lmx_v3point3

Fic Collection (Theme - Hands)
Part 9, 20 Points: Sleep, Promise, Eyes, Sick, Wedding, Change, Babies, Fingerprints, Secret, Tears, Sports, Bet, Glass, Alley, Fall, Laughter

Author: LMX
Fandom: Angel the Series
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Eve/Lindsey (Sleep, Promise), Lindsey/Darla (Sick), Wes/Fred (Wedding), Fred/Gunn (Laughter)
Spoilers: All of Angel The Series, up to and including the finale
Warnings: Inaccurate timelines
Edit: Betaed by chokolattejedi, despite other far more important demands on time ;) Thank you hugely.
Continuity Warning: The bits and pieces from Lindsey are going to come out fairly non-linearly. I will probably reassemble them once this is all done.
Thanks: To themonkeytwin and sheryden for ideas help on several of these :D

There are several others, but I exceeded the points so I think I'll leave it here. I might switch out some of these with some of the others, I'm not sure yet.



003. Sleep (Eve/Lindsey, 296)

Eve often thought that Lindsey slept far too well for a man with such a price on his head and a weight on his soul. He laughed it off, said it came from sleeping with a room full of siblings, all snorers to some extent, and from a career of always expecting the axe to fall, never getting quite enough sleep. Now that he had a way forward, a plan laid out for them, there was nothing to do but wait for things to unfold and catch up on some sleep.

She watched as he slept, deep sighing breaths that never quite descended into snoring, and traced the lines of all the tattoos she could reach, feeling that tingle in the ends of her fingers that told her how much power they held. She traced gentle fingers down to the light scar on his wrist, smiling absently as she thought of everything that hand had done last night. It was hard to believe it wasn't his own.

She'd been ground down by two millennia of servitude to a company she didn't believe in, and she'd always slept well. Now she was seeing action for only the second time in all those years and she was right at the centre of it. The adrenaline wasn't ever going to let her sleep.

She considered waking Lindsey, making him entertain her, but decided against it. This was new to her, this sharing thing. She was learning to let Lindsey rest and take her own rest where she could find it. Instead she tangled their hands and tucked herself in close, pressing her cheek against the tingling skin of his tattoos and breathing in the scent of him.

They had a plan, she reminded herself. It wouldn't be long now.



006. Promise (Pre-Eve/Lindsey, 149)

"I know what you are."

It's not the smoothest chat-up line Eve had ever heard, but the guy had a soft grin and he looked like he was enjoying his moment. "You're sweet," she replied blandly, and turned her back.

He leaned in, and she was surprised not to smell alcohol on him. He whispered straight into her ear, and she would have pulled away, only: "I know the deal your parents made two thousand years ago. I know where you've just been transferred to, and if you help me I promise you I will burn Wolfram and Hart to the ground." His finger drew a ring of thorns in the condensation from her glass.

Eve turned slowly, composing herself. She took a moment, studied the man, and then held out her hand. He shook it firmly, a calloused hand with some tingle of 'other'. "I'm in," she smiled.



009. Eyes (Lindsey, 119)

He's gotten used to this. New clients in the building; and no one ever cares that this place has a guy with blue skin in accounts or that a client with thorns growing out of his forehead has just walked into the elevator (and they were thorns, not horns - Lindsey had done his research), all eyes go immediately to his fucking plastic hand, wide and curious.

He refuses to hide anything, shakes awkwardly with the wrong hand, and when they finally meet his gaze he holds it with sheer force of will. He is more than his injury, he knows that, and soon they will too, but he has a feeling this first moment is never going to change.



015. Sick (Lindsey/Darla, 137)

Lindsey had never had to take care of anyone but himself before. He'd been the youngest of his siblings as long as he could really remember, and he'd not made friends easily at college - barely interacting with his room mate and then sharing a big anonymous house when his time on campus was up. No one had ever relied on him, or asked him for help. He just wasn't that guy.

What all that boiled down to was Lindsey sitting here watching Darla fall apart, sick and in pain, and with nothing he could think to do to save her. His standard skill set didn't help here; he couldn't talk his way out of this one. So he just sat at her side and held her hand as she tossed and turned, and hoped that was enough.



016. Wedding (Illyria, Wes/Fred, 126)

She touches them sometimes, the rings. She knows they were never meant for her - rather for the form she now inhabits, the consciousness she displaced without thought - but his will had been days old when he died, and she had been in this body for a much longer time. And the rings had been there under her name - the one who no longer was.

They are worthless in her ageless eyes, metal weak and too malleable, the stone shiny but of no use to her. Still they have the feel of potential. Of an urge to settle, to stay, to love and to procreate. To conceive more copies of oneself.

In the distance she hears bells ringing, and wonders if this is mourning.



032. Change (Angel + Connor, 141)

Angel had capable hands. Big capable hands which had handled... well, pretty much everything. This, though... this was new. This was something his two hundred plus year old hands had never been exposed to before. Loathe as he was to admit it, he was more than a little nervous.

He was prepared, supplies stacked to one side and the other, everything easy to reach. He didn't want to be hindered in any part of this. He studied the problem carefully, working out his plan of attack. Angles and distances, the most efficient methods. He'd studied, briefly. It wasn't really his thing, but he wasn't going to trust this to the others. This was going to be his triumph.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, he laid Connor down on the changing bed and went for the tabs on his diaper.



035. Babies (Drusilla, 148)

Drusilla's got lots of babies - all in a row - with blond hair and brown hair and black hair all dressed in lace and ribbon, every one with a sad absent smile. Her babies have been with her for a very long time, some of them since the day her sire remade her and she still holds each one of her babies in careful hands - no need to make them jealous, she splits her time carefully - and shows each one her love and attention.

She's very excited when she finds out her grandsire is back in the world, Darla had been so gentle with her and so much fun to be around, and now if she was very good she would be allowed to make her again. Then her grandmother would become her baby; hold her hand, and what fantastic fun they would have together.



053. Fingerprints (Lindsey, 143)

With the visible tattoos drawing distantly interested stares, he passed through the airport checks with a relaxed cheerfulness that doesn't quite fit the moods of anyone else returning to their jobs from time away. The confidence is entirely fake and - tattoos or not - he was expecting one of the minions of the board of directors to step up beside him any minute and stare unamused at his half-undone shirt and ratty jeans.

It doesn't happen, and he walked towards security with his fake passport uninterrupted.

He didn't even think about putting his right hand in the scanner, comfortable enough now that the old injury is barely acknowledged. He pulled back at the last minute, smiling uncomfortably at the scowling guard. He put his other hand in the machine and forced himself to relax again. Home free, he told himself. Home free.



059. Secret (Two by two, hands of blue, 149)

Lindsey knows he needs what they're offering. He's not sure if it's demon power or magic or something entirely different, but his head is fixed in place in some contraption and there's monitors all over him, something rough and bad-tasting holding his tongue down. He's been left alone for the longest time, not counting the disembodied voice that chants nonsense words at him over and over.

The sweat stings at the freshest tattoos and he knows he's hyperventilating, he hates being held down and his mind's cycling through horrors and there are noises behind the impenetrable walls that are closing in on him.

Without his noticing, two doctors, or whatever they are, have come into the room. They're faceless behind surgical masks and inhuman with only their eyes showing. Their hands - when they reach for him - are clad in blue gloves.

He remembers, and he screams.



061. Tears (Cordelia, Wes, Gunn, 124)

This is not the way things should be. Cordelia was a strong and solid force, unshakable and immovable. Nothing should be able to bring her down, certainly not like this.

She's lying on her side, fists clenched on either side of her head, barely moving any more though she had thrashed and squirmed at first. Tired broken tears ran endlessly down her face and Wesley reached out, not for the first time, to gently wipe her cheek dry with his thumb.

Gunn was by the door, ostensibly standing guard, but then it wasn't like any of them knew anything better they could do. He glanced back as Wesley resettled, rubbing Cordelia's tears between his finger and thumb and they shared a helpless look.



067. Sports (Angel, Hurling, 138)

Angel has faint - very faint - recollections of playing iomáint on the village green, the crowds gathering to holler and heckle and the boys on the opposite team trying desperately to hobble their opponents with their camán. Their team had been good. Good enough they'd earned themselves a lot of broken hands by the winter from over aggressive challenges, and more than one or two broken noses. It was bloody and competitive and ruthless and it had suited him down to the ground.

He'd been horrified to find how rare it was to find a game outside of Ireland and Scotland, and no other sport had ever enticed him in his travels across Europe and Asia, and later the Americas.

Much, much later, he's introduced to ice-hockey, and finally Angel finds something he thinks he might enjoy.



068. Bet (Crack, Team, 114)

This was a bet that they were absolutely sure they would never see settled, and between the five of them there's an air of bemused shock at what they're watching happen right in front of them.

They still haven't worked out how this happened. At the moment none of the observers can tear their eyes away from the scene long enough to take any readings or hypothesise further. Even Wesley has been silenced for the time being.

Meanwhile, completely unaware of their attentive audience, a guy in a space suit complete with reflective domed visor ducked awkwardly under the violently powerful swing of a man dressed in animal skins and wielding a hefty club.



081. Glass (Lorne, 149)

There's something therapeutic about drying glasses by hand. After the kind of day he's having, Lorne needs this meditation in cleaning that only glass can give.

Caritas has a dishwasher, sure. They wouldn't survive the busy times without one. But Robbie behind the bar knows Lorne too well, handing him first a drink - rough, raw and obscenely alcoholic - which he downs before taking the second offering, a newly cleaned glass, still sudsy from the washing up bowl and a dish towel.

He focuses his whole attention on his hands on the glass, the gentle squeak, the shuddering wipes, and he let himself forget about the most recent brutalisation of Bonnie Tyler as the next 'singer' stepped up to the mic.

With the demon's sideways glances, he got the hint, putting aside the dry glass. He thanked Robbie, and went back out to face the unending musical slaughter.



085. Alley (Gunn's Crew, 149)

"What is it with you guys and alleys?" a voice called out in the half-lit darkness, jerking the two vampires out of the frenzy borne of the chase.

One of them, his hand only just closed on the back of the girl's neck, tightened his grip and pulled her to his body, defending his heart. The other stepped back, covering his eyes as the headlights of a truck blazed on, spot lights joining them a second later. He was dust before he started to run.

The other vamp stayed behind the girl, protecting his body with hers and shielding his eyes with the other hand as he stumbled back.

Aware of the predators as they started to dismount their truck, he tipped the girl's head to one side with elegant fingers. Before he could voice his threat the girl was pulled away and he was dust on the ground.



094. Fall (Angel, Baby!Connor, 106)

Don't touch, don't hold, can't risk it, what if you drop him, what if he falls. He's so small, so tiny in your hands and you can't just... What would happen if you lost control now, you can *see* it in your mind. It's been so long since you've held someone so delicate this close, *so* long, and Buffy was only because you knew she was strong enough to take it and Darla was all because of the anger and pain and what were you thinking, it's a baby, don't touch!

Gotta find somewhere, someone... Safe, he's gotta be...

Oh, look at that... He's smiling.

Hmm... My boy.



099. Laughter (Fred/Gunn, 148)

Fred had the brightest, lightest and most infectious laugh of anyone Charles Gunn had ever met, and he was well aware that she had no idea how much he loved it.

It wasn't just her laugh, or the way she tended to find the most inappropriate things funny, but also her way of realising a moment too late that she'd laughed out loud and the way that she pressed both hands over her mouth as if she could catch the noise and push it back in. Which inevitably lead to her snorting and sniggering behind her hand like a naughty child.

He wasn't a man to get gooey eyed over anyone - it'd been a long time since he last felt so light on his feet. He was going to make sure Fred knew what she was doing to him, if it was the last thing he did.