Title: The Thorny Path (the Righteous shall walk), an Angel story
Author: Brenda Antrim
Email: bren@bantrim.net
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: This story refers to my previous stories Forfeit, His Place in the World, and Plan, taking place directly after the Plan A ending, but it's written so that it can stand alone.

Lindsey McDonald had been many things in his life. From the age of eleven on, most of them had been planned. A fiercely competitive student, a highly-focused worker, a brilliant lawyer, a journeyman magick worker. A fighter, and a winner. He'd had enough of being hungry, cold, and broke as a kid.

Never in his life had the title 'Seer' ever been intended to join the list.

But then, a lot of weird things had been happening since Angel had muscled his way into Lindsey's life. The first time the anomalous vampire, a white hat with a soul of all things, had shoved one of Wolfram and Hart's most prestigious clients out the window to become falling flambé, then stepped up into Lindsey's face and tucked his business card back in his suit jacket, Lindsey'd had the feeling it was going to be a long, strange ride.

It got nothing but stranger.

Angel stuck his nose in everything. Fucked up Lindsey's hard work on too many court cases. Irritated Lindsey's clients. Infuriated Lindsey's boss. Nearly cost Lindsey his life, until he came up with a plan to take Angel down. It was his last chance; the vampire had disrupted one too many of Wolfram and Hart's schemes. Lindsey was to infiltrate Angel's organization, play on his weaknesses, seduce him, and coax Angelus out to play, permanently.

So much for plans.

Somewhere along the line the senior partners decided Lindsey'd had enough rope, and it was time to hang him. At the same time, they launched all-out war against Angel and all he held dear. To everyone's surprise, except perhaps the Powers that Be, the side of the Light had won the battle. Not without losses. Cordelia Chase was now a co-resident of the protoplasmic kind in her apartment, sharing ghostly space with Phantom Dennis. Wesley had been laid up in the hospital for almost a month recovering from his wounds. The building that housed Angel Investigations was a condemned shell of blasted-out wood and plaster. Detective Kate Lockley was firmly convinced that Angel and everyone around him was in league with the devil. Gunn and his gang of roaming vampire-hunting homeless kids were now unofficial foot soldiers in the war against the Evil White Folk of Wolfram and Hart, and enjoying it just as much as hunting down vampires.

Lindsey McDonald was in hiding.

As bolt-holes went, it wasn't bad. Oddly enough, with its peach walls and white stucco, the apartment he now shared with Angel and Wesley was more home-like than his high-rent West Side condo had ever been. He'd lost that, and everything in it, when he switched sides. All he'd had when he'd run was the clothes on his back and the impressive store of weaponry he'd salvaged from the trunk of his car. It was enough.

Especially once the visions began.

The first one hit the day he and Angel had gone to tell Dennis that Cordelia was dead. He'd been standing there, watching in bemusement as Cordelia's spirit and the ghost of a dark-haired young man smooched in the mirror, when all hell had broken loose in his head. If he'd been a junkie, he'd've thought he was on a bad acid trip.

The succeeding ones didn't get any better.

Every time it was the same. A big hammer would come out of nowhere, whack him upside the head, and send him into a spiral of images, sounds, and pain. He'd curl up in a fetal ball, yelp like a puppy that'd been kicked, and spill details he couldn't hear to Angel, who'd take notes, pat him compulsively, then feed him extra-strength Excedrin. When he could stand upright again, he'd follow Wesley and Angel out and they'd fight something disgusting, or several disgusting somethings, usually getting covered in various noisome fluids and chunks of demon flesh, then wander back home, shower and fall over to sleep. All the time Angel and Wesley were fighting demons, Lindsey was watching their backs.

Wolfram and Hart didn't forgive, or forget. It was war, of the most intensive, subversive kind. It made him tired, and made him crazy.

The only time he could forget was when Angel turned to him and took his mind away from the world by taking his body over. Unfortunately, they couldn't spend all their time in bed.

If they tried, Wolfram and Hart would just hunt them down there, too.

Angel slashed at the Jervut demon, avoiding the stabbing claws and ducking under the razor-sharp tail that tried to decapitate him. From the other side, Wesley aimed the cross-bow, armed with a steel stake bathed in aniseed oil, deadly poison to the Jervut. The bolt struck true, and Angel took advantage of the demon's involuntary hop to swipe at its exposed belly with his sword, gutting it. It took awhile, but the damned thing finally stopped twitching.

Not that he had time to celebrate. A batch of Tasker demons backed up by V'gots swarmed out of the darkness. Lindsey yelled "Angel! Behind you!" and took one out with his own sharpened stake. Tired from the battle with the Jervut and more than a little pissed off at the way Wolfram and Hart's bully boys waited until the end of a battle to ambush them, Angel morphed into full vampire mode and waded into the fray.

Wesley went down under a rush of combined forces, and Lindsey hacked his way through the snarl of bodies to come to his aid. Angel tried to get to them, but too many bodies were in his own way, most of them recently deceased due to his efforts. He growled in pure frustration and bit the hand off one idiot who tried to catch hold of his throat. Spitting it out as quickly as he'd ripped it off, since it tasted like shit, he launched himself into the tangle of demons grouped like a rugby scrum around his friends.

He was getting really, really tired of this.

A rumbling noise behind them announced the arrival of Gunn with back-up, and the Wolfram and Hart gang split off the attack, scurrying back into the shadows. Angel helped Wesley toss one body off the top of him, then turned toward Lindsey. The erstwhile lawyer looked nothing like his old self. He was sitting, slumped in a puddle of demon ichor, metal and wooden stakes clenched in either hand, jeans and sweater dripping in blood and gore. It was on his face, in his hair, coating his arms. One knee was ripped out of his jeans and Angel could see that the skin underneath was abraded. His eyes were huge in a pale, tired, and splattered face.

Angel didn't think he'd ever seen anything sexier.

Sternly telling his body to behave, there'd be plenty of time for that after they all got home and took showers, he waved to Gunn and walked over to Lindsey. Gunn waved back.

"Chicken shit bunch, wasn't they?" the young man called merrily. Angel just grinned and shook his head at him.

"You got 'em on the run," he called back. Gunn gave him a mock salute then rounded up his posse and rumbled back the way they'd come. Angel stopped at Lindsey's side. "Want a hand up?"

"I think my butt's stuck in this crap," Lindsey answered dejectedly.

"At least we're still in one piece," Angel reminded him quietly, raising him to his feet with one strong hand under his arm.

"This time." Lindsey looked around at the carnage. "They're getting too close," he said forcefully. Before Angel could answer him, they heard the sounds of sirens getting closer. "Damnit!"

Angel agreed. Another tactic the Firm had been using -- wreak havoc then leave then call the cops who'd come hassle Angel's group. After the first few arguments with Kate, they'd taken to evacuating an area almost as fast as the Wolfram and Hart demons.

"C'mon, Wesley," Angel called, pulling Lindsey along with him. "Company's coming."

"Right behind you, Angel," Wesley replied, bringing up the rear. They piled into the car and headed off for the apartment, leaving the mess for Kate to clean up.

Just another hot summer night in L.A.

The water felt good. Lindsey stood under the hot needles as long as he could stand it, and finally began to relax. Cordy and Dennis were on watch, Wes was asleep, and Angel ...

... stepped into the stall behind him. His hands were cold contrast to the warmth lingering along his skin that the water had left behind. They felt good. He leaned against the solid strength of the body behind him and let his head drop back onto Angel's shoulder. Angel got the hint. A hand reached forward and turned the shower down to a gentle spray, then began to roam over Lindsey's chest and stomach, lingering over the bruises and scrapes. The last remaining aches faded away under the gentle touch.

Lips closed over the side of his neck, nipping gently, and he gave a quiet moan. He'd been leery about sex in the apartment at first, knowing that there were two non-corporeal beings peeking in on them. But neither Cordy nor Dennis had ever made their presence known when he and Angel were together like this and gradually he'd relaxed. He hadn't had much choice. Angel had magic in his hands.

The caresses grew bolder, and the mouth hungrier, and the moans turned into encouraging words. Angel cupped his erection in one hand and teased his chest with the other, and he moved, slick with water, between Angel's hand and Angel's body.

It was the only place he'd ever felt safe.

Too tired to hold back, he was coming before he was ready for it, and the force of it nearly took him to his knees. Angel held him up, kissing and petting him, then leaned him against the tiles. Lindsey grinned into the cooling wall. This was his favorite part. He was relaxed and open, and Angel slid into him like a warm knife through butter. Angel took his time, and Lindsey stood there, hugging the wall, riding the motion behind him, soaking up the coolness of the tile in front of him and the length within him. The strength of the thrusts took him up to his toes with each forward movement, slapping the tip of his cock against the wall. It wasn't long before his body took a renewed interest in the proceedings.

One of the best things about having a dead man for a lover was his stamina. Tired he undoubtedly was, but he could keep it up forever. Lindsey grew hard again in response to the way Angel was using him, the gently building momentum rocking their bodies together, until he felt as if all the blood in his body was pooled in his groin. Angel's hand curled around his hip like a heat-seeking missile and locked onto his erection.

For the second time that night, every nerve in Lindsey's body exploded at once. This time, he took Angel with him. Angel's right hand milked him dry, his left arm curved around Lindsey's waist and up along his sternum, keeping him from smashing into the wall with the force of Angel's thrusts as he came. When they were both empty, Angel pulled slowly from him. Lindsey couldn't keep back the groan as Angel withdrew.

"You okay?" The question was whispered against the back of his neck. He shivered.

"More than," he answered, scarcely able to form the words. Behind him, Angel chuckled.

Lindsey barely had the strength to step from the tub, and Angel wrapped him up in towels and guided him to the bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

It was early afternoon when he woke. Angel was out like a light next to him. It should have been disturbing to see him lying there, not breathing, but Lindsey was used to it. He propped his head up on his hand and stared down at Angel, eyes tracing the lines of his cheek, his chin, his throat, dwelling on his chest. Creamy, unblemished skin, inviting as satin, chill as marble.

A cleared throat in the doorway took his attention. He looked up and saw Wesley, looking pink.

"Telephone. It's Detective Lockley," he said very quietly. Lindsey nodded.

"Thanks, Wesley, I'll take care of it." More lawyerese. Wes looked relieved and backed out of the doorway. Lindsey sighed and picked up the telephone.

"I suppose you have a slick explanation for this one, too," her voice rang in his ear.

"Hello, Detective," he returned politely.

"Eighth and Figueroa, ring any bells?" Accusation was clear. He ignored it. He'd had a lot of practice.

"Is there a particular reason why you're calling me, or should I just classify this as harassment and get on with it?" he asked, still very politely.

"Dead bodies. Lots of them."

"A murder? Mass murder? What," he paused delicately, "people were killed?"

Her silence was telling. There hadn't been any human bodies in that pile, and no court on Earth was going to admit demon corpses as evidence. "Keep it off the streets," she finally ordered.

"We're not originating any violent actions, Detective." A thought struck him. "Can we meet?"

"Why?" She was suspicious. He didn't blame her.

"We need to talk."

"If this is about a harassment charge, don't waste my time." Her voice was scathing.

"No. This is about ... a common enemy." He waited for her to snap back, but she was listening. He grinned, staring into space, mentally reviewing files. It was time to get the Firm to back off, and the best way he knew to fight fire was with fire. "Two o'clock okay?"

"I'll see you at police headquarters." The decisive click followed by the dial tone told him how excited she was by the prospect.

Hanging the handset up gently, he disentangled himself from Angel, careful not to disturb the vampire. He dressed quietly, in his last unmangled pair of jeans and a clean tee shirt, then walked out into the living room.

"Everything all right?" Wesley asked, bringing two glasses of juice into the room and handing him one. Inquisitive blue eyes stared at him through the round glasses.

"Maybe." Lindsey nodded his thanks for the juice, then headed over to the computer. "You up for a field trip this afternoon?"

Wes looked at him askance. "Where? And why? Does Angel know?"

"To the PD, to give Lockley some ammunition that just might keep the Firm off our asses for awhile, and he's sleeping, er, still unconscious from last night." He sipped the juice and popped a disk in the drive, revving up the printer.

"Hoist them in their own petard?" Wesley picked up the first sheet and glanced over it.

"Little at a time. Just enough to make 'em back off." Lindsey swallowed the last of his juice and licked his lips. "They started the war. Brought it on themselves."

"This increases the stakes."

Lindsey shrugged. "Can't get much higher than they already are."

Wesley nodded agreement.

As the printer was spewing out the second of the files Lindsey planned to turn over to the police, he scrawled a short note. 'Went to head Lockley off at the pass. Back before sundown. L.' He left it propped on the kitchen table. Then he gathered the print-outs and Wesley up and, checking his six in the rearview mirror as often as the road ahead of him, bearded the lion in her den.

Detective Kate Lockley knew what kind of reputation she had. She didn't give a tinker's damn. She knew what was out there. She'd seen it. Fought it. Nearly slept with it. It had killed her father.

She was the only one left in her family. She had her job, she had her fight. That was all she had. It was more than enough. She'd thought, once, there could be more. Then the guy she was starting to really fall for turned out to be an undead monster.

So much for romance.

The sleazeball lawyer Angel hung around with came through the door, followed by the tall guy with the black hair who looked like a school teacher. Or an accountant. One more mark against the Caped Crusader -- anybody who kept company with Wolfram and Hart was, by definition, bad news. Although since this one started playing ball with vampires, he'd loosened up. A lot. Gone were the four hundred dollar suits and the silk shirts, the hair gel and the power ties. The lawyer looked almost like a college kid in his faded jeans and baggy shirt, with his hair falling in his face. Until one saw the expression in his eyes.

Then he looked about a thousand years old.

They arrived beside her desk and she stood, challenging him before he could get his mouth open. "Wanna plea bargain, counselor?" she growled.

He grimaced. "More a gift than a bargain, detective."

"I don't need any gifts from the likes of you," she shot back.

"Please," the school teacher broke in. His voice was soft, with a surprisingly pleasant English accent to it. "Can we at least attempt keep this civil?"

She started to call him on it, when she made the mistake of looking at his eyes. Blue, so bright and vivid they looked like the sky over the ocean on a summer afternoon. And so full of pain and hope. He didn't look like a monster.

Of course, neither had Angel.

"You going to vamp out on me, too?" She glanced over at the sunshine streaming through the window. "No, maybe not, you'd be ashes. Unless you're some other kind of demon. Where are you from?" she demanded suddenly.

"Cheltenham," he responded involuntarily. Beside him, the lawyer snorted.

Kate looked over at him. It looked like he was fighting not to smile. She scowled at them both.

"What do you want?"

"Your attention," the Englishman said.

"Why should I help you?" The lawyer moved forward and laid a manila folder on her desk, atop the pile of paperwork already crowding the surface. She tore her eyes away from the puppy dog look on the Englishman's face long enough to glare at the lawyer again. He wasn't smiling now. He looked intent, grim-faced.

"We have some information you may find useful." He gestured at the folder. "We're bringing it to you in good faith."

"I don't believe you know the meaning of the words. What do you expect in return for this ... information?" She looked at the folder like it was a fresh pile of dog turds.

"Nothing, from you."

Smooth, oh yeah, he was smooth. Her mouth curled back in another snarl. "Then why give it to me?"

The lawyer grinned, a sharp, hungry expression. "You'll run with it. It's good."

"We're looking for breathing room," the Englishman put in. The lawyer shot him a glare, but he was as busy looking at Kate as Kate was busy looking at him, and it bounced right off.

She cleared her throat and reached for the folder, pissed off at herself because it was such an effort to stop looking at the English guy. He wasn't the first cute guy she'd seen. And he kept bad company. God only knew what he really was. The first line of print wrenched her attention completely to business.

Dirt. Real dirt. Dates, times, amounts. On one of the biggest scumbags in town. A major client of Wolfram and Hart. She looked from the paper to the lawyer.

"Why are you selling out your own people?" She stared intently at him.

He stared right back at her. "They're not my people any more. I'm no longer with Wolfram and Hart."

"You're with Angel," she pressed him. He smiled, a more open expression than the death's head grin he'd given her earlier.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"And they're after Angel," she continued to put it together.

"They're after all of us," the Englishman admitted. The lawyer shot him an exasperated glance, but didn't contradict him.

"You want me to go after them for you," she finished up.

"No," the lawyer surprised her. "You'll go after them for yourself. Because you're a cop, and a good one."

"The side benefit will be for us," the Englishman explained, hands moving in the air. Her eyes followed them. They were good hands, nice long fingers, looked like a musician's, or an artist's. She gulped and pulled her attention back to business. "If they're busy defending themselves, they won't have as much time to attack us."

"Everybody wins," the lawyer added. Now he was wearing the puppy dog look. What was it with Angel and his buddies? Did they practice in the mirror, looking like pound puppies?

"Except Wolfram and Hart," she answered. The lawyer nodded.

"That's kinda the point," he agreed.

"Thanks," she said, grudgingly. He smiled winningly at her, his eyes watchful. "I'll look into it." It was a damned feast. Of course she'd look into it. He relaxed a fraction.

"Be seeing you," he said, then turned to walk out. The Englishman started after him.

"Hang on," she called out. Both men stopped. She ignored the lawyer. "What's your name?" she asked the Englishman.

"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce," he answered, clearly surprised.

Wesley. Hell of a name. Sounded like that bratty kid on Star Trek a few years ago. Only this one didn't look like a kid, bratty or any other kind. She swallowed again, irritated at her dry mouth.

"Nice to meet you, Wesley," she found herself saying. She could feel her own eyes widening, matching the startled look on both Wesley and the lawyer's faces. She could also feel her skin heating up. Which perfectly matched the fiery blush sweeping over Wesley's face.

"The pleasure was mine," he mumbled. The damned lawyer looked like he was about to laugh again. She glared at him.

"Later," she snapped, then buried her head in the file, completely certain she'd just made a horse's ass of herself.

"Yes," that quiet English voice agreed.

The words blurred in front of her eyes, and she told herself angrily to get a grip. Wesley was Angel's friend. He hung out with an ex-shark from the shadiest law firm in a town renowned for shysters. He was obviously Bad News. She wondered when he'd come around again. If he'd come around again. What his home phone number was. If she could track him down. What he might say if she did. Why she'd want to.

She abruptly stopped wondering. She didn't want to go there. She didn't.

Weird. Her life was just plain weird.

It was two days later before Lindsey came clean about the visit to the PD to Angel, and even then it was only because he had a sneaking suspicion Wesley would spill the beans if he didn't. Lindsey knew what sort of reaction he was going to get, and he wasn't surprised when he got it.

"You did what?" Angel stared at Lindsey. Lindsey shrugged.

"Misdirection. Attack from the flank. Hit 'em from behind. Whatever works."

"He gave some files to Detective Lockley to allow her to pursue an investigation against Wolfram and Hart," Wesley repeated for the third time.

"Wesley," Lindsey said patiently, "he got that. He's just stalling until he makes up his mind how to react to it."

Wes rolled his eyes. Angel continued to stare at him. Lindsey's neck started to itch. "Stop looking at me, Cordy, Dennis, it's makin' my skin crawl!" The itch lessened. From the kitchen, there was the distinct sound of dishes clattering together. At least she wasn't actually throwing anything. A whistling sound picked up, soothing, then more cheerful, and the clattering tapered off. Lindsey sighed.

Before they could get further into it, the world imploded again. God, he hated those fucking visions. This was a particularly hairy one, all blood and claws and rent flesh hanging in tattered strings from lifeless limbs. An alley, some trash, lots of violent movement. A dance club, he could see the sign, bright yellow and blue neon. He was aware of words bubbling out of him, but all he could hear were the screams and all he could see was the flashing sign, splattered with blood.

When he came out of it, Angel was kneeling beside him, holding him in the crook of one arm and scribbling on a pad of paper with the other hand. Wes was offering him a glass of water and more Excedrin. Concerned faces were peering at him from the hall mirror. Although Cordelia did have quite a bit of guilty relief in her expression.

He could understand why. Visions sucked.

Knees no longer shaking, head back in one piece, he followed Angel and Wesley over to the weapons chest and they armed themselves. Half an hour later they waded into a nest of carnivorous Kaid demons and bodies started flying. The blood spattered the sign over the shadowed door in the alley, but it wasn't the blood of innocents that he'd seen in the vision. It was the blood of the hunters.

This time, there was no second wave of attackers. Gunn and his gang weren't needed, and happily rolled off to dust non-souled vampires. The three of them went home, showered off, ate a late dinner and got some sleep, all with no interference from Wolfram and Hart.

Detective Lockley was on the job.

The next week was relatively quiet. Two more visions, as if the Powers that Be were determined to get as much use as possible out of their little war band while the getting was good. Lindsey was developing a low-grade headache that only seemed to go away when he and Angel were busy in bed. Not that he didn't appreciate the extra sex. But it would be nice to be able to get a little sleep once in awhile.

Angel, not the most observant of beings, did notice the nightmares. They were kind of hard to miss. He even attempted to talk to Lindsey about them, quite a concession given that talking was not one of his strengths.

"Lin?"

Lindsey looked over at him. They were lying together in bed, mid-morning, attempting to rest after yet another busy night of mass demon-slaughter.

"Hm?"

"You, uhm, okay?"

How to answer that? Fine, Angel, it's normal for me to wiggle and thrash around and whimper until I wake both of us up, even when I'm not in the middle of an orgasm. "Yeah," he finally answered.

There was a pause. Deep brown eyes stared soulfully at him. Lindsey squirmed again, this time for a completely different reason.

"You sure?"

He shrugged. Angel looked uncertain, then looked down and noticed that other parts of Lindsey were taking an interest in the situation. His expression brightened as if to say 'this is something I know how to handle!' and he slid down, mouth homing in on Lindsey's erection, swallowing it in one gulp.

Lindsey gave up.

Angel went down on him with gusto, as if to make up non-verbally for all the deep conversation he didn't do well. If he sucked at pulling details out of his partner, he excelled at sucking everything else out of him. Lindsey locked his hands in Angel's hair, closed his eyes, and pumped a few times before convulsing. Brain as completely drained as the rest of him, he was asleep before Angel finished cleaning him off. There were no more nightmares that day.




Next Chapter