Title: pretty as a picture
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for the end of Angel the Series
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 240
Point of view: third
Prompt: Angel/(Lindsey), sometimes he wishes he'd given him the chance to prove himself
After, he goes underground. Time to lick wounds and heal, plan a second attack.
Of course the first one failed. A dying human, two vampires, and a bound god—not much of a chance, really.
Gunn died saving Spike, and Spike died for Angel, and Illyria just kept moving, but finally, even she fell.
He's sure she's alive somewhere. An Old One, after all, has already survived death once. She's probably trying to raise an army, take back her throne in a world that has no place for her, not anymore.
It doesn't matter. He hasn't even tried to contact Buffy or the new Watchers' council. Let everyone think he's dead.
He should be dead. That's what Lindsey keeps telling him, day in and day out, smirking at him from the doorway or the corner or the mirror. Lindsey and that damnable smirk, I know something you don't, ain't that grand? Those blue eyes that always knew something he didn't, fucking lawyer.
Why is his reflection Lindsey? He doesn't have a reflection—vampire, hello? Only souled vampire in existence, though he sure didn't act like it in those last few months, all part of the plan. Lure everybody in, trick them, trap them, take down Wolfram and Hart.
And how'd that work out? Lindsey asks, strumming a guitar on the couch. Maybe I could'a turned the tide in your favor, friend. Think'a that?
That's all Angel's thought about.