Title: It Comes In Waves
Author: Jeanny
Rating: PG
Feedback: Please. jeannygrrlhotmail.com
Spoilers: None; probably takes place sometime in Season 3
Distribution: I don't mind, just credit me and let me know where it's going.
Summary: Lorne reflects during a house call.
Disclaimer: Angel and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, Inc., the WB and any one else with a legal binding claim to the shows and/or characters. No copyright infringement is intended.
At times Lorne reflected on all the things he wasn't. He wasn't a therapist. He wasn't a talent scout. He wasn't a damn psychic.
Okay he was a damn psychic, but he wasn't hanging out a shingle for that. Miss Cleo had nothing to fear from the likes of him. That part was never what this was about for him. It was all about the music. Glorious, wonderful sound. Pylea's bane, his blessing. He could kiss the portal that brought him here, if you could do such a thing.
Fred had tried to explain the science of it - the music, not the portal. He wasn't a scientist, but he'd been struck by how much of it he'd already known intuitively. How it comes in waves, like the ocean. How it washes over you. How sometimes, in the wrong hands, it could wipe you out. And other times, like now, it could sweep you away.
Most of the time it wasn't this good, listening to his clients sing. But this...this was his bliss. Lorne sighed, enraptured. He was just a guy who loved music, that's what he was.
His client finished her aria, the last dulcet note lingering enchantingly. Sea water trapped in a tidal pool, just to continue the metaphor. He was almost too moved to speak, it had been that close to perfection. Still, he had a job to do, and it wasn't best to keep a diva waiting. Especially when that diva was over seven feet tall, had six arms and had been known to eviscerate the help. He'd probably be better off glossing over some of the fine points; her future wasn't looking so bright. And killing the messenger was pretty much her raison d'être.
At times Lorne reflected on all the things he wished he wasn't.
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