usedtobeljs: (Lindsey Big Damn Anti-hero by Linnaea)
usedtobeljs ([personal profile] usedtobeljs) wrote2017-08-27 03:43 pm

Lindsey/Fred, Post #38

It's going to be a hard few days in Texas. I am lighting a candle for those in the rain and storms.

And for [personal profile] stateless82, who loves Lindsey and Fred, a little Deep Ellum tidbit about another stormy night --

Fred knows that Lindsey's wrist – the seam where another's hand was joined to his arm, still red against his tan – hurts during storms.

She's tried to figure out if barometric pressure might affect transplanted skin, bone, nerves. The literature doesn't say, and anyway, biological studies don't deal with the complications of evil magic as a rule.

But she sees him pace when the clouds boil black overhead, sees the absent way he encircles that red wrist with his good hand as he stares out at whipping tree limbs and sunflowers and the wind-chimes that Anya and Giles blessed for them last winter.

(The blessing is that storms bring good music to those chimes. Fred had requested that particular grace when asking for them, and Giles had kissed her forehead and said he'd do what he could. Anya, who everyone knew was territorial where Giles was concerned, had just smiled and patted Fred's hand. Those two together are all kinds of good magic, and they make her life in Dallas easier.)

Today there's a line of storms coming, thrown from a hurricane down south like a darkcloud rope reaching for the unwary, and Lindsey's been prowling their house for a couple of hours. So she's called for reinforcements –

Doorbell, right on time.

"I'll get it," she says, but he's already moving, already there.

"Hey, Lindsey!" Anya, swathed in a yellow rain slicker, pushes back her hood and beams at him, then waves at Fred. "Hey, Fred."

"Love, please move," Giles says to her, and together they crowd into the tiny foyer.

"Y'all are welcome," Lindsey says, grouchy as an old bear, "but y'all are letting in the rain."

"Then shut the door, McDonald," Giles says. "Our arms are full."

He's not kidding, Fred sees. He's got one of his guitars, and a bottle full of bluebonnets. Anya's got a bottle of wine and a pillar candle – Fred can smell the jasmine and good magic from here.

"Terrence is coming, and Gunn is in town visiting Ruth so they're both coming, and she's bringing food," Anya announces.

Fred says, forestalling Lindsey's complaint, "Love this! Let's have a storm party!"

Anya raises an amused eyebrow at Fred – who had invited them for that very purpose – but uncharacteristically doesn't blurt out anything about machinations and plots. Giles coughs regardless, then says, "Excellent. Er, Fred?" He holds out the bluebonnets.

"I'll take 'em," Lindsey says, and with his evil hand suits action to word. Then it's his turn to raise his eyebrow at Fred.

Anya's already on the move, though. "I'll take this wine in to the kitchen," she says, and Giles follows in her wake, leaving Lindsey and Fred to look at each other.

"You did this, didn't you," he says.

"Well, they're our good friends, and we don't have any crises on hand, at least that we know about, and –"

"I'm not complaining, darlin'." He moves to her, cradles her cheek in his good hand, and smiles that bad-boy grin that not even a decade plus of fighting the good fight can change. "Can't complain about you trying to do a sweet thing for me."

The man could compete in the complaining Olympics, but she chooses not to bring that up. Instead she puts her hand around that red-lined wrist of his and holds on. "It was a storm brought me to you, do you remember? That's why I asked for Giles to find us some bluebonnets in his magic garden, even though it's out of season."

His grin goes a little crooked. "'Course I do. In a pile of bad memories, that's one of my shining exceptions." Then he kisses her with that crooked smile. She feels the sadness in him, the old anger, the itch of old bad all the way through – and then she feels nothing but love.

They stand there, entwined, kissing each other, and the storm overhead and the wind-chimes outside make all kinds of good music, and it's like it's clear as day.

Then the doorbell rings again, and he laughs against her lips. "One of us better get that, or only the Blind One knows what Anya would do to take charge –"

"I heard that!" Anya shouts from the kitchen.

"I'll go get them some drinks, you get the door," Fred says. "Then you and Giles can sing for us." She raises his evil hand and kisses there on the seam of it, where good and bad meet.

Lindsey catches his breath, then says, "Winifred," and then shakes his head. He slides out of her hand and heads toward the front door.

Fred stands there, smiling at his swagger. She loves the rascal. She loves more the good man he tries so hard to be for her.

Outside, the wind-chimes sing to her. It's a good night for singing. To hell with the storm.


................

May all be safe in whatever storms are brewing for you.

Post a comment in response:

From:
Anonymous
OpenID
Identity URL: 
User
Account name:
Password:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
Subject:
HTML doesn't work in the subject.

Message:

 
Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.