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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: He Listens As She Falls Author: Alex . Pairing(s): Angel/Lindsey (and L/Darla, B/S, B/A, A/Darla) Rating: PG Setting: AtS and BtVS up to and including 'The Gift' & 'There's No Place Like Plrtz Glrb' Wesley listens to pirate radio. There are rather a lot in the LA area, but his favourite one is Legal Alien 98.5 FM. This is not just because their graveyard DJ is British, although when travelling home from another painful case it is sometimes comforting to listen to a familiar accent. Nor is it just because of the eclectic play list although he suspects that there are few radio stations who would play 'Why Does It Always Rain On Me' by Travis and follow it with 'Sunny Afternoon' by the Kinks. This particular night, he has had off. Since they returned from Plrtz Glrb, the city has been remarkably quiet. Which is fortunate as Angel had long since departed to work out his grief in an isolated monastery. A vampire in a monastery? Standards have definitely slipped, Wesley feels, but is far too intelligent to say so. He is lounging around his flat, drinking a rather nice single malt whiskey, which, contrary to everything, tasted like a field full of flowers. And listening to the radio. The windows are open to the soft night air, and the last traces of some mellow rhythm and blues song cartwheels out on the wind. The radio is in the living room, and he is sprawled, illicitly naked on his unmade bed, day dreaming. The song ends, and the incongruously sing-song tones of the Liverpudlian DJ breaks into his reverie. "That was 'Fade to Black' by Dire Straits. This next track's by an unsigned artist, so if any record companies are listening out there, please don't sue us for being a pirate radio station. This is 'She Falls,' by L. R. Macdonald." An acoustic guitar, soothing on Wesley's ears and a husky voice, heard only once before but irrevocably imprinted on his mind. Darla, he thought, this is for Darla. He must have loved her. And the pang of sympathy that Wesley feels for Lindsey is sharp and unexpected. Then. Crap, Lindsey's back. "I can't raise her up, And I can't let her go, I watched her fall, my hands were tied, As she fell down, oh no, I can't bring her back, But I can't let her go." A few hours away, and Spike isn't listening to the radio and most definitely wasn't thinking about Darla. Instead, a boot-leg CD left in his crypt by Xander that afternoon while he'd been out scaring up some blood from Willie. The note Xander had written is brief and to the point. 'Spike, Oz sent this. Thought you might...' Might what? Like it? Feel it helps fill the hole where she should have been? Fat chance. Still... "I can't raise her up, And she ain't comin' back, And this boy got nothing but his love, To offer to the Gods above, But I can't raise her up, And she ain't comin' back." Thousands of miles from Sunnydale and Lindsey turns to his lover, his voice rising and falling with the melody, nimble fingers caressing the strings of his guitar. His song rises above the fall of the gentle summer rain. "Now all I got's a broken heart, And the silence of the Gods, They took my love, they locked me out, And it don't matter if I scream or shout, No, all I got's a broken heart, And she ain't comin' back." There is silence as the last chord fades into darkness. Suddenly nervous, Lindsey watches his lover's expressionless face. "What do you think?" "It's okay. It's good. Play it again." He asks. Obediently, Lindsey strums the opening chords and his husky voice takes up the opening lines. His lover watches him, the flash of blue eyes incongruous in deeply tanned skin. The jumping pulse at his throat, the measured breathing as he sings, the gentle fall of fair hair across his forehead. His honey sweet voice in this anonymous motel room half a world away from everything and everyone. Two girls. Both loved. Both lost. Angel turns his face away from Lindsey and listens as she falls. Finis. Feedback |