Lindsey McDonald (morallydamaged) wrote in parabolical, @ 2009-11-15 12:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | cathy mcdonald (née hyatt), lindsey mcdonald |
Who: Cathy and Lindsey McDonald
What: Cathy meets the W&H version of her husband
Where: Apartment
When: Morning
Rating: PG-13 (Swearing)
Status: Log, complete
There was so much wrong with this situation that he didn't know where to begin.
A few hours ago, he had come home from the firm, taken some time to unwind, and then crawled into bed. Alone. Only minutes ago, he'd woken up in someone else's apartment with an unfamiliar, but attractive, blond in the bed beside him. He'd gotten out of that bed as fast as he could, as quietly as he could.
Someone was screwing with him. That was the only feasible explanation he could come up with at the moment. Why else would someone dump him in another apartment with a woman he didn't know? For hilarity's sake? Not likely. Working at Wolfram and Hart, someone either wanted your job or wanted you gone and they'd do anything to make it happen. He knew some of the things he'd done to get ahead and they hadn't been pretty. They'd never been this strange either.
Swearing under his breath, he started looking for the clothing he'd taken off the night before. As he reached out to grab the pair of pants that had been thrown over the back of a chair, a tinkling sound caught his attention. A dog had entered the bedroom, tennis ball in its mouth, and it was heading straight for him. "Go away," he muttered as he pulled on the pants, then grabbed the shirt that had been laid out over the arm. The dog whined at him, the sound muffled by the ball.
"I said get lost," he snapped quietly. The dog's ears pressed back, tail tucking between his legs as he retreated. As Lindsey turned back around, he ran into the dresser. The movement knocked a photo frame off the piece of furniture, the sound of glass shattering loud in the quiet.
Cathy had stirred when Reb made his appearance, but it wasn't until the sound of something breaking jarred her awake that her eyes finally opened. Heart pounding in her chest, she sat bolt upright, mildly panicked until she caught sight of the shattered glass, the picture frame on the floor. Reaching over to flip on the light, she climbed out of bed to carefully maneuver around the mess, venturing out into the kitchen to retrieve the hand-broom and dust pan. The reaction was automatic, her half-conscious mind picking up on the danger of the shards of glass combined with the roaming dog. They didn't need an emergency trip to the vets to cap off what had been a less-than-perfect week.
"'Morning, baby," she greeted Lindsey sleepily upon returning to the bedroom, bending to expertly clean up the mess. The whole process took all of thirty seconds, the glass discarded in the closest wastebasket. The bag was quickly tied off and disposed of back in the kitchen, where she started a pot of coffee, beginning their morning routine as usual. A belated glance at the clock made her pause.
Returning to the bedroom, she leaned against the door-frame, offering him her first smile of the day as her hands sought warmth in the pocket of the Hastings hoodie she had stolen from his side of the closet the night before. "Heading in early today, huh?"
Lindsey froze as the woman woke up, not sure what kind of greeting he'd receive. He waited for some kind of acknowledgement of having a stranger in her apartment. Instead, she went to get a broom to clean up the mess. She treated the entire situation as if this was normal for her, for them. As if the situation wasn't weird enough. That's it. Screw the escape. He needed answers.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, ignoring the question she'd just asked him in favor of his own. "And who the hell are you?"
Well. Lindsey had never spoken to her like that before. Cathy froze at his words, expression darkening, blue eyes going positively saucerlike, a combination of confusion and downright terror. Who the hell was she? What the hell was going on? Suddenly, she had a feeling she should be asking that question herself.
"You don't know who I am?" she asked, suddenly very still, face pale. Had four days in a hell dimension not been enough for them? Did they really feel the need to pull something else? Or was there something wrong with Lindsey, something medical-- did she need to call 911? She didn't have the first idea how to react.
This one was either dumber than a post or one hell of an actress. "No. I got tired of saying 'good morning' so I thought I'd greet you that way instead," he replied sarcastically. He pointed at the bed. "I woke up this morning in a bed that wasn't mine, in an apartment I've never seen, with a woman I did not go to sleep with last night. There's something wrong with that." He pointed at her. "While I've never seen you before, you're acting like this happens every day."
Lindsey moved towards her, making no effort to hide his frustration. "So drop the act and give me some answers. Who put you up to this?"
Well. He didn't seem like he'd had a stroke. That was good news. The migraine was instantaneous. "Alright, Lindsey." Her hands went to her face, running over her eyes before dropping to her sides as she sucked in a breath. He didn't know who she was. It didn't seem possible. "You're not in any danger here, okay? I promise. You did go to bed with me last night, we go to bed together every night because we're married, have been for almost a year now, and this is the apartment we share." Great, now she probably just sounded crazy to him. Cathy was quick to own up to it.
"You're gonna think I'm nuts. Ask me anything, if you want. I can show you pictures, videos, a million different things." The instinct to react came naturally to her, and for a moment, she was concerned that she was able to accept the situation with such ease. Fucking L.A. "You need to believe me, Lindsey. The Senior Partners have been fucking with us nonstop the past couple of weeks, this is just something they're trying to pull. If you can just give me some time, I'm gonna make some calls, and we can figure this out, okay?" The last thing she wanted was him walking into some kind of Wolfram and Hart-mandated trap. She was willing to do anything, go to any length, make herself look like an absolute nutcase if it would keep him safe in their apartment.
It occurred to her that she didn't even know if he knew himself at this point, and she stopped short again, waiting. At this point, she couldn't determine if that scenario would be for the better or worse.
He stared at her like she'd lost her damn mind. Married? Him? He hadn't been on a date in months, much less gotten close enough to someone that he'd even think about taking that kind of a step. Not to mention he didn't want to. "That's one of my theories," he replied angrily. "I am not married. I have never been married and it's not something I plan on doing anytime soon, if ever. This is not my apartment. Of those two things, I'm certain."
She could stand there and try to tell him a thousand different reasons why he should believe her, but he wasn't having any of it. "I don't need to see anything." When she mentioned the Senior Partners, he gave her a strange look before laughing suddenly, cold and humorless. "The Senior Partners have been messing with us?" he echoed, an eyebrow arching. "Darlin', wrong thing to say." It was starting to make sense.
"So how much did they pay you?" he asked, advancing on her. "Let me guess." He pressed his hands together in front of his mouth as he studied her, frowning in thought. "Came from some small town with big dreams to make it big in Hollywood and it just didn't work. Then comes along some people who offer you a tidy little sum if you'll play part in their plan, trying to convince the lawyer that his bosses are turning against him. Fuck with his mind until he doesn't know what's real, so he turns to their side." He laughed again and shook his head.
"You seriously expected that to work?"
There was honest to God fear in her eyes when Lindsey started on her, and on reflex she backed up, hands held defensively in front of her. Cathy had never seen him like this before, particularly not where she was concerned. She had no idea what to expect from him right now, the unpredictability of the situation terrifying. He wouldn't hurt her, would he? He'd never hurt her, even if he didn't know who she was. Right?
"I'm not lying," she told him, struggling to keep her voice even. "You think I'd go and say 'the wrong thing' if someone put me up to this? You think someone trying to set you up would be that careless? The White Hats don't want you, this isn't about any kind of scheme to get you on their side."
She swallowed. "I'm telling the truth. Look, you don't believe me, take a look at the world around you. It's November 15, 2006. Check the internet, the newspaper, ask anyone on the streets." Surely, logic and reason would have to have some effect. "I'm your wife, Lindsey. We met at a karaoke bar, eloped to Vegas ten months later. I know about everything, the general store James used to own in the town you grew up, how he began to teach you to play the day Eli was after you for knocking out the preacher's boy's front tooth."
The story was one it had taken her nearly two years to get out of him, the most recent piece of his childhood he had shared with her, and the one that jumped to her mind first and foremost. That had to be worth something, too, didn't it? She doubted he had shared it with anyone else.
"All right. If not them, then who? Did someone at the firm hire you?" He didn't believe for a second that this was real, that he was married to her and they shared this apartment. It was so far from the life that he lived. Lindsey shrugged as he took another step closer, his gaze never coming off her. "I know how mind games go. Sometimes you say the wrong thing to get the right reaction."
He rolled his eyes. "I know what the date is. I'm really beginning to wonder what kind of a moron you take me for." Elopement to Vegas? He wouldn't be caught dead in that situation. The karaoke bar? He'd sung at Caritas before. That wasn't a secret. The information she was giving him was a combination of personal information known and guesses. "Someone put you up to this. I want to know wh-"
The last details she rattled off caught him by surprise. No one, no one, knew that story, except him and his brother. The irritation became anger. "Who told you that?" he asked her, voice low and dangerous. "Who gave you that information?" He never talked about his childhood, not to anyone. It was information he never wanted to see the light of day and yet she had just rattled off one of the more personal ones.
She didn't like that look in his eyes. Her hands were physically trembling as she took another step backward as he advanced on her, for the first time honestly threatened by her husband. If he were somebody else, the Lindsey she knew would have had him on the ground and bleeding right now, she strongly suspected. "Nobody hired me," she insisted, voice dropping, scared. "I'm not playing mind games. I'm telling you the truth."
He knew the date. That complicated things. The way he'd been talking, she'd assumed that the lawyer had regressed to his past. Instead, it seemed as though he'd simply lived his life to this point as if they never met. "It's magic," she reiterated, shaking her head, seeing no other way. "It has to be, or something like it. I'm as in the dark as you are right now."
The sheer fury she heard in his voice, directed at her, gave her cause to take another step backward, and she was aware of Reb's presence across the room, watching the two of them carefully. "You did," she answered with urgent truthfulness. "When you turned thirty-two last month, and I gave you a record player and some blues vinyls as a gift. You said it was the only part of your childhood you didn't hate to celebrate." The exchange, another little milestone for them, had been burned into her mind.
Magic. He snorted. "What, I ran afoul a witch?" This was getting him nowhere. From the look in her eyes, the way she was reacting to him, this woman knew next to nothing about what was going on and standing here talking to her wasn't going to get him anywhere. But the fact that she knew certain details made him very uneasy. If very few people knew, then how did she get ahold of those details.
"Either you're a very good actress or you're telling me the truth. I'm not sure which yet," he said finally, turning away from her to grab the pair of shoes he'd spotted earlier. For the first time, he realized the dog that had slunk away earlier was back, only this time he looked ready to lunge at a moment's notice. His day had gotten off to a bad enough start without adding a dog attack to it.
He sat down on the edge of the bed to lace up the shoes, faltering as he realized there was a gold ring on his finger. A wedding band. He stared at it a moment before pulling it off his finger and tossing it on the bed. This charade was getting old fast. Rising to his feet, he gave her a look. "My thirty second birthday? I was working." That said, he brushed past her, heading out into the living room.
"I'm telling the truth." There were frustrated tears behind her eyes by now, and Cathy was at an absolute loss as to what she could possibly say or do to make him believe her. This was bad, very bad, and she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than simply altering Lindsey's memory to make her crazy. Even if it was working.
The wedding band tossed on the bed, discarded like an unwanted piece of trash, hurt. Silently, she picked up the gold band, sliding it onto her thumb and staring at her hand.
And then he was gone.
"Stop." Cathy was quick to follow, adamant. "You don't think it's possible that what I'm saying isn't a lie? You think you're right and that's the end of it? You're smarter than that, Lindsey. You know this world better than that."
She took an unsteady step forward. "There is a very real possibility that you are playing right into a trap right now. Whether you know me or not..." Trailing off, she was helpless. "I love you. And that cannot happen, okay?" A hand dragged through her hair, more tense than she had ever been in her life.
"Give me five minutes. I'll go with you.""
"A trap," he stated, stopping by the couch to grab his briefcase. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he glanced back at her. "This isn't a trap. It's a mind game. So far, the impression I've gotten is that someone is trying to make me believe that I'm being played and this is reality." He shook his head. "It's not working."
The pictures could easily be explained away by Photoshop. Wait until he was asleep, move him to a different apartment, then wait for him to wake up and put the actress to work trying to convince him otherwise. "For all I know, this is the trap. There is absolutely no reason for me to trust a word you're saying." He gave the apartment a once over, finding the suit jacket draped over the back of the chair nearby. He picked it up, searching through the pockets.
"You're not going anywhere with me." He slung the jacket over the briefcase and crossed the apartment, heading for the little table by the door. He recognized the set of keys sitting there, scowling as he picked them up. "The truck? You people couldn't have grabbed the BMW?"
"There isn't a single thing I can do to prove it to you?" Maybe it was beating a dead horse, but as far as Cathy was concerned, this was a life or death situation, at least potentially. The Senior Partners were ruthless, they had proven that time and time again, and they had a personal vendetta against him. This sudden loss of memory, the belief that he was still employed by them, set off warning alarms. She'd never forgive herself if she let him walk out, only for something terrible to happen. "Not a single thing?"
The look she gave him was confused when he mentioned a BMW. "You drove a Charger, got stolen a couple months back. Haven't had much time for vehicle shopping." Between the appearance of their daughter, her return to her own timeline, the incident with Eve, her kidnapping, and now this, they hadn't had time to do much of anything. The list was ever-increasing, as was attested to by the bare pantry. This needed to end, all of it.
"This conversation is just going in a circle now." The quicker he got out of there, the better. He'd already started off the morning in a bad mood and it was steadily getting worse. He hadn't even made it to the firm yet. It was going to be a long day.
"I've never driven a Charger." For every unnerving detail she got right, there were five she got wrong. As far as convincing him went, it wasn't enough to work. He eyed the keys in his hand. It looked like the truck was going to have to work for him. He grabbed the door handle. "It was a commendable effort," he said, shrugging as he pulled the door open. "Nice try."
A commendable effort. That was laughable, though there was no humor in the situation. In seconds, she had grabbed her glasses from the bedside table and her coat and purse from the chair in the corner, slipping into the first available pair of shoes to catch him halfway down the hallway. "You're not getting it, Lindsey. Do what you want. Fine. I'm going with you. Lilah and I need to have a chat anyway."
Lindsey stopped, glaring over his shoulder at her. "Let's get this straight, sweetheart. You are going nowhere with me. Understand that?" While he could admire the stubborn determination to get her way, it went unappreciated. The last thing he wanted was some woman he barely knew tagging along to Wolfram and Hart with him, or anywhere for that matter. "Leave me alone."
"Wrong again. I'm not saying I'll stay-- Good morning, Mrs. Smith-- but I am coming with you."
The elderly neighbor and her Yorkie both bestowed upon her a bemused look. "'Morning to you, too, Cathy. Rough start?"
She couldn't bring herself to roll her eyes, or to ignore the woman. Gossip or not, she always seemed to be present with baked goods when she was ill. "You have no idea."
Attention turned back to Lindsey, she was unwavering. "I run the Welcome Center here in town for new arrivals to the city. It's a primary resource for Wolfram and Hart recruits. Lilah and I are overdue for a meeting. I'll go in with you, talk to the secretary, and you won't see any more of me." At least, until he discovered he had no other place of residence. And she hadn't promised she'd leave, even if it meant making her presence scarce. Calling in for back-up was the next step. As angry as Faith was with him, she would help. Wouldn't she?
The appearance of the elderly neighbor caught him off guard. That was happening too much for his liking this morning. Lindsey shot her a look, something along the lines of 'mind your own damn business' and 'get lost'. The new information, that she ran the Welcome Center that supplied the firm with its allies, made things more difficult. He grit his teeth, wanting to tell her to take a taxi because she wasn't riding with him.
Instead, he dug into the briefcase and found a twenty tucked in one of the pockets. "Call yourself a taxi," he said, forcing the money into her hand. "I'm not your driver."
The look she shot him plainly told him exactly where he could shove the twenty he forced into her hand, and she couldn't stop the retort. "I am trying to protect you. Very soon, you'll see, things will start not adding up, and--you, you'll see." He'd have to. It would start when he opened that briefcase of his to find detailed notes, in his handwriting, on how to kill one of Wolfram and Hart's lawyers in the court room.
"God, you're a bastard." Name-calling was something she tried to avoid at all costs, but this situation warranted it. Digging in her purse for her phone, she turned away. "I'll meet you there. I hope The Truck breaks down on you. Again."
A couple of replies came to mind but he didn't want to make this conversation any longer than it had to be. At least she was giving in. He didn't think he could take an entire ride of her going on about trying to protect him. He was expecting 'soul' to pop up eventually. 'Bastard' earned an eye roll. He could charm a jury into giving him the verdict that he wanted but when he woke up with a strange woman in a strange apartment? No need for the effort.
"You have a wonderful day too," he replied, leaving her to find her own way to the firm. If this day got any worse, he was going to kill someone.