A/N: My first Angel fic, I'm just trying to get my hand in. Let me know what you think. All rights belong to Joss Whedon et al. I own nothing. Cheers.
It was late when Angel dropped Lindsay off at his car. There were only two, maybe two and half hours left before dawn. Giddy with adrenaline, Lindsay wondered if he'd be able to sleep before then. He hadn't pulled an all nighter since law school, and he should by all rights be exhausted, but he could feel the blood thrumming in his veins and he thought sleep would be a long way off. He felt like he could go on for days. He felt alive for the first time in a very long time. He almost felt free, but he knew he'd probably never feel that again.
For the first few minutes he drove, he barely registered what was going on around him, steering purely by instinct. After a few more minutes the good feelings started fading, and he started to feel sick. His hands started shaking, and after another mile, he knew he was going to vomit. Lindsay pulled over, cutting across two lanes, wrenched the door open and tumbled out of the car. Angel caught him before he hit the ground, and held him while he was sick. Lindsay was far too grateful for the help to wonder what Angel was doing there.
When he was finished, bent double and gasping wetly, Angel rubbed his back soothingly, like a father with an infant. After a while, when he was breathing normally, Lindsay felt Angel slowly release him, ready to catch him if he fell. Lindsay shrugged his hands off and steadied himself against the car. His knees felt like rubber and, his hands were sweaty and shaking. There were spots floating in front of his eyes, and his vision was doubled with the tears that always came after vomiting. As he swayed a little to the right, he felt Angel grip his waist again. Cars were going by quickly, and they must have looked a little odd, but hell, in L.A a little odd was normal.
Angel wrapped his arm around Lindsay's shoulders and guided him around the car. Lindsay didn't protest, as much as he wanted to. He really was in no condition to drive, and spending a couple of hours on the side of the road was an excellent way to attract thieves and cops. As he slumped into the passenger seat, he noticed the tears on his cheeks, and wiped at them angrily with trembling hands. Angel slipped into the driver's side, adjusted the seat and pulled out his cell. He dialed a number from memory, told someone where his car was, asked if they could call Gunn and pick it up. Said he'd explain later and thanked them. He flipped the phone closed, turned to Lindsay and stared at him. Lindsay stared back blankly. He honestly couldn't figure out what the guy wanted. "What?" he finally asked and Angel rolled his eyes. "Where do you live?" he said. Lindsay laughed, and winced as it hurt his throat. "You know where," he said, his voice lower, huskier, almost a whisper. "You dropped off the truck you 'borrowed'." If Angel heard the sarcasm, and he surly did, he ignored it. "Still live there, huh? I have to tell you I'm surprised. I thought you would've run."
"You know, you can just leave me here."
"Yeah" Angel replied, easing the car back into traffic. "I wish."
Angel pulled the car into a space and killed the engine. He glanced at Lindsay and saw immediately that he wouldn't make it up the stairs by himself. Angel wondered why he cared. Then, in his minds eye he saw Lindsay destroying the incubator, mad with rage and self-loathing, and he knew that he owed him exactly nothing. Lindsay had shown mercy earlier though, had done what needed doing, and Angel thought he could repay in kind. See him home, see him well, and make sure the night's events only killed his peace of mind. Angel could at least see to it that Lindsay was alive to know that peace was gone.
Angel grabbed the keys and opened the door. "Come on, let's get you inside." He said. Lindsay nodded and stepped out of the car. Angel put a steadying hand on his back, and guided him into the building and up the stairs. He expected to be left in the hallway, barred from entry, and so was surprised when Lindsay muttered an invitation under his breath. Inviting him in was careless, and Lindsay had a bad habit of doing it. He just wasn't afraid, and Angel thought that was ninety percent of their problem, right there. He almost declined, and left the man to do whatever it was he did, but Lindsay had left the door open for him, and Angel had already come this far.
He walked in and shut the door behind him. Lindsay walked unsteadily to his bedroom, and Angel looked around curiously. It wasn't bad, Lindsay at least had a little taste, but it wasn't nearly as nice as his last apartment. He must have been so pissed when he had to move, Angel thought, with a little self-satisfied smile. He could hear water running from the bathroom, and he figured Lindsay would be another few minutes. He thought about leaving. He knew he should be leaving. Instead, he found his way to the kitchen. He came back with a glass of ice water, two shot glasses and the most expensive bourbon Lindsay had.
Lindsay was already back from his shower, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Angel settled next to him, and handed him the water. Lindsay took it silently and drank it like he had a grudge against it. When the water was gone, and they were both sure it would stay down, Angel poured out the shots. They drank together quietly, Angel refilling the glasses each time they were emptied. It was almost nice, and Angel wished it could've been like this.
After Lindsay's third drink, the shaking stopped and he felt almost normal. He figured it was the best he was apt to get because normal, that was something he'd sold for an office and an income. Angel had once told him that he'd sold his soul for those things, and he supposed that was true, but a soul is insubstantial, and Lindsay didn't miss it. Normalcy on the other hand… he shook his head to clear away those thoughts. The alcohol was mixing with the battle fatigue, clouding his head, making him weary. He covered his glass as Angel moved to refill it, and it struck him that he'd been sitting alone for almost an hour, drinking with an enemy, a very dangerous enemy that owed him no favors, in silence. Rapidly, the silence became pressing and he felt an uncontrollable urge to break it. " Thank you." He said, "If you hadn't been following me, for reasons I don't think I want to know, I probably wouldn't have made it home." His voice shook slightly, and Angel filled his glass again, despite previous protest. "I was following you because you weren't going to make it home." Angel said and then shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. I just felt like I should." Lindsay picked his glass up, and rolled it between his hands. He knocked it back, and felt his throat close around the whisky, almost choking him. He gasped and sputtered and fought to keep it down. He sent out a prayer to absolutely no one that he wouldn't throw up again. He felt Angels hand on his back, comforting and comfortable, and he heard Angel ask if he was okay. There was real concern in Angels' voice, and Lindsay's throat tightened again, not out of stress, but because he was trying not to cry. He could feel the tears welling up, and he fought hard against them. "Lindsay," Angel said "Hey, are you alright? Do you need water or something? Lindsay, talk to me, are you okay?" Angel shifted closer to him, and the battle was lost. Lindsay covered his face and wept and he felt a little bit like dying. He was embarrassed and angry and very, very tired. He hadn't slept much since the wine cellar, and he'd been living with what his mother called the creeping heebie jeebies. He'd had to crawl out from under the bodies of his co-workers, and that had been bad, but tonight had been worse. Lindsay knew he was to blame for so much, but the man, the vampire, that was now kneeling in front of him, he had his due and it would never be paid.
Suddenly, angry overtook tired, and when Angel touched his arms, Lindsay's last remaining thread broke. He lashed out with his right hand, the hand that would never be his, and caught Angel squarely in the mouth. The blow took him by surprise, and Angel rocked back on his heels, just catching his balance. "You son of a bitch," Lindsay screamed, all sense of self preservation gone "you goddamn bastard. You locked us in there, you left us there, and people died so it will never be okay and it will never be over. It's never gonna be over, because she didn't kill me. No one ever kills me. What do I have to do? Haven't I done enough?"
Lindsay's screams became inarticulate howls, and Angel grabbed him, forced his arms down and held him tightly. His first instinct when Lindsay punched him had been to rip the mans arms off, but the look on his face held him back. Lindsay looked like a man three fourths of the way inside the mad house. Angel licked the blood off his lower lip, and held Lindsay as he screamed out all his rage. He wanted to say, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to live thru that. I'm sorry you'll have to live thru this. I'm sorry." But he knew the words would be ineffectual, and he could feel the lie in them. A part of him wasn't sorry, and never would be. Instead, a long while later, after the screams had tapered to sobs, had tapered to moans, Angel said: "I can't give you what you want, Lindsay. I never could. The first time you came to me you wanted absolution, but that's not my job. You didn't need me you needed a priest. Now, you don't want to die, you just want someone to make it better. You want someone to make you better. I can't do that for you, and even if I can I won't. You have a chance to do the right thing, but you'll have to do it yourself." He let Lindsay go, and sat back on the coffee table.
After a few minutes, when he was sure Lindsay was pulled together, Angel stood to go. He checked his watch and saw it was to close to dawn to walk home. He knew he'd have to call Wes, but thought he'd wait until he was a good distance from Lindsay's. Wes would ask too many questions, especially why Angel had cared enough to follow him in the first place. Angel couldn't answer that, because he still didn't know.
"Angel?" Lindsay said, as he was reaching for the door, "If I wasn't worth saving than I wanted to be worth destroying. I just wanted you to see something in me that was worth anything." Angel shrugged. "I didn't. That doesn't mean there's nothing there. You can still prove me wrong. To be honest with you, though, I don't think you will." Lindsay smiled bitterly. "Yeah," he said, "Neither do I. But, stranger things…" Angel stood for a minute more, though there was nothing left to say. Then, he turned and opened the door, and never turned back.
On his way to the park he would call Wes from, Angel realized it was the darkness in Lindsay, the darkness he hated in Lindsay that made him care for him. It called to the darkness inside of Angel, not the demon, but the human blackness that had existed in Liam, and now existed in him. While most of Angel wanted to stamp it out of Lindsay, there was a small part of his soul that wanted to take that darkness and nurture it, set it free and see the great things it could do. Angel shuddered at the thought, and realized that he hated Lindsay more that than anything else.