The Thorny Path (the Righteous shall walk), an Angel story by Glacis. Rated NC17. No copyright infringement intended. This story refers to my previous stories Forfeit, His Place in the World, and Plan, taking place directly after the Plan A ending, but it's written so that it can stand alone.

Lindsey McDonald had been many things in his life. From the age of eleven on, most of them had been planned. A fiercely competitive student, a highly-focused worker, a brilliant lawyer, a journeyman magick worker. A fighter, and a winner. He'd had enough of being hungry, cold, and broke as a kid.

Never in his life had the title 'Seer' ever been intended to join the list.

But then, a lot of weird things had been happening since Angel had muscled his way into Lindsey's life. The first time the anomalous vampire, a white hat with a soul of all things, had shoved one of Wolfram and Hart's most prestigious clients out the window to become falling flambé, then stepped up into Lindsey's face and tucked his business card back in his suit jacket, Lindsey'd had the feeling it was going to be a long, strange ride.

It got nothing but stranger.

Angel stuck his nose in everything. Fucked up Lindsey's hard work on too many court cases. Irritated Lindsey's clients. Infuriated Lindsey's boss. Nearly cost Lindsey his life, until he came up with a plan to take Angel down. It was his last chance; the vampire had disrupted one too many of Wolfram and Hart's schemes. Lindsey was to infiltrate Angel's organization, play on his weaknesses, seduce him, and coax Angelus out to play, permanently.

So much for plans.

Somewhere along the line the senior partners decided Lindsey'd had enough rope, and it was time to hang him. At the same time, they launched all-out war against Angel and all he held dear. To everyone's surprise, except perhaps the Powers that Be, the side of the Light had won the battle. Not without losses. Cordelia Chase was now a co-resident of the protoplasmic kind in her apartment, sharing ghostly space with Phantom Dennis. Wesley had been laid up in the hospital for almost a month recovering from his wounds. The building that housed Angel Investigations was a condemned shell of blasted-out wood and plaster. Detective Kate Lockley was firmly convinced that Angel and everyone around him was in league with the devil. Gunn and his gang of roaming vampire-hunting homeless kids were now unofficial foot soldiers in the war against the Evil White Folk of Wolfram and Hart, and enjoying it just as much as hunting down vampires.

Lindsey McDonald was in hiding.

As bolt-holes went, it wasn't bad. Oddly enough, with its peach walls and white stucco, the apartment he now shared with Angel and Wesley was more home-like than his high-rent West Side condo had ever been. He'd lost that, and everything in it, when he switched sides. All he'd had when he'd run was the clothes on his back and the impressive store of weaponry he'd salvaged from the trunk of his car. It was enough.

Especially once the visions began.

The first one hit the day he and Angel had gone to tell Dennis that Cordelia was dead. He'd been standing there, watching in bemusement as Cordelia's spirit and the ghost of a dark-haired young man smooched in the mirror, when all hell had broken loose in his head. If he'd been a junkie, he'd've thought he was on a bad acid trip.

The succeeding ones didn't get any better.

Every time it was the same. A big hammer would come out of nowhere, whack him upside the head, and send him into a spiral of images, sounds, and pain. He'd curl up in a fetal ball, yelp like a puppy that'd been kicked, and spill details he couldn't hear to Angel, who'd take notes, pat him compulsively, then feed him extra-strength Excedrin. When he could stand upright again, he'd follow Wesley and Angel out and they'd fight something disgusting, or several disgusting somethings, usually getting covered in various noisome fluids and chunks of demon flesh, then wander back home, shower and fall over to sleep. All the time Angel and Wesley were fighting demons, Lindsey was watching their backs.

Wolfram and Hart didn't forgive, or forget. It was war, of the most intensive, subversive kind. It made him tired, and made him crazy.

The only time he could forget was when Angel turned to him and took his mind away from the world by taking his body over. Unfortunately, they couldn't spend all their time in bed.

If they tried, Wolfram and Hart would just hunt them down there, too.

Angel slashed at the Jervut demon, avoiding the stabbing claws and ducking under the razor-sharp tail that tried to decapitate him. From the other side, Wesley aimed the cross-bow, armed with a steel stake bathed in aniseed oil, deadly poison to the Jervut. The bolt struck true, and Angel took advantage of the demon's involuntary hop to swipe at its exposed belly with his sword, gutting it. It took awhile, but the damned thing finally stopped twitching.

Not that he had time to celebrate. A batch of Tasker demons backed up by V'gots swarmed out of the darkness. Lindsey yelled "Angel! Behind you!" and took one out with his own sharpened stake. Tired from the battle with the Jervut and more than a little pissed off at the way Wolfram and Hart's bully boys waited until the end of a battle to ambush them, Angel morphed into full vampire mode and waded into the fray.

Wesley went down under a rush of combined forces, and Lindsey hacked his way through the snarl of bodies to come to his aid. Angel tried to get to them, but too many bodies were in his own way, most of them recently deceased due to his efforts. He growled in pure frustration and bit the hand off one idiot who tried to catch hold of his throat. Spitting it out as quickly as he'd ripped it off, since it tasted like shit, he launched himself into the tangle of demons grouped like a rugby scrum around his friends.

He was getting really, really tired of this.

A rumbling noise behind them announced the arrival of Gunn with back-up, and the Wolfram and Hart gang split off the attack, scurrying back into the shadows. Angel helped Wesley toss one body off the top of him, then turned toward Lindsey. The erstwhile lawyer looked nothing like his old self. He was sitting, slumped in a puddle of demon ichor, metal and wooden stakes clenched in either hand, jeans and sweater dripping in blood and gore. It was on his face, in his hair, coating his arms. One knee was ripped out of his jeans and Angel could see that the skin underneath was abraded. His eyes were huge in a pale, tired, and splattered face.

Angel didn't think he'd ever seen anything sexier.

Sternly telling his body to behave, there'd be plenty of time for that after they all got home and took showers, he waved to Gunn and walked over to Lindsey. Gunn waved back.

"Chicken shit bunch, wasn't they?" the young man called merrily. Angel just grinned and shook his head at him.

"You got 'em on the run," he called back. Gunn gave him a mock salute then rounded up his posse and rumbled back the way they'd come. Angel stopped at Lindsey's side. "Want a hand up?"

"I think my butt's stuck in this crap," Lindsey answered dejectedly.

"At least we're still in one piece," Angel reminded him quietly, raising him to his feet with one strong hand under his arm.

"This time." Lindsey looked around at the carnage. "They're getting too close," he said forcefully. Before Angel could answer him, they heard the sounds of sirens getting closer. "Damnit!"

Angel agreed. Another tactic the Firm had been using -- wreak havoc then leave then call the cops who'd come hassle Angel's group. After the first few arguments with Kate, they'd taken to evacuating an area almost as fast as the Wolfram and Hart demons.

"C'mon, Wesley," Angel called, pulling Lindsey along with him. "Company's coming."

"Right behind you, Angel," Wesley replied, bringing up the rear. They piled into the car and headed off for the apartment, leaving the mess for Kate to clean up.

Just another hot summer night in L.A.

The water felt good. Lindsey stood under the hot needles as long as he could stand it, and finally began to relax. Cordy and Dennis were on watch, Wes was asleep, and Angel ...

... stepped into the stall behind him. His hands were cold contrast to the warmth lingering along his skin that the water had left behind. They felt good. He leaned against the solid strength of the body behind him and let his head drop back onto Angel's shoulder. Angel got the hint. A hand reached forward and turned the shower down to a gentle spray, then began to roam over Lindsey's chest and stomach, lingering over the bruises and scrapes. The last remaining aches faded away under the gentle touch.

Lips closed over the side of his neck, nipping gently, and he gave a quiet moan. He'd been leery about sex in the apartment at first, knowing that there were two non-corporeal beings peeking in on them. But neither Cordy nor Dennis had ever made their presence known when he and Angel were together like this and gradually he'd relaxed. He hadn't had much choice. Angel had magic in his hands.

The caresses grew bolder, and the mouth hungrier, and the moans turned into encouraging words. Angel cupped his erection in one hand and teased his chest with the other, and he moved, slick with water, between Angel's hand and Angel's body.

It was the only place he'd ever felt safe.

Too tired to hold back, he was coming before he was ready for it, and the force of it nearly took him to his knees. Angel held him up, kissing and petting him, then leaned him against the tiles. Lindsey grinned into the cooling wall. This was his favorite part. He was relaxed and open, and Angel slid into him like a warm knife through butter. Angel took his time, and Lindsey stood there, hugging the wall, riding the motion behind him, soaking up the coolness of the tile in front of him and the length within him. The strength of the thrusts took him up to his toes with each forward movement, slapping the tip of his cock against the wall. It wasn't long before his body took a renewed interest in the proceedings.

One of the best things about having a dead man for a lover was his stamina. Tired he undoubtedly was, but he could keep it up forever. Lindsey grew hard again in response to the way Angel was using him, the gently building momentum rocking their bodies together, until he felt as if all the blood in his body was pooled in his groin. Angel's hand curled around his hip like a heat-seeking missile and locked onto his erection.

For the second time that night, every nerve in Lindsey's body exploded at once. This time, he took Angel with him. Angel's right hand milked him dry, his left arm curved around Lindsey's waist and up along his sternum, keeping him from smashing into the wall with the force of Angel's thrusts as he came. When they were both empty, Angel pulled slowly from him. Lindsey couldn't keep back the groan as Angel withdrew.

"You okay?" The question was whispered against the back of his neck. He shivered.

"More than," he answered, scarcely able to form the words. Behind him, Angel chuckled.

Lindsey barely had the strength to step from the tub, and Angel wrapped him up in towels and guided him to the bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

It was early afternoon when he woke. Angel was out like a light next to him. It should have been disturbing to see him lying there, not breathing, but Lindsey was used to it. He propped his head up on his hand and stared down at Angel, eyes tracing the lines of his cheek, his chin, his throat, dwelling on his chest. Creamy, unblemished skin, inviting as satin, chill as marble.

A cleared throat in the doorway took his attention. He looked up and saw Wesley, looking pink.

"Telephone. It's Detective Lockley," he said very quietly. Lindsey nodded.

"Thanks, Wesley, I'll take care of it." More lawyerese. Wes looked relieved and backed out of the doorway. Lindsey sighed and picked up the telephone.

"I suppose you have a slick explanation for this one, too," her voice rang in his ear.

"Hello, Detective," he returned politely.

"Eighth and Figueroa, ring any bells?" Accusation was clear. He ignored it. He'd had a lot of practice.

"Is there a particular reason why you're calling me, or should I just classify this as harassment and get on with it?" he asked, still very politely.

"Dead bodies. Lots of them."

"A murder? Mass murder? What," he paused delicately, "people were killed?"

Her silence was telling. There hadn't been any human bodies in that pile, and no court on Earth was going to admit demon corpses as evidence. "Keep it off the streets," she finally ordered.

"We're not originating any violent actions, Detective." A thought struck him. "Can we meet?"

"Why?" She was suspicious. He didn't blame her.

"We need to talk."

"If this is about a harassment charge, don't waste my time." Her voice was scathing.

"No. This is about ... a common enemy." He waited for her to snap back, but she was listening. He grinned, staring into space, mentally reviewing files. It was time to get the Firm to back off, and the best way he knew to fight fire was with fire. "Two o'clock okay?"

"I'll see you at police headquarters." The decisive click followed by the dial tone told him how excited she was by the prospect.

Hanging the handset up gently, he disentangled himself from Angel, careful not to disturb the vampire. He dressed quietly, in his last unmangled pair of jeans and a clean tee shirt, then walked out into the living room.

"Everything all right?" Wesley asked, bringing two glasses of juice into the room and handing him one. Inquisitive blue eyes stared at him through the round glasses.

"Maybe." Lindsey nodded his thanks for the juice, then headed over to the computer. "You up for a field trip this afternoon?"

Wes looked at him askance. "Where? And why? Does Angel know?"

"To the PD, to give Lockley some ammunition that just might keep the Firm off our asses for awhile, and he's sleeping, er, still unconscious from last night." He sipped the juice and popped a disk in the drive, revving up the printer.

"Hoist them in their own petard?" Wesley picked up the first sheet and glanced over it.

"Little at a time. Just enough to make 'em back off." Lindsey swallowed the last of his juice and licked his lips. "They started the war. Brought it on themselves."

"This increases the stakes."

Lindsey shrugged. "Can't get much higher than they already are."

Wesley nodded agreement.

As the printer was spewing out the second of the files Lindsey planned to turn over to the police, he scrawled a short note. 'Went to head Lockley off at the pass. Back before sundown. L.' He left it propped on the kitchen table. Then he gathered the print-outs and Wesley up and, checking his six in the rearview mirror as often as the road ahead of him, bearded the lion in her den.

Detective Kate Lockley knew what kind of reputation she had. She didn't give a tinker's damn. She knew what was out there. She'd seen it. Fought it. Nearly slept with it. It had killed her father.

She was the only one left in her family. She had her job, she had her fight. That was all she had. It was more than enough. She'd thought, once, there could be more. Then the guy she was starting to really fall for turned out to be an undead monster.

So much for romance.

The sleazeball lawyer Angel hung around with came through the door, followed by the tall guy with the black hair who looked like a school teacher. Or an accountant. One more mark against the Caped Crusader -- anybody who kept company with Wolfram and Hart was, by definition, bad news. Although since this one started playing ball with vampires, he'd loosened up. A lot. Gone were the four hundred dollar suits and the silk shirts, the hair gel and the power ties. The lawyer looked almost like a college kid in his faded jeans and baggy shirt, with his hair falling in his face. Until one saw the expression in his eyes.

Then he looked about a thousand years old.

They arrived beside her desk and she stood, challenging him before he could get his mouth open. "Wanna plea bargain, counselor?" she growled.

He grimaced. "More a gift than a bargain, detective."

"I don't need any gifts from the likes of you," she shot back.

"Please," the school teacher broke in. His voice was soft, with a surprisingly pleasant English accent to it. "Can we at least attempt keep this civil?"

She started to call him on it, when she made the mistake of looking at his eyes. Blue, so bright and vivid they looked like the sky over the ocean on a summer afternoon. And so full of pain and hope. He didn't look like a monster.

Of course, neither had Angel.

"You going to vamp out on me, too?" She glanced over at the sunshine streaming through the window. "No, maybe not, you'd be ashes. Unless you're some other kind of demon. Where are you from?" she demanded suddenly.

"Cheltenham," he responded involuntarily. Beside him, the lawyer snorted.

Kate looked over at him. It looked like he was fighting not to smile. She scowled at them both.

"What do you want?"

"Your attention," the Englishman said.

"Why should I help you?" The lawyer moved forward and laid a manila folder on her desk, atop the pile of paperwork already crowding the surface. She tore her eyes away from the puppy dog look on the Englishman's face long enough to glare at the lawyer again. He wasn't smiling now. He looked intent, grim-faced.

"We have some information you may find useful." He gestured at the folder. "We're bringing it to you in good faith."

"I don't believe you know the meaning of the words. What do you expect in return for this ... information?" She looked at the folder like it was a fresh pile of dog turds.

"Nothing, from you."

Smooth, oh yeah, he was smooth. Her mouth curled back in another snarl. "Then why give it to me?"

The lawyer grinned, a sharp, hungry expression. "You'll run with it. It's good."

"We're looking for breathing room," the Englishman put in. The lawyer shot him a glare, but he was as busy looking at Kate as Kate was busy looking at him, and it bounced right off.

She cleared her throat and reached for the folder, pissed off at herself because it was such an effort to stop looking at the English guy. He wasn't the first cute guy she'd seen. And he kept bad company. God only knew what he really was. The first line of print wrenched her attention completely to business.

Dirt. Real dirt. Dates, times, amounts. On one of the biggest scumbags in town. A major client of Wolfram and Hart. She looked from the paper to the lawyer.

"Why are you selling out your own people?" She stared intently at him.

He stared right back at her. "They're not my people any more. I'm no longer with Wolfram and Hart."

"You're with Angel," she pressed him. He smiled, a more open expression than the death's head grin he'd given her earlier.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"And they're after Angel," she continued to put it together.

"They're after all of us," the Englishman admitted. The lawyer shot him an exasperated glance, but didn't contradict him.

"You want me to go after them for you," she finished up.

"No," the lawyer surprised her. "You'll go after them for yourself. Because you're a cop, and a good one."

"The side benefit will be for us," the Englishman explained, hands moving in the air. Her eyes followed them. They were good hands, nice long fingers, looked like a musician's, or an artist's. She gulped and pulled her attention back to business. "If they're busy defending themselves, they won't have as much time to attack us."

"Everybody wins," the lawyer added. Now he was wearing the puppy dog look. What was it with Angel and his buddies? Did they practice in the mirror, looking like pound puppies?

"Except Wolfram and Hart," she answered. The lawyer nodded.

"That's kinda the point," he agreed.

"Thanks," she said, grudgingly. He smiled winningly at her, his eyes watchful. "I'll look into it." It was a damned feast. Of course she'd look into it. He relaxed a fraction.

"Be seeing you," he said, then turned to walk out. The Englishman started after him.

"Hang on," she called out. Both men stopped. She ignored the lawyer. "What's your name?" she asked the Englishman.

"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce," he answered, clearly surprised.

Wesley. Hell of a name. Sounded like that bratty kid on Star Trek a few years ago. Only this one didn't look like a kid, bratty or any other kind. She swallowed again, irritated at her dry mouth.

"Nice to meet you, Wesley," she found herself saying. She could feel her own eyes widening, matching the startled look on both Wesley and the lawyer's faces. She could also feel her skin heating up. Which perfectly matched the fiery blush sweeping over Wesley's face.

"The pleasure was mine," he mumbled. The damned lawyer looked like he was about to laugh again. She glared at him.

"Later," she snapped, then buried her head in the file, completely certain she'd just made a horse's ass of herself.

"Yes," that quiet English voice agreed.

The words blurred in front of her eyes, and she told herself angrily to get a grip. Wesley was Angel's friend. He hung out with an ex-shark from the shadiest law firm in a town renowned for shysters. He was obviously Bad News. She wondered when he'd come around again. If he'd come around again. What his home phone number was. If she could track him down. What he might say if she did. Why she'd want to.

She abruptly stopped wondering. She didn't want to go there. She didn't.

Weird. Her life was just plain weird.

It was two days later before Lindsey came clean about the visit to the PD to Angel, and even then it was only because he had a sneaking suspicion Wesley would spill the beans if he didn't. Lindsey knew what sort of reaction he was going to get, and he wasn't surprised when he got it.

"You did what?" Angel stared at Lindsey. Lindsey shrugged.

"Misdirection. Attack from the flank. Hit 'em from behind. Whatever works."

"He gave some files to Detective Lockley to allow her to pursue an investigation against Wolfram and Hart," Wesley repeated for the third time.

"Wesley," Lindsey said patiently, "he got that. He's just stalling until he makes up his mind how to react to it."

Wes rolled his eyes. Angel continued to stare at him. Lindsey's neck started to itch. "Stop looking at me, Cordy, Dennis, it's makin' my skin crawl!" The itch lessened. From the kitchen, there was the distinct sound of dishes clattering together. At least she wasn't actually throwing anything. A whistling sound picked up, soothing, then more cheerful, and the clattering tapered off. Lindsey sighed.

Before they could get further into it, the world imploded again. God, he hated those fucking visions. This was a particularly hairy one, all blood and claws and rent flesh hanging in tattered strings from lifeless limbs. An alley, some trash, lots of violent movement. A dance club, he could see the sign, bright yellow and blue neon. He was aware of words bubbling out of him, but all he could hear were the screams and all he could see was the flashing sign, splattered with blood.

When he came out of it, Angel was kneeling beside him, holding him in the crook of one arm and scribbling on a pad of paper with the other hand. Wes was offering him a glass of water and more Excedrin. Concerned faces were peering at him from the hall mirror. Although Cordelia did have quite a bit of guilty relief in her expression.

He could understand why. Visions sucked.

Knees no longer shaking, head back in one piece, he followed Angel and Wesley over to the weapons chest and they armed themselves. Half an hour later they waded into a nest of carnivorous Kaid demons and bodies started flying. The blood spattered the sign over the shadowed door in the alley, but it wasn't the blood of innocents that he'd seen in the vision. It was the blood of the hunters.

This time, there was no second wave of attackers. Gunn and his gang weren't needed, and happily rolled off to dust non-souled vampires. The three of them went home, showered off, ate a late dinner and got some sleep, all with no interference from Wolfram and Hart.

Detective Lockley was on the job.

The next week was relatively quiet. Two more visions, as if the Powers that Be were determined to get as much use as possible out of their little war band while the getting was good. Lindsey was developing a low-grade headache that only seemed to go away when he and Angel were busy in bed. Not that he didn't appreciate the extra sex. But it would be nice to be able to get a little sleep once in awhile.

Angel, not the most observant of beings, did notice the nightmares. They were kind of hard to miss. He even attempted to talk to Lindsey about them, quite a concession given that talking was not one of his strengths.

"Lin?"

Lindsey looked over at him. They were lying together in bed, mid-morning, attempting to rest after yet another busy night of mass demon-slaughter.

"Hm?"

"You, uhm, okay?"

How to answer that? Fine, Angel, it's normal for me to wiggle and thrash around and whimper until I wake both of us up, even when I'm not in the middle of an orgasm. "Yeah," he finally answered.

There was a pause. Deep brown eyes stared soulfully at him. Lindsey squirmed again, this time for a completely different reason.

"You sure?"

He shrugged. Angel looked uncertain, then looked down and noticed that other parts of Lindsey were taking an interest in the situation. His expression brightened as if to say 'this is something I know how to handle!' and he slid down, mouth homing in on Lindsey's erection, swallowing it in one gulp.

Lindsey gave up.

Angel went down on him with gusto, as if to make up non-verbally for all the deep conversation he didn't do well. If he sucked at pulling details out of his partner, he excelled at sucking everything else out of him. Lindsey locked his hands in Angel's hair, closed his eyes, and pumped a few times before convulsing. Brain as completely drained as the rest of him, he was asleep before Angel finished cleaning him off. There were no more nightmares that day.

Wesley stared up at the ceiling and tried to close his ears. It didn't do much good. Lindsey was loud. Angel was efficient. Both were tireless.

It was becoming tiresome.

It would be less irritating if it wasn't so arousing. It might be less arousing if he ever had any intimate contact of his own, other than with his right hand, and that was difficult to do when he had the lingering suspicion that Cordelia was watching ... and laughing. Even the dead people in this household had more active romantic lives than he did.

He snorted quietly. Of course the dead people got more sex than he did. The dead outnumbered the living three to two. And they were all happily paired off. He was used to being alone, and used to being lonely. It bothered him, of course, but he had become resigned to it.

Until he looked into intelligent, hostile blue eyes in a lovely, determined face, and for the first time in too long, actually wanted to get close to someone. The fact that the someone with whom he wished to become close actively hated him and everyone for whom he cared was ... unfortunate, to say the least.

Giving up on sleep just as Lindsey cried out Angel's name and the bed stopped squeaking, Wesley dressed quietly and let himself out of the flat. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and it wasn't as if he wasn't used to failure when it came to incipient romantic relationships. The worst she could do was tell him no.

Or, perhaps, given the current strained relationship between her and Angel and her obvious contempt for Lindsey, the worst she could do was tell him yes.

Either way, he'd lose, which was after all what he was prepared to accept, so he walked into the police precinct with no hope and a smile on his face. She was at her desk. He walked to the side, stood by the chair, and waited for her to notice him.

When she finally looked up, she scowled, then looked around him. "Where's the shyster?"

Home sleeping the sleep of the utterly satiated, wrapped in Angel's arms, he thought, but kept the details to himself. "He's not here," he offered. "I just ... uhm ... I thought perhaps ... would you like ... erm, that is --" This was just as difficult as he feared it would be.

She stared up at him, her head tilted slightly to one side, studying him as if he was some sort of strange insect pinned to a board. "Did you want something?" she finally asked, when his fumbling attempts at speech strangled themselves in his throat.

"Ice cream?" he squeaked out, then blushed. She cracked a smile, small but real.

"I'm afraid I haven't got any ice cream here," she told him solemnly.

"Would you like to," he choked off and took a deep breath, "go-out-for-some?" He finished in a rush and looked hopefully at her. Her smile widened. "My treat," he added hurriedly.

Her smile turned to a grin. "Sure."

He didn't know whether to whoop with joy or faint, so he did as any proper Englishman would do and simply stood there, slowly turning bright red. She gathered up her purse and stood beside him. He extended his arm, and she looked at him as if trying to decide whether to laugh at him or punch his shoulder. In the end, she did neither, simply hooked her fingers in the crook of his elbow and towed him out the door.

The sun had never been brighter. The chocolate had never been richer. The day had never been more full of color. They didn't exchange more than a half dozen words between them, and he was perfectly content. She didn't appear too unhappy, either.

"May I call you Kate?" he finally asked. She licked around the base of her cone where it was dripping on her fingers, and said, "Sure."

"Thank you for coming out with me," he told her gravely as they crumpled their litter and tossed it in the bin.

"My pleasure," she told him softly, still looking slightly distrustful, if a tad more relaxed. His eyes were fixed on a small smear of pistachio at the corner of her mouth.

"May I?" he asked politely. She looked at him, one eyebrow climbing. He took it as permission and gently dabbed the ice cream away with the clean corner of his serviette. She stood still, staring up at him as he concentrated on his task. Finished, he caught her glance. They stared at one another for a short eternity before he came back to himself.

Blushed.

Cleared his throat.

Offered his arm.

This time, she took his hand.

When he left her office shortly afterward, he gave her his telephone number on a post-it note. She was sitting there, staring at it, as he left.

The next attack from Wolfram and Hart was unexpected, vicious, and definitely desperate, coming as it did during daylight hours. The first Angel knew of it was when the door splintered under a heavy shoulder.

Vases, knick knacks, sofa cushions, dishes and pictures flew through the air at the Tasker demons. Several went down under the initial onslaught as Cordelia and Dennis shrieked in anger and threw everything they had at the attackers. The resulting din and the slamming of the doors between the demons and the bedrooms gave Angel, Lindsey and Wesley time enough to wake up and figure out what was happening. As soon as they could grab hold of weapons, the doors flew back open and they joined the fracas.

It was a brief, bloody battle. A Tasker scored Lindsey across the shoulder with its horn, and Angel yanked it away, breaking its neck by the simple expedient of bending its horn back until its spine snapped. Lindsey fought back with a two-headed hand axe, swiping through demon bodies and ducking blows. Wesley tossed Angel a steel pike, and Angel speared Taskers like fish. A vase smashed across a Tasker's face, ceramic shards embedding themselves in its eyes and snout, and the poker flew like an arrow across the room, pinning two Taskers together and killing them both.

When it was over, thanks to Cordelia and Dennis' early warning and prompt action, the body count was eighteen dead Taskers to assorted non-lethal cuts, scrapes and bruises on the home team. It took the rest of the night to clean up the mess.

Leaning wearily against the doorjamb, Lindsey said musingly, "This is a good sign."

Wesley looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "In what way?"

"They're getting desperate, and they're failing." Lindsey actually sounded heartened.

"They're wearing us down, however," Wesley said. Angel nodded.

"We're winning the battles, but it's a long war."

"One battle at a time." Lindsey pushed off from the wall. "I vote for bed."

Angel beat him to the door.

Vaguely he was aware of Wesley's door shutting firmly, and for a moment he felt a little guilty at the fact that he and Lindsey were so obviously getting it off while Wes was stuck alone in his room. Then the guilt was swamped by lust, as usual around Lindsey, and Angel tossed him to the bed, landing on him like a giant cat and skimming him out of his clothes.

Lindsey didn't have any objections.

Life settled into a pattern of relative peace for almost a month. Lindsey watched as Wesley made himself scarce more and more often, coming back from afternoon outings with a dreamy look in his eyes and a smile on his face, but as impeccably dressed as when he left. Lockley called twice, asking for Wesley. The second time was illuminating.

"Angel Investigations." Dimly, he heard Cordelia snort, but it was the perkiest he could get. She'd just have to deal with it.

"Wesley, please."

He grinned at the cop's gruff manner. "May I say who's calling?" he asked politely, just to piss her off.

"You know who it is. Just get him," she barked back. He managed not to laugh. Barely.

"Sure, gracious lady," he responded gallantly. Covering the mouthpiece very loosely with one hand, he called out, "Wes! Girlfriend!" The thump as Wes fell off the chair in his haste to get to the living room was gratifying. The growl on the other end of the line was moreso.

"Hey. Lawyer."

He brought his attention back to the caller. "Yes, Detective?" he said sweetly. He could hear her clear her throat.

"Thanks for the information. It's been ... helpful."

"Thanks for acting on it," he answered truthfully. Before she could grumble at him again, he handed the telephone to Wesley, who was bright red and glaring at him. He ducked out of the room before anything more could be said, but he made no attempt to stop eavesdropping.

"Certainly ... that would be lovely ... three o'clock? ... I look forward to it ... goodbye, Kate." There was a decided click. Lindsey leaned against the wall and waited. It didn't take long.

"Did you hear anything interesting?" Wesley asked him, face still hot, voice getting angrier with each word.

"Be careful, Wes," Lindsey told him, sincerity leaking from him on cue. "She could just be using you." Old pain glittered in the narrowed blue eyes staring back at him, and Lindsey relented slightly. "She doesn't trust any of us. Watch yourself." He was serious.

Wesley saw through the teasing to the warning, and nodded shortly. "I'm always careful. I'll be back by sundown."

Lindsey watched him go, thoughtfully. He'd have to ask Angel what he thought. Much as he ragged on the Brit, he liked him, too, and he'd rather the man wasn't hurt. He didn't trust the cop any more than she trusted them.

Rustling in the bedroom distracted him, and he went into the kitchen to nuke some blood for his bedmate. Angel wandered out toward him, yawning and knuckling his eyes. Lindsey grinned. With his hair standing up at right angles, his mouth wide open and his eyes squeezed shut, the two hundred fifty year old vampire looked about ten. It was adorable.

The bell dinged and he pulled the cup out, reaching out and wrapping Angel's hands around it. "Drink up, you'll need your strength."

Angel's eyes popped open, staring at him over the rim even as he gulped half the cupful down. "What's the matter?" he asked when he finished swallowing. "Did you have another vision? Where's Wesley?"

"Off romancing the detective," Lindsey answered the last question first. "No visions. Just in the mood for a little debauchery."

Angel gave him a slow, nasty grin. "When are you not?"

"Good question. But there's somethin' satisfying about fucking your brains out when you're lookin' like little boy lost." Lindsey voice fell and his accent thickened as he moved closer, watching avidly as Angel finished off the last of the blood then taking the cup from his hand. "C'mon, little boy," he whispered enticingly, slipping the cup into the sink behind him. "Come out and play."

The growl Angel gave him was just the right answer to get his spine to tingling. Lindsey wrapped himself around the larger man, burying his hands in that unruly hair and doing his best to dive down Angel's throat. Angel reacted predictably, looping one arm around Lindsey's back and the other behind his knees, lifting him up and carrying him to the couch.

A light wind whistled through the apartment. It sounded like Cordelia, giggling. Another wind joined it, and the giggles muted to murmurs of happy satisfaction. Thank you, Dennis, Lindsey thought while he could still think. Then Angel was parting his thighs and nibbling kisses in the wake of every button he unfastened, and Lindsey quickly lost any ability to form a coherent thought.

By the time Angel had him stripped, Lindsey was writhing like a snake on hot sand. Angel clamped his hands around Lindsey's knees, parting and lifting them, then settled between them, licking, kissing and biting all along his upper thighs, between them down to the swell of his buttocks, then all along the perineum to Lindsey's sac.

He stayed there long enough that Lindsey was crying out and humping against him, his own hands wrapped around his erection. Angel apparently wasn't happy with that, because he caught hold of Lindsey's hands and pulled them away, replacing them with warm lips and a talented tongue.

There were times when the lack of need to draw breath was a real advantage, and giving head was one of them. Lindsey was on the edge of a knife, teetering but not allowed to fall, as Angel took his time with him. His hands were held fast, his hips pinned under Angel's arms as he was teased and teased. Angel licked and sucked, around his balls, up his shaft, playing and poking at his glans with his tongue. It didn't take much to drive Lindsey completely out of what was left of his mind.

He was whimpering uncontrollably by the time Angel let go of his wrists. All he could do was clutch hold of the sofa cushions and hang on for dear life. Angel wrapped one hand around his sac, pushed one hand back to play at his opening, and swallowed him whole, humming the whole time. The whimpers escalated into low moans.

When Angel finally did allow him to come, Lindsey couldn't seem to stop. Angel would suck, Lindsey would shoot some more, Angel would swallow around him, Lindsey would convulse again. By the time he finally collapsed against Angel's hand, he felt like there wasn't a drop of fluid left anywhere in his body.

Angel slithered up against him, shifting his thighs further apart and replacing his fingers with his cock. Lindsey relaxed into the fucking, unable to do a thing to help, since every bone in his body had melted.

Angel had been close when he entered Lindsey, and he wasted no time, thrusting strongly against him, rocking Lindsey against the cushions. Nuzzling into Angel's shoulder, Lindsey rode the motions, floating above everything, content with the world and his place in it. Then Hell hit him between the eyes with no warning whatsoever.

He knew he was lying on his back, with Angel covering him, holding and fucking him, but somehow he was on his stomach at the same time, and Angel wasn't Angel. Angel was Angelus. Angelus was biting him, hurting him, plowing into him, and it hurt, it was wonderful, it was horrible, it couldn't be happening. Lindsey tried to buck him off, not sure who he was or where he was or what was happening, only that it was wrong, and it hurt, and it couldn't be true.

The hands at his hips tightened, and the face in front of his shifted, Angel to Angelus, yellow eyes gleaming, a cruel grin stretching the fanged mouth. The monster face dipped and those fangs dug into him, tearing the flesh at the side of his neck. Blood gushed across his throat, and he screamed. His legs cramped and his hands clenched uselessly on empty air.

Vaguely he was aware of Angel, clutching him, emptying into him, nuzzling his hair and whispering his name. Superimposed over that welcome, normal impression was an uglier one, hard hands bruising him, sharp teeth tearing at him. The room looked wrong, full of books and plants and ancient manuscripts. The light was wrong, muted and humid. His hands looked wrong against the cushions, larger, streaked with blood.

"Lin? Lindsey? What's wrong?"

"God damn you," he choked out, but it wasn't his voice. They weren't his words. Other words followed, Latin, he was pretty sure, but he didn't know what they were. Angel's face washed over Angelus', and Lindsey landed back in his own body with a jarring thump. He stared up into Angel's confused face.

"Christ on a crutch," he wheezed, then wrapped both arms around Angel's neck and hugged him as tightly as he could.

Angel petted him, somewhat hesitantly then more firmly, before asking again, "What's wrong?"

"Vision, I think," he managed to rasp. Angel jolted against him.

"While we were having sex?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yeah. Sucks, huh?" Lindsey gulped in air, and tried to calm himself. "Weirdest damned one so far. It was like some sort of flashback or something, more than precognition. Involved my whole body, not just my head."

Angel drew back very slowly, staring hard down at Lindsey. "What do you mean, flashback?"

"Well, it was you, but it wasn't, and it sure as hell wasn't me," Lindsey tried to explain. That had been clear as mud, he knew, and he tried again. "It was you at first, then it turned into Angelus. And it was somebody, but not me, and you -- Angelus was fucking him, raping him really. Biting him and raping him. I saw the room, it had books and plants and stuff all over the place. Looked like an old-fashioned library."

By the time he finished, Angel was completely still. He was looking at Lindsey, but from the expression in his eyes, he wasn't seeing anything of the here and now. Lindsey swallowed, then carefully cupped Angel's cheek with the palm of his hand. "Angel? What's goin' on?"

The dark brown eyes gradually focused on him, and Lindsey saw as well as felt the withdrawal. Angel didn't say anything as he pulled away and efficiently dressed. Lindsey sat up as well, reaching for his jeans. To his surprise, his head didn't ache as it usually did after a vision, and he didn't have the normal vertigo, but his body felt like he'd been beaten with big sticks by enthusiastic sadists. He watched silently as Angel walked over to the telephone and picked it up. He dialed, and Lindsey listened in.

"Hi, Willow. Is Buffy in? ... she is? When? ... When was the last time you saw him? ... No, that's all right. I'm sure she has her hands full ... you too. Thanks, Willow." He hung up slowly. Lindsey shrugged into his shirt and sat back carefully against the cushions.

"You goin' to tell me what's goin' on now?" As usual when he was stressed, his Southern roots showed through. He scowled at Angel. He didn't like the feel of this one, whatever the hell it was.

Angel paced back and forth across the living room like a cornered bobcat for awhile, until Lindsey got dizzy watching him and put his head back, closing his eyes. The footsteps continued for another few more minutes before they headed toward him. He felt Angel looming over him and cracked one eye.

"Well?"

"How complete is your file on me?" Angel asked. Lindsey looked at him for a long moment, then huffed out a sigh and answered. Angel would tell him in his own way, eventually.

"Relatively complete. Family history, too many servants but those records always are scanty, early kills, known Children, Gypsy curse, century of atonement munchin' on rats in alleys, alliance with the Slayer and her little band of merry helpers." Two and a half centuries condensed into two complex sentences. Lindsey was good with words. It was one of the reasons he'd become a lawyer.

"You know about the curse then." Angel was staring holes in him. Lindsey nodded.

"Which leads me to another question," Lindsey allowed himself to sidetrack into a related area of interest. His interest, anyway. "How come you're not morphing into Angelus now?" He gestured between the two of them. "You know, with ... us."

Angel looked away. "I'm not in love with you," he said coldly. "My soul's not in jeopardy here."

Lindsey swallowed. He'd known it, hell, he didn't believe in love himself, so it shouldn't have made any impact on him to hear Angel confirm it. It shouldn't have hurt. He had no idea why it did.

"What else?" Angel prodded him, dragging him back to the business at hand. Lindsey felt a brief spurt of anger, but it died away. He'd known what he was getting into when he went for it. It was still better than the alternative.

"Okay. Past history. You fell in love, lost your soul, wreaked havoc, got your soul spell-cast back to you, went to hell anyway, came back, played superhero, took off for L.A. to save the world. Did I miss anything?"

Angel sat beside him, suddenly, as if his knees had collapsed. "It's the wreaking havoc part that concerns me at the moment. How much do you know about that?"

Lindsey took a deep breath. Enough pussy-footing around. "You want a play by play? We had a rap sheet a foot long. Death, mental torture, artistic renderings, more mental torture, rape--" Lindsey's tongue froze in his mouth. "The Watcher." It wasn't a question.

"Is in trouble," Angel answered it anyway. "Rupert Giles went missing last night. He'd gone to the Huntington Library to look at some rare manuscripts, then he was supposed to go over to Brentwood to consult with a historian there. He never made it."

The same thought hit both of them at the same time. "The Firm," Lindsey breathed.

"Bait," Angel confirmed.

"Son of a bitch." He could think about the ramifications of his feelings later. Maybe. First things first, and the first thing was to out-think the bastards at Wolfram and Hart. Or there wouldn't be a later.

It had been a very good day. The drive down from Sunnydale had been pleasant, once the suicidal drivers on the 405 were taken into account. The Botanical Gardens had been lovely, the tea in the Rose Garden Room was quite decent and the manuscripts he'd needed to study had been all his for several hours.

There had been several fascinating entries that had a direct bearing on the situation Buffy had described regarding Angel, as well as some intriguing scenarios for dealing with the remnants of the Hellmouth. He'd had to tear himself away when it was closing time, thankful he had the next day clear to come back and do further research.

Not that he had a very full schedule, since the high school had burnt to the ground, he was unemployed, the Council had no use for him, and his Slayer was busy with other things.

Giles refused to give in to self pity and took a deep breath of the scented air, enjoying the beauty of San Marino spread out around him. Pulling into the hotel parking garage, he locked the door and went round to the boot to pull out his suitcase. He didn't feel the sting of the dart as it impacted his lower right back. His hand went numb, the keys fell to the concrete floor, and the world went black.

When the lights came up again, he rather wished they hadn't. A harmless-appearing gentleman in a gray pinstriped suit smiled benignly down at him. Giles sensed immediately that he was in the presence of great evil.

The straps binding him at ankle and wrist, his nudity, and the heavy sense of dark magick in the air all around him merely confirmed his initial instinctive reaction. The air fairly reeked power, corruption, and demon-dwelling. Not the friendly type of demon, either, by any stretch of the imagination. He refused to give his kidnapper the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. He opted instead to lay quietly, weigh his options, and wait for the man to speak. The light eyes staring down at him beamed approval.

"Welcome, Mr. Giles. I apologize for your discomfort, but it's necessary."

"To whom?" Giles bit his tongue. Damnedable curiosity.

"It's best not to know too much," the man clucked at him. Giles scowled. "Your part in our little drama is a passive one."

"I'm bait," Giles guessed. "This is a trap." The beam grew into a positive sparkle.

"Very clever," the man applauded him. "Now, lie still, and try to relax. This is going to hurt."

He didn't lie. There was no artistry to the torture, merely brute strength carefully applied to cause the most painful damage without sliding into lethality. The third time the nettle whip began its journey down his legs he gave up any attempt at keeping silent, and screamed, once, the power of it clawing at his throat. He clamped down on the rest of the screams threatening to burst out. His scream appeared to be a signal of some kind. The man stepped from the side of the room over to a marble desk and picked up a telephone.

"Carry on," he said cheerfully as he dialed a number. The Tasker demon doing the beating did so. With gusto. It turned Giles on the table, paying no attention to the unnatural strain on his shoulders and legs from the twisted bindings, and began whipping him again. It started at his shoulders and worked its way down to the soles of his feet. As it was lashing the backs of his knees, he started to scream again. This time, he couldn't stop.

Angel was roaming the streets with Gunn, hunting up information sources. Wesley was off with Kate, soft-soaping her into using the LAPD resources to try to find the missing Watcher. Lindsey was at the apartment, scanning through the files, trying to puzzle his way through the latest twist from his former employers. The ringing telephone distracted him.

"Angel Investigations," he started to say, but the sound of screaming in the background halted his greeting. He switched the recorder on. Angel would want to know about this.

"Hello, Lindsey." Holland's warm voice flowed over his ear like honey. Poisoned honey.

"Let me guess," Lindsey answered, mind racing. Too bad this wasn't the movies -- he'd be able to trace the call. "You're havin' a party and you wanted to invite me."

"Of course, son," Holland said agreeably. "You're listening to the guest of honor even as we speak." The screams in the background hit a crescendo, then broke. Lindsey could hear the swish of a whip in the sudden silence. There was a whimper.

"What do you want, Holland?" His voice was hard.

"You know what I want, Lindsey," his ex-mentor responded in a reasonable tone. "You, and Angel."

"In return?" No fucking way. If they agreed, they'd all be dead.

"The Watcher goes home. Think about it, Lindsey."

Before he could say another word, the line disconnected. He quickly closed the line, then punched in Angel's cellular number. It was answered on the first ring.

"Angel."

"They called. They've got him."

"I'll be right there." Another dial tone. He was getting used to this. He punched the button again, then dialed the police department.

"Lockley."

"This is Lindsey. I need Wesley." To her credit, she didn't argue, just handed the telephone to Wesley.

"Wesley here." He sounded harried.

"Hate to interrupt," Lindsey grinned into the 'phone, "but Holland called. The Firm definitely have him. I could hear him screaming in the background."

There was a shocked intake of breath on the other end of the line. "We'll be right there."

We? Lindsey stared at the telephone, once more singing a dial tone at him. Hanging the handset up slowly, he took a deep breath.

He had a suspicion it was going to be a very long night.

"Did he find the missing man?"

Kate's voice broke into his distraction. All his mental eye could see was Giles, alone, tied up, being tortured by demons. Maybe even dead by now. "Yes," he said absently.

"Was he okay?"

Wesley turned slowly to face her. "No. He's not okay. He may well be dead if we don't act quickly." She stared up at him, her face a mask. He licked his lips and tried, once more, to explain why he did what he did, with the people he cared for. Why Angel was not merely the lesser of two evils, but a force for good in his own right.

"A good man will die if Angel can't free him. I must help him." She opened her mouth to speak, her hand reaching for her badge. He raised a hand, palm out, and she stilled. "You know very well this is not a normal threat. The police cannot help. One must set a hunter to catch a hunter, and we are blessed that this particular hunter is on our side." He took a deep breath. "Are you on our side, Kate? Will you be on my side?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then stood, grabbing her jacket and slinging it over her shoulder, stuffing her sidearm in her holster. "Get a move on, Wes. Time's wasting."

He smiled at her as she walked past him at a fast pace toward the door. She didn't smile back, but her frown was thoughtful, not mulish. He fell silent as he climbed into the passenger seat. They sped off across town, and he stayed quiet, giving her room to think.

It took a little time to put all the pieces together, and Angel was well aware, after listening to the tape, just how little time they had.

"I told 'em I'd think about a trade-"

"No." Angel didn't even want to think about it. Lindsey gave him an old-fashioned look.

"-but not being a total idiot, it was just a stall." Lindsey sent him a hard smile.

He grinned wryly back. "Yeah." He left it at that, but he did brush his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Lindsey's head as he walked by. An indrawn breath from the doorway spun him on his heel. Kate was standing there, Wesley at her side. She looked pole-axed, staring back and forth between himself and Lindsey. Angel glanced down and saw Lindsey glaring back at her. He sighed. They didn't have time for this.

"We don't have time for this," he reiterated the thought aloud. They had a rescue to plan. "Come on up, Gunn." He'd heard the footstep in the corridor outside.

Lindsey sat forward, hands hanging loosely between his knees, looking deceptively relaxed. Wesley ushered Kate the rest of the way in the room, and Gunn stalked through the door, arms akimbo, ready for action. There was a whistling sound in the air, an interrogatory noise wound together with a frustrated whine. Angel nodded.

"I wish you could come along to help, too, Cordy, Dennis, but you can't. You're in charge of holding down the fort here. We need someplace safe to bring him back to."

"Cordy? Dennis?" Kate asked Wesley.

He chewed his lip for a second before saying, under his breath, "Resident ghosts." Her eyes rounded, but she didn't say a word. She learned quickly.

"Okay, Lindsey, what do you have?"

The ex-Wolfram and Hart insider grinned, resembling a particularly hungry wolf. "The sound bounced. I recognized the echo. It's a room I've been in before. Not a nice place."

Before anyone could interrupt and ask where at the Firm could be considered a nice place, Angel placed a pad of paper and a pen in front of Lindsey. "Ingress and egress?"

The planning was on.

The next hour was intense, as ideas, plans and counter-plans flew. At one point, Lindsey and Kate locked horns, and the impasse was only broken when the paper on the table flipped up in the air and snapped between them. They looked at one another in astonishment, and Lindsey muttered, "Sorry, Cordelia."

Kate nearly jumped out of her skin when writing appeared on the mirror above the sofa. "it's okay, born-again boy just get your butt in gear"

"Born-again boy?" she muttered. Wesley smothered a laugh and turned it into a not particularly convincing cough. Angel glared at everyone impartially and they got back to work.

Gunn had been quiet throughout most of the planning session. When they had a rough attack plan blocked out, he leaned forward and put a finger to the lower right corner of the floor plan Lindsey had sketched.

"Right there," he said. Everyone looked at him, except Angel, who stared at the sketch.

"Yeah," he agreed. The one weakness in the perimeter. The vampire-sniffing shaman was still a problem, but Wesley, Gunn and Lindsey could go in first, while Gunn's fighters caused a distraction. Once in, they would take out the shaman and the head of security. Getting in, though, that would be the problem.

"No problem," Kate announced. Angel cocked his head at her. She smiled at Gunn.

"If you can spare some of your people, I'll bring the flashing lights and sirens." She smiled down at the sketch. "That nice big picture window in the front should make a nice big mess with a couple tons of cars crashing through it, don't you think?"

Lindsey grinned. "Destruction of government property, Detective?"

She gave him an innocent look. "Just another high speed chase that got a little out of hand."

"We can do that," Gunn grinned at them both.

"While you're redecorating the lobby," Angel added, "we'll take out C and C."

"I can get us in the door from the parking garage. It'll get sticky from there," Lindsey warned.

"What was that you said, the first time we mounted a rescue operation?" Wesley asked. "The righteous shall walk a thorny path."

"Let's go play in the rose garden," Angel said quietly.

It went down like clockwork.

Wolfram and Hart might have been expecting a full frontal assault, but not as an 'innocent bystander,' not against their front lobby, and not by the police. A hopped up SUV with oversized tires went skidding sideways directly into the plate glass windows along the front of the lobby, jumping the curb and scattering pedestrians like pigeons. Hot on its tail, a beaten-up Gran Torino with a flashing light on the dashboard fishtailed dangerously, then skidded past the SUV, shattering the guard station and sending armed security men rolling like ninepins.

Lockley burst from the car, gun waving, screaming warning. Three Black youths rolled from the truck, shooting wildly, managing miraculously to miss all the people in the lobby and hit every piece of art on the walls, most of them at least twice. Every security guard in the building headed for the foyer.

Except the head of security. He was clunked over the head with a finely wielded shillelagh before he could call for help, and the shaman in the corner was whacked as well, long before he could raise the alarm.

As the teenagers were escaping out the front, with carefully placed covering fire masquerading as warning shots from the police detective, Angel and Wesley came in through the executive entrance. Lindsey had waylaid Lilah in the parking garage and relieved her of her identification card, gently tying her up and stashing her in the back seat of a nearby Lexus. With it, he'd stormed security. Now that the three were together, they headed swiftly for the inner room where Lindsey had heard Giles being tortured.

Angel felt his skin itch as they neared it. "Perimeter spell!" he barked out.

Lindsey said, "I'm on it!" and starting chanting in Aramaic.

Wesley gave him a startled look, then broke out bottles of various colored powders. The itching eased, and Angel shifted swiftly into vampiric form, using his augmented strength to rip the wooden door with the steel core from its hinges.

Tasker, Xeagui and Coril demons boiled out of the room. Wesley yelled, "Blue! Orange!" and flipped open bottle tops, scattering the deadly, to the demons, powders in the air. Angel followed his order, shattering the requisite colors in his own arsenal and hurling them into the air. The results were impressive, if a little nauseating. The Xeagui demons began to melt, skin bursting open and internal organs dissolving almost immediately. The Coril demons literally exploded, which took out some of the Taskers.

Angel took care of the rest. Snarls, growls and howls filled the air as he threw himself into the fight. Beside him, Lindsey's voice rose to a crescendo, Aramaic giving way to archaic Greek, and Wesley counter-chanted in Latin. Angel could almost see the threads of magick in the air, fraying under their combined spell-casting.

They forced their way through the rapidly thinning crowd of demons and took down the last few guards. There were two human guards as well, and Angel stumbled.

Wesley didn't. He brought his crossbow up and took the first one out. A heavy weight plowed into Angel, knocking him out of the way, and Lindsey rolled over him, coming to one knee in front of him. His left arm extended and the Glock in his hand barked twice. The guard fell.

"So long, Phil," Lindsey muttered. Angel glanced at him. "Later," he shrugged.

The room in which they found themselves was horrific. Faces seemed to be trapped in the walls, mouths opened in silent screams, eyes weeping tears of blood. The stench of dark magick was stifling. Lindsey threw himself to his feet and placed his hands out in front of him as if he was pushing against a wall. He began a sing-song chant of archaic Greek, strongly, anger and desperation in his voice, struggle outlined in every tensed muscle in his body. Wesley came and stood behind him, continuing his counter-rhythmic Latin chant. Angel pulled himself to his feet and moved forward.

Giles was strapped to a table, nude, blood running from welts all along his body. For a moment, Angel was afraid they were too late. Then Giles opened his mouth and started chanting the third part of the spell, in Aramaic. His voice was raspy from screaming, but it was steady and calm. Next to the table a man stood, frozen in place, like a fly in amber. His hand, holding a wicked curved blade, was extended toward Giles, but his eyes were locked on Lindsey. His mouth worked slowly, as if he were trying to talk, but no sound escaped the stasis spell that held him trapped.

Angel stepped past the ensorcelled man and grabbed the knife from him, using it to cut away the straps holding Giles down. Then he quickly lifted the Watcher and carried him out, carefully not interrupting his spell-casting. In the corridor, all three men stopped chanting at the same moment, and Lindsey howled something out in Greek. The doors slammed shut, and the casing melted all around the edges, soldering it closed. Lindsey looked over at Angel.

"Run," he gasped out. No one needed to be told twice.

As they were wheeling out of the underground garage, Kate Lockley was arranging for impound of the stolen SUV on her cell phone as she watched her car being towed away. Angel looked over at her as they drove around the corner.

She was smiling.

Lindsey handed their rescued Watcher a cup of tea and settled down at the other end of the couch. The man smiled slightly at him and sipped the hot liquid, swallowing with evident relief.

"How's the throat?" Angel asked, coming into the room and dropping down on the edge of the arm of the couch, behind Lindsey's back. Lindsey leaned unobtrusively against him. He was still in a little bit of shock that they'd managed to pull it off. And survived.

"Better, thanks." His accent was a little deeper than Wesley's. "How did Buffy take it?"

Angel's hand closed automatically on the back of Lindsey's neck, working on the knotted muscles there. It was all he could do not to dissolve into a puddle, and he barely heard Angel explain how he'd talked the Slayer into letting them bring Giles home the next evening, and not take her mother's car to drive down to L.A. in the middle of the night. Giles' next question floored him.

"How did you come to fall in love with a wizard, Angel?" His tone was so mild he might have been asking how the weather had been that day.

"Wizard?" Lindsey asked.

"Love?" Angel said, more loudly.

Giles looked at them quietly. Lindsey couldn't have looked at Angel to save his life, even if Angel hadn't been sitting directly behind him. Angel's hand clamped around the back of his neck. He flinched, and the touch was immediately withdrawn. He sighed. Damnit, that hadn't been quite what he'd expected.

"I get visions," he volunteered into the growing silence.

"He's a Seer," Wesley added, settling himself in the armchair with his own cup of tea. Lindsey glanced over at him.

"Not my choice, but the Powers that Be needed a conduit, and I was there." Love? he thought. He doesn't love me.

"How can I love him?" Angel asked. Lindsey winced at that. Giles gave him a considering look. Angel went on, and Lindsey relaxed a fraction. "If I love him, then I'd be in that bliss place, and then I'd lose my soul, and then Angelus would get off on torturing him for the rest of his natural life."

"Ye gods," Wesley interjected. Lindsey couldn't help but agree.

"That's simple enough," Giles said quietly. "You have the keeping of Lindsey's soul."

At that, Lindsey sat bolt upright, nearly jostling Angel off the side of the couch. "What's that s'posed to mean?" Had the Watcher just called him some sort of soulless ... something?

"I've been doing some research. It's one of the reasons I went to the Huntington. There are certain prophecies there, copied as epic poems, of all things, by monks, from the original scrolls. The Powers that Be, as you call them, require both a Warrior and a Seer. You lost your soul when you gave your heart to your Seer, but he shared his soul with you when you redeemed it for him."

The room went quiet as they all thought about what Giles had said. Lindsey finally spoke up. "Huh?" he asked intelligently.

Giles sighed and drank the rest of his rapidly cooling tea. Gently clearing his throat, wincing at the residual soreness, he explained. "You sold your soul to Wolfram and Hart, Lindsey. When you chose to regain it, you went to Angel for help. He helped you redeem your soul. The price for that redemption was his own soul, as he fell in love with you in the process. The Greater Powers are a pragmatic lot. They weren't about to lose their Warrior in the process of gaining a Seer, especially since they'd already lost two Seers."

Angel flinched at that, and Wesley looked away. Lindsey reached down and ran his hand soothingly along Angel's lower leg, up and down from knee to ankle, until the muscles began to relax again.

"How'd you know about that?" he asked Giles.

"It was all ordained," the man replied, astonishing his entire audience. "It was in the scrolls. The first Seer was to be redeemed, and sacrifice his life as payment. The second Seer was to find true happiness, and sacrifice all in the finding. The third Seer was to come from the Dark to the Light, and share all that he was with the Warrior." He placed the cup carefully on the table. "Now, I don't mean to be impolite, but I'm afraid I'm very nearly asleep where I sit."

Wesley jumped up and helped Giles into the back room. Along the way, Lindsey saw him exchange a long look with Angel. There was a tangle of emotion in the exchange, but one thing he was certain he saw.

Forgiveness.

Angel sighed behind him, a habit left over from life, since he didn't actually have to breathe. "You ready for bed?"

"More than," Lindsey replied absently.

He pushed himself up from the couch and followed Angel into the bedroom. Neither said a word as they undressed and climbed into opposite sides of the bed. Lying in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, Lindsey finally couldn't stand it any longer.

"So, was he just talkin' through his hat or was he tellin' the truth, with all that prophecy stuff?" His accent was thick as molasses. He had more invested in the answer to that question than he wanted to admit even to himself.

"Giles is a brilliant man," Angel replied softly.

Lindsey waited for more. When several minutes of silence had passed, he took a deep breath. Thought for a moment. Let it back out without saying a word. Then he turned on his side with his back to Angel, and closed his eyes.

More minutes passed, then Angel stirred. Lindsey felt the bed dip as the heavy body moved behind him. The silence continued for a moment longer, then Angel broke it.

"I can hear your heart beat."

Lindsey kept his mouth shut.

"I can hear the blood washing through your veins."

He swallowed, but he didn't say anything, listening to the hushed voice reverberate through his body. Angel was pressed close against him now, so close every movement of his diaphragm shivered against Lindsey's back.

"I can smell you. Your blood, your scent, your skin, your hair. I can feel you, your warmth, from across the room." Soft lips brushed across his shoulder, and he quivered.

"The last time I fell in love, I went to Hell. I put everyone I cared about through it before I went there myself. You've been there before. You barely escaped. I don't want you to go back."

He raised his hand and laid it over Angel's, twining their fingers together, holding it in a fierce grip. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

"I don't want to turn into Angelus again." The words were nearly silent, whispered against his skin.

"You won't."

"How can you know?"

"It hasn't happened yet," he reasoned. Angel didn't buy it.

"I haven't said I love you."

"I know," Lindsey said very quietly.

"I can't," Angel admitted.

"I know." Needing to stop the flow of words before they cut him even more deeply, Lindsey turned in Angel's arms and kissed him. Then he moved until he was draped over Angel, aligning their bodies until he was cradled in Angel's arms, lying between his legs.

He began to rock, and Angel joined him, moving slowly, as their bodies caught up with their minds. It was a long, slow ride, rubbing against one another until first Lindsey, then Angel, came, shuddering in unison. The only sounds in the room were Lindsey's harsh pants and the slick slide of skin against skin.

Just before he fell asleep, Lindsey wound one arm around Angel's neck and pulled him close. "I know," he whispered in one ear, then kissed the side of Angel's jaw and closed his eyes to finally fall asleep.

Kate looked up from her desk to see Wesley making his way toward her. He looked none the worse for his earlier brush with evil. When he'd made it to the side of her desk he did that blushing thing he did that charmed her against her will, and cleared his throat.

"Can you take a moment?" he asked diffidently. She smiled up at him.

"Actually, I was just getting ready to go home." The smile turned mischievous. "Why don't you come with me?"

When he got finished choking, he said yes.

Once in her living room, he took the coffee she offered him and asked, "How much trouble are you in?"

"Not as much as I expected," she admitted frankly, sliding down into a comfortable sprawl on the sofa and gesturing for him to do the same. "Frankly, running cars into buildings in the course of a high speed chase is much more business as usual for the LAPD than the ghost-busting I've been doing. I think the brass are a little relieved I'm acting like a real cop for once."

He laughed a little at that and she grinned, encouraged. "How about you? You look like you came through it okay?"

Carefully placing his still-full coffee cup on the table, he leaned forward and caught her hand in his. "I'm glad this round is over, but I fear the battle is far from won." He tugged gently. She scooted over toward him.

"You think they'll come after you again?" She reached up with her free hand and removed his glasses. His eyes were larger and bluer without them.

"As long as Angel continues to stand in their way, they will."

Enough was enough, she decided. They could talk about strategy and the great war of Good versus Evil some other time. She leaned forward and kissed him, very softly. He sat stock still. Fearing she'd pushed too far, she started to sit back, dislodging his grip on her hand.

He didn't let her withdraw very far. Long fingers curved around her arms and pulled her forward, and she found herself sitting in his lap. It was a nice place to be. His mouth was soft, and his tongue was shy under hers. She made herself at home for awhile, then finally pulled back when little black dots were starting to float around behind her eyelids.

"You in a hurry to go home?" she asked, pausing to pant a little between the words. He looked at her like she was speaking Swahili, except from what she'd learned about him, he probably could speak Swahili. Maybe she'd been too indirect. "Stay with me tonight?" she tried again.

His smile lit up his entire face. "My pleasure," he said gallantly.

"Not yet, but soon," she smiled back.

The short walk to her bedroom was made much longer by all the stops to share kisses and unbutton clothes and kick off shoes and kiss some more. By the time he stopped with his back to the bed and she pushed him down flat on it, her pony tail was history and so was everything but their underwear. She crawled up over him and straddled him. The look on his face when she unhooked her bra and tossed it over her shoulder made her feel like a goddess.

He cupped her breasts and stroked them gently, and she leaned into his touch. Pushing her panties off with her fingertips, wriggling as needed to get them all the way off without interfering with his explorations, she gave a sigh of relief as she settled back over him. The thin cotton of his briefs was no barrier at all. She could feel the hard heat of him rising up against her. He must have enjoyed it too, because his hands left her breasts and traveled around to her hips, pressing her against him.

"Wesley," she whispered. He opened dazed eyes to stare up at her. She leaned down and nibbled along his jaw, distracting him from his death grip on her hips. When he allowed her to move again, she lifted up just far enough to get a grip on his waistband. Then she lowered her head to suck on his Adam's apple at the same time she pushed at his shorts.

He got the message. His own hands left her just long enough to push the elastic past his erection, and he shimmied out of his briefs in a move that would have put seasoned strippers to shame. She slid a little further down his torso and showed her approval, trailing little sucking kisses down the soft fur in the center of his chest, down his stomach, nosing his navel for a second before going on to bigger and better things. His hands in her hair stopped her just as she was getting going on the lollipop between his thighs. She gave him a disappointed look.

"This will be over before we've scarce begun if you keep that up, darling Kate." His voice was more than a little strained, and she took pity on him.

"What do you want?" she asked softly. He smiled, then pulled her up to his eye level.

"Everything," he answered just as quietly, then began to explore her even more thoroughly than she'd mapped him. By the time his hands and mouth had covered her from her face to her knees, she was more than ready.

He nudged her legs apart and gently separated her flesh, licking and tasting her, stoking the fire hotter than ever. Alternating with his hands and his fingers, he brought her to climax, then kept her there, and her mind closed down completely, an unusual occurrence with the lovers she'd had. Usually she found herself running down suspects and puzzling out cases in her head during sex, an irritating side effect of being a workaholic.

That wasn't a problem this time.

Still working her with his hand, he moved over her and covered her, kissing her deeply. She sucked on his tongue, then moaned into his mouth as he entered her.

She broke the kiss to gasp for air, and found herself nose to nose with him. He had a look of absolute concentration on his face, and she came again, lifting her thighs up around him. He gasped, then pushed deeper, and she felt it roll over her, wave after wave of orgasm. He kissed her then, mouth working over hers as his thrusts speeded up, his own climax hitting him. He clamped his arms around her and sucked desperately at her tongue, and she rode the final contractions as she came down.

When it was over, he lay against her, shaking slightly. She ran her hands up and down his sides, dusting butterfly kisses over his face. He smiled sleepily at her.

"Please tell me this isn't just the aftermath of battle," he mumbled. She slapped the top of his head lightly.

"You went into battle. I just trashed the lobby, remember?" She hugged him tighter and dropped a kiss on the soft hair she'd just slapped. "It's not just anything, Wes." She thought about it for a moment. "Well, maybe it's the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

He snuffled against her shoulder. "...love Casablanca ..." His voice trailed off as he fell asleep.

She smiled up at the ceiling. "Yeah," she whispered into the dark. "I kinda figured you would."

Willow heard the key turn in the door lock and jumped up from the sofa. Tara looked up from her book, and Buffy came around the kitchen counter. Xander continued to snore lightly.

It was almost ten o'clock, and they'd been waiting for Angel to bring Giles back all evening. Willow gave a happy sigh when the door swung open to reveal their Watcher, supported between Angel and a man she didn't know. Buffy rushed around her and Tara stepped out of the way as they led Giles into the room and lowered him to the couch.

Willow couldn't have moved to save her soul.

Something very weird was going on. The stranger, a guy a head shorter than Angel, about thirty years old and cute in an older guy kind of way, had green eyes. Old green eyes. Very old green eyes that only showed half a soul.

"Willow?" Angel's voice. She turned slowly. Tara was beside her now, holding on to her hand. Tara felt it too. That was good. That grounded her a little.

Until she looked into Angel's dark eyes, and saw the other half of the green-eyed man's soul.

"You okay, Will?" Buffy sounded confused and protective.

"Yeah, kinda," she managed to answer. There was a strange humming in the air. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?" Buffy asked. Willow shook her head.

"It's magick, Buffy," Giles answered her question. Buffy started to pepper him with more questions, about his health, about the bad guys, about a dozen other things, but Willow wasn't listening.

"Blessed be," she greeted him. He gave her an odd look.

"Bright Blessings," he answered tentatively.

"There's ... darkness in ... you." Tara stuttered a little bit, but she stayed bravely beside Willow. Angel came to stand beside Lindsey.

"Leavened by the Light," Willow said softly, reaching out to touch a shining strand of the magickal web binding the two men. Her other hand clenched tightly on Tara's.

The web hummed.

"You share a soul," she said even more quietly. The stranger glanced between her and Angel.

"Are you okay, Willow?" Angel echoed Buffy's question.

"Oh, yeah," she breathed. "This is amazing. Be happy." It sounded like an order. Angel nodded. The stranger just stared at her. "You can, you know," she reassured him. He blinked, and the web faded away.

Too cool. She couldn't wait to get Tara alone so they could figure out just what they'd witnessed. Her gaze met Giles' over the back of the couch. Well, maybe she and Tara and Giles could talk about it. That would be ... neat.

Buffy wasn't too sure just what was going on between her ex-boyfriend and the new guy, or between Angel and Willow, at this point. Giles was white around the mouth and all bandaged up, so she didn't press him too hard. He'd just fall asleep on her and that wouldn't help. She glanced over at Xander. Hmph. Guys.

Willow pulled Tara over into the corner and started talking Wicca with her. For a moment, Buffy felt very much alone. Then she told herself sternly to get over it. Will was happy. That was the important thing.

She looked back at the two men who'd brought Giles home. Oddly enough, Angel looked kind of happy, too. It wasn't an expression she was used to seeing on him. Broodingness was more his style. But this expression looked good. Sort of. In a strange, unsettling way.

Stepping over to the two of them, she shoved her hands in her back pockets and looked up at Angel. "Hey," she offered.

"Hey," he responded. They stared at one another some more. The new guy didn't say anything, just watched them both. Angel looked over at him, then nodded from him to her. "Buffy, this is Lindsey. Lindsey, this is Buffy."

The new guy -- Lindsey -- held his hand out. Buffy shook it. Nice handshake. Nice hand. Pretty guy. Kind of over-polished, but cute, for an older guy. She looked back and forth between them. Having her first love be two and a half centuries old, she considered herself fit to judge the relative cuteness of older guys.

"Nice to meet you," he offered.

"Yeah, you too," she said, distracted by the vibe between them. "Uhm, you okay, Angel?"

He smiled at her, a real smile, not the little half smile he usually gave everybody. "Yeah. Getting on with my life, you know?"

That set her back on her heels. That particular code phrase had a specific meaning. She looked at Lindsey again, looking more closely this time.

Oh, my God. She could feel her eyes bugging out. Angel shrugged one shoulder.

"It kinda happened when I wasn't looking."

"What?" Lindsey asked. Was the guy clueless? Angel looked happy. Not the normal Angel-look.

"Me falling in love with you," Angel said matter-of-factly.

Buffy took a deep breath. That shouldn't have hurt. She took another deep breath and waited.

It hadn't hurt.

She blinked. Maybe they were ready to get on with their lives, after all. It was just so weird. A guy? And Angel? Lindsey looked over at her.

"Is this when Angelus comes roaring out and we have to stake him?"

Hurt or no hurt, this was not a teasing zone. She gave him a dirty look.

"No," she said quellingly. "That's when you go to bed with him." Her mouth clamped shut. Lindsey carefully didn't look at Angel. Angel carefully didn't look at Lindsey. Both men carefully didn't look at Buffy. Soon into the not-looking-at-one-another stage, Buffy got the clue. "Too much information!"

At that, Angel grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back. Reaching up, she touched his cheek very gently. "Be happy. Since you can."

He gave her a very gentle look. "You too, Buffy."

She nodded, then turned away and walked back to Giles. "You want to stay the night?" she asked, not looking at them.

"I don't think so," Angel answered. It was final, but not cruel. "We've got time to make it before sunrise if we head off now."

Giles looked at her, and she looked down at her hands before looking back over at Angel.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Angel looked down at his feet. Lindsey looked at Angel. "Drive carefully."

He nodded, and she forced herself to look at Lindsey. He had turned and was watching her, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Nice meeting you. Take care of him." Or I'll come after you and rip you into little bloody pieces, she left unspoken, but he got the message. Satisfied, she nodded at him, and he nodded back.

Willow and Giles called out their good-byes. The door closing behind them woke up Xander.

"Giles! You're home! Did I miss anything?" He looked around the room, still half asleep. Buffy shook her head.

"Just Angel." And his new boyfriend. She took the thought out, looked at it from a few different angles, then put it back away. She'd take it out and look at it again when she was alone.

This was going to take a lot of processing. On the other hand, he was happy and he wasn't Angelus. So all the weirdness had an up-side. She couldn't argue with that.

The car was quiet for the first half hour of the drive. Finally, Lindsey stopped staring out the window and offered a comment.

"She's pretty."

"Yeah," Angel agreed.

Ten minutes later, he tried again. "Was it just me, or did Willow seem kind of freaked out by us?"

"She's a powerful Wiccan. She saw something there. Backed up what Giles told us earlier."

Lindsey nodded. "Yeah." The conversation lagged.

"The Slayer's protective of you."

Angel shrugged, staring out at the freeway in front of them.

"Possessive, too," Lindsey prodded him.

"She's getting on with her life," Angel told the night.

"You too?"

With no prior warning, Angel swung the wheel to the right and took them onto the shoulder. Lindsey grabbed hold of the dash to keep from taking a header into the windshield. Before he could catch his balance, Angel yanked off his seat belt, punched the button to release Lindsey, and pulled the startled man into his arms. Lindsey opened his mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing and Angel stole his air.

By the time the kiss was over, Lindsey was oxygen-starved, light-headed, thoroughly aroused, and had forgotten his question. Angel answered him anyway.

"Yes, I mean it. Yes, I love you. Yes, I believe in us. Yes, she gave us her blessing and yes, I'll take it. I'll take you."

"Promise?" Lindsey gasped out.

"As soon as we get home," Angel vowed. Then he fastened them both back in their seat belts and burned rubber getting back on the road.

Lindsey grinned all the way back to L.A.

FIN