Whedonland Big Bang Fics Part 2
So after recent events on my f-list reminding me how much I hate spammers (and ff.net ethics, but that's incidental), I am going to leave this post but date displace all the others. This set are some of the more Lindsey focused ones, so perhaps more relevant to your collective interests. If you have further interest, follow updates HERE or on my journal.
Fic Collection (Theme - Hands)
Part 2, 20 Points: Haunted, Memory, Breakfast, Beginnings
Author: LMX
Fandom: Angel the Series
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Lindsey/Trish (Breakfast)
Crossover/Verse: Leverage, McDonald Family Verse (Memory)
Spoilers: All of Angel The Series, up to and including the finale
Warnings: Inaccurate timelines
Edit: Betaed by chokolattejedi, despite other far more important demands on time ;) Thank you hugely.
045. Haunted (Lindsey, 291)
The worst time was when he was sat in the hospital with his wrist - his stump - wrapped thickly in bandages and doctors shaking their head at him and only talking to his boss, not him. When he closed his eyes (and sometimes when they were open, that's when it shook him the most) Lindsey could feel his hand under those bandages, clenched into an impossibly small fist.
It's a fist so tight it cramps through his palm and his fingers are twisted and distorted (but not broken, no pain so sharp as that) and his hand turns into something tiny and painful that sends shooting shocks all the way up to his elbow, making him jolt and spasm.
If he stares long enough he can convince himself there's nothing there - no fist at the end of his right arm. No hand at all. The feeling doesn't go away, and his forearm won't stop twitching for a while afterwards, but he knows there's nothing there. When his muscles relax hours later he can claim the psychological victory against his body.
When they finally take the the bandages away, let him see the raw pink healing wound, he expected it to stop happening. He could see his arm now, see what Angel had left him with. He woke that morning with his right hand curled into a tight fist and wondered if this would ever end.
Nearly a year later he's found that the prosthetic helps - gives him something visual to dispel that ghost hand - but sometimes, especially when he's tired, that right hand curls into a tight fist again. The only thing that helps is imagining the day he will use that impossible fist to kill Angel.
050. Memory (Lindsey, 391)
Muscle memory shouldn't work when the muscles you're using aren't your own, and when they've never done the thing you're doing entirely without thinking about it. At least he doesn't think they have. Who knows, maybe the poor soul whose hand he's got was a pro guitarist and he's just being conceited. He debates finding out if he can identify the donor - maybe by fingerprints - before dismissing it as irrelevant and turning his attention back to the guitar.
Strumming feels as natural as it ever had, muscle memory or not. His mind's drifting on memories of borrowed guitars at parties at Hastings and before that, sitting on the side of the couch watching Ernie and Eliot jamming. Ernie had brought back a pair of second hand guitars after his first tour with the Army. How it had seemed like magic at the time, the two of them knowing exactly when they needed to play to complement each other, spinning off into solos and keeping rhythm. They never talked about learning to play, though it was obvious that they had, and Lindsey had put that into the box of 'things that happened before' that no one in his family ever talked about.
He had been allowed, under Eliot's close supervision, to learn how to play on Ernie's guitar while he was away on his second tour. Eliot wasn't as patient as Ernie, but he was a pretty good teacher and he was different with a guitar in his hands. They'd been practicing together a couple of years later, Eliot home for a rare stint of recoup, when the soldiers in their dress blues turned up to tell them Ernie wasn't coming home.
The memory sends his hands astray and the dud note is jarring. He hushes the strings with the flat of his hand (it's still a strange thing to think, he'd been so sure he'd lost this thing forever) and tries his best not to think of the four years he'd refused to play this very guitar because Ernie's will had specifically said: "Keep playing, you're good", and he'd never been anything if not contrary.
He leans close to the guitar's body, holding it tightly to him in its silence. It's good to pick up a guitar again. There are some things he needs not to forget.
072. Breakfast (Lindsey/Trish, Zach, 301)
He always woke on the weekends with the satisfied tired-achey feel of a week spent working hard. She was always right there beside him, one of his hands wrapped around her to rest gently on her belly where their baby had come from. They both know they've only got moments before Zach realises they're awake and comes in to see them, and they spend those moments tucked in close, hands tangled and foreheads touching in between kisses. Lindsey usually thinks about the sister Zach has been asking for since his best friend became a big brother. He's always wanted a daughter. That Zach's not a baby any more is proven minutes later as he dive-bombs the bed, crushing them both until they consent to getting up and - with the concession of getting the homework done first - Lindsey promises they'll go out to the park and play hockey for a couple of hours.
He settles his hands in his boy's hair, combs through them a couple of times to work out the night-time tangles. He wonders briefly, as he always has, how it was he looked so much like both of them at once.
Trish always kisses them both purposefully before getting up, making Zach squirm and giggle, and offers to make a good wholesome breakfast to see them both through the tiring homework hours ahead.
This is always done around the little table in the kitchen, all elbows and knees, especially now their boy's getting so big, and for Lindsey the smell of breakfast cooking and the sounds of Trish preparing the Sunday dinner brings all kinds of memories back.
He glances up from Zach's homework as the oven light flickers, trying hard not to draw Trish's attention. He should really fix that, but...
He never gets his breakfast.
098. Beginnings (Lindsey + Angel, 180)
"I need help," Lindsey didn't say, not holding out his hand (because that would make him a victim, and he's sworn he's never going to be a victim ever again).
"I can see you need help, and we help those in need," Angel didn't say, not offering his hand (because everyone has to choose which side of the line they're on and some people can't be helped).
"I think I could be of use to you," he didn't say, not showing his willingness to contribute to the situation (because he was taught never to offer for free something you could be paid for).
"We could use someone like you on our side," he didn't say, not willing to consider knowledge outside his own (because he likes to believe he doesn't need anyone but himself).
"This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship," they didn't say, not shaking hands (because they have nothing in common and never really liked each other anyway. And besides, it's a misquote and they both have too much love for the classics).
Fic Collection (Theme - Hands)
Part 2, 20 Points: Haunted, Memory, Breakfast, Beginnings
Author: LMX
Fandom: Angel the Series
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Lindsey/Trish (Breakfast)
Crossover/Verse: Leverage, McDonald Family Verse (Memory)
Spoilers: All of Angel The Series, up to and including the finale
Warnings: Inaccurate timelines
Edit: Betaed by chokolattejedi, despite other far more important demands on time ;) Thank you hugely.
045. Haunted (Lindsey, 291)
The worst time was when he was sat in the hospital with his wrist - his stump - wrapped thickly in bandages and doctors shaking their head at him and only talking to his boss, not him. When he closed his eyes (and sometimes when they were open, that's when it shook him the most) Lindsey could feel his hand under those bandages, clenched into an impossibly small fist.
It's a fist so tight it cramps through his palm and his fingers are twisted and distorted (but not broken, no pain so sharp as that) and his hand turns into something tiny and painful that sends shooting shocks all the way up to his elbow, making him jolt and spasm.
If he stares long enough he can convince himself there's nothing there - no fist at the end of his right arm. No hand at all. The feeling doesn't go away, and his forearm won't stop twitching for a while afterwards, but he knows there's nothing there. When his muscles relax hours later he can claim the psychological victory against his body.
When they finally take the the bandages away, let him see the raw pink healing wound, he expected it to stop happening. He could see his arm now, see what Angel had left him with. He woke that morning with his right hand curled into a tight fist and wondered if this would ever end.
Nearly a year later he's found that the prosthetic helps - gives him something visual to dispel that ghost hand - but sometimes, especially when he's tired, that right hand curls into a tight fist again. The only thing that helps is imagining the day he will use that impossible fist to kill Angel.
050. Memory (Lindsey, 391)
Muscle memory shouldn't work when the muscles you're using aren't your own, and when they've never done the thing you're doing entirely without thinking about it. At least he doesn't think they have. Who knows, maybe the poor soul whose hand he's got was a pro guitarist and he's just being conceited. He debates finding out if he can identify the donor - maybe by fingerprints - before dismissing it as irrelevant and turning his attention back to the guitar.
Strumming feels as natural as it ever had, muscle memory or not. His mind's drifting on memories of borrowed guitars at parties at Hastings and before that, sitting on the side of the couch watching Ernie and Eliot jamming. Ernie had brought back a pair of second hand guitars after his first tour with the Army. How it had seemed like magic at the time, the two of them knowing exactly when they needed to play to complement each other, spinning off into solos and keeping rhythm. They never talked about learning to play, though it was obvious that they had, and Lindsey had put that into the box of 'things that happened before' that no one in his family ever talked about.
He had been allowed, under Eliot's close supervision, to learn how to play on Ernie's guitar while he was away on his second tour. Eliot wasn't as patient as Ernie, but he was a pretty good teacher and he was different with a guitar in his hands. They'd been practicing together a couple of years later, Eliot home for a rare stint of recoup, when the soldiers in their dress blues turned up to tell them Ernie wasn't coming home.
The memory sends his hands astray and the dud note is jarring. He hushes the strings with the flat of his hand (it's still a strange thing to think, he'd been so sure he'd lost this thing forever) and tries his best not to think of the four years he'd refused to play this very guitar because Ernie's will had specifically said: "Keep playing, you're good", and he'd never been anything if not contrary.
He leans close to the guitar's body, holding it tightly to him in its silence. It's good to pick up a guitar again. There are some things he needs not to forget.
072. Breakfast (Lindsey/Trish, Zach, 301)
He always woke on the weekends with the satisfied tired-achey feel of a week spent working hard. She was always right there beside him, one of his hands wrapped around her to rest gently on her belly where their baby had come from. They both know they've only got moments before Zach realises they're awake and comes in to see them, and they spend those moments tucked in close, hands tangled and foreheads touching in between kisses. Lindsey usually thinks about the sister Zach has been asking for since his best friend became a big brother. He's always wanted a daughter. That Zach's not a baby any more is proven minutes later as he dive-bombs the bed, crushing them both until they consent to getting up and - with the concession of getting the homework done first - Lindsey promises they'll go out to the park and play hockey for a couple of hours.
He settles his hands in his boy's hair, combs through them a couple of times to work out the night-time tangles. He wonders briefly, as he always has, how it was he looked so much like both of them at once.
Trish always kisses them both purposefully before getting up, making Zach squirm and giggle, and offers to make a good wholesome breakfast to see them both through the tiring homework hours ahead.
This is always done around the little table in the kitchen, all elbows and knees, especially now their boy's getting so big, and for Lindsey the smell of breakfast cooking and the sounds of Trish preparing the Sunday dinner brings all kinds of memories back.
He glances up from Zach's homework as the oven light flickers, trying hard not to draw Trish's attention. He should really fix that, but...
He never gets his breakfast.
098. Beginnings (Lindsey + Angel, 180)
"I need help," Lindsey didn't say, not holding out his hand (because that would make him a victim, and he's sworn he's never going to be a victim ever again).
"I can see you need help, and we help those in need," Angel didn't say, not offering his hand (because everyone has to choose which side of the line they're on and some people can't be helped).
"I think I could be of use to you," he didn't say, not showing his willingness to contribute to the situation (because he was taught never to offer for free something you could be paid for).
"We could use someone like you on our side," he didn't say, not willing to consider knowledge outside his own (because he likes to believe he doesn't need anyone but himself).
"This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship," they didn't say, not shaking hands (because they have nothing in common and never really liked each other anyway. And besides, it's a misquote and they both have too much love for the classics).