Title: Unwelcome Fantasies
Author: Kora
Rating: R
Pairing: Lindsey/Darla
Genre: Romance/Angst
Summary: Lindsey learns of Darla's death and dreams of what could have been…
Disclaimer: The following characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB. I am simply using the characters for my own twisted enjoyment.
Author's Note: Oh…weird. Haven't wrote a Buffy/Angel-centric fic in years but, heck, it's V-Day and I want to make my Kristen happy - 'specially since she gave me such a gorgeous F/S icon - so baby, this one's for you.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Darla was dead.
Not that it shocked him, she'd been dead before - hell, she'd been a vampire, but now she was really, really dead.
He sat in his hotel room, in the dark all alone, thinking. If there was one thing in this world he hated, it was thinking. No, not the act persay - hell, he'd been a lawyer; thinking was part of the job. Analyzing, litigating - all of that he loved. No, it was deep down, dark inner thinking he hated.
It made him feel like shit…to sit down and expound in his mind on his life, to filter through old memories like dusty records. Flipping from one to the other, drawing one out in particular to look at the cover, peek at the songs. Old melodies floating to the surface, old thoughts with it. Being back…there…the past.
But that's what he found himself doing now as he sat on the perfectly made bed. The room was small, ornate - it smelled too clean. Too fake. They tried to provide this homey, comfortable atmosphere but deep down he knew this wasn't home, it was just another room for the night. Drop cash, check in, check out, clean and prepped by the staff for the next person. Could never be home.
While his lights were off in his room, outside several glows emanated in. Reds, blues, yellows…dancing about his walls, his face. Darla…Jesus.
He could still hear that voice with its' whispering little timbre. She had one of those voices. Some people have these voices that are so mesmerizing you can't help but get lost…it just makes you feel so…
She had one of those voices. And her skin - like milk solidified. So smooth and clear, soft and silky. And that luscious mouth that begged for kissing and eyes that flashed with every emotion. Lindsey knew from the moment he'd met her he'd become smitten and shit if he didn't. He became more than smitten - he'd become infatuated…too close…
And she was so damn tragic. Dying and weak, her lithe body crying out to be cradled in his arms. Around her he had felt strong, confident - felt like he could take on a thousand Angels hand to hand. He'd have done it too, for her. To see her smile.
He'd wanted to be so much to her. Desired it so badly. More than anything. And kisses - he'd wanted to claim every unclaimed kiss her mouth ever held. He could remember a kiss…his mouth molding to hers, her gasp allowing his tongue inside to dance over her own, slowly, sweetly…
His hand groped out in the dark and he took hold of his Dr. Pepper, taking a swift swig.
A dark chuckle escaped him. Considering his thoughts, the setting, it'd make more sense to be knocking back alcohol as opposed to soda but at this moment he liked nothing better than the peppery burn of the caffeine.
If Darla had lived…
The idea, the thought, came unbidden just like everything else and he hated it. Loathed it, but knew it was inevitable. He knew it would have come up eventually so he put the can down and thought over it.
If Darla had lived, been human and he hadn't been who he was, involved in what he was…would things have been different?
Say they'd met on the street…or maybe not…maybe he'd be in a bookstore. Some common, run-of-the-mill place like, say, Borders, and he'd been looking for a book...some law volume and he'd seen her searching the stacks too - would he have been instantly attracted?
Would he have gone up, said 'hello', started a conversation and then followed it up with an offer for lunch? Maybe. Maybe he'd help her find whatever book she was looking for - for some reason he imagined some dainty novel, a book a woman would pick up, like 'Sense and Sensibility' or 'The Bell Jar', some classic…
Maybe they'd buy their books, leave together to get lunch and move from there. Dates, calls, kissing…
She could tell her girlfriends about what a great guy she'd met and he'd tell his buddies about how lucky he was to find a bombshell blonde and…
Jesus, it was so stupid to dream up this whole life, scenario that had never happened and yet he couldn't drag his mind away from it…
He couldn't see himself leaving her in this imaginary world he'd cooked up. Somehow he would have been unable to look, or even think about another woman, it would all be about Darla and that voice, that laugh, smile, lips…
Hell, he wouldn't date her long before purposing marriage and it'd be beautiful, and the kids'd be beautiful, and they'd live in a house with a white picket fence and an happily ever after right?! He scowled and fell back on the bed, hands balling into fists.
He was stupid, stupid, STUPID!
It was dumb to even think about this. Darla was dead. She. Was. Dead.
They weren't going to meet in some alternate universe, weren't going to go to musical productions of 'Wicked', eat at McDonalds, talk about the weather…
This was the world he was in, this was the one where they'd met under unusual circumstances and anything wonderful that could have happened didn't. It was too late. This was the world where she was dead and gone.
But oh how he longed for the other one…
Happiness is overrated,
he lied in his mind as his hands relaxed, fingers uncoiling. He pushed aside memories and fantasies, settling for looking up at the ceiling, the darkness creeping over him. He could feel himself falling into sleep but just before he was gone he saw her before his eyes - the blonde hair, that skin and that voice whispering his name, "Lindsey".