PAIRING: Ethan/Lindsey
RATING: PG-13 (very mild slash)
SPOILERS: Set during S6 of BtVS, after ‘Wrecked’ and during S3 of AtS –
Lindsey left W&H a year ago, Ethan got locked up by the Initiative two
years ago…
A.N.: Written June 2003 for Marguerite’s flashfic-a-thon. 1075 words.
Dedicated to Minim Calibre, who requested the pairing.
* * *
The 1956 Ford pickup truck stands out like a sore thumb. Most of Rack’s
junkies haven’t got a dollar to their name, let alone wheels, and the beauty
outside is in pretty good nick - so what’s it doing here?
The old warlock steps through the veil and into the waiting room.
There’s no need to announce his presence, Rack said to be there at nine and
Rack gets what he wants. Actually, Ethan is ten minutes early, and the fact
that he’s acting like a well-trained dog on a leash pisses him off.
He perches on the armrest of a hideous sofa that smells like it’s been
salvaged from the city dump and lets his gaze roam: Junkie, junkie, informant,
and in the middle of that human trash: eye candy. Scuffed $500 cowboy boots,
faded designer jeans, manly lumberjack shirt, soft, well-manicured hands,
handsome, clean shaven face, and a don’t-fuck-with-me scowl. This must be the
owner of the truck outside.
The lad returns the scrutiny, making Ethan uncomfortably aware of his
shabby clothes, testimony to the way his current predicament is affecting every
facet of his life.
They’ve never met, that much is certain - Ethan never forgets a pretty
face - but there’s a spark of recognition and, on its heels, thinly veiled
disgust. The boy probably fancies himself a good poker player, but Ethan is
almost twice his age and at least four times as cunning. He knows people and
the kid’s an open book.
With a non-committal smile, Ethan abandons his perch and walks towards
the newbie. “Are you quite sure you’re in the right place, son?”
Angry eyes narrow in speculation. “I think I can handle myself.”
Ethan raises his hands, backing off, but his smile never wavers. “Oh,
I’m sure you can. But if you ever—”
At that a door opens and Ethan recognizes the Madison girl. She
staggers into the waiting room, giggling, totally juiced up, her eyes glazed.
Her auburn hair seems to writhe like snakes. She peers around, slightly
disoriented, while one of the junkies eagerly hurries past her and into Rack’s
sanctum, slamming the door behind him. The girl turns into a gray swirl and
then she’s gone.
“As I was saying,” Ethan says smoothly. “I’m sure you can handle
yourself.”
The young man frowns, then seems to come to a decision. “I know who you
are. I’ve seen your file,” he says quietly.
“Do tell. What file would that be? FBI,
Council or Initiative?”
“I used to be with Wolfram & Hart. My name is Lindsey McDonald.”
Now, there’s a twist. “Used to? And you’re still around to tell the
tale? Rumor has it, the firm doesn’t like their employees to leave. Ever.”
Lindsey smiles at that.
It’s all Ethan needs to know that a) the snotty little bastard has
leverage on Wolfram & Hart and b) that there is an opportunity in here,
somewhere.
Ethan hesitates, then switches sights. Aura reading is close enough to
real magic to earn him a slap-on-the-wrist sized migraine from the behavior
modification chip, but he does get a good impression of the kid’s aura: Yellow,
tinged with brown and red. Smart, false and furious - just the way he likes
‘em. Black wisps of loss - so far so common. The aura is severed and frayed
around the right wrist – intriguing. But it’s the tightly coiled purple swirl
of walled-up innocence at the center that’s exceptional. Rack is going to love
this.
Which is the perfect reason for an impromptu change of plans.
“Nice set of wheels you’ve got out there. I’m a bit of an aficionado
myself. Care to show me?” Ethan asks, rubbing his aching temples.
Lindsey catches on at once. “Sure.”
A moment later they step out the door and through the magical veil that
hides Rack’s lair.
“I don’t know what you want from Rack,” Ethan says without much ado,
“but maybe I can help you. I assure you, I’m much more pleasant to deal
with.”
Making deals seems to be common territory for lawyer-boy. Predictably
he launches into courtroom-mode. “You
don’t exactly have a reputation for being reliable, Mr. Rayne.”
“I’d be disappointed if I did,” Ethan injects a bit of truth into the
conversation. “But the people I usually deal with, well, they aren’t exactly in
a position to throw stones.”
“You don’t know anything about me, but you’re already offering me your
services? What makes you think I’m hiring?”
“People don’t visit Rack for his personality.”
Lindsey digests this.
“Let me tell you how this works, my boy. Rack is a leech. He gets paid
in power, takes it from here….” Ethan puts his hand on the other man’s chest.
Lindsey flinches and knocks the hand away.
The old mystic smiles, not in the least offended and puts both hands
into the pockets of his trenchcoat. “Takes it, twists it, refines it. He’ll
shuck you and suck you like an oyster.”
“And you wouldn’t.” Lindsey states, his voice dripping with
sarcasm. But underneath the acid there’s a tell-tale nervousness.
“In the traditional way? In a heartbeat,” Ethan admits, with a brief
flash of mirth. But then his grin fades as he remembers Rack’s mental tendrils
rifling through his mind, tasting, taking – arousing and sickening at the same
time…. “Like Rack? Not what I have in mind. To tell the truth, right now I have
other… priorities.” Ethan plays with the bottle of Excedrin in his pocket.
“Okay, maybe you can help me. I’m looking for someone.”
“What’s her name?” And at Lindsey’s stare: “It’s always about a woman.”
“Her name is Darla. I tried several soothsayers and witches, but most were charlatans. One even said she was
pregnant.” He shakes his head. “Once or twice I got real close, missing her
only by a few hours.”
“Then maybe you should learn to cast the locator spell yourself,” Ethan
suggests.
“And you’d teach me?”
“Why not? I’ve had apprentices before. I’m a good teacher.” Again with
the innuendo.
“I have no intention of worshipping your god.” ‘Or sharing your bed.’
Even unspoken the message comes across.
“Then don’t. Do I seem like a missionary to you?” Oh this is going to
be fun.
“What’s your price?”
“All I ask is that you do a certain spell for me, nothing fancy.”
“That’s all?” The kid looks suspicious. Well, he’s a bloody lawyer so
he’s trained to look for the catch.
“That’s all,” Ethan lies and smiles.
THE END
(I am working on an NC-17 rated sequel, though)