There is a city by the sea
A gentle company
I don’t suppose you want to
And as it tells its sorry tale
In harrowing detail
Its hollowness will haunt you
- the Decemberists, 'Los Angeles, I’m Yours'
Lilah Morgan left Fred sitting in the waiting room of Wolfram and Hart for three hours when Fred showed up unexpectedly to see her the day before the 4th of July. It was ridiculously cold, as though someone had turned the air-conditioning far below normal temperatures of comfort for human beings, and Lilah knew that Fred was sitting and shivering in her tank top and tiny skirt, and waiting until Lilah appeared from behind a closed door to summon her. There was no reason for Lilah to have made Fred wait; no one came or went from Lilah's office in the three hours she hung around. But Lilah enjoyed it. After all, people from Angel Investigations didn't generally show up to Wolfram and Hart, and when they did, those people were Angel and they were there to make trouble.
There is an appeal to having power. Lilah didn't know what Fred wanted from her, but Fred appeared determined to see Lilah no matter what. Lilah didn't like situations like this, where she did not know what was going on - no power. But she could make Fred wait and if it was that important _
So she made Fred wait, and wait, and wait until so much time had passed that Fred had stood up and turned to leave. The bonus of cameras in the office, Lilah thought to herself - she watched Fred carefully on the video screen for the full three hours, trying to fathom what it was the girl wanted. Whatever it was, Lilah wasn't going to let her have it easily. She was going to make Winifred Burkle beg for whatever pathetic favors she was here to grovel for. Lilah watched Fred fidget and stare and mumble to herself, and just as Fred stood up and turned to go, Lilah opened her door and stuck her head out. "Ms. Burkle? I've got a moment now, but be quick about whatever it is that you need."
Fred stood up so sharply that she emptied the contents of her purse all over the floor of the waiting room and she blushed - appealing, Lilah's mind screamed - as she stooped to collect them, completely aware that her skirt was short enough that Lilah had a lovely view of her ass, if Lilah was into those sorts of things. Today, Lilah thought, she was, in fact, into those sorts of things. Scooping the mess into her bag recklessly, Fred stood and tugged nervously at her skirt, refusing to meet Lilah's eyes. She crossed the threshold into the dim office and Lilah pulled the door shut behind Fred, the latch clicking noisily in the cold air. Fred jumped. Lilah smirked and crossed the room to sit behind her desk.
She knew she would make Fred work for this, despite any case Fred might actually have for her request; people like Lilah, tailored all the way down to the pedicure that matched her chartreuse silk skirt exactly, didn't say yes to people like Winifred Burkle, who dumped the contents of their purses all over the floor.
"Ms. Burkle. I'm surprised to see you here."
"Well _ I mean, I was hoping _ I was hoping you could help me with something."
Lilah's face registered an unintentional moment of shock before she settled her features into her every day smirk of superiority. She hadn't expected the girl to be so bold, but it was oddly attractive. The way the girl was standing there, shuddering from the air conditioning and what seemed to be a terrible case of nerves. Lilah had never paid much attention to Winifred Burkle outside of knowing that she existed, but she was pretty, in that way that tiny, waif-like girls could be - that way that told Lilah she could snap Fred like a twig if she wanted to.
There's an appeal to power.
"Angel Investigations needs the help of Wolfram and Hart with something? Oh, my, I should call my lawyer and settle my affairs - the world is certainly on its way to the end."
"No," Fred said, stepping a tiny bit closer to Lilah's desk. "No, not the company. Not Wolfram and Hart. I need your help with something."
"And what," Lilah drawled. "What on Earth could you need my help with? You do know that I'm not a charitable institution, Ms. Burkle, despite what my work for the firm may indicate."
"Wesley."
"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce? He made it clear to me that he wanted nothing to do with me, the firm or me and the firm. What about him?" Lilah hoped that her surprise hadn't registered in her expression. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce? This girl let her friends run him out, and now she wants to have something to do with him? Never mind that I think he's intriguing; never mind that I'd like to see what's underneath all those baggy utilitarian sweaters. Why does she think that I would consent to have anything to do with him?
"I thought _ since I can't, we can't, Angel won't let us, and he needs someone, he does, he can't take care of himself, not after everything that happened _ I thought you _"
"You thought I could `take care' of Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, as you so charmingly put it? Why on Earth would I do that? I don't need Angel Investigations castoffs or charity, Ms. Burkle, and I don't need more work than I already have with the firm. I'm sorry, I can't help you. You can see yourself out."
"I don't think you understand, Ms. Morgan. I didn't say you had to like him, or love him, or even tolerate him. Just look out for him, however you deem fit."
Lilah tilted her head up to stare at Fred, eyes running overtly over her body. She was attractive, and it had been a slow day in the office before Ms. Burkle turned up. Lilah wasn't sure what game this girl was playing, but whatever it was - Lilah could play games, too. Games that were much more fun than whatever Winifred Burkle had up her sleeve. "And you, Ms. Burkle, seem to be missing my main point: what's in it for me? I don't make a habit of taking care of slit-throat charity cases just because some twig of a girl strolls into my office and tells me I should. I don't deal well in shoulds, Ms. Burkle."
"I'll _ I'll compensate you," stammered Fred. Her face was burning under Lilah's gaze - even, serene and completely unreadable. "I'll pay you."
"You'll pay me? Oh, that's quite a good one. Do I look like someone in need of extra money to you?"
"No?"
Lilah stood and stretched, arching her back and audibly cracking the bones in her neck, never taking her eyes off Fred's face. "No, Ms. Burkle, I'm not. But you do have something I want." Fred stood frozen. Lilah circled around from her desk. She reached out, closed one hand around Fred's wrist, her nails scraping the soft skin there, and tugged gently. Fred's body suddenly loosened, and she tipped forward, nearly toppling Lilah backwards over her desk.
Lilah laughed. "I'm glad to see you're enthusiastic, Ms. Burkle, but let's not get carried away." Her gaze raked over Fred's body again. "Yet."
Then Lilah Morgan kissed Winifred Burkle in the middle of her office, kissed her hard, and pushed her straight to the floor. Fred dropped to her knees easily, as though her own body was betraying her, and knelt at Lilah's feet, panting and staring up at her.
"I'll take care of Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, Ms. Burkle. I'll take very good care of him. But first, I need something from you." Such good care, she thought, that he forgets about you entirely - or at least for a little while. Lilah dropped gracefully to the floor beside Fred and tugged Fred towards her, her nails raking carelessly against Fred's cheek - blood welled up below Fred's eye and she blinked once, twice, and Lilah thought she saw the beginnings of shock in her features. Lilah held her tightly, one hand firmly behind Fred's head and the other on her wrist, kissing without affection but with a certain amount of brute force. She was going to get what she wanted here, and she wanted Fred, dressed like a cheap streetwalker in her tiny skirt and tinier top. Is that how Wesley likes you, Lilah thought cruelly, and she almost asked. Lust stopped her - not the time for asking questions.
Lilah tugged - less gently - on Fred's wrist, and she felt Fred stiffen against her. She squeezed the girl's wrist and pulled her mouth from Fred's. "Now, sweetheart, you want me to take care of your abandoned compatriot, don't you? So be a good girl and do what I say, and we'll talk about Wesley afterwards." Lilah felt a violent shiver run through Fred's body and then she sagged against Lilah, boneless and pliant and exactly where Lilah wanted her. Lilah tilted Fred's head to hers and tugged on her wrist again, sliding Fred's hand up her thigh.
Fred's fingers moved lightly against her bare skin and Lilah stifled a gasp when Fred's fingers brushed across her cunt. Fred didn't stifle her own gasp when she felt heat and slick wetness and a distinct lack of panties; Lilah smirked against the girl's mouth and ran her tongue slowly across Fred's lower lip. She'd never really seen the point of wearing panties when you never if you'd have to fuck a client across a conference table, after all. This just saved time.
The hand that had held Fred's wrist had fallen to her side, and Fred's nimble fingers were flicking lightly at her clit of their own volition, so Lilah spider-walked it up her side and cupped it carefully around Fred's breast. She didn't want to move too quickly, lest the girl bolt and spoil all her plans before she got this all recorded. Fred stiffened but didn't pull away, and when Lilah ran a thumb across an already tight nipple, Fred's hand slipped with a jerk and she ran a finger deep inside Lilah. Lilah shuddered and murmured against Fred's lips, "That's a good girl. Just like that."
Fred's small fingers found a rhythm, slowly but surely, and Lilah kept kissing her, one hand still behind Fred's neck and the other running small circles around Fred's breasts. Fred whimpered against Lilah's mouth, thrust her tongue against Lilah's and crawled closer, nudging Lilah's thighs further apart with her knee. Enjoying this, are you, love? Mr. Wyndham-Pryce might find that interesting.
Lilah could hear the clock on her desk ticking off seconds, but as Fred ran her thumb over Lilah's clit, smooth and soft and with just enough pressure, and thrust three fingers into Lilah's cunt, and Lilah figured that this was worth an afternoon of missed meetings and let the seconds ticking off melt into the rhythm. It's not that she was enjoying this, precisely - frankly, the Burkle girl was a little too on the emaciated side for Lilah - but she enjoyed a good orgasm as much as the next girl, and there was always the pesky question of Angel's estranged right-hand man.
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, as Lilah had known from the start, would be useful. Very useful. And if she was smart, she could use his weaknesses against him - maybe create a few new ones along the way. What's an evil lawyer to do when an opportunity like that presents itself?
Come shuddering on the fingers of a recently crazy girl from Texas, Lilah thought, and gasping against Fred's mouth, did just that.
When Lilah's mind resettled itself in her head moments later, Fred was sitting on the floor wearing an expression that was caught somewhere between shellshock and immense pleasure - she looked as though she were the cat who'd caught the cream, but didn't quite know what to do with it now. Lilah stood up and straightened her skirt and then, cringing inwardly, offered a hand to the girl to hoist herself up from the floor. Fred looked at it, frowned briefly, and then took it.
She gathered her purse and walked to the door slowly, as though she were moving underwater. Lilah leaned wearily on her desk, wondering if the girl would remember what she'd come here for in the first place before she left. Before she could wonder for long, Fred's head snapped up and she stared directly at Lilah, a question clear in her eyes.
"Yes," Lilah sighed. "I'll look after him, Ms. Burkle. After that performance, it's the least I can do." Fred blushed. Still appealing, Lilah thought, and nearly grinned at the thought..
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Don't thank me. Thank yourself." Lilah couldn't resist one final smirk. The girl was too virginal for her own good; Wesley Wydham-Pryce might think he wanted Fred, but Lilah knew that dark side that was haunting his eyes these days; she'd seen it when he opened his door to her, and seen it in the mirror every day for the last 4 years. Winifred Burkle was virginal, but clever - Lilah Morgan was more than a match for Wesley with his scars and his ghosts. They were made for one another.
Fred turned and left hurriedly as Lilah smirked after her. Lilah turned from the door and crossed to the panel that obscured the controls for the cameras blinking in the corners of her office. Expensive system. Not one paid for by Wolfram and Hart, either - Lilah's own private additions to the suite.
She ejected the tape from the device and picked up a permanent marker, uncapping it with her teeth. She scrawled across the label, carefully neat: W. Burkle, 6/02.
Now this was something she could work with.
She picked up her coat, her purse and the tape and walked out of her office. Surely Wesley wouldn't mind a visit from an old friend this late - not if the old friend had something he wouldn't want the rest of the world to see.
It was all about power, after all.