Southern Comfort (27/?)

Author- Midnight Faith

Spoilers- none

Distribution- FF.net, AOH anyone else just ask :)

Pairing- Lilah/Lindsey

Rating- R

Summary- sometimes it's hard to say goodbye

Disclaimer- not mine… yadda, yadda

Lilah carried her surprisingly small shoulder bag down the stairs looking into Wesley and Cordy's upturned faces.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Wesley asked her.

"Yes," she told him, simply.

"Are you sure you don't need me to drive you? Or you can take my car…" Wesley offered.

"No I'm good… I have a ride," she told them.

"Someone from home?" Cordy asked.

"Something like that… they're family…" Lilah told them weakly, "I'm not going around the hotel saying goodbye. Fred will probably want to strangle me anyway…"

"She just wants to help," Wesley cut in.

"Can you say thankyou to Angel for me? For everything…"

Cordy gestured to the office door.

"What about Lindsey?" Cordy asked.

Lilah silently walked over to the office door and opened it.

He didn't turn around in his chair.

She knelt down beside it and he didn't look at her.

"I'm going to go soon," she said, trying to reach out for him, putting her hand on his cheek. He turned his face away from her. "Lindsey, please. Don’t make this any harder than it already is. I just need to have some time and space to get my head straight. I won’t be gone forever… I promise to come back."

She got up to leave.

"Will you call me when you get there?" he asked her flatly.

"I'll call Cordy," she told him.

There was a moment of silence.

"Lilah?"

"Yeah."

"Get rid of it. I don't want it. I never really wanted it…"

*****

Lindsey's words echoed in her head as she crossed the back street to the large black estate car.

The driver watched her approach and got out of the car to carry her bag.

"Where to?" he asked, taking it from her.

"Mystic, Nevada. It's about twenty miles west of Reno."

He opened the door for her and she climbed into the back seat.

She didn't look at her companion.

"You’re doing the right thing…" he told her dispassionately, "He doesn’t love you. He said it himself… he doesn’t want the baby… and neither do you."

She looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"Just give me the god damn cheque, Gavin."

"This is how it works," he told her. "The firm wants you back… god knows why. You sneak away quietly. Get rid of this baby and we take it from there… stick to your plans of meeting Ms. Chase in Sunnydale… it may come in useful. No cheque until you come back to LA… shall we drink to that?"

He gestured to a cooling bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket next to him.

"Got anything stronger?" she asked him. "It's ages since I've had a real drink…"

"Guess it doesn’t matter now…" he told her, handing her a bottle of vodka from his briefcase.

"It really doesn't," she told him, unscrewing the cap and taking a mouthful. She felt the familiar rush of alcohol in her bloodstream as the liquor burnt her ears as it slid down her throat. "Nothing matters anymore…"