Who: Lindsey McDonald What:Evil Plans of Evil afoot. Where: His apartment When: Early evening Rating: PG-13 Status: Complete, narrative
While sleeping wasn't one of Lindsey's favorite activities, he wasn't going to deny the creeping exhaustion either. After tucking away the couple of candy bars he'd filched off one of the few big children running around for safe keeping, his next destination had been the couch, sprawling out and shifting to find that right spot. Cerberus made himself at home, curling up in a small ball on Lindsey's stomach as he flipped through the channels.
The classic movie channel was running a James Stewart marathon, the current movie The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance with John Wayne. Ransom Stoddard, idealistic young attorney, was trying to plead his case as Lindsey's eyes grew heavier. The remote control slipped out of his fingers and hit the carpet with a soft thud. Cerberus's ears perked and he bounced on the fallen remote, sinking puppy teeth into it eagerly and dragging it away. Lindsey finally gave up the fight with sleep.
The TV droned on in the background, fading to a faint buzz, then silence, peaceful oblivion for an hour of rest without nightmares. At least, he thought he would be lucky enough.
"I've heard you sing."
His surroundings came back in sharp relief, except instead of laying on the couch in his apartment, he stood in the middle of a bar, bodies all around. He blinked once and slowly lifted his head to find Lorne watching him with that look. The one that indicated that he was about to do something he had firmly hoped he would never have to. This time he knew what was coming next, yet when he tried to move, his body refused to respond to the mental commands
The silencer took away the sharp crack and the next thing he knew, agonizing pain tore through his chest as the two bullets slammed home. Lindsey stumbled back, breath taken away in the impact. The attempt to regain that breath was met with another wave of pain. One through the lung. The other mortal damage. The world began to turn around him and his knees gave, his back slamming into the wall as he fell.
No. Nonononono. NO!
He fought to draw in the next breath, offended and terrified. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Not part of the solution? Fuck that! But Angel in all his infinite wisdom sat high on his horse and dictated who walked that path, who made the change, like he knew who was and wasn't worthy. One of the greatest mass murderers himself.
Lindsey struggled to inhale again but it was a failed attempt. The edges of his vision blurred as panic set in. Not like this, not by a peace loving flunky, not at the beginning of the big fight, not when they still had him under that perpetuity clause, not NOW! But when the beats were few and far between, he knew he was fucked. The pain was fading as night settled in, demonic snarls and bellows far off, at the edge of his concious mind.
A beat. The another.
Then.
One.
Last.
Beat.
Lindsey's eyes flew open and he hurdled up off the couch, his balance catching up just in time to keep him from going through the coffee table. One hand splayed on the surface, he inhaled deeply, feeling his heart fluttering frantically in his chest. Feeling stupid but giving in to the need to check, he undid the first few buttons on his shirt. The scars were still there but nothing more, no open wounds, no blood.
But the nightmare had felt more real than ever before, right down to the last second, in vivid detail that usually every dream lacked. It had felt real. Lindsey ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, and drew in another steadying breath. "Coffee," he finally muttered to no one, except maybe the mutt puppy continuing to happily gnaw on the remote.