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I Don't Like Mondays by Rubywisp Pairing: Lindsey, Angel Rating: R Summary:Lindsey has a bad day. Written for Buffy Improv Challenge #52 (Tori Amos Song Title Challenge). Sequel to Flow. Spoilers: Buffy through the end of Season Five, very minor spoilers for Angel through the end of Season Two. Distribution: My site, list archives. You want it, email me. Disclaimer: Joss is God, Numfar owns all. A/N: Dedicated to Andrea, Lar and Ravyn, who thought I could do it even when I didn't. Big thank you to Kassie for the beta. --- The front door slams shut with a bang that rattles the big picture window in the living room but does nothing to improve Lindsey's mood. He locks the door, then tosses his briefcase and suit coat on the kitchen counter on his way to the refrigerator. "Excuse me? I think I've misunderstood you," Lindsey says. He better have misunderstood. There's no fucking way he's going to - "Come now, Mr. McDonald. We're both adults here. It's not an unheard-of arrangement," the older man says smoothly and without embarrassment. As though he hadn't just told Lindsey that keeping him as a client depended on Lindsey's willingness to use his mouth for more than just legal work. Lindsey opens the beer and leans against the counter, wondering how many other clients he'll lose because he had his fill of bullshit while working for Wolfram & Hart. He's not playing anybody else's games anymore. If he can't get and keep clients because he works harder and smarter than everybody else, to hell with 'em. He finishes the beer slowly, but the anger simmering under his skin hasn't lessened at all. Stares out the window at the ocean and debates the merits of more beer, maybe some whiskey. Pissed off and drunk tends to be a bad combination for him, though, so maybe not. He decides to go for a swim -- the waves are a little higher than normal for this time of night, and the rough water seems like a good way to work off the worst of his frustration. Changes into swimming trunks, grabs a towel and heads for the back door. The phone catches his attention, and he pauses for a moment, hand on the doorknob, and contemplates calling Xander. Xander. All open, friendly, eagerness and a smile so wide Lindsey knows he'll be able to hear it even over the phone. Could be just what he needs right about now. Lindsey rakes one hand through his hair and thinks about how he always seems to need first, need most -- fast, hard and hungry, till he either scares 'em off or falls face-first into humiliation. Flashes back to Xander standing in the parking lot of Caritas the night before last, shaking slightly, his eyes closed, and Lindsey knows that he's not caught up in it alone this time. It's a good feeling, and it makes him smile. But he's still pretty wound up and decides to wait until after his swim to call, when he should be more relaxed. Steps out onto the porch and pulls the door shut behind him. He's slammed back against the closed door hard enough to make it creak, his startled "What the fu-?" cut off by the large hand that's wrapped around his throat, pinning him to the wood. Lindsey twists and kicks, but all that gets him is his head smashed into the door a second time. Everything goes black as sparks rip down his spine, and Lindsey goes limp for a second. When he can see again, he's not surprised to discover Angel scowling at him. "Don't move, Lindsey, or I'll crack your head open against the door. The blood would be a bitch to clean up, let me tell you." Angel cocks his head to one side, and tightens his grip on Lindsey's throat. "This is a rental, right?" Lindsey's got a smartass remark or four to share, but it'll have to keep till he can draw enough breath to talk, so he settles for glaring. He keeps still while his mind tears along at breakneck speed, trying to find a way out of this situation, a way out of Angel nailing him to the door with his hand and the hate in his eyes. Wonders if he's got a chance in hell of making it out alive, or if Angel meant it when he said he'd kill Lindsey for coming back to L.A. Of course, he never left, but he doubts that Angel would appreciate the technicality. Angel loosens his grip on Lindsey's neck just enough to allow him to breathe uncomfortably. "You gonna cooperate, or do I have to tie you up?" "Fuck you," Lindsey spits out. Wishes he had that sledgehammer again -- the beating he'd no doubt get would be more than worth another chance to replace the smirk on Angel's face with a broken jaw. "Wrong answer, Linds," Angel mocks in reply. Lindsey's expecting the impact with the door, but he's unprepared for the sharp knee to his stomach that follows. White burning nausea ripples through him, and he thinks it's too bad that he hasn't eaten dinner yet so he could throw up all over Angel's shoes. "What the fuck do you want?" Angel leans him up against the wall -- ridiculously carefully, all things considered -- and takes a step back. "Funny. I was going to ask you the same question." His mouth is almost smiling, but his eyes are serious and dark. "Don't get any ideas about ducking inside, Lindsey. I could break your neck before you could get the door open." Lindsey rubs his face with both hands and waits for the nausea to subside before answering. "Fine. I'll just stand here and wait patiently for you to kill me," he says with as much sarcasm as he can muster. Angel somehow manages to roll his eyes without ever actually looking away. "I'm not going to kill you." He pauses for a moment, brow furrowed. "Not now, anyway." "Imagine my relief," Lindsey says. "Look, whatever you're here for, just get on with it already." He starts to move, and Angel's in his face again. Lindsey motions toward the pair of padded lounge chairs to his left. "Just gonna have a seat, okay? That all right with you?" Angel shrugs. "Fine. I'm still faster than you. Don't do anything stupid." Lindsey settles back in the chair and stretches his legs out in front of him, lets his left hand hang off the side of the chair where Angel can't see it. "Like what?" he asks incredulously. "Throw a chair cushion at you?" Angel leans against the porch railing between the door and the steps and folds his arms across his chest. "What do you want with Xander Harris?" Lindsey just manages to keep his jaw from dropping open. One thousand and one possible reasons in his mind for Angel to show up and use him for a punching bag, but this never crossed his mind. "Xander?" Knows he should be way the hell more articulate than that, but he can't wrap his brain around the idea of Angel coming here for this. "What - you're here to warn me away from him? You think he needs to be protected from me?" Fucking overgrown vampire and his overgrown sense of responsibility. Lindsey wants to be standing, to be moving, but he forces himself to remain seated. Slides down a little in the chair, slips his hand further underneath it, reaching. "Xander's not a part of whatever game this is that you're playing with me." Ahhh... not responsibility -- guilt. Should've known. "You think Xander is about you? I left Wolfram and Hart, remember? Nothing in my life is about you anymore." Lindsey shifts in the chair one more time, and he's almost got the damn thing. "Why don't I believe you?" That fast, Angel's up close and personal, in his face, and Lindsey freezes. So fucking close... "Because a couple of moldy prophecies have convinced you that the world fucking revolves around you? Hell, I don't know." Lindsey swallows against the anger that's urging him to do something stupid, to move too soon. Lifts his right hand and shoves Angel away, hard. "Xander's got nothing to do with you. Deal with it." Angel lets himself be pushed away and backs up a few steps. "You're trying to tell me it's just a coincidence?" "That's exactly what I'm saying." Lindsey reaches while Angel's distracted, walking the space between the door and the stairs. Finally, he's got it, and he waits for Angel to make a mistake, to let his guard down for just a moment. "I don't believe in coincidences." Not enough room to pace on the small porch, and Angel goes down the steps before turning to face Lindsey again. That's all the time Lindsey needs to pull the shotgun out from its hiding place and stand up. He swings the double barrel up, aims it at Angel's face just as he looks up. Lindsey allows himself a small, cold smirk before he answers the surprise in Angel's eyes. "Guy like me can't be too careful. Never know when you might get an unwelcome guest who doesn't understand that he's overstayed his welcome." He grins outright at the anger Angel isn't able to hide. "Not to sound too much like my daddy, but I think it's about time you got your ass off my land, boy." Angel freezes, but Lindsey can see the wheels in his head spinning as he tries to talk Lindsey down. "We both know you aren't really going to shoot me. You have neighbors, and no all-powerful law firm to clean up the mess for -" The kick of the shotgun blast rocks Lindsey a bit. He likes it. He likes the pain on Angel's face more. Angel pulls his bloody hand away from his stomach and blinks. "You shot me." He looks around, clearly expecting Lindsey's neighbors to come outside to see what the noise is. "Nobody's coming." Angel turns to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief, and Lindsey shrugs. "Kinda figured something like this would happen one day. You, Wolfram and Hart, any of the dozens of enemies I've made over the years..." Lindsey takes a few steps toward the end of the porch, keeps the gun aimed at Angel's head. "I'm just a good ol' boy from down South who misses hunting and shoots blanks at homemade targets every once in a while. They're used to it, and the pro bono legal work I hand out around here ensures nobody minds the noise too much." "You can't kill me with that," Angel reminds him, still holding his stomach. "Maybe." Lindsey grins. "Always wondered if blowing a vampire's head off worked the same as decapitation, though." His grin widens when Angel backs up a few feet. "Wanna find out?" "This isn't over." But Angel's already leaving, walking around the side of the house toward the front. Lindsey stays where he is until he's sure Angel's left. Goes inside, locking the door carefully now that the barn's open and the horse is gone. Leans the shotgun against the wall before he collapses onto the couch, and groans when the back of his bruised head hits the not-quite-soft cushion. He sits up and buries his face in his hands, rubbing his aching forehead and wishing this day was over and done. A fucking armpit of a day that's just going from bad to worse, despite the momentary yet deep satisfaction of shooting Angel in the gut. The phone rings, and Lindsey's tired enough that the sudden, shrill sound doesn't even make him jump. Waits for the click of the answering machine picking up... Leave a message, I'll get back to you. A too-long pause after the beep, and Lindsey's halfway to the phone, because he knows. "Uh, yeah... hi. It's me, Xander." Tension, tiredness and uncertainty all evident in Xander's voice, and before he can say another word, Lindsey's on the line. "Xander? I'm here. Hey." Deep, quick breath that sounds almost like relief and matches Lindsey's own. "Hey, how've you been?" Lindsey hears the smile like he knew he would, and an answering one spreads across his own face. Feels the tension uncoiling from the base of his spine, and he takes another deep breath as he slides down the wall to sit on the floor, settles in for the conversation. "Not the best day I've ever had, actually, but it's lookin' up." --- End Want more? Boys' Night Out is set in the same universe, some time in the indeteriminate future.