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Sky to Gold
Pairing: Lindsey McDonald
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nah, minor slash undertone if your really read into it.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Beta: kyrieane
A/N: written in 2004, just moving it from the comm it was in to here.
He stepped out of his truck, Stet pulled down to block out the bright sun rays. He hates the sun, remembers it being full of nothing but sweat and vegetable picking, of his parents fighting and siblings' fevers running higher than in winter. Brightness and long days that crisped his skin dark and made his eyes glow fiercely from his face. So he’d left, he’d made better for himself; let his poverty and resentment fuel his studies and if scholarships seemed to come fast and easy, he didn’t want to admit he’d noticed.
The studies and loneliness finally over and he’d found himself sitting in that looming glass tower of prestige with titles more important than his father was even aware possible. And out of the sun. At Wolfram and Hart there was rare reason for being out during the day, fresh natural light air meetings were few and far between. Courtrooms and boardrooms, in-building gyms and restaurants; all pleasing him to no end and chipping away at him in the all ways he felt he’d needed. Before the Angel Project he hadn’t seen much of the sun. The irony is not lost on Lindsey.
And when his upbringing continued to resurface and his morals made appearances, he’d thought about how hard he’d worked to squash it all down and buried his life in more longueur cases. Anything to not be that good ol’ country boy and then, in what seemed like less than a day from passing the bar exam, he was telling the partners he was out, handing over a new stream of heavy paychecks to Lilah fucking Morgan and promising that goddamn vampire he was leaving the city for good. But he knows better, is aware of the clauses he’d signed and that the building owns him all the way down to the basement where the ‘Please Do Not Touch’ files live and breath. Lindsey also knows that Angel owns more of him than even they do. He’s all too acquainted with the knowledge that it’s a lie and he’ll be back. Even now he wonders how it’ll end. Hate and possession, there’s such a taut, fine line there.
He reaches across the seat to the passenger side and pulls his six-string over, cradles it in his arms and breathes in the woodscentfeeltaste of it. He feels the folded stack pull the back pocket of his faded-from-real-wear-jeans tighter with each step. Would they -he- take the offered money this time? This one time is all Lindsey wants.
His fresh from college delusions are gone now; those thoughts beat the pavement when the first check came back in the mail. He walks up to the shack door wondering if he should knock, knowing that it’s not really his house at all anymore, this is not where any part of him lives. The old adage is wrong and he knows it now. It’s not that you can’t go home again, you can; you just can’t stay.
Pairing: Lindsey McDonald
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nah, minor slash undertone if your really read into it.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Beta: kyrieane
A/N: written in 2004, just moving it from the comm it was in to here.
He stepped out of his truck, Stet pulled down to block out the bright sun rays. He hates the sun, remembers it being full of nothing but sweat and vegetable picking, of his parents fighting and siblings' fevers running higher than in winter. Brightness and long days that crisped his skin dark and made his eyes glow fiercely from his face. So he’d left, he’d made better for himself; let his poverty and resentment fuel his studies and if scholarships seemed to come fast and easy, he didn’t want to admit he’d noticed.
The studies and loneliness finally over and he’d found himself sitting in that looming glass tower of prestige with titles more important than his father was even aware possible. And out of the sun. At Wolfram and Hart there was rare reason for being out during the day, fresh natural light air meetings were few and far between. Courtrooms and boardrooms, in-building gyms and restaurants; all pleasing him to no end and chipping away at him in the all ways he felt he’d needed. Before the Angel Project he hadn’t seen much of the sun. The irony is not lost on Lindsey.
And when his upbringing continued to resurface and his morals made appearances, he’d thought about how hard he’d worked to squash it all down and buried his life in more longueur cases. Anything to not be that good ol’ country boy and then, in what seemed like less than a day from passing the bar exam, he was telling the partners he was out, handing over a new stream of heavy paychecks to Lilah fucking Morgan and promising that goddamn vampire he was leaving the city for good. But he knows better, is aware of the clauses he’d signed and that the building owns him all the way down to the basement where the ‘Please Do Not Touch’ files live and breath. Lindsey also knows that Angel owns more of him than even they do. He’s all too acquainted with the knowledge that it’s a lie and he’ll be back. Even now he wonders how it’ll end. Hate and possession, there’s such a taut, fine line there.
He reaches across the seat to the passenger side and pulls his six-string over, cradles it in his arms and breathes in the woodscentfeeltaste of it. He feels the folded stack pull the back pocket of his faded-from-real-wear-jeans tighter with each step. Would they -he- take the offered money this time? This one time is all Lindsey wants.
His fresh from college delusions are gone now; those thoughts beat the pavement when the first check came back in the mail. He walks up to the shack door wondering if he should knock, knowing that it’s not really his house at all anymore, this is not where any part of him lives. The old adage is wrong and he knows it now. It’s not that you can’t go home again, you can; you just can’t stay.
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