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

The dark wasn't helping. Angel stared out into the room, seeing as clearly in the dark as a human did in the daylight, and wondered why Darla's death wasn't upsetting him more than it did. She'd loved him once, in her own twisted way, and he'd spent decades at her side. True, the memories of those decades drew more guilt than pleasure from him now, but he'd had fun at the time. More recent memories were even more painful.

Before he could sink further into depression, there was a disturbance at the door. He took the stairs two at a time, thinking along the way that he'd been spending too much time with Cordelia. A good brood just didn't do for him what it used to do.

The sight that met him at the top of the stairs stopped him in his tracks. Wesley stood at the threshold, a battle axe in his hand, aggression in every line of his body, muscles quivering. Lindsey McDonald, Born-Again Boy who hadn't been quite so born again, stood in the doorway, chin barely clearing the edge of the axe. He looked like hell.

"Keep partying like that and it's gonna kill you, Linds," he offered.

Bloodshot green eyes rolled at him like a spooked horse, then the strangest thing happened. The tough lawyer who specialized in evil whimpered like a little kid and grabbed his head with both hands, doubling over in pain. Wesley barely got the axe out of the way in time to keep from beheading him. Angel stood there in shock, recognizing but rejecting what he saw.

Two hands.

Holding what looked one hell of a lot like a head in the middle of a vision.

"Oh, shit," he breathed. Wesley gave him a shocked look, although he didn't know if it was from seeing Lindsey have a vision or hearing Angel curse. "Grab the Excedrin and a glass of water. And your note pad."

Wesley had the same horrified expression on his face that Angel was sure he had on his own. Please, please, he begged silently in the closest thing he'd come to a prayer since Doyle died, please don't let Lindsey McDonald be my Messenger.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," Lindsey whined.

Angel reluctantly came forward and picked up the quivering man, dragging him forward and dropping him none too gently onto the small couch they kept in the lobby for clients. Lindsey curled up into the tightest fetal ball Angel had seen in a long time and continued to whimper quietly. Eventually, he started muttering.

Wesley slammed the glass of water and the headache pills on the desk and took out his notebook.

"Thirty four seventeen ow Maricopa. Kid. Ow. Teenager. Ow. Ow. Danger. Ouch. Fuck. Ow."

Angel leaned closer, lifting the hair out of Lindsey's eyes. They were screwed tightly shut, his entire face crumpled in a scowl of pain. "Can you tell us anything else, Lindsey?" he asked, resigned to his fate but not liking it one little bit.

"Ow!" Lindsey actually nuzzled his hand. Angel looked down at him with disbelief. "Pak'tau. Slime. Yuck! OW! Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"The demon or the headache?" Wesley asked reasonably.

Lindsey unscrewed one eye and glared ineffectually at Wesley. Wesley watched him expectantly, one hand poised over the pad, pencil at the ready, the perfect model of an attentive secretary. Lindsey whimpered.

Angel grinned. Okay, this could be fun, in a cruel sort of way. And he hadn't had any really vicious fun since he'd had sex with Buffy ... his brain shut off, the smile disappeared, and he gulped, hard. "So, it's a Pak'tau demon targeting a teenager on Maricopa street."

"Avenue. Ow," Lindsey corrected him.

"You coming?"

"Fuck you!"

Guessed not. "Get the car," he told Wesley, grabbing a pair of hand cuffs from the side drawer of Cordelia's desk and efficiently cuffing Lindsey to the back of the couch. "Don't go anywhere," he cautioned.

Lindsey just lay there and whimpered. It was really rather entertaining, and he wished he had more time to enjoy it. But he had a kid to save and a demon to slay. Work before pleasure, always. Angel sighed, grabbed his sword and his metal spike, and went out to join Wesley in the convertible.

"I don't like it," Wes said, halfway to the rescue site.

"I'm not wild about it, but we can't deal with it now. We've got work to do."

"And when we get back?"

"We beat the truth out of him."

Wesley looked quite happy with that idea.

Forty five minutes of gut-churning demon bashing later, covered in purple ichor and smelling worse than a hot day in the sewers, they headed back to the office.

"You know," Wesley mused, trying to breathe through his mouth so their stench didn't overpower him, "this is becoming almost routine. Perhaps the Powers that Be changed the Messenger because They feared we might be becoming complacent?"

"Maybe," Angel allowed. Maybe not. He had a gut feeling the Powers weren't behind this. Lindsey'd been meddling again, he'd bet on it. Lindsey was always meddling, and every time he did, something got screwed up. His thoughts led him back to Darla, and a moment's depression, then further on to Lindsey's suddenly reappearing hand, and some serious confusion. "What do you know about limb regeneration?"

Wesley looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Lizards can re-grow tails. It doesn't normally work as well with humans. You're thinking of his hand?"

"Hands." Angel slumped in the seat, shook off the headache from the stink of the goop all over his coat, and sighed deeply. "He had two."

"That is a conundrum," Wesley intoned. Angel glared at him.

"He should only have one."

Wes glanced sharply at him. "I hadn't forgotten."

Angel nodded, and let the silence drag out. By the time they got back home he was in a thoroughly foul mood. Perfect for dealing with Mr. McDonald.

Who was sound asleep on the couch, cuffed hand dangling in the air over his head, drooling slightly onto the cushion under his cheek. He looked like he was four years old. Angel grimaced. Wesley took up a defensive stance, axe once more against Lindsey's neck, gore dripping sloppily onto his two hundred dollar shirt. That lightened Angel's mood considerably.

"You might want to stand back a little, Wes," he suggested. "If he jumps, he could cut his own throat, then we'll never get any answers."

Wesley blushed a little and eased off a few inches. Angel leaned forward and rapped Lindsey sharply on the forehead with his knuckles.

Lindsey curled back up into a ball faster than a bug poked with a stick. He whimpered again. Angel looked over and saw the Excedrin, still sitting next to the water glass, just out of Lindsey's reach.

"Oops." He tapped less sharply atop Lindsey's head, and one eye peeked out over a shielding arm at him, through a fall of brown hair. "Want something for the headache?"

The eye blinked. Appeared to be considering it. Blinked again. The head nodded. Both eyes surfaced as Lindsey unwrapped his arm from around his head. Angel dropped the pills in Lindsey's free hand, watched him as he put them in his mouth, and held the glass while he drank. Lindsey fell back, tentatively, against the cushions.

"Thanks," he rasped.

"All part of the service. What are you doing here, when did the visions start, and where'd you get the new hand?"

Lines of stress and pain smoothed out on Lindsey's face as his eyes opened wide and he grinned up at Angel. "The cross examination begins."

Wesley lowered the axe. Lindsey stopped smiling. Moving very slowly, he raised his left hand to his right, still cuffed to the rail at the back of the couch. Carefully, he pulled the leather glove off his right hand, one finger at a time. Angel stared at it as it was uncovered. Wesley gasped. Lindsey flexed his fingers.

Angel blinked.

It looked familiar. Not the color, necessarily. It was a little too silver. But the flashes of gold, the iridescence, and most especially, the deep blue symbols scrolling across it.

"The Oracles," he whispered.

"Next time," Lindsey growled, "you might want to clean your weapons before you go chopping pieces off of people."

Wesley started to ask something, but the words came out garbled. Angel raised a hand, and Wes fell silent.

"What do you want?" There was no warmth whatsoever in Angel's voice. Lindsey's eyes closed again, and when they opened, they looked directly at Angel, holding a vulnerability he'd never have believed Lindsey capable of feeling.

"You gotta help me." He sounded desperate.

"Again? Why don't you go to your masters? I'm sure they would love to know about the visions."

Lindsey made an odd sound, a cross between a laugh and a snort. "Can't." He waved his strangely marked hand. "They won't let me."

"Who?" Wesley chimed in.

"You call 'em the Powers that Be. I call 'em a pain in the ass." He paused, considered his hand, and sighed. "And in the head."

Angel reached down and ran his fingers along one of the marks. It was warm to his touch and made his skin tingle slightly. He glanced up at Lindsey's face. The green eyes were half-closed, staring at his fingers as they traced along the edge of the symbols. Abruptly, he smelled arousal. Lindsey's.

His own.

"You can stay here," he offered abruptly. Wesley started to protest, and Angel shook his head at him. Wes frowned. Angel ignored him.

"Will you unlock the cuffs? My hand's gone to sleep."

Angel reached back into the desk and pulled out a length of chain. It was amazing what Cordelia kept in her desk drawers. Useful, too. Without another word, he uncuffed Lindsey from the couch and pulled him to his feet.

"Angel ... " Wesley cleared his throat. Angel looked at him over his shoulder.

"It's okay." Whether it was or not, it was what he had to do. Wes nodded, not wanting to agree but having no choice. Angel gave Lindsey a shove toward the stairs and followed him down.

Distantly, he heard Wesley locking up and leaving, but his attention was fixed on Lindsey.

"Strip," he ordered. Startled green eyes stared up at him. "Get into bed."

The scent of arousal spiked. He noticed that Lindsey deliberately kept his back to him. Probably a good idea. He waited while Lindsey stripped down to his boxers, then gestured toward the bed. Lindsey lay down on it like a vestal virgin on an altar. Angel ignored the inquisitive look, and the intriguing bulge in the boxers, and efficiently chained Lindsey's ankle to the bed post.

Then he turned around and headed for the shower.

"Hey!" came the startled protest from behind him. He ignored it. Went into the bathroom and stood under the hot water until every trace of the Pak'tau demon had washed down the drain and there was the semblance of warmth in his cold flesh.

Rubbing a towel over his head, he snagged a pair of black silk boxers from the back of the toilet and wandered back into his bedroom. Lindsey had fallen asleep, half under the covers, chained ankle atop the sheet, his strangely marked hand tucked under his cheek. Angel looked closer. At least he wasn't drooling this time.

Tossing the towel off to the side of the bed, he climbed in under the covers. He lay there for a long time, staring at his unexpected bedmate, wondering what the hell he was going to do with him now that he had him. Angelus piped up deep in his mind with several suggestions; his demon really liked Lindsey. Angel determinedly ignored the enthusiastic voice until it died away to an occasional disgruntled muttering. Whether he wanted to admit to it or not, he liked Lindsey a bit too much, himself.

Parts of him were pretty enthusiastic about the little weasel, actually.

He glared down at his crotch, willing his erection away, remembering the scent of Lindsey's lust earlier that night, knowing he wasn't alone in the fascination. The thought didn't help. Deciding he was too damned tired to think about it any more that night, he curled up on his side, and determinedly went to sleep.

Facing Lindsey. He didn't trust him at all, and he certainly wasn't going to turn his back on him.

Sometime in the very early morning hours, the warmth drew him in, and he wound up wrapped around Lindsey like an octopus. Neither of them moved away.

As assignments went, Lindsey had been given worse. He simply couldn't remember any at the moment. Pushing ineffectively at the ice cold arm wrapped around his waist, pinning him to the bed, he sighed.

"Going somewhere?" Angel sounded wide awake. And amused. Lindsey scowled.

"To work, if you'll unchain me."

"Say that often?" The arm didn't move.

"Only to vampires, oddly enough." He pushed at it again. With his right hand, this time. Behind him, Angel shivered. He felt that shiver all the way to his bones, and craned over the arm to look down at his crotch. Yup. Hard. "Shit."

"D'you sleep with vampires often?" Angel was even closer now, if that was possible, and his nose was buried in Lindsey's neck. It was Lindsey's turn to shiver.

"Only when I'm forced to," he snarled. "Would you please let go of me?"

"I dunno," Angel purred. "You feel pretty good."

"I feel like I'm gonna be pretty fucking late if I don't get out of here and go to work." The cold nose that had been rooting around the curve where his shoulder met his neck stopped dead. Lindsey mentally shrugged at the pun, and wriggled, doing his best to ignore both his body's reaction to Angel and Angel's reaction to him. At least it wasn't one-sided. He didn't know whether to be thankful for that or pissed off.

"You're going back to Wolfram and Hart?" Angel asked with deceptive calm.

Lindsey threw him a wild-eyed look over his shoulder. "Where the hell else would I go? Look, the Powers that Be won't let me go to my bosses with the visions, but if I never show up again they'll come huntin' for me. And I don't know about you, but I really don't wanna know what their huntin' dogs eat for supper." Damnit, the stress was showing. His accent was thick enough to cut with a knife. "What time is it?"

"Just before five."

"Good." The arm finally loosened and he slipped out from under it. "I've got time to get in, take a shower, and get some work done before they realize I've left. Hopefully they won't do any mind scans for awhile. I gotta figure out a way to hide this from -- Ow! Fuck it!"

The last words came out on a pained gasp as he tripped over the chain holding his ankle to the bed post and landed flat on his belly on the floor. Utter silence met his exclamation. Twisting awkwardly, he glared up at Angel.

Who was staring, apparently entranced, at his ass.

"Oh my God!"

His head swiveled toward the stairs so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. Cordelia Chase stood on the steps, staring back and forth between himself and Angel as if she was a spectator at a tennis match. If the players were in their underwear. Lindsey could feel himself blushing everywhere. It surprised him. He hadn't realized he still knew how to blush. Happily, she was turning just as red as he was. The only one not blushing was Angel, and that was probably because he'd gone to bed without dinner the night before and didn't have enough blood in his system. Lindsey leaned his forehead against his hand.

"Would you unchain me?" It came out more a howl than the reasoned request he'd intended. Cordelia stepped forward. Angel stirred behind him.

"I'll take care of it, Cordy. Meet me upstairs?"

She nodded, turning on her heel and fleeing back up the stairs. Lindsey heard snatches of babble, something about never coming in early again and disinfecting her chains, before her footsteps and her muttering finally gave way to silence.

A large, cold hand grabbed his foot, and he nearly did himself an injury trying to jump away. He couldn't quite contain the giggle. He buried his face harder against his arm. Was there any further humiliation to which he could be subjected? A single finger traced down the arch of his foot and he ruthlessly smothered the resulting giggle against his forearm. It would appear that Angel had no mercy whatsoever.

"Please!" he finally begged. The cuff around his ankle clicked open, and he moved faster than he ever had in his life. He was dressed and ready to run out the door in less than two minutes, never once looking at Angel the entire time. So he was more than a little surprised when he did look up to see that Angel was even faster at dressing than he was.

Good. He wouldn't have to lure the vampire to follow him after all. Angel's own over-developed boy scout instincts would do it for him. But it never hurt to have a little insurance. He put on his most uncertain look, not difficult given the experiences of the morning. It wasn't often ... in fact, never ... that he woke up on the floor in his underwear with a vampire tickling his chained foot while a sap-headed actress wannabe looked on.

"Uhm, can I use your 'phone? I need to call a cab. Didn't want to drive last night, didn't know how long my eyes would last. Didn't want to be on the road when a vision hit."

"This is LA," Angel pointed out reasonably. "Nobody'd notice."

"The Firm would, if I dented their Lexus."

Angel shrugged. "I'll give you a ride."

Score one for the lawyer. Lindsey very carefully didn't grin. "Thanks." He looked askance at Angel, through his eyelashes. Angel looked uncomfortable. He dropped his gaze. And hard. He swallowed, trying to work some spit into a mouth suddenly gone dry. This was going to be tougher than he'd expected. Not that he thought Holland actually wanted him to seduce Angel. But Lindsey was used to using every weapon in his arsenal, and his instincts were telling him, loudly, that sex was a great way to get inside Angel's defenses.

Or maybe it was his hormones. It was kind of hard to tell sometimes.

Shrugging off the thought, he drew his glove over his silver hand and headed out into the pre-dawn shadows. The ride to the Firm's headquarters was a silent one. He'd look at Angel, Angel would stare straight ahead. Angel would glance over at him, he'd peer determinedly at the passing traffic. Two blocks from the office, Lindsey asked Angel to let him out.

Pulling over to the curb, Angel told him, "Be careful." Lindsey gave him a look that said, plainly, 'no shit,' but didn't dignify it with an answer. He could feel Angel watching him as he headed up the steps. The feeling stayed with him all day. All evening, and all the way home.

It was a good thing. As he punched the button to set the alarms on the car and headed toward his front door, three Fhaukul demons attacked him. They made a good show of it, but he knew right away that Holland had ordered the attack to draw Angel out. Otherwise, he'd have lost his head in the first few moments of combat.

As usual, Angel cut it fine. He'd managed to put one Fhaukul down before the other two dragged him down, punching and clawing at him. He was starting to yell in earnest when the bigger of the two suddenly went flying and the last one got the snot kicked out of him by a grimly determined protective vampire. It was a good thing. Lindsey felt like one big bruise, and couldn't have fought back any more to save his soul.

Perhaps those were the wrong stakes. He was, after all, one of Wolfram and Hart's best. Who knew if he even still had a soul?

He dismissed the thought as irrelevent and staggered along beside Angel as he was propelled by one arm down the street toward the convertible. Lindsey tried to catch his breath. By the time he finally did, they were almost all the way back to Angel Investigations.

"Well, hell," he wheezed.

"Rough day at the office?" Angel deadpanned.

"Fuckin' mind readers." He slumped in the seat in his best projection of 'morose lawyer whose pack has just turned on him.' "Can't go back now."

"You always have a choice." There was a heavy lacing of irony in Angel's voice. Lindsey's glare wasn't faked.

"Yeah. Some choice. Go back, get turned into people kibble or forced to eat my own liver." He ignored Angel's interested look and grumbled on. "Or become one of Angel's Avengers, and risk my ass every night of the week for not a fuckin' thing."

"Angel's Avengers?" It sounded strangled.

"I didn't ask for this, you know."

"Believe me, nobody thought you did. Not for a moment."

Lindsey stared back over at Angel. His face was too expressionless. He had the gut feeling under that calm exterior Angel was silently laughing his ass off. He smirked. He who laughed last laughed best, and he was planning on being the last one laughing. As they were walking back into the building, the smirk disappeared as another vision hit.

"Oh, hell!" he ground out. The world split into two realities.

One consisted of Angel's arm around his back, holding him up and leading him forward. Wesley's voice, asking for details. Cordelia, in the background, saying "And I didn't even have to kiss him! Thank God."

He'd figure that one out when his head wasn't melting into mush. Which was the other reality. A stench so awful his tongue felt as if it was coated in battery acid. His eyes watered, and he coughed out words he couldn't hear. The name of a park. A small clutch of vampires. A woman alone, dressed for a party, blonde, weren't they all?

This time, at least, they didn't handcuff him to the couch. And he recovered much more quickly. To find Cordelia Chase sitting at her desk, staring at him with the same look she'd give a dung beetle if she found it in her underwear drawer.

"Why would you have to kiss me?" The first thought in his brain popped out his mouth. Christ. Must be contagious, and he caught it from her along with the visions. He'd have to watch that.

"Thought that was how Doyle gave them to me." She looked away, sadness sliding over her face like a veil, then slipping away again. "But it was just the Powers that Be. They can have a really weird sense of humor sometimes. I mean, look who they chose for their Messenger."

Lindsey couldn't find a single argument for that one. They sat in silence until she got bored and logged on to the computer to surf the 'net. Half an hour later, Wesley and Angel stomped into the office. Lindsey closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his mouth. Yeah, the reality smelled just as awful as the vision had.

That night found him sleeping on Angel's couch. About four in the morning, his hand started to burn and he sat bolt upright, staring at his skin. The symbols were glowing. An odd noise was coming from the back of his throat, and he couldn't stop it.

Angel was standing next to him, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. He jumped, then stared back at his hand, fascinated and in pain. That seemed to be the recurring theme where the Powers that Be were concerned -- pain.

"What's going on?" Angel's voice blended into the darkness, and Lindsey turned toward him, unconsciously holding out his hand.

"You tell me," he choked. "You've got more experience with this crap than I do. What are They trying to do to me?"

Angel's hands wrapped around his, and the burning eased as the glow from the symbols began to fade. Then he withdrew his hold, and they flared up again, brighter than before. Lindsey couldn't hold back the gasp of pain.

"I wanna hold your hand?" he tried to joke. It sounded more like a plea. Angel gave him a questioning look, then sighed.

"Come on." He grabbed Lindsey's hand again and hauled him over to the bed. "We'll figure it out in the morning. I'm going to sleep." With that, he unceremoniously tossed Lindsey onto the bed and climbed under the covers.

Lindsey stared at him. Looked down at his hand, now showing what passed for its normal muted silver and blue. Stared back at Angel.

He wasn't quite sure where They were heading with this, but wherever it was, it was going to be one hell of a wild ride.

Three days later, it got a little wilder than even he'd expected. Not to say, hoped.

The vision hit late, almost two in the morning. Cordelia and Wesley had gone home already, after another uncomfortable evening of Wesley and Angel going out demon hunting, Cordelia staring at him with morbid fascination, and he himself doing his best to be patient and wait for developments. He shouldn't have been as startled by this one as he was. The Powers were sneaky, and They had a plan. Whether it gelled with Wolfram and Hart's plan remained to be seen.

As visions went, it was pretty standard. Smelly, painful, and colorful. This time, Wesley wasn't there to drive. So Angel took Lindsey.

Literally, as it turned out.

Lindsey was used to fighting his battles in the courtroom, and while it could get pretty bloodthirsty, the blood was usually figurative. The only time he'd fought demons in earnest it was one blind woman who'd kicked his ass all over the room, so to get into hand to hand combat with a Jortow and win was a little exhilarating. At one point, he was back to back with Angel, swinging a spiked mace like he was born to it, ducking, twisting, pounding and weaving like a professional.

It was sort of fun.

Back at what now passed for home, he stripped out of his jeans, tossed yet another ruined button-down shirt into the garbage and headed for the shower. Angel had beaten him to it, and he paced restlessly outside the door for a few minutes. His blood was racing, his hand was tingling, and his mind was giving him all kinds of inappropriate mental images of exactly what Angel would look like standing under the shower with the water running down his nude body.

Three seconds later he was pulling back the curtain and stepping into the tub.

Angel looked at him, dark eyes wide as dinner plates. He didn't look as sanguine as normal with his hair standing up in spikes, stark naked, holding a sponge to his chest, soap bubbles drooling down over his abdomen.

"What's this?" he asked even as Lindsey was taking the sponge from his hand and tracing the soap trail with his fingers.

"Battle lust," Lindsey said matter-of-factly, washing away the soap and dropping to his knees in front of Angel. "Got a problem with that?" He took Angel's cock in one hand and grabbed the bar of soap with the other. As Angel opened his mouth to answer, he sucked the head into his mouth, running the soap up between Angel's thighs and between his buttocks.

The sound Angel made might have been no, or yes, or anything in between. Very soon, there were no discernible words at all in it, just a stream of babble that rose to a cry then cut off abruptly. Lindsey swallowed, licking everything he could reach. Before he could stand up, hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him, pinning him against the tiles.

Lindsey lifted his face into the stream of water, rinsing out his mouth, as Angel took his erection in hand and proved that a couple centuries of practise could turn a simple hand job into a religious experience. By the time Lindsey came, he couldn't move, could only lean against the wall and twitch.

He didn't remember actually drying off and going to bed, although he suspected Angel had a lot to do with him getting there. Five hours later, as dawn was breaking out of sight above them, Lindsey woke to hands at his shoulders, along his spine, down across his ass, over his thighs. He buried his face in the pillow and tried not to hyperventilate as tongue was followed by fingers, then by a hard cock, opening him up and taking him to heaven. The second orgasm of the night was a mind bender, thrusting into the linens beneath him, Angel's hand wrapped around him, Angel's cock buried deeply within him, Angel's mouth moving over his neck.

When he could get enough air in his lungs to breathe again, he grunted, "Battle lust?"

He could feel Angel's grin against his skin. "Just lust."

They didn't speak about it, and the others didn't know, or he didn't think they knew. But a few things changed. He didn't stay behind with Cordelia; he fought beside Wesley and Angel. He didn't know how Angel had smoothed the situation over with the other two, but while they still watched him with suspicion, they stopped staring at him constantly as if expecting him to steal the silver. Or kill them all while they slept.

Life settled into an uneasy pattern. He'd have a vision, the boys would all go fight while Cordelia manned the office, they'd come home. Wesley would wander out to the book shops while Cordelia went to the clubs and Angel would take him to bed and fuck him senseless. There were moments when he completely forgot that it was all a grand scheme by his real employers to undermine the people he was actually beginning to like. It couldn't last.

His instincts were correct, as usual. The next week was insane, having visions six days out of seven. Making a sick joke to himself about resting on the seventh day, in the early evening he took a walk down to the Starbucks on the corner and used the telephone in the back corridor to call Holland.

"You're doing very well, Lindsey."

What could he say to that? My head's exploding on a regular basis, I'm down to wearing sweats because everything I brought with me is covered with demon goop, I've actually given Wesley tips on places to find rare manuscripts and, god forbid, discovered I like the same fusion jazz Cordy does, and oh, by the way, I'm spending every night in bed with a vampire having incredible sex? "What's next, sir?" That seemed safe enough.

"It's time for the pay-off for all the time you've been investing in this infiltration."

Lindsey went cold. Angel had been right when he's said there was always a choice. He stared down at the fine-grained leather covering his hand, and dredged up every horrible thing he'd ever known the Firm to do to those who opposed them. Halfway through the list, he heard Holland's voice again and took a deep breath. Even half the list was enough. There was no way in hell he was going to go against Wolfram and Hart ever again.

"-- enough experience with the real thing to act quite convincingly, I'm certain. Make sure he comes to Croydon and 82nd just after eleven tonight. Make it compelling, Lindsey. We're counting on you."

Every nightmare he'd ever had about his employers lay under that cheerful voice. He knew precisely what would happen to him if he fucked up again. Eating his own liver would be the least of it.

"Yes, sir." He hung up slowly. Stared at nothing for awhile, then squared his shoulders and walked briskly back to the office.

Cordelia barely glanced at him as he walked in. Wesley didn't look up from his book. Angel watched him all the way across the floor. He sat on the couch and picked up the Times. Casually leafed through the stock reports.

"You okay?"

He looked over at Angel. "Fine. Why?" He could do innocent. Damned well, in fact. Angel shrugged one shoulder.

"You look a little pale."

"Must be the company I'm keepin'."

Cordelia snorted. Even Wesley gave a half smile. Lindsey grinned with perfectly false cheer at the lot of them and settled into reading the paper. He had nothing to do but get through the next few hours without blowing his cover, fake a vision, lead the demon he'd been sleeping with into an ambush, kill him in order to regain his standing at the law firm, and go back to his real life.

Piece of cake.

At twenty eight minutes after ten, he convulsed over the game of chess he was winning from Wesley, scattering pieces all over the floor. Angel caught him as he followed the board down to the carpet. Cordelia went for the aspirin, Wesley grabbed his notebook, and Angel leaned him against his shoulder, supporting him with an arm around his waist. For once, Lindsey could appreciate the closeness without the usual side effects of extreme nausea and splitting headache. Of course, he couldn't let Angel know that.

Gritting his teeth and screwing up his face in his best impression of incredible pain, he spat out directions to the ambush, knowing with traffic they'd get there right in time for Holland's little welcome party. Halfway through an Oscar-worthy performance of a Vision in Full Flight, the Powers that Be played Their trump card, and turned the damned thing into the real thing.

The world compressed, running together in a mess of blood and madness. Screams ripped through his mind, bringing his hands up to his head to try to hold his skull together. Angel, an Angel he didn't recognize, Cordelia's head in his hands, her eyes vacant. Blood on his own hands, on his chest, on his legs ... the symbols pulsed madly on his hand, and he began to chant. He didn't recognize the language, and from the demands for explanation and panicked reply above his head, neither did Angel and Wesley. It didn't matter what they meant. The words were burned into his brain.

As quickly as it hit, it was over, and every muscle in his body spasmed at the same time, jerking him in Angel's arms like a fish on a line. He cried out in agony, then collapsed.

Angel caught him.

"Are you okay?" Leave it to Cordelia to ask the obvious.

"Sure," he lied. There was no way on earth he was going to miss this. Aside from his own machinations to secure his career, there was a compulsion drawing him to the meeting place that had nothing to do with his fear of Wolfram and Hart's wrath.

"Are you certain?" Leave it to Wesley to pound the point home. He satisfied himself with a glare in Wes' general direction and pulled himself painfully to his feet.

"C'mon," he urged. "We have to go. Now."

"What are we fighting?" Angel prodded quietly. Lindsey glanced at him, forcing himself to hold the eye contact.

"I haven't the faintest fucking idea."

Wesley spluttered, but Angel simply nodded and pulled the convertible out into traffic.

They arrived at the specified rendezvous, one of the seedier parts of town east of the airport, exactly on time. Lindsey felt his nerves tightening more and more the closer they got. By the time Angel parked the car, he felt like a time bomb ticking down the last few seconds before Armageddon. As it turned out, he wasn't far wrong.

The Firm's warriors came out of the shadows in a concerted rush, from all four directions at once, surrounding them. They were a mixed bag of vampire foot soldiers, Groun asp demons and Fhaukul assassins. Wesley and Angel swung into battle.

Lindsey stepped back out of the light.

Angel looked around for him, and their eyes met. Lindsey read betrayal, acceptance, a hint of anger, and more resignation than he'd expected in that look. Then the battle was joined, and Angel was too busy fighting for his life to worry about Lindsey going back over to the other side. Again.

From further in the shadows, Lindsey heard a sound, and the hairs along the nape of his neck prickled. The wind picked up, and his hand began to tingle.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered. He recognized Holland's voice, and after a moment's concentration, recognized the language. He listened in silence as Holland chanted the ancient spell to rend a soul from the dead. They weren't going to kill Angel.

They were going to bring back Angelus.

His hand began to weave in front of him, independent of his will. The wind caught, stilled, then followed his motion, swaying in the pattern he was drawing in the air. Holland's voice halted, then began again.

This time there was more than resolve behind it, there was anger.

Lindsey's mouth opened and the words he'd heard in his vision began to pour out. They were archaic, he thought , and it struck him that they might be Etruscan. His voice strengthened, joining the wind, fighting his mentor for his enemy's soul.

But was Angel his enemy?

His mind worried at the question while his vocal chords and his hand went on their way, following the dictates of the Powers that Be, completely bypassing what remained of Lindsey's control. He had a vivid mental image of himself as a marionette, conducting his own magickal concert, words of Power sweeping away resistance. He could almost see the strings as his hand lifted, pointing at Holland. A broken piece of wood as long as a baseball bat and as sharp as a spear whipped up from the ground and flew in a direct line straight through Holland's throat, stopping his chant mid-word and pinning him to the side of the wall. He hung there, staring at Lindsey.

Lindsey stared back, and the ancient words faded away from his lips. The wind dropped. In the background, the sounds of battle faded as Angel and Wesley got the better of the Firm's warriors. Around the wood impaling Holland's throat, thick yellow fluid began to flow. Human-appearing flesh began to wither, and where Holland had stood, the corpse of a Gangor demon, one of the oldest demons on earth, slowly collapsed to the ground.

"I'll be damned," Lindsey breathed.

"Already are," Angel informed him shortly, coming up behind him. Lindsey didn't even flinch.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, still staring at the remains of his mentor.

A hand caught his, lifting it to the weak beam of the sole street light, turning it so the symbols glinted. "Are you sure that's where you want to go?"

"Where else can I go?" Angel opened his mouth. "Rhetorical question," Lindsey informed him, then headed off to the car. Angel followed. Nobody said a word the entire way home.

It was better that way.

Lilah Morgan stood in a room she'd never seen when she was alive. It was just as well zombies didn't suffer from nerves. She folded her hands in front of her and reported on the defeat of Wolfram and Hart's plan to free Angelus and the death of one of their own. A deep rumble of anger welled at the news of Holland's death.

"According to our best analysis, Lindsey is now a combination of Voka, Oracle and Human, Messenger in service to the Powers that Be. He is a protector of Angel and an enemy to the Firm."

A second, deeper rumble greeted her words, but they didn't argue, and they didn't dismember her. If she'd still had the capacity to feel, she would have been relieved. As it was, she merely awaited instruction. It was some time coming.

The sound of their voices in concert echoed in her head. She closed her eyes and absorbed the meaning. It had been decided it was to be war. But not right away. Direct action would be delayed until an effective weapon against the Powers was found. Until then, they would wait, watch and plan for the day when they would destroy the abomination and all those who sided with him.

She opened her eyes, smoothed a wrinkle from her suit, and left the inner sanctum behind her. She had plans to make. Not to mention a new office to move into ... on the top floor.

Angel drew on every ounce of patience he'd gained in the last two hundred and fifty years in order to wait until Wesley and Cordelia had gone home before he cornered Lindsey. The man was simply too damned calm for a guy who'd been possessed by the Powers that Be, fought off a magickal attack and murdered his own mentor.

Even for a lawyer, that was pretty cold.

Lindsey headed down to the kitchen and Angel caught up with him before he could make it to the refrigerator. Grabbing him by the shoulders he swung him around and pushed him up against the wall. Bright, preternaturally still green eyes stared up at him.

"Munchies are going to have to wait, Lindsey." He leaned down until all he could see were those eyes. "What the hell is going on with you?"

One hand, the one with the symbols on it, of course, slid up his shirt front and wrapped around his neck. Strong fingers threaded through his hair and pulled him close. He felt more than heard Lindsey speaking in his ear.

"Somewhere along the way, I thought I had the power, and I lost it. I don't know what the hell's going on, but I'm powerless to stop it. And I'm beside you, whether you want me to be or not, 'cause I've got nowhere else to go."

The words had the unmistakable ring of truth to them. So did the heat in the body straining up against his. The adrenaline from the fight mixed with the anger and confusion he'd felt, first from thinking Lindsey had betrayed him then from seeing the way Lindsey had fought for his soul. The events of the last few weeks crashed in on him and he found himself going with instinct.

Instinct told him to take it while he could get it. So he did.

Pulling Lindsey away from the wall, he shoved him through the doorway and over to the bed. Angel stripped him quickly, efficiently, and Lindsey returned the favor. They were kissing and biting and touching each other hungrily as they landed on the mattress. Their mating was rough, and fast, and grounding for both of them.

Angel knelt over Lindsey's prone body, hands grasping his hips as he plowed into him. Lindsey was pushing back against him, growling and twisting the sheets in his hands. Sweat ran over his skin, and Angel reached down to lap at it, following the line of Lindsey's spine with his tongue, raking the edge of a fang along the curve of his shoulder.

The intensity ran too hot for it to last very long, and Lindsey came first, growls escalating into a scream as he writhed under Angel's hands. Angel rode him through the convulsions, collapsing on top of him at the end, going with instinct one last time and sinking his fangs deeply into the side of Lindsey's throat as he came.

It tasted unlike anyone he'd ever had : the searing sweetness of humanity; the tang of rot that slid through it, the gift of the Voka; the singing Power of the Oracles, Light running parallel to the evil of the Warrior of Darkness. His mouth burned, and his demon was unexpectedly satisfied along with his soul. He stopped drinking while Lindsey's pulse was still strong, and licked at the bite until the puncture wounds began to congeal.

After what felt like a very long time, Lindsey stirred under him, and Angel forced himself to roll off the man's back. He heard a muffled voice, but couldn't make out the words.

"Huh?" It was the closest he could come to speech. His brain was fried.

Lindsey shifted on the pillow just enough to speak clearly. "What the fuck was that?" He sounded as wiped out as Angel felt.

Angel thought about it. Rolled over onto his side and stared down at Lindsey. Enemy. Ally. Messenger. Hybrid. Partner.

"The beginning."

Lindsey just rolled his eyes, then flopped over on his side and fell asleep. Relatively soon, he began to snore lightly. Angel stared at him a little longer before dragging his body closer to the heat source that was Lindsey and closing his own eyes.

"Well," he grumbled, "it sounded good to me."

actually, it's the end.