Authors ~
Mad Poetess ~ website ~ journal
James Walkswithwind ~ website ~ journal
Title ~ No Day At The Beach
Rating ~ R
Timeline ~ spoilers to the end of s4, spec for s5.
Author's notes ~ Thanks: To Wolfling for beta-reading on short notice ("Hi, here, read this"), to James for helping a flummoxed backup writer out when she'd already finished her own story, and to Magpie and JustHuman for the whole shebang.
Note: For the purposes of this story, we're assuming that people remember the existence of Wes/Lilah.Challenge:
Story written for ~ Caro
Two requirements ~ Lorne, Lilah
Two restrictions (optional) ~ no character death
Spoiler level ~ Unrestricted
Rating level ~ Unrestricted
NO DAY AT THE BEACH
There was nothing -- nothing -- like a day on the California sand. Stretched out on a blanket, warm sun on his skin, smooth jazz on the radio. Great big blue behind him, this year's smash-hit clone of the Nanny Diaries spread out in front of him, all that Oprah-recommended goodness just waiting to sink harmlessly into his brain and disappear.
Plus that lifeguard wearing only a whistle and a smile, grinning down from the tower above.
Nothing like it at all, especially when the closest thing to a nude beach in his hometown was the Great Slime Fields of Outer Mogrub. Of course, Lorne amended, surreptitiously checking out that perky prehensile tail that had just snaked down from the guard tower and wrapped itself around an ice cream cone from the nearby stand, there weren't many places like this beach anywhere.
The sand was covered with non-humans of almost every stripe, as well as the occasional zig-zag. There were only a few types whose absence Lorne had ever noticed: those with sun allergies, the Bahzipmah, who considered nudity the sort of sacred thing that should only ever be permitted in private with one's temple priest -- Lorne had heard a Bahzipmah priest sing, once, and figured they had this dimension's best job -- and those species who thought naked sunbathers made a mighty tasty snack.
The beach provided security guards for just that last situation, as well as lifeguards, hot dog vendors, and a cute little Shemash demoness who would rent you a locker and a towel. All in all, it made for a perfect place to relax and soak the sunshine into whatever colour skin you had.
God, Lubreth, Buddha and Elvis knew he could use the escape. That cushy soundproofed office at Wolfram and Hart, with the minibar and the Super-Orgasmatronic Wall O' Stereo Equipment had seemed like a sweet deal -- for the first few days. Before they started in with the "Lorne, tell us if this client's lying. Lorne, check the future on this boy -- gold, or what? Lorne, Kenny G. on Line 2..." It was enough to drive a man to...
Okay, who was he kidding; it was the life of Riley. It was summertime and the livin' was easy. Disturbingly easy. But telling that little blondie in his outer office to hold all his calls because he had an important off-site business meeting between his bare ass and a nice warm sunshiny day, seemed a little too... openly sinful, for somebody who was trying to convince himself he hadn't completely sold out.
On the other hand -- what was the point of working for Evil, if you couldn't sin a little? He'd decided that his braincells were much better spent baking in the sun and indulging in his novel, and if anybody hadn't bought his story about waking up with a (non-literal; you had to be specific about those things around here) frog in his throat, and wanted to haul his naked ass back to the office, they could toddle their own ass down here and fetch him. Assuming they could find him.
"Hello, Lorne."
No. No, no, no, no. He dropped his head onto his book. You couldn't buy comedic timing like that with the combined yearly income of everybody on his current client list. He started to look up, schooling his expression into one of righteous grievance that they'd... seen through his brilliant deception of calling in sick -- when he realized that there was no way Lilah could have got down here onto the sand without... Did he want to look up?
He was sure the sight would be esthetically pleasing, but those weren't the esthetics he'd schlepped halfway up Highway 101 to appreciate. He'd come for the natural art gallery of wind, waves, and Live Nude Demons, not naked brainsucking psycho hosebeast on the half-shell.
"This is supposed to be a demons-only beach, you know," he said, fully aware that it made him sound like a grade-A farm-fresh asshole and caring... oh about as much as he cared what the hell she was doing here.
"Demons, tangible ghosts, earthbound demi-gods and all sapient variations on the walking dead. Even extradimensional green aliens with their heads -- excuse me, hearts -- in their asses," Lilah retorted. "As long as they sign that no-nonconsensual-eating-of-each-other clause, it's all good."
"Why am I not surprised?" he muttered as much to himself as anyone who might be listening. He glanced sideways without really meaning to. Bare feet. If he looked up, would she arrange to have him killed somehow? Or only if he wasn't able to look at her above the neck?
"Besides," Lilah continued in that smooth lawyer tone, "Who do you think owns this place?"
Lorne groaned, despite his sincere desire to spend as little time -- or, in fact, breath -- as possible in the woman's presence. "And here I thought I was getting away from the office."
"Oh, no, it's not company property," she assured him. Fuck You Too Red on her toenails -- the same color he used for touchups on his horns. "Well, not anymore. Signing bonus."
"Angel's? Huh. Good for him." That made it a little bit better, though whyfor would a guy who couldn't go out in the sun or have non-apocalyptic sex want to own a nude demon beach? Then again, maybe such questions were better left unanswered, and hopefully unthought about the next time a certain undead boss of his decided to belt out a little Neil Diamond in his presence, not that he'd done so in quite a while, come to think of it.
Lorne snorted at himself. Whyfor was he thinking about it, or even continuing this conversation? If she wasn't here to fetch him back to the office -- and she hadn't said anything so far about his playing hooky -- she could just go on about her business, and he could go on pretending the idea that Lilah Morgan had business at a nude beach didn't give him a serious case of the willies. He picked up his book and studied it with intense lack of concentration.
Something heavy hit the ground next to him. He glanced over. A medium-sized red igloo cooler -- on an already-spread-out blanket. Followed by a tape deck. Softside copy of The Dirty Girls' Social Club. No, no, and again, no. She was not going to... Beach bag. Can of Pringles.
"Want some?" Red-tipped fingers held the can within the range of vision he was officially supposed to have if he wasn't peeking. "Good stuff. Salt. Oil. Carbs. Preservatives. No calories if you're dead." She shook it in front of him like a can of Tender Kitty Pounce Vittles, and he barely resisted the urge to show off who had the bigger claws. "And no, my signing bonus."
He sighed. "Should I just ask why you're here, disturbing my unofficial not-doing-anything afternoon? Or just continue with the pseudo-polite chatter?" It was better than wondering how long the beach had belonged to her, if she wasn't lying, and whether she'd been making use of the security cameras.
Come to think of it, if she had tapes from the luau a couple months ago, he'd pay good money for copies.
"Why Lorne, I'm hurt. Can't a couple of fabulously built co-workers take a day off from the forces of evil to soak up some sun?"
He glanced up and immediately regretted it. He hadn't meant to -- but good lord, what was this woman smoking? To think he'd fall for well, anything she said. So why did she even bother?
Only trouble was, he'd completely lost control of his lower jaw.
It wasn't like he'd not expected her to be naked. It wasn't like he hadn't been avoiding looking for just that reason. And it wasn't even that he'd expected someone like her to look less...fabulous.
But how in the world was he supposed to sit through the next staff meeting without constantly thinking about that birthmark on her left breast? In that shape? Not that he didn't see things in people's heads every day that would turn a normal person's hair white, but -- he'd be staring at her. He just knew it. Pretty much like he was doing now, dammit. And she'd look back at him with that same smug, mysterious little smile, and he'd have to leave so he could go throw something through a window. Possibly himself, for ever having put himself in a position where he'd be working in the same universe as Lilah Morgan and her breasts -- minibar and Kenny G. on Line 2 notwithstanding.
He closed his mouth with a snap, and decided if he was going to look, he was damn well going to look like he meant to be looking. "You're dead. You live in hell. You're not supposed to have days off."
She popped the top on the potato chip can. "Of course I have days off; what kind of contract negotiator do you think I am?"
"Doesn't that violate the whole purpose of Hell?" He finally dragged his eyes back up to her face -- again -- and resolutely left them there. Okay, one brief glance down at the can of Pringles so he didn't accidentally reach over and grab something else. But then it was right back to her face and no stopping to check out the scenery.
Lilah just smiled at him. It made him want to check her mouth for fangs. Or possibly check her contract for just how much of Hell she owned, too. Okay, maybe no Pringles for him; Heaven -- er, Hell -- only knew where she'd got them.
Lorne took firm mental hold of himself and decided to move on. "Fine. Even dead lawyers have days off. And they spend them at nude demon beaches. So why sit next to me?"
She looked surprised. Sinless and pure. He waited for her to bat her eyelashes at him. She didn't -- and he was grateful. "Why shouldn't I sit next to a friend?"
"Who you just happened to run into, huh?" He smiled. Maybe if she'd moved on down the beach, but when she parked that ass he wasn't looking at right next to him? "Sweetcheeks -- and I say that with a certain irony -- we aren't friends."
"You're still upset about that? Really?" She made hiring a Murgwhati mindscraper to stick its tentacle into his left ear and come out the other side sound like she was talking about having stolen his company parking spot. "It's not like there was any permanent brain damage." Did dead people -- the kind who could go out in the sun -- actually need SPF 35, or was she just rhythmically smoothing it on her arms now in an attempt to distract him from the bullshit that was coming out of her mouth? "And trust me, there could've been. If I hadn't told him to be careful."
Lorne snorted at that. "Out of the kindness of your big ol' formerly-beating heart, I'm sure."
She paused for a moment, then shrugged, and started spreading her sunscreen over places he wasn't going to let himself get distracted by, even if he'd never get that birthmark out of his head now, unless he looked into hiring that Murgwhati himself. Hell, maybe they had it on retainer. "No -- just business."
"It's all just business with you, Lilah. Which brings us neatly back to what the hell you're doing here, aside from blocking my view of Pablo the Chupacabra and the results of that six week Tai Bo course of his."
"Pablo's been taking Tai Bo?" She turned her head slowly enough to be casual and fast enough that he thought for a second -- even as her hair slid darkly across that baby-blue scarf around her throat -- that she wasn't dead. Or wasn't evil. Or -- no, evil liked lust, right?
"Either that or he's been running from the mafia. Constantly." It was weird, to feel like they were having a moment. Shared lust after what really was a beautifully-built guy, for an urban legend come to life. Lorne shivered. Maybe he'd take up tennis. Lilah couldn't possibly be into playing tennis, right?
He had an image of her playing tennis naked. God, where were the Murgwhati when you needed them?
"You still haven't answered my question," he reminded her. "Why are you here?" He enunciated each word carefully.
Lilah looked at him and shrugged one shoulder. Certain things swayed just enough to make him think about how much they'd bounce. He looked pointedly past her at Pablo's cousin, Jose, who hadn't been taking Tai Bo but had the same familial bony ridge down his back. Lorne could just fill in the rest with his imagination.
"It's my beach. I need a reason?"
"To be here? No. To be here..." He waved his hand -- carefully -- in the direction of her blanket. "Aside from a random desire to piss me off? In which case I'd say kudos to you honey, great job, but random's not your style. No way you didn't know I'd be here."
"Well, look at him - he's got talent, smarts, and a great ass. Sunscreen?" The non sequitur was enough to draw his unwilling gaze. She held out the bottle, then as he stared at her, brought her other, empty hand up as if to pour some into it. "Or do you want some hel--"
"Hellbitch on toast? Because if you even touch me, so help me Jasmine I'll..." What would he do? Scream for security on a beach that she owned? Report her to...whoever you reported things to at Wolfram and Hart, for sexual harassment? It wasn't like they would fire her. Or like she was really doing anything but trying to wind him up. And succeeding.
She smirked, an elegant, tiny movement of the upper lip, and shrugged, filling her hand with lotion and sliding it down one bare leg. Which he was watching, of course, because he was a big green distractible idiot. "Hey, you're the one who's still alive; if you're not worried about skin cancer, it's not my funeral. Not that I had one."
Lorne rolled his eyes, then pointed to his biceps. "No melanin, no melanoma. Your big scary sun just gives me a nice toasty lime-tinted glow."
Lilah nodded, as if she was actually interested. "Nice work if you can get it. Me, well. Let's just say that for us post-vivo employees, 'moisturize frequently' isn't just a fashion tip."
"I'll keep it in mind if I should ever turn human and die."
Maybe he could get back to his book. Lilah The Wonder Bitch could just be here to annoy him, not up to some evil hanky-panky. Although why annoying him specifically would be such a huge draw, he had no idea. Unless she really had wanted a day off at the beach and had seen him, and this was a spontaneous bit of fun.
He picked up his book and thought about reading. Thought real hard about it. The book promised to be interesting, judging by the dust jacket and reviews, though as shallow and forgettable as any other beach novel. He could probably read it and ignore Lilah and actually enjoy his day if he tried.
"Have you met the new guy in the mail room? Justin Whitacker?"
Although ignoring Lilah was going to require telling her that was the plan. He looked up, grateful that with his book in his hands like this, he could see even less of certain unmentionables which should remain unmentioned. "Who? Oh, the cute little red-head? He gives me the creeps. No offense." He smiled broadly at her.
"Why, because he's dead? Nah; no offense taken. He's a ghoul; I'm a revenant. Totally different lifestyle. Deathstyle. Whatever."
"No offense because he's dead; creepy because I've seen him checking out our fearless leader's ass like he's not sure whether he wants to mambo with it or eat it. Not that he's got a shot either way, but I thought those guys stuck to non-animate corpses for their brunching pleasure."
"Last I heard. I was thinking more the mambo angle myself."
Lorne raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Nothing he could really say about Angel and sex with the staff that would be snarkier than what she'd say right back, and the sun was too warm to get into it. Or stay into it, since he'd been snarking at her already.
It occurred to him to wonder why she was mentioning Justin. Small talk, from Lilah? There was a better chance of Metallica putting out a children's gospel record.
He tried sizing her up, which was damn difficult considering he could only size her up from the neck higher without running into the birthmark problem again. She was concentrating on arranging her blanket, now, shifting a bit here and there as she pulled the edges of it flat, as though she were worried about sand in delicate places.
That image took longer to get rid of.
"So you're seriously concerned that the new backroom boy has taken a shine to the boss?" he finally said, giving up on the idea of sinking back into Sushi For Beginners and pretending the most complicated and backstabbing profession in the world was the women's fashion magazine industry. "It's not like he's the only head that turns when Mr. Only Leather When I'm Evil walks by."
Lilah pulled a bottle of water from her cooler. "I'm not seriously concerned about anything; it's just gossip, Lorne. You know, that thing people do at work when they're not selling their souls or eating babies for breakfast."
"Right, but, correct me if I'm wrong, but -- there's no power on earth, hell, or the Disney channel, which would make you gossip with me. Not unless you wanted something, in which case, what do you want, he asked for the second or third time?"
"Fifth." Lilah's mouth quirked. "Speaking of Disney -- you saw the contract for ABC? Did you know we get a percentage every time someone buys any book on piracy, now?" She leaned over. "It was my idea to use Depp."
He blinked at her, impressed in spite of himself. "I and at least sixty percent of the moviegoing population thank you deeply."
"Max Factor's not exactly complaining either."
"Yeah." He nodded. "Wonder when they'll figure out that surge in eyeliner sales isn't just coming from this summer's crop of sixteen year old girls." Not that he actually used anything off the shelf himself, but it would be nice to see a commercial with -- "Hey!"
"Hey what -- is Pablo pumping iron? I thought he only did that on Thursdays." She craned her head to look in that direction again.
"No, hey, you're trying to distract me from why you brought up creepy ghoul-boy in the mail room." Lorne slammed his book shut at pointed it at her. "Unless you were just using him to distract me from why you're here at all."
Lilah turned back to him and rolled her eyes. "I'm here to enjoy a day off at the beach. There is no hidden meaning in anything I may have said about Pringles, goatsuckers, Tai Bo, anybody wanting to do the ass-mambo with Angel, or Max Factor and the Pirates of the Box Office. I didn't come to hoover anything out of your brain, or collect you for the annual company barbecue and ritual sacrifice of the new guy. If you like, I'll sign a contract attesting to the above, but you'll have to provide the pen." She held up her empty hands. "I'm afraid I didn't bring one."
He could think of a few places it could be hiding, but he didn't particularly want to. "And you happened to pick the one place where I happened to be, out of all the nude demon beaches in -- okay, fair enough, but you happened to head for the beach on the same day I did?"
"No, I happened to have a memo for you from the Senior Partners, happened to drop by your office, happened to find out you weren't there, happened to ask your security people where you were, and happened to think a day at the beach sounded like a pretty swell idea, when they told me. I didn't even come to drag you back to the office so you can change that sick day to a vacation day. You do know you get vacation days, right?"
Lorne stared at her. "You have a memo for me. From the Senior Partners."
She nodded, then traced an arc with her hands down the length of her body, which he -- ever the sucker -- followed. "Well, not on me. It's on your desk."
A-ha! That was it! "And you're trying to keep me away from the office -- so I don't do whatever it is somebody wants me to do. Or stop whatever it is somebody doesn't want me to stop."
Lilah did the arched eyebrow thing at him again. Really, though he would never admit it publicly, privately, or outside the confines of his own skull, she did that look really well. "Lorne, if I were trying to keep you away from your office, or from reading the memo, would I tell you about it?"
He started to say no, then realized he meant yes, then realized he had no clue what the right answer was. "I think you'd do whatever you felt like as long as it gets your yayas out," he said, even if it was as much a tautology as saying 'Angel's brooding today' or 'couldn't Wes use a shave.' "In this case...I can't for the life of me figure out if getting me into trouble hits your spot, or not."
It was possible -- just barely -- that she'd simply wanted to spend the day at the beach, and used this little errand as an excuse. Did dead employees get vacation days?
She looked at him innocently. No, and he couldn't believe he'd just thought that. She looked at him like someone who would look innocent if they were remotely capable of it. She also had very pretty eyes, and was trying to drive him insane, possibly just for the fun of it.
He stood up, pointedly not wrapping his blanket around his waist as he did so.
"Nice ankles," Lilah commented, deadpan.
"Thank you. I like yours too. But since I can't really say the same thing about their owner, I think I'm gonna call my day at the beach... a day." Blanket. Book. Radio. Evian. "But please don't leave just because I'm going; there's plenty of seagulls around to play mindfuck games with." With that, he started walking for the bathhouse.
"But they don't have talent, smarts, and a great ass," she called after him.
He didn't look back. He was pretty sure he couldn't possibly win, even if he knew what they were playing, but at least he could come out even. Besides, there was a memo on his desk -- possibly -- that he had to try to deal with, and seeing that birthmark one more time wasn't likely to help his concentration.
***
Washed, dried, powdered, dressed and horns polished, Lorne walked into the building. He still wasn't used to this - walking into the fort of evil with only a nod from the receptionist. Not that his parking permit said "fort of evil" but what else was the executive garage level?
He took the south hallway elevator -- the only one which didn't play muzak, thank all that was unholy -- to his floor and stepped out. Maybe Charlene could shed some light on this memo from the Senior Partners. She'd have read it ten seconds after Lilah would have left it on his desk. That's what good secretaries were for, after all.
Only Charlene wasn't sitting at her desk.
Great -- they'd pulled the entire support staff and were about to replace them with Miasimian Hell-Apes, and he was the last to know. Or there was another giant beast on its way, and everybody had got the message but him...
Or Lilah had made him completely paranoid and Charlene had stepped out to the bathroom, or was in his office, filing something. Lorne shook his head and hung his hat on the outer coatrack, then opened the door to his own area.
"Surprise!" The sound was deafening, and almost made him jump backwards. Crammed into his office were more people than he would ever have guessed would fit, including a smiling Charlene.
Wesley, Gunn, and Fred's young lab assistant stood next to the window, while Angel had taken a place by the stereo, out of range of the non-necro-tinted sunlight. Fred herself stood in the middle of the room, holding a large cake, glowing with candles.
"Happy seventh anniversary of getting thrown headfirst into our dimension to you..." Fred coaxed them along in singing. "Happy seventh...."
Lorne glanced over at Angel, who waved sheepishly, mouth shut. Something everyone in the room was grateful for, Lorne was sure, whether they knew it or not. Except perhaps Justin Whitacker, who was standing towards the back, sneaking disturbingly hungry glances towards the vampire. Though maybe he just wanted some cake.
The mesh of images Lorne was getting from everyone's head was sufficiently distorted that he couldn't make much of it -- except for one startling image of Lilah dressed as a schoolgirl. But mostly, he was touched. Even he hadn't remembered the date exactly -- he'd been a little out of it for a while, at the time -- but trust Fred to have figured it out, of course.
"Oh, you guys! You shouldn't have!" He moved forward to blow out the candles -- and stopped. Insert sound of penny dropping. "Wait -- you sent Lilah to keep me outta the office while you set this up?"
Angel looked like he couldn't decide between sheepish and confused, now. So, pretty much normal. "Well... Sort of? It was all planned, and Fred was gonna drag you down to the lab to get you out of the office, and then you called in sick."
"And kaplutt goes the surprise party," Fred finished. "Ah, you should probably blow these out."
The candles were getting a little forest-fiery. Lorne leaned over and blew them out, then looked up again, still puzzled.
"No one answered when we called your place to check up on you, and Lilah pointed out that we should ask the security people, thus revealing both where you were, and that none of us has an iota of personal privacy around here," Wesley explained, as he brought a table forward for the cake.
"And then she said she'd go get you, since she knew where this place was. That must've been fun, seein' her show up on the golf course." Gunn shook his head and laughed. "Sorry we ruined your game, man."
Lorne opened his mouth, thought about the number of bad puns that could be made regarding getting some sun on his balls, if he told them where he'd really been, and shut it again. He cut himself a slice of cake, instead. Fork in hand, he finally said, "Not a problem, friend -- not a problem."
Fred looked towards the door. "Where is Lilah? Didn't she come with you? Not that any party she's not at isn't a happy party..."
"She stayed to... er... work on her game."
"Yeah?" Angel looked interested. "She any good at it?"
"Not bad," Lorne responded, filling his mouth with cake before he said anything else, or thought too deeply about birthmarks. Not bad at all.