Title: The One with the Power (Powerless), a Lindsey story in the Angel universe
Author: Brenda Antrim
Email: bren@bantrim.net
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: For To Shansu in LA

Wesley looked up with a start as Cordelia breezed into the office, Gunn at her heels. She looked as if she'd been through a fight with a vicious demon, and a viscous one as well, judging by the blood and slime smeared into her dress, along her legs, even a streak in her hair. There was a suspicious dusting of what appeared to be vampire remains on her right hand, along the front of her skirt and crusted in the gore-splashed sandals she wore.

It was a surprisingly good look for her.

Angel came out to stand at his shoulder, carefully in the shadows, looking on with interest. "Have a good time, kids?"

Wesley smirked despite himself. Ever since Cordelia had told Angel he needed to 'lighten up,' he'd been working on his verbal humor skills. This was one of his better attempts.

Gunn looked down at Cordelia. "You gonna tell him, or should I?"

Cordelia squared her shoulders. "There was a threat, Angel. I had a vision, and there was a threat, so I went and got Gunn and his gang and we took care of it!"

Wesley stared slowly between Gunn, who looked as if he was close to laughter, Cordelia, all proud defiance and glowing victory, and Angel, managing to appear both stoic and slightly confused. It was better than television. Well, better than most British television. Since he'd come to the States, he'd been a tad too busy fighting demons to catch much telly.

"And you didn't come get me because ... ?" Angel coaxed Cordelia into explaining further. It took little encouragement. She was fairly bursting with news.

"It was a threat to you! It was those nasty lawyers, and that raising thingy they did, they were going to hurt you, and we took 'em out before they could get to you!"

During her bubbling proclamation of triumph, Angel had gradually been straightening beside him. Wesley looked over in time to catch a thunderous expression on the normally calm features. Not a good sign, not at all.

"You went up against Wolfram and Hart on your own?" His raking glance took in both Gunn and Cordelia. "You let her?"

"Hey, man, we didn't do so bad. Got the baddy, took out the threat, what's your problem?"

Angel growled, a subvocalization so soft the others couldn't have heard it, but Wesley did. Quite distinctly. It made him shudder.

"My problem is that this could very easily have blown up in your faces. Who, or what, did you kill?" Angel asked Gunn, but Cordelia answered.

"Well, Gunn and his guys killed a bunch of icky demons. Do you have any idea how much it's going to cost to dry clean this dress? And I'm just going to have to throw the shoes away. This gunk is never going to come out. I've got vampire dust between my toes. It was a skinny little blonde woman with blue eyes and big boobs. She ran right on to my stake. I think she was trying to escape them, too!"

Angel had frozen beside him, and Wesley could feel his own spine straighten and freeze into position. Taking a deep breath, he asked the question he knew Angel couldn't. "Did she have a name?"

Cordelia looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, but Gunn answered. "Yeah, I heard one of the guards in the back room yelling about Darla gettin' loose. Why?"

Another sound from Angel, this one loud enough that everyone in the room heard it.

"No."

Just the single word, but the pain in it was enough for Wesley. He took another steadying breath, and turned to Angel. Who turned away before he could be touched, disappearing down the stairs into his rooms.

"What was that all about?" Cordelia asked. She sounded disappointed, and somewhat hurt, that her heroics in saving Angel hadn't been rewarded with high praise. Gunn looked confused as well.

"Who was the vamp?" he asked outright. Cordelia looked over her shoulder at him, then peered at Wesley.

"Yeah, why was this one vamp such a threat to Angel? Who was she?"

"His sire," Wesley answered quietly. Cordelia grimaced.

"Well, that sucks."

Wesley couldn't help but agree. Cordelia looked uncertainly at Gunn, then toward the stairwell.

"Think he could, uhm, use some company?"

"No," Wesley told her hastily. "Give him some time alone. He needs to make peace with this on his own."

"Brood, you mean." Cordelia nodded wisely. It sat ill upon her. Twirling in place, she looked up at Gunn, flirtation in every line of her slightly battle-worn person. "If you're not busy, and you can wait until I get the goo scraped off, would you like to have dinner? Together? My place? Tonight?"

Gunn appeared somewhat shell-shocked. Wesley looked on sympathetically. Eventually, Gunn nodded. "Uh, sure."

"Great!" she chirped. "See you at eight! Oh, would you like a ride home? It's a long walk." She was still chattering up at him as she dragged him out into the sunlight.

Wesley walked to the window and watched them drive away. Cordelia's mouth was still moving, and Gunn looked stunned. Not an unusual reaction to being the focus of Cordelia Chase's attentions. He glanced over at the stairwell down which Angel had disappeared. He considered his options carefully, but in the end decided against going downstairs.

Instead, he sat vigil at the desk, stared into space, and waited for Angel to surface from the depths of his grief. He wondered how long they would have the leisure to allow him to mourn, before the next phase of the ongoing battle with Wolfram and Hart would commence.

Again.

Lindsey healed surprisingly well, even better than he usually did. He had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the Voka blood he'd absorbed. The skin tone on his new hand didn't alter, though, and the symbols didn't disappear.

Which was just as well, in a way. He'd given a lot of thought to exactly how to remove Cordelia Chase from the picture without causing a jihad from Angel that might be worse than the existing situation. Judging by his past record, Angel was very protective of those he considered family. Simply killing her, besides being unforgivably crude, would be stupid.

No, there had to be another way. Slipping off the thin leather glove that now shielded his unusual markings, he studied his hand closely. The light gleamed off the silver, glinted off the gold highlights, seemed to be caught and held by the cobalt symbols. He traced one particular mark, an arc that began between his thumb and first finger and wove along his palm to end in a hieroglyph's tail between his second and third fingers. It led directly to another splash, along his ring finger, across the back of his knuckle, curling up to the side of his palm before bleeding into his wrist. At the demarcation line where his hand had originally been sliced off, tendrils of silver, gold and blue crept up into the healthy flesh of his forearm. In an abstract way, it was quite beautiful.

In a concrete way, it scared the bejesus out of him.

His eyes focused suddenly on the most clearly defined symbol, spread across the back of his hand. It occurred to him that he recognized it, in the way a man might recognize his own face, distorted by a fun-house mirror. It was ancient Greek.

Tearing his eyes away from his hand and slipping the glove back on, he headed for the closed stacks down in the vault where the most ancient texts were kept. Ignoring the sideways look the guardian demon gave him, he punched in the code for access to the atmosphere controlled reading room and walked over to the Keeper of the Texts.

"I need to look at the Sibylline Books."

"Trojan, Pythian or Cumaean?" it asked, no signs of interest on its face. It had been the librarian in the vault for over three hundred years, and had learned not to ask, regardless of how unusual the request might be. Lawyers didn't like to explain themselves, and even if they did, it didn't want to know. Lindsey knew this, and appreciated the discretion.

"Cumaean, second volume."

Once he had the tube in his hands, he felt his heart rate increase. This had to be it. Carefully spreading the scrolls across the teak surface of the table, he began to read, slowly, looking for familiar symbols.

Three and a half hours later, he found it. "Thank you, Apollo," he murmured, grinning down at the text. Carrying the scrolls back to the Keeper, he requested specific copies.

He leaned against the circulation desk and tapped his finger against the railing thoughtfully, the small sound drowned out by the whirring of the copier. A few minutes later, he had what he needed. Nodding at the Keeper, he stuffed the pages into a manila folder and headed back to his office, hand reaching for his cell phone.

Holland picked up on the first ring.

"I've found a way to separate Angel from his conduit to the Powers that Be, sir. And there's something else, too." He glanced down at his now-gloved hand. "Something that could be quite useful."

"We'll be right there, my boy."

"We, sir?" He didn't need any witnesses. Just somebody to watch him in case the spell went wrong. Somebody to put out the fires.

Empty air answered him. He closed his cell and stuck it in his pocket, then stripped off his coat, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. The old magick was some of the most difficult to work, and he wanted to be comfortable.

Holland rapped once on the door, then walked in. Lilah walked beside him. Lindsey cocked his head and looked her over.

"She didn't turn out too bad," he offered. Holland smiled widely.

"The new preservation spells are working much more efficiently. She's a little slow, but not too far off premium for a zombie."

She smiled vacantly at both of them. Lindsey couldn't see much difference from her living persona. Shrugging, he straightened and handed the folder to Holland.

"A full frontal assault on Angel Investigations failed. Even the Voka couldn't pull it off. Removing Ms. Chase directly would provoke a more aggressive response than would be prudent at this time. Therefore, I propose a secondary intervention. Removing the connection between Ms. Chase and the Powers that Be, while allowing Angel to keep his friend, who will no longer be a threat to us."

Holland rifled through the papers, the smile on his face sharpening. "This is an interesting plan, Lindsey. How did you come up with it?"

He stripped off his glove. Holland shot him a glance, a hint of discomfort appearing behind his smile. Lindsey flexed his fingers, looking down at his hand before smiling back up at his mentor.

"During the course of my investigations into this matter, I made another discovery. The symbols on my, er, new hand." Holland stopped looking through the papers and gave Lindsey his full attention. "They're Sibylline. A combination of archaic Greek, Latin and Etruscan. I reconstructed the activities of the Voka the night of the raising." He paused for effect. Holland was staring at him, unblinking. "The Voka went to the Hall of the Oracles."

"He got in?" It wasn't often he managed to surprise Holland. He enjoyed it, briefly, then continued with business.

"He not only got in, he killed Them." Holland went completely still. "There was more than Voka blood on the blade when Angel cut me. There was Oraclean blood there as well."

Holland's smile could have lit up the entire LA basin. "Oh, that is interesting news."

Lindsey's smile widened into a grin, a wolf's expression on a man's face. "I thought so."

With a small flourish, Holland handed him back the papers. "Work the spell, Lindsey. With the blood of the Voka to empower you and the blood of the Oracles to protect you, you should have no difficulty ridding Ms. Chase of her inconvenient visions."

He took the papers, staring down at the ancient text, and nodded grimly. This was his last chance. It had damned well better work.

Or he might be hiring Angel to protect his own ass, next.

Putting the thought aside, he laid the papers out in a neat semi-circle and prepared to begin the ritual. Punching a button on the telephone, he contacted security.

"Phil, this is Lindsey McDonald. I need you to turn off the fire alarms and sprinklers in my suite."

"All of 'em, sir?" the tinny voice answered.

"Yes. Now."

There was a rustling sound from the speaker, then the security chief told him, "All off, sir."

"Thanks. Have security on stand-by outside. They are not to breach the perimeter unless they're called. Understood?"

"Understood, sir."

Satisfied, he flicked off the 'phone and moved forward to light the incense. As the smoke rose to the ceiling, he jumped lightly onto the desk, folded himself up tailor-style, and lowered his head. As he recited the ancient words, Power gathered in the room, and the smoke traced symbols in the air. The matching markings on his hand began to glow. The wind picked up, and brushed his hair back from his eyes with a lover's touch. He smiled faintly.

His voice gained strength as the spell gathered Power, blending with the wind and the smoke, until it shook the room. His hand began to ache. Tears gathered in his eyes. His throat grew hoarse. Sweat trickled down the center of his back, causing his shirt to stick to his body.

The Power continued to rise.

Cordelia changed clothes nine times before seven thirty. At five minutes to eight, the doorbell rang. She opened the door and beamed at him.

"Hi, Gunn! Uhm, do you have another name? Something a little less, er, formal? Dennis!" she shrieked, as a cold can of soda floated out into the living room and hovered in front of her date. Gunn stared at it. Then he stared at her. She smiled weakly. "Did I mention Dennis? He's, ah, my ghost. But he's really nice. If he likes you. And I think he likes you, because he's trying to be a good host. For a ghost." She glared wildly around. "Dennis!" she hissed.

Gunn grinned at her. "One thing for sure, it's never gonna be dull around you folks." Then he took the can, nodded his head at his invisible host, and said, "Thanks, Den."

A sound like a whistling chuckle filled the room, then the air went still. Cordelia lost her scowl and got a bemused smile on her face. "Hm. He really does like you. A good sign! Usually when Dennis doesn't like somebody it's because they're working for a demon, or they are a demon, or they're a psychotic rogue vampire slayer out to kill us all, or something like that."

Gunn was looking at her strangely again. Her smile turned weak and she bounced in place a little nervously.

"I don't have the best of luck finding dates. It is LA, after all."

He shook his head. "My name's Charles," he said softly.

She stopped bouncing. "Charles," she said just as softly. "That's ... nice." And it was.

Dinner passed in a haze of chatter on her part and a few good questions on his. For two people with absolutely nothing in common, they had a lot to talk about, and very little of it had to do with demons. She piled the dishes in the sink and Dennis gently pushed her out into the living room, putting up invisible bars when she tried to help. She grinned and blushed, took the drinks he floated out to her, and joined Gunn on the sofa.

"So, what are your plans, if the acting thing don't pan out?"

She leaned forward and took the glass from his hand, setting it on the coffee table. "We've been talking about me all night. What about you?"

He shrugged. "You know all the important stuff."

She shook her head. "Oh, I don't know about that." He gave her a sideways look, and she flirted up at him with her eyelashes. He grinned. "Is this the part where you finally kiss me?"

"You want me to kiss you?" he asked, not all of his surprise a put-on. Her face softened.

"Yeah," she admitted. "A lot, actually."

He cupped her chin with one hand and leaned forward to meet her. The only places they touched were his hand on her jaw and their lips together. It was sweet, and soft, and escalated quickly into something much hotter. She followed him when he pulled back, shuffling along the edge of the sofa until she was almost sitting in his lap, curving over him. His hands slipped down and around her waist, and she slid her arms around his neck, angling her head to taste him more deeply. She was drowning in sweetness when the pain hit.

Wrenching away from him, she shrieked as the first spikes of the vision struck her like hammers to the skull. Out in the kitchen, a plate dropped as Dennis reacted to her pain. Dimly, through the colors flashing in her eyes, she could make out the shocked expression on Gunn's face.

"'S okay, Charles," she managed to whisper. "'S just a vision." Then with a sudden concussion, as if her thoughts had been sucked out of her mind, the vision was ripped from her head, sending her crashing down to the sofa. He caught her as she convulsed.

Her last coherent thought before she passed out was that she could really get used to this guy holding on to her.

The ringing of the telephone jolted Angel from his thoughts, although anyone watching him would never know it from his physical reaction. He heard Wesley's voice, light English accent dipping and falling as he spoke. A sharp note of urgency warped the tone, and he looked up as Wesley came down the stairs at a near run.

"That was Gunn. There's been an emergency with Cordelia."

His axe was in his hand and he was halfway up the stairs before Wesley finished speaking. They made it to the apartment in record time, Angel thankful that as usual, the LAPD were busy somewhere else and not giving out speeding tickets to demons in a hurry.

The door flew open as they pounded up the stairs, and he called out an absent, "Hey, Dennis," as he ran into the living room. Cordelia was draped across Gunn's lap on the sofa, and appeared to be just coming around.

"What's up?" Angel asked Gunn but kept his eyes on Cordelia. She wasn't bleeding anywhere, nothing strange seemed to be happening to her limbs, and her eyes were the right color. No outward signs of attack or possession. He relaxed a fraction.

"I dunno, we were kissin' and she just sort of curled up in a ball and grabbed her head."

Wesley interjected, weakly, "Kissing?" sounding much more jealous than he realized. Angel relaxed even further.

"Did she say anything?"

"A vision, she said."

Angel nodded. "Did she give you any details?" Now that he knew it was business, his manner was more brisk, less panicked. Not that he'd admit to panic. Ever. To anybody.

"There weren't any." Cordelia joined the party. Her voice was reedy, but she didn't look any the worse for the wear. Angel dropped down onto the closest chair.

"What do you mean? Was it too blurry to make out, or too short?"

"Neither," she said, waving one hand. She didn't look like she was in any hurry to leave Gunn's lap. Which was okay, since he didn't look like he was in any hurry to let go of her, either. "One minute it was there, the next, swoop! It was gone."

"Gone?" Wesley sounded a little more settled, too.

Angel glanced up at him and had a moment's revelation. It didn't look like Wes was jealous of Gunn. It looked like he was jealous of Cordy. Angel blinked. That would take some thought. Later. Shaking off the distraction, he turned back to Cordelia.

"So, how do you feel?"

She looked up into Gunn's face and smiled. There was a hint of the predator there along with a whole lot of sweetness. "Pretty good, actually. Not even any headache."

Rising from the chair, Angel gathered Wesley up on his way out the door. "Have a good night, kids. Call me if you need me." The door shut with a gentle bang behind them. He grinned at Wesley. Wesley looked confused.

"False alarm?" Wesley didn't look like he bought it. "I need to do some research."

"Do that," Angel told him. "I just wouldn't recommend bothering them with the results until tomorrow. At least."

He ignored Wesley's disgruntled expression and watched the night go by as they drove back home. He had a lot to think about. Darla. Cordelia. His city. His fate. His place in the universe.

His shopping. He turned back to Wesley. "Turn left at Sepulveda, would you? I'm almost out of blood."

Another exciting night in the city of Angels.

Power expanded in the room until the pressure was so high Lindsey was certain his ears would start to bleed. Lilah had crumpled, her newly-bound zombie strength not enough to stand against the force of the wind. Holland was clinging to the wall, eyes narrowed against the smoke, watching Lindsey intently.

With a crescendo that sounded like the wail of a banshee, the spell broke free. Symbols whirled crazily in the air like leaves in a storm, swirling around Lindsey and sliding along his body, wreathing his hair in smoke, caressing his face, sliding around his limbs like snakes. His eyes stung and his mouth fell open as the smoke stole his air. In the space of a heart beat, it dissipated. The wind died, the smoke cleared, and the pages that had held the written text were no more than ashes scattered across his desk.

He was shaking a little as he half-climbed, half-slid off the desk. Dusting off his slacks, he straightened his shirt and reached for his tie.

"That went well, I think," Holland offered as two large security men came in and dragged Lilah out of the room. She still hadn't regained consciousness. It would probably take another binding and preservation spell, or she'd start to lose parts. Once physical cohesion was lost, a zombie was pretty much fodder. Lindsey glanced from her feet, bouncing along the carpet between the two big humans, over to Holland's complacent expression.

"Yes, I think so," he said. Or tried to say. Before the words could get out, the world fell on top his head.

At least, that's what it felt like. His hands went up to clutch at his temples and he gave a strangled cry, a wail trapped behind clenched teeth like an animal in pain. He doubled over, falling to the floor at Holland's feet, completely unaware of it as he wrestled with the madness that had overtaken his brain.

Sounds were screeching in his ears, screams of pain and fright unlike any he'd ever heard. He was feeling the screaming in his skin, bones aching with the intensity of the fear in them. There was a god-awful stench rising up around him, making his gorge rise. Colors flashed in front of his eyes, pictures of people stretched out of frame until they became caricatures of human beings, bleeding and writhing in agony.

Pulsing through the colors and the sounds and the smells, he could see his hand in front of his eyes. The symbols were glowing, the intense deep blue found at the heart of a flame. They danced in front of him, leading him through the vision, through the madness.

As suddenly as it hit, it was over. He was curled up at Holland's feet, and the older man was holding his shoulders. He really, really wanted to throw up. He controlled the urge, with effort.

"What ... what the hell was that?" His voice was raspy again. He wondered, with some embarrassment, if he'd been screaming as loudly as it felt like he'd been screaming.

"I'm not sure, but I think it might have been a vision from the Powers that Be." Holland sounded obscenely cheerful. Lindsey flashed on choking his boss to death, not for the first time, but gave up the idea as a bad one. For now, at least.

"It's disgusting," he spat. "Intrusive. And it damned well hurts." To his horror, there was a whine in his voice. He made an effort to straighten up, then winced as a lance of pain split his skull. "God damn it!" More than a hint of a whine in that one.

Holland patted his head gently. "Can I get you anything?"

"Drugs would be good," he answered automatically, concentrating on dragging himself to his feet. He staggered over to his chair and fell more than sat in it. He dropped his face in his hands and waited for his stomach to settle.

A glass appeared on the desk in front of him, and Holland offered him two tablets. "Take this. It will help."

"Ibuprofen?" he asked.

"Percodan," Holland replied.

He swallowed as fast as he could. If that was a vision, it was a wonder Cordelia survived them. It didn't surprise him that Doyle had committed suicide. He stared dully at his hand, the symbols no longer glowing.

"This could be useful."

Lindsey dropped his head back into his hands. He had an awful feeling Holland was right, and he was more than half afraid he knew how it would be used.

"Perhaps we can use the information instead of Angel?" Then, he continued reasoning silently, since we don't actually go rescue anybody, eventually the damned things will stop, and I'll get my brain back. In one piece.

"Oh, no, of course not," Holland purred.

Lindsey swallowed. The urge to throw up was back. He just didn't want to know. His boss told him anyway.

"We've been looking into a way to get a man inside his organization."

Oh, hell, Lindsey mouthed.

"This is the perfect opportunity. After all, he knows you."

"He hates me."

"That's immaterial."

"It's going to be hard to convince him to trust me since I've already sold him out." Lindsey had a feeling he might as well be talking to his desk for all the good it was doing. Holland's response affirmed the feeling.

"He'll have no choice, because he'll believe you have no choice. After all, you didn't ask for the visions, they just came to you."

"That's the damned truth." But was it? After all, he did have the Oracles' blood in him now, and he had taken steps to steal the gift of Sight from the Chase girl. He groaned softly. Son of a bitch, he mentally cursed himself. Good going, Lindsey. Way to fuck up royally.

"So now, you have to go to him. Return here tomorrow, and make sure he follows you. Go now." That sounded like an order.

"Now?" he asked through his fingers.

"Now," Holland informed him.

He got up and headed for the door, staggering more than a little from the combination of headache and drugs.

"Oh, Lindsey," Holland called after him. "Take a taxi."

On expense, Lindsey decided. If he was going to go through with this fiasco, and it looked like he had no choice, he sure as hell wasn't going to pay for any of it.




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