[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Five 3/20 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Five 3/20

Author: Helen Raven

Email: helenraven at talk21.com

Pairing: Wesley/Gunn

Summary: The full history of the relationship between
Gunn and Wesley in the Birthdayverse. A novel in six
parts.

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit, not even a blip
on the litigation radar.

The Story's Home Page: http://www.kelper.co.uk/kungai

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They got up late, far too late to go training. Angel
was asleep, and was still asleep when they came back
from buying groceries and renting videos but by then
he'd moved on to a passionate wet dream, full of
moaning and grunting and sudden movements. They turned
the screen off for half an hour, and when they turned
it on again, Angel was awake.

Gunn took Angel into the shower while Wesley vacuumed
the bedroom and then laid out clean clothes. Angel was
still in a good mood: not spectacular like the day
before, but good enough to want to talk to Gunn for
most of the time they were in the bathroom, starting
with "soap vs. shower gel and which Gunn preferred"
and ending with a discussion of whether there was any
accurate way of describing a man's musculature, or
whether the best you could do was compare him with
someone else ("We're similar, aren't we? You could
compare us?"). Gunn didn't have much to say on any of
Angel's subjects, but he tried to act interested, not
stomp on Angel's good mood.

After Angel dressed himself, they fed him, and then
Wesley stayed to read with him while Gunn went to do
his usual Wyndham Gunn searches online. Wesley had
been too busy to spend time with Angel the day before,
but you couldn't tell if Angel remembered, if he'd
noticed something missing; probably meant he didn't
remember, or he'd've been sulking and blaming Gunn.

"No, it doesn't. I told you to stop that." And the
sound of the book slamming closed. By the time Gunn
had turned to look, Wesley had dropped the book and
was pushing himself away from the wall, getting to his
feet. Angel was still sitting in his usual reading
position, looking bewildered. Wesley presumably looked
furious, but he had his back to the camera.

"Can't I tell you what I see?" Angel had picked up the
book and was holding it out to Wesley, asking, not
arguing.

Wesley snatched the book and threw it backhand hard
enough that it hit the wall, near the door. "It's not
a joke!"

Angel and Gunn both stared at Wesley, then both stood
up (Angel in a scramble, Gunn slowly) and took
cautious steps towards Wesley. Wesley backed away from
Angel and Angel stopped, and so Gunn stopped too,
still several feet from the door.

"I've hurt you." Slow. Almost a whisper.

"You know you did." Almost a shout.

Angel reached out again, but of course Wesley moved
back again, and this time it looked like he had
flinched. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... Stay. Let
me..." Angel shook his head. "I won't do that again.
Please. Stay."

"No. I told you to stop. More than once. But you
always just do what you want. You can say anything, I
won't believe you." And Wesley turned and left,
slamming the door closed.

"Jesus! What the fuck did he do?"

"Oh." Seemed like Wesley didn't want to be near Gunn
either; he'd barely looked at Gunn before heading for
the kitchen. Gunn followed, taking four feet as his
safe distance. Just a guess: he'd probably get yelled
at, anyway. "He kept on saying that things in the book
reminded him of me. Stupid things. A mandolin. A group
of trees. He was being stupid. Stupid and more and
more insensitive." Wesley was making himself a mug of
tea.

Insensitive? "You mean... about your arm?"

A shrug. "About anything he could find to be stupid
about."

Gunn moved closer, right up to the doorway. "And he
wouldn't stop."

"Sometimes he doesn't. He doesn't listen. He acts as
if you don't matter."

Gunn thought about how Angel had hurt Wesley in the
last few days when he'd been truly lucid. When he'd
known exactly what he was saying. But Wesley was
different now, he was stronger: this time he'd gotten
angry.

"Must've been something in his dream set him off. He
was kind of like that in the shower. Asking me about
shampoo. Conditioners. Guess he's never bothered to
look above my eyebrows."

Wesley laughed, then nodded. "Yes, that sounds like a
warning. I wish I had a test. Something to ask him
first thing to see if it's one of his stupid days.
Would you like some tea?"

Gunn said yes and they took their teas to the couch
and talked about work and about beer for that evening,
and about training early on Sunday and which beach
they'd go to afterwards. Angel wasn't on the screen
but they could hear pages being turned very slowly; he
must be over by the door. Was he waiting, hoping for
Wesley to change his mind? Or was this the sound of
Angel over all that, showing he didn't care?

Gunn hadn't been looking forward to the digging -
sounded like Piriti was going to be really hard work -
but he was glad to get out of the apartment and then
glad to be out in the sun and to have something to
keep him busy with his entire body. Seeing Wesley
shout at Angel, slam the door on Angel, when Wesley
was never more than exasperated. Gunn still felt the
shock, almost like Wesley had been shouting at him
too. What the hell had Angel said? And why the hell
had he said it? Had he really meant it as a stupid
joke, like Wesley thought? Angel didn't know how
terrible it had been for Wesley to lose his arm. It
had been a different Angel who'd known Wesley with two
arms, who'd seen the blood and the pain. This Angel
probably thought Wesley was exactly the way he was
meant to be. So maybe Wesley had reacted too hard, but
he had told Angel to stop, he'd given him a chance and
Angel had to learn somehow, not to be stupid, not to
joke about that.

Piriti wasn't hard work, hardly mentioned the tours at
all after thanking Gunn for his offer of help. They
did a lot of singing, Piriti and Solito starting off
with "Looking for the Heart of Saturday Night", and
then finally getting Gunn to join in with "It's Still
Rock and Roll to Me". Gunn wondered if they were
hoping he'd take Matt's place at Caritas but there was
no hint; never meant to be a hint, they just liked
singing.

The end was odd, with everyone acting like it was
normal for them all to just split up back to their own
homes. No beach-house now, no place for them to hang
out and watch TV and do normal "friends" stuff. Matt
might have given them a set of keys but then he'd
probably be there right now with Holly.

"How's he been?" Gunn's first question when he got
home. Angel was somewhere out of sight of the camera.

Wesley shrugged. "Noisy. He kept on talking to
himself. Doing a lot of banging and scraping. And then
nightmares or possibly hallucinations. I think he's
asleep now. He's scarcely moved away from the door."

"Yeah, I'd've taken bets on the nightmares. You gonna
stay mad at him?"

A sigh. "I don't know. If he shows that he did
listen... The way I still feel now, I'd want to ask
you to feed him for me tomorrow. But I do have to see
how he behaves with me."

Gunn smiled. Not knowing if he was going to stay mad.
Needing more information before he could decide. That
was his Wes. "You don't sulk."

A harsh laugh. "Oh! I sulk to an Olympic standard. But
I do it by getting pompous and self-righteous. I don't
think anyone has ever recognised it for what it is."

Wesley had made a special sauce for the pizza, and the
rich smell seemed to fill the apartment. There were
anchovies in the sauce but Gunn was OK with that
because Wesley had promised he'd only use one and he'd
shown how finely it would get chopped, so after it had
been cooking for an hour it would be pulp, nothing to
suddenly bite into.

They started watching the first movie, but Gunn
stopped the tape when it was time to eat. "Y'know, it
must be near-on a year since the first time you cooked
pizza for us."

Wesley nodded. "A week next Tuesday."

"God! I'd never looked forward to a date more. Not in
my whole life."

Wesley's half-smile. "Not that I knew it was a date.
The most I was hoping for was to keep you entertained
all evening. Not have you bored. I'd been telling
myself that you probably didn't hug your friends
goodbye like that every time you saw them."

Gunn laughed hard, then shook his head over and over.
"Don't they do that where you come from? Not at all?"

"Not with me. People don't see me like that."

"Oh, man. I didn't at first. But getting close to
you... Jeez, it's addictive."

Very quietly: "I don't deserve you."

Gunn just shook his head and pulled Wesley into a
kiss.

* * * * *

They were up at seven on Sunday to go training. Angel
was awake and they decided to feed him first. He must
have heard them getting up and then the sound of the
microwave, because he was standing waiting for them
just a few feet inside the door. He had his sketchpad
in his right hand and he held it out to Wesley,
looking as uncertain as the day before, with the book.

"I can't take it, Angel." Impatient. "I haven't got a
free hand. Why don't you give it to Charles?"

Angel studied Gunn for about five seconds before he
offered him the pad. "I'm sorry. I thought he was... I
don't know how else to see him."

Gunn took the pad, looked at Wesley and they both
shrugged, and then Wesley made Angel take the beaker.
"What do you want us to do with the pad, Angel? Is
there something wrong with it?"

Angel didn't seem to want to look at Wesley now - he
made his reply to Gunn. "I don't know. He said... I
couldn't. But I had to do something."

"Well, we'll check it out for you. And I'll go and get
you a new one while you're finishing that." Gunn left
the pad on Wesley's desk and got a fresh one from the
drawer. A new crayon too, in case that was the real
problem. They'd check the pad when they got back after
training. They knew he hadn't had a vision, so there
couldn't be anything important in it.

They went straight out for training and Wesley forgot
the last of his stiffness in a good long swordfight.
They got breakfast from Starbucks in Manhattan Beach
and took it down to the beach. They didn't talk about
Angel.

The pad was full of drawings of Wesley. No, not full,
just three, but Angel must have been working on them
all night. Wesley in profile, head bent, mouth open
like he was speaking. Wesley's hand on a book, about
to turn the page. And from the waist up, full-face,
and naked. So Angel remembered when Wesley used to
shower him, he could draw the scars from memory. And
he'd noticed Wesley's ring: it was in both of the
pictures that showed Wesley's hand.

Angel had no other way of showing he was sorry. There
was nothing else he was able to give.

Wesley turned the pages slowly, saying nothing,
showing no reaction after a first gasp of surprise. He
turned them back even more slowly, then closed the pad
and opened the drawer where they kept the stack of
blank pads.

"Don't, Wes." Gunn put his hand over Wesley's,
stopping him from picking up the pad. "Keep it
somewhere safe. You give it back to him, you know what
Angelus'll do."

Wesley looked at Gunn, still almost expressionless,
then nodded and pushed the drawer closed with his
knee. "I'll put it with my books. Most of them have
survived a hundred years. I think that's a guarantee
of some sort."

After Wesley had put the pad away, on a bottom shelf,
Gunn said, "So'd he do the right thing? Or'd he make
it worse? Lookin' at you, could be either."

A deep sigh, which still could have been either, then:
"I'll go in when he wakes up. I'll thank him."

"You want me to leave the apartment? Just say how
long."

"What?" Finally, a reaction: surprise. "Why would you
leave?"

"What you gonna do? Stand at the other side of the
room and say, 'Thank you. I can see that you're
sorry.' Have to do more than say it. With me, with
him, with anyone. If he's still got the same theories,
then I need to get out. Don't want to mess with those
theories."

Wesley really couldn't decide, looked almost stupid
for about ten seconds there. Finally, shaking his
head, "I'll just read with him for a while. That
should be enough contact. But thank you. It was a kind
thought."

They had a meeting with the survey committee scheduled
for that evening, so they prepared for that then
caught up on paperwork. Angel started to dream,
talking in his sleep, then the dream turned into a
fake vision: of Doyle, probably about how he died.
Angel shouted out Doyle's name, over and over,
pleading. The drawings were confused, just snatched
details, impossible to tell what was happening, except
that there was a man in pain, and a spine-faced demon
snarling.

"He took on the demon, right? That's how he saved
Angel's life?"

Wesley shook his head. "That's a Brachen demon. Doyle
was half-Brachen. That must be him. Maybe he always
fought like that. I don't know."

Angel stopped shouting quite quickly (maybe ten
minutes?), and then he huddled and shivered and
muttered. Sometimes he cried out, but just a few words
at a time. Doyle's name must have been Francis; Wesley
hadn't known that.

Angel was still stuck in his vision when they left for
the meeting, but was asleep on the floor when they got
back. He woke lucid around ten, when Gunn and Wesley
were sitting on the floor around the coffee table,
drinking beer and playing a game about naming movies
and cities and songs and food.

Angel looked exhausted. He was propped against the
wall near his corner, head bowed, facing away from the
door. He looked around and up when Wesley went in, but
then let his head roll back almost immediately, with
gravity doing all the work.

"Angel? Can I talk to you?" Wesley had crossed the
room and was kneeling a few feet from Angel. The head
turned again, slowly, then nodded. "I wanted to thank
you for the drawings. You put a lot of care and
thought into them."

A long pause, then: "I thought you hated them. I
thought it was worse."

"I'm sorry I didn't look at them immediately. But we
were very busy this morning. You'd gone to sleep by
the time I was able to look at them or I would have
thanked you sooner."

"This morning? No." Shaking his head. "It was much
longer. I don't... What are the drawings?"

"Some drawings of me, that you must have made last
night. You've been asleep for most of today, and
dreaming. That may be why it seems longer. You have
vivid dreams."

Another long pause. "You liked them?"

"Yes, very much. No one has ever done that for me
before."

Angel sat up away from the wall, exhaustion suddenly
gone. He reached out towards Wesley's arm, though Gunn
couldn't see if he touched. "Will you stay?"

"I can stay and read. For a while. Is there anything
you'd particularly like to read?" Angel nodded and
pointed, and Wesley went to get the book and then sat
down next to Angel - right next to him, closer than
usual - and Gunn moved away from the door and lay on
the couch and read the paper.

When Wesley got up to leave, Angel got to his feet
too, which was unusual. He walked with Wesley to the
door, not like he was showing him out, but like he
couldn't bear yet for him to leave. To Gunn it was
obvious: the angle of his head, the tension in his
arm, the way he kept looking Wesley up and down - he
needed to put his arms around Wesley. And Wesley
realised; he was being too brisk, too oblivious,
almost like this was the end of a meeting with a
client. He'd been like that with Gunn, after the
Mexican meal.

"Go ahead, Wes. It's OK." Gunn didn't raise his voice,
spoke like Wesley was sitting next to him, and for a
few seconds he wondered if Wesley had heard. But then
Wesley turned to face Angel and stepped forward, and
Gunn looked away from the screen. He heard Angel sigh,
then murmurings from each: questions, and discouraging
answers. Ten seconds, twenty at most, and then Wesley
was closing and locking the door.

"Did he say why he'd been such an asshole yesterday?
Did he know?"

"Not really. I think... he thought I wouldn't mind.
That he'd made jokes like that before and I'd joined
in. But he shouldn't forget now."

Wesley wanted music, put on one of his classical CDs,
but just at background level; Gunn had heard it before
and liked it, but not enough to ask what it was. When
Wesley finally sat down - after clearing away beer
bottles, emptying the dishwasher, tidying the kitchen
and fetching more beer - Gunn said, "Does he still
have those dreams? About waking up with you next to
him?"

"I don't know. Maybe not recently. He still knows he
had them. But of course he couldn't tell you when."

"Was he confused by me being here? Obviously knowing?"

Wesley shook his head. "Didn't seem to notice." He
closed his head and leaned his head back.

"You're tired?"

A long sigh. Wesley opened his eyes and looked down at
his beer. "It's hard work. Not knowing who he'll be
next. I suppose afterwards it seems obvious but..."
Eyes closed again. "I never seem to learn what to
expect and it can't be good for him when I let myself
be surprised."

Gunn put his hand on Wesley's wrist, fingertips just
touching the bottle. "You know you just have to say.
You need to get away. San Diego. Wherever. Any time.
This weekend coming?"

A pause, then Wesley looked at Gunn, very serious, and
then he smiled and shook his head. "It's just tonight.
Because of this weekend. If he's easier by tomorrow
then by next weekend I'll be complaining that he's so
predictable. About having to have the same
conversation with him ten times."

* * * * *


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