felt like he’d come home.

“Good to have you back, babycakes,” Lorne told him softly.

Lindsey hugged Lorne once, fiercely, then stepped back. The long arms around him didn’t want to let go, but reluctantly let him escape.

“When I see you, it’s good to be back,” Lindsey told him. “Then I see the rest of ‘em, and want to run all the way to Louisiana.”

Lorne sobered, smile vanishing as his eyes sharpened. “Not just them, is it, honey?”

“No,” Lindsey admitted, then changed the subject rapidly. A public hall in the county courthouse wasn’t the place to have this conversation. “We need to go let Angel know how it went.”

A truly wicked grin flashed across Lorne’s face. “How’d he take the news of your return?”

Lindsey chuckled, turning toward the door, Lorne at his side. “Better than expected. Might’ve been because he was distracted by other things at the time.”

”What other things?” Lorne asked as they settled in the Firm’s Jaguar XKR and drove out into the sunlight.

“Wet work team, Wesley, a blonde who couldn’t stop talking…”

“Ah,” Lorne nodded. “Harmony. Angel’s new assistant.”

“He ran.”

“I don’t blame him.” Lorne sounded like he understood.

“Well, actually, he didn’t run away so much as run toward. A guy gettin’ ready to become Kebl’r dinner. Angel and the ninjas were in a race to see who got there first. Should be interesting to see who won.”

“My money’s on Angel-face,” Lorne told him.

Lindsey didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help but agree.

Once back at the Firm, Lindsey led the way to Angel’s office, Lorne on his heels. He could get used to having someone he actually trusted at his back, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Much as Lorne loved him, Lorne had learned very early to look out for number one. Lorne would back Angel, would support Lindsey, but when push came to shove, Lorne would cover Lorne, and Lindsey couldn’t fault him for it.

It was what Lindsey would do, as well. Anyone who’d grown up as they had would feel the same way.

As they walked into Angel’s office, they caught the tail-end of a conversation between Angel and Gunn.

“You’re a damned good strategist, work great under pressure, and the field work team needs a new leader who can think on his feet.”

“I take it you got there first?” Lindsey asked, skirting Gunn to take a seat across from the desk. Back to the wall. Close to an exit. Yes, his old skills hadn’t faded.

Gunn glared at him. “What you doin’ back here? I thought Angel ran you out of town months ago.”

“Things change,” Lindsey told him, a mocking edge to his voice. “Look around you. You’re in over your heads. I’m here to make sure you don’t drown.”

“Or push our heads under?” a feminine voice asked from the doorway. Fred, her resemblance to a starved rabbit as strong as ever, stood in the door, hands on her hips.

“No doubt,” Gunn added.

Angel nodded like a bobble-headed Elvis figurine. He really had to do something about that hairstyle. Lindsey sighed.

“Don’t you ever read the fine print? Any of you? It’s like Eve said.”

“How’d you know about Eve?” Gunn asked sharply.

“You’d be surprised what the Senior Partners can force-feed into your brain when you’re not expecting it. Anyway, as she said -- In order for you to run this place, you have to keep it running. None of you are lawyers. Most of your clients are the kind of people-”

“Loosely termed,” interjected Wesley.

“-you used to kill on a regular basis. Now if you kill ‘em, you kill the business, and maybe stuff a heck of a lot worse happens. You’re walking a thin line, and if you fall, you land on razorblades. On either side. You need me.”

Angel looked as if he were about to argue the point when Fred said, “That still doesn’t answer why you’re here.”

“More fine print. Since Angel came to LA we’ve been tied together, he and I. When he entered the den of the enemy, I got called back in. Not my choice.” He glared at Angel. “The one contingency I didn’t plan for was the Champion of Light taking over as CEO of the Firm that specializes in evil.”

Gunn shrugged, as Angel stared down at his desk and Wesley cleared his throat. Lorne started to hum under his breath. Fred huffed out a “Whatever” and stomped into the room, flopping onto the sofa with little grace but showing a lot of leg. Lindsey gave her an appreciative look. Wesley glowered. Gunn growled.

“As I was saying,” Angel hurriedly interrupted before the situation turned ugly, “Gunn, will you take over as head of the field work team?”

Gunn pulled his glare away from Lindsey and looked over at Angel. “Yeah. Could be fun. Least it’s something I’m good at.”

Angel nodded. “Very. Excellent. Lorne? How’d it go at the courthouse? Wesley? What’s the status on the mystical container? Fred? How’s it going with the virus-hunt?”

Lindsey sat and let the voices lap over him. He hadn’t slept in over forty hours, with a night performance then a trip through Hell then a skull-splitting vision followed by a court room battle. The room was warm, he felt oddly safe, and he was exhausted.

He was asleep before he realized it. The room changed gradually, from an office to a round chamber, rough-hewn stone walls surrounding a marble column topped by a blue flame. It was cold, there. Too cold. Lindsey shivered, his skin pebbling with gooseflesh. He looked down at himself and realized he was naked. Not only that, his skin was oddly colored, mother of pearl where it had been tanned, silver where the sun hadn’t touched it. He stared in fascination at the shadows of blue flame twisting over his silver skin. The sound of a voice brought his head up.

“Welcome. Make yerself ta home.”

The words echoed around him. Lindsey turned full circle, seeing nothing, turning back to find the ghost he’d first seen in Angel’s office staring back at him from the center of the blue flame. He knew the man now. Doyle. Angel’s first Seer.

“Gonna give me the orientation tour, then?” Lindsey asked, masking fear with bravado as he’d always done.

“Somethin’ like that,” the ghost said again, and laughed. It was the strangest sound, a mix of innate cheer and ingrained sadness, tinged with loss and laced with whiskey. “A word of warnin’, man, that’s all I can give ya. You’re not who ya think ya are, and ya need more than ya know ya need. Y’re half of a whole now. Be prepared.”

Doyle stepped from the flame, as naked as Lindsey himself, his skin a golden green with a pattern of vines etched into it. Behind him, the flames shot high, blazing with traces of crimson and copper. Dark eyes stared out at him through the shifting colors, and Lindsey recognized Cordelia Chase in the trapped gaze.

“You are the third and the last,” Doyle intoned, the brogue dropping away and his voice deepening.

Lindsey tore his eyes away from Chase and stared at the ghost. He knew, somehow, that it wasn’t Doyle speaking now, but someone, something, much more powerful. He swallowed to moisten a mouth gone dry.

“Less than human, more than demon, destiny entwined. With you, with him, the Light will rise or fall. Choose well, for the fallen bear with them the agony of those they have betrayed, and the risen bear with them the prayers of those who have no hope.”

The flame flickered, then calmed. The glow enveloping the ghost faded, until he looked human again, rather than an other-worldly personification of the Green Man. Doyle looked searchingly at Lindsey for a moment, then continued softly, “Watch out fer him.”

“I will,” Lindsey found himself promising before he could stop himself.

At his words, the flame erupted, spreading like wildfire, engulfing the room before washing over Lindsey. The fire was cold where it touched him. The darkness that followed was warm. Comforting.

For the first time in a very long time, he slept without nightmares.

When he woke up, it was dark in the room, and Angel sat behind the desk, chin on his folded hands, staring at him.

“What are you going to do now?” Angel asked quietly.

“Up to you. Not like I have a lot of options,” Lindsey told him, stretching out the kinks in his back before settling deeper in the chair.

Angel’s eyes followed every movement, a hunger deep within them that Lindsey recognized all too well. He’d felt it often enough himself. It stirred in him as he looked back at Angel, meeting the challenge in the dark eyes with one of his own.

“Come back to the hotel with me,” Angel ordered, making it sound like an invitation. “There’s plenty of room.”

“I don’t take up much,” Lindsey said absently as he started to get up out of the chair. Moving so fast he blurred, Angel was in front of him, so that when Lindsey stood upright he was inches away from Angel’s body. Whatever else Lindsey meant to say disappeared from his mind as he felt Angel’s arms come around his waist, hands resting against the small of his back.

“It’s a big bed,” Angel returned, sounding as distracted as Lindsey felt.

“Good,” Lindsey mumbled, then kissed him.

A light breeze washed around them, carrying a hint of laughter. Neither felt it, too caught up in what was happening between them. Distantly, a voice said, “Not too bad, fer a beginnin’.”

If Lindsey had heard, he would have agreed.

END