Posted as:
Really odd SHU ficlet
Mon Jun 2 2003 1:43:01 am

This might be AU. I'm still not entirely sure about that. I *do* know that I started this just as writing-for-the-sake-of-writing, with no idea where it was going, and as a result, I have to apologize for the fact that it's completely disjointed.

This is very loosely inspired by the "white" challenge at contrelamontre, except for the fact that it's all mutated and stuff. And hey, I take a sick pride in the fact that I manage to get in mentions of not only the entire known Herald staff (even the two who never appear in the main SHU series), and all the CJB members. I have no life. Woo.

Anyhow. It's set after the wedding fic -- you know, the one that *was* Chapel of Love, then Dearly Beloved (until I remembered there's another story with that basic title, ahem), *then* ...Then Comes Marriage, and now Til Death Do Us Part. Thus the vague reference to "the Vince business", which I can't quite clarify at the current time. Heh.

Black Curtains

Xander liked adopting time-worn phrases to suit his own purposes, and in this particular case, he'd settled on the one about it always being darkest before the dawn. Because when you walked down that long hallway, the darkness got deeper and thicker with each step, leaving the door set therein gleaming unnaturally, like a beacon. Like the only thing left in the world.

He was a bit afraid of what lay behind that door. He'd never tell Chloe that. He was afraid -- not just that she'd laugh at him, although he was sure she would, but at how else she would react to this new information.

Pacey knew, and he had laughed at Xander for the longest time. "It's people like you, man," he said, "that contribute to this *myth* about the Editor. I mean, come on. We're a newspaper, not a freakin cult. It's not like there's an epiphany tucked away on the top floor."

And one day he'd blown off one article too many, and Chloe'd blown a gasket. "I wash my *hands* of this," she said dramatically. "*You* have to go explain to the Editor why you blew this one off."

He laughed. He hopped on the elevator to do so, assuring a skeptical Hermione that no, he didn't need anyone to go with him.

He came back pale, eyes burning a weird shade of green that one was more used to seeing atop Greg's head, and he wouldn't speak for two days. Still wouldn't talk about it, in fact. He handed in all his articles on time for two months. Sometimes early, which up until that point he'd said was a dirty word. He'd since relaxed more into his old habits, but had yet to blow another assignment off completely to the present day.

Xander, naturally, dreaded the day that, whether in the course of one of his deliveries, or by some other twist of Chloe's mind, he had to step beyond that gleaming door.

There was, of course, a series of urban legends that sprung up about what lay in the office. They ranged in wildness, even encapsulating theories of aliens, mindreaders, and angels. The trouble was that no one who had been confirmed to have passed the door would talk about what happened inside.

They did come back, though...for the most part. And that was encouraging.

In some way it didn't really matter that no one talked about it, because Xander never asked.

There was one night, in the midst of the summer, that Xander decided to walk home to the CJB. The air was cooler than he'd come to expect from August in New York, and he was taking advantage of it, and trying to ignore the not-quite-soundless form that was tailing him down the street, seen in peripheral glimpses of light.

On 35th St., he stopped walking, and called into the darkness (with a bravery he didn't feel), "I know you're there."

There was a long silence, in which he almost thought he could hear breath directly behind him. Since there was a traffic jam on the next block, and horns echoing all around, he decided he was imagining that detail.

Still, as the traffic resumed its movements, and the horns died away, a raspy murmur of a voice said, "Don't worry. It's just me."

Lindsey. Xander turned -- the lawyer-for-hire stood a couple of feet away, hair hanging in his eyes in a messy, careless way that Xander suspected had to take at least forty-five minutes' effort. He was wearing a white button-down -- thus the flashes of light -- sleeves rolled up, several buttons open. His tie, from what Xander could see, was stuffed in his back pocket.

"And that reassures me a *lot*," Xander responded.

"I'm not armed," Lindsey offered, putting up his hands in a gesture of supposed peace. As he did, the unnaturally paler shade of the right one caught his attention, and he lowered them, as if he'd forgotten. "Not with anything extra, at least."

Xander rolled his eyes. "You want me to go get Lily for you? 'Cause I'm sure the KUB will be *happy* to have another opportunity to kick your ass, so --"

"Don't bother. This isn't about Lily."

"Really?" Xander was unable to hide his surprise. "I thought *everything* you did was about Lily." He paused. "Wait, I mean --"

Lindsey chuckled. "As much as I can't convince you all of that, I assure you that's not always the case. Although I'd hate to do any damage to your collective sense of her importance by saying so. So maybe it's better if you just don't let them know that I've been here."

Confused, Xander nodded nonetheless. "All right...what do you want? I have to assume you want *something*. *That's* a pretty accurate bit of psychological profiling, right?"

He didn't quite answer that last accusation, merely waving a hand dismissively -- Xander noticed it was the left, and wondered if that was a conscious choice or not. "Maybe."

A moment passed, and that was all he'd said. Xander shifted uncomfortably, running a palm absentmindedly across the back of his neck, and the sweat collecting there. "Yeah," he said, finally. "Look, if this isn't going somewhere? I'm gonna get inside. Because in there, there's air-conditioning."

Lindsey didn't answer at first, and Xander was about to turn and write this off as one of those weird encounters you were bound to have in this line of work, when he abruptly said, "I've been in the White Room."

And this was the last thing that Xander would have ever expected to hear. Not in the least because it was about *him*, it was something that directly related to *his* concerns, not those of his more high-profile teammates. "You what?"

"The White Room," Lindsey repeated. "I know you want to know why no one talks about it. You can't hide that."

His mind reeled, and he tried to think logically, to imply the guidelines that Chloe would have inevitably tried to impress on him for situations like this. He came up blank, and instead set his thoughts to a more visceral bullshit detector. What would Faith do?

"Why should I believe you?" he asked. "Like you said, no one talks about it. If you'd really been there, why would you be any different?"

"I make it my business to be," Lindsey said simply.

"But -- wh-- wh--" Xander became aware that there were only vague whirring noises coming out of his mouth, and closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. This was one thing he immediately knew Faith *wouldn't* do -- "You don't close your eyes in the presence of a SuperVillain!" -- and quickly reopened them, but Lindsey was still standing there, his expression one of incredible patience.

"There's no way you could get into the White Room," he said, cautiously. "No reason. It's -- it's -- the *Hero* Herald. And you're --"

"Not a hero," Lindsey supplied indulgently.

"To be generous, yeah."

He smiled, faintly. "True. But I think you'd agree, after my business with Vince, I'm sort of an outcast in *both* worlds, wouldn't you?"

Which, although Xander hadn't thought about it that way, was probably true. Anyone who'd given Darth Vince as much trouble as his former legal counsel was undoubtedly just as unwelcome in his old Villains' circles as he was in the so-called "respectable" ones.

"You know what they say," Xander replied, with a shrug. "About making beds and lying in them."

Lindsey's chest rose sharply, as if he just barely held back a sigh. He stared morosely, somewhat aimlessly, down the street, and didn't answer.

Feeling that perhaps he'd struck a nerve, and taking a certain pride in that, Xander continued, "None of which explains how *you'd* get to have an audience with the Editor, but then there's also the part where I can't trust you as far as I could throw you, were your expensive-lookin shoes filled with cement and superglued to the ground."

This brought a slight smirk back to Lindsey's face, and for the first time since he'd been spotted, he took a step forward. "Xander," he said, almost pityingly, "how much do you really know about the place where you work?"

And that gave Xander pause, even though he knew that was Lindsey's intention. Because when it came right down to it...he *didn't* know a lot. He wasn't sure any of them did. Except, of course, for Chloe. But he trusted Chloe, despite his jokes and idle thoughts to the contrary. It was just that she could be a bit...singleminded, when it came to protecting her interests. Namely, the Herald.

Lindsey easily read the troubled look that crossed Xander's face, and took another step forward, the smirk stretching into a broader smile, with a faint air of smugness. "I take that to mean not much."

"And you do?" Xander asked defiantly, thinking it was on the weak side as far as retorts went, and that Faith would have said something much more clever.

"I never claimed to be an expert," Lindsey said jovially, and Xander noticed that he had drawn very close, right to Xander's shoulder, so that he could still be heard even though he spoke in little more than a whisper.

"But I know that the likes of me has been in the inner sanctum, while you still fetch the coffee. I know that the walls are just as bright as the door." Xander could *feel* the words, and Jesus Christ, it was much too hot out for this sort of thing. "I know there's something in that room that's bigger than good or evil."

"What's that?" Faith's voice cut sharply into the conversation. "Or would the obvious answer be Vince's ego?"

Lindsey stepped calmly back, and, as uncomfortable as their proximity had been, the lack thereof was suddenly even more grating on Xander's now-strangled nerves. "Hello, Faith," he said pleasantly. "How are you tonight?"

Xander looked up to see that Faith was perched on a windowsill just above them; judging from the fact that she showed no outward signs of being affected by the humidity, she must have just arrived. "I can't complain myself, but I can't help thinking my sidekick there might be better off if you weren't poised to hump his leg." She tossed her hair. "It's a little warm for that, ya know," she added, in mock-concern.

Lindsey chuckled again, and stepped back even further; he was half in the shadows now, shirt still catching the glare of the streetlight almost unnaturally. "You may be right. Don't worry, my business here is just about done."

"Uh-huh. You're just lucky I'm the one who passed by. I know people who'd kill you for *looking* at this block."

"I don't doubt it," Lindsey said, though he didn't sound too concerned.

Faith smirked. "Skip, I gotta get inside and talk to Lil. Lemme know when you get in. Night, Stump."

Lindsey didn't flinch at the name, as he'd sometimes been known to -- in fact, he didn't seem to notice at all. He simply looked, very seriously, at Xander. A very lonnnnnnng look. Down, then up again. In total disregard for the weather, a chill shot down Xander's spine, and he shuddered.

Lindsey was inordinately pleased. (Xander very carefully didn't think about that.) "I'll get out of here," he said, "while I've still got all my remaining pieces." A card flicked into his hand as if by magic -- or, more likely, mechanics -- and he extended it toward Xander.

Xander hesitated. "That doesn't explode upon contact, does it?"

"No, I left that set at home," Lindsey said dryly. "Just take it."

And he did. Flipped it over a couple of times, but it was still merely a business card. Emblazoned, in dark print, with "L. M. McDonald", and a phone number. A cell, judging by the area code. Xander glanced up, questioningly.

"If you're anything like I think you are," Lindsey said, "eventually you're going to want the truth. And I think you know your boss isn't going to be the one to provide it."

Xander opened his mouth to try and defend Chloe, but by the time he'd thought of an answer he was satisfied with, Lindsey had crossed the street and was making for the Villains' Tunnel entrance in the DMV Building. Instead, he flipped the card over again a few times -- as if inspecting it, but really, just giving his hands something to do as he tried to collect his thoughts.

When he got in, he was assaulted by a wave of heat, emanating from the general direction of the garage entrance, and the sight of Shane cursing wildly and assaulting the computers, trying to get the climate control back online. Without a word, and exchanging an understandably weary glance with Xander, Rodney was wandering around the complex, manually switching all the vents to funnel in the accelerated air from the subway in the meantime. He left them to it and headed straight to his room, still absentmindedly rubbing the card clutched in his hand, completely forgetting to stop and check in with Faith.

He had dreamt, once or twice in the distant past, of a seemingly endless landscape of white. A figure stood there, face obscured by a golden glow, and all he could hear was a laugh, one that echoed until it started to sound like it was coming from everywhere at once. And back then, he had assumed that this was supposed to be Heaven, and wasn't sure why, if that was the case, he found it so unsettling.

Tossing and turning that night, in a fitful, feverish attempt at sleep, he saw that landscape again. He heard the laugh. But this time, a whisper brushed against his ear, almost inaudibly saying, "Eventually, you're going to want the truth."

The glow cleared, revealing Chloe, dressed all in white. And she grinned at Xander almost devilishly, and gestured toward a point at the end of the room -- and how he knew it was the end, the end in this otherwise endless space, was because it was blocked off with a heavy black fabric, jarring in its discordancy with the rest of the walls. He walked toward it, knowing without turning that Lindsey was standing behind him, and, in a sudden movement, yanked back the curtain --

At about four in the morning, Xander realized that, in anticipation of the air-conditioning coming back on, he had accidentally turned down the temperature in his room to the point where he could see his breath, and had to get up to correct the error. He blew out a few quick torrents of air, and picked the card up off the nightstand, sliding it into his wallet. After all, for better or worse, he was a journalist now, and he'd been taught better than to discount a potential source.

He glanced around the room, and wished, not for the first time, for windows. Instead, he found himself getting dressed and riding the elevator up to the empty street, and, knowing that he didn't have to be there for hours, nevertheless headed to work.

He decided he was imagining the sense of a presence behind him, and walked into the building as the sun came up.