[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Five 7/20 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Five 7/20

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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Gunn woke to the smell of coffee. Wesley was in the
same clothes, and he hadn't shaved. He was sitting on
the couch - no book, no mug of coffee, just sitting -
but he got up and said he'd got some pastries from
Trader Joe's, he'd put them in to heat now.

Wesley said he'd eaten, had one of his yogurts, and he
didn't want any more coffee. Gunn took his breakfast
to the couch, and Wesley sat down again and watched
him.

"You gonna change? Those clothes look like you slept
in 'em."

Wesley shrugged. "After training."

"OK."

It was a terrible training session. Wesley would be
fierce in the attack, and then suddenly lose all
conviction. He admitted that the attack was for
Barney, and then he'd remember the Prio Motu, what
would have happened without Gunn.

Not surprising. "We gotta work on it. Try again
tomorrow." Wesley agreed. Gunn thought Wesley might
want to give up, say he knew already that he couldn't
do it. But he must still have some faith left in
himself. Though it was only training, no one to get
hurt apart from himself.

Back home, Wesley took about ten minutes to choose his
change of clothes - just stood in front of the
wardrobe, staring. In the end he got a pair of chinos
and (really weird) one of Angel's black sweaters. He
still didn't shave. The sweater hung so loose on him.
He looked so thin. Gunn offered to help him pin up the
arm, but he didn't need help, not with something he'd
done a hundred times before.

Gunn got all the files for their cases. Time to go and
make some calls. "What you gonna do, Wes? Read?"

Wesley shook his head. "I don't know. What do you want
to eat? For dinner."

"How about a curry?" Gunn smiled. "I've been having
the dreams about the roasted eggplant."

Wesley didn't smile back, but he nodded. "I'll go out
to the store. We've got nothing in. How long do you
think you'll be?"

"Couple of hours, at least." Wesley wanting time on
his own? "When d'you need me back?"

"If you're back by four, then I'll go to the store
after that, so I won't leave Angel."

"Should be fine. I'll call if it looks like being
later."

Gunn stopped in a Pollo Loco to get a couple of
burritos and a large soda, and then decided he'd just
stay parked in the lot, make all the calls from there.
Private as anywhere else. He called Grouw first, and
Grouw wasn't surprised about the duals. He'd spoken to
his sister the previous evening, and she was coming in
a few hours to spend the rest of the weekend with him.
Grouw had spoken to Matt, too - not to spread the
misery, not to say, "Look what happened when you
dumped us." - but because he knew that Matt would want
to be told. Grouw was going around to the beach house
on Sunday evening. Piriti hadn't returned his pages
yet.

"What did Yan say?"

"She has some prisoners like Barney. Not empaths.
'Collectors', she said. Most do it for fucked-up
personal reasons. They talk about it all the time. The
others... They could pass themselves off as regular
guys. She said she'd look in their records. Maybe
there's something. She said she wouldn't be able to
sleep for a week if she found out she'd met one by
accident. It's bad enough when they're locked up."

"Y'couldn't sleep?"

"I was in a car with him. I was joking with him. I
must have been there when he started planning... for
the Kekulei demons."

Gunn swallowed. "Wesley can't eat."

"A meal alone with him. God." A pause, and Gunn
thought he heard a door close. "My roommates've heard
about what happened. About Wesley. I'm telling them,
but - They don't know any humans. Not to speak to.
They think it's... That he could've worked it out
about Barney, if he'd wanted to. But since it was just
demons... He didn't really care. And someone's started
a stupid story about the whole survey."

"How stupid? We gonna be lynched on sight?"

"They don't really believe it. But they want to
believe something bad about humans. They won't do more
than talk but you should be careful."

"The both of us?"

"You weren't part of what happened. The way they told
it. I mean, you weren't in the story at all. But when
I told them what I'd heard straight from you, then...
they came up with their own stories about how you were
nearly as bad. 'You were just protecting him.' 'You
must have known.' So if there's someone who wants him,
I think they'd take you as a start."

Gunn wanted to call Swift, remind her of her promise
to warn him to get Wesley out of town. But she
wouldn't have forgotten, and she had enough to deal
with.

They had eleven cases, and Gunn got through to nine of
the clients. Two hung up on him as soon as he
introduced himself, two shouted at him and then hung
up, one shouted and then let him give Wesley's side,
and the other four hadn't heard at all so he told the
story starting with the murders and working back. None
of them wanted to deal with Wesley any more, and for
most it wasn't because they were angry or disgusted -
they'd met Wesley, they knew he was too honest, too
serious, they could imagine exactly how it had all
happened - but because they just couldn't face him.
And they didn't want to have to explain to anyone else
why they were still dealing with him. Because it was
going to look like a statement, earn you some enemies,
whatever you argued about Wesley's innocence. Two said
they'd deal with Gunn, no problem explaining Gunn, but
the others said yes, they wanted to close the case and
get the refund.

Nearly two o'clock. Gunn drove till he saw a place he
knew he could buy a pack of envelopes to post the
files, sat in the truck and addressed the seven
envelopes, and then decided to get another soda, have
a walk in Alondra Park, and get home some time past
three. He called Rondell from the park. No real plans
yet for Sunday afternoon. They might have a game of
pickup. Or there was still the movies. Gunn would turn
up at the base after lunch. Maybe they'd just hang out
for a few hours.

Wesley had moved his main bookcase from beside his
desk, across the room to behind Gunn's computer chair,
to the left of Angel's door. He'd put it right in
front of another bookcase - "Angel's bookcase" was how
Gunn thought of it, though a lot of the books were
Wesley's. Gunn suggested they move Angel's bookcase
over to the gaping space beside Wesley's desk, but
Wesley said he didn't need any of those books now.
Looked like he didn't need anything except his
language books.

While Wesley was out at the store, Gunn typed and
printed the covering letters for the files, and then
did the refunds (nearly a thousand dollars). He put
the envelopes and the four open files away in the
filing cabinet, out of sight. Angel was asleep - or,
no, it was Angelus, and maybe that wasn't sleep, more
like a hallucination. He was pressing himself against
the floor, growling, arching with pleasure, and
talking about killing and drinking and how he'd "make
him beg to die". Exactly like he acted in a vision.
Gunn turned the screen off, thought about gagging him,
but that would be too dangerous without the guarantees
of a real vision.

Wesley was away for much longer than the usual trip to
the store, and Gunn guessed he'd decided to shop for
the week, not just for the curry. When he heard the
sound of the car, he went down to help carry. There
were four bags, but only two were groceries; the
others were much lighter than Gunn was expecting, and
full of clothes.

Thrift-shop clothes. Gunn couldn't believe it. He took
the bags into the bedroom while Wesley was unpacking
the groceries, looked inside just out of curiosity,
and ended up pulling all of the clothes out onto the
bed. Three T-shirts, in washed-out shades of green,
brown and grey, labels all faded to nothing. A baggy
grey cotton sweater. A canvas jacket, looked almost
army-surplus. Two pairs of light-brown pants, one
canvas, one corduroy.

This wasn't Wesley. Wesley dressed like an accountant.
Always. He had his business-meeting shirts, and his
research shirts, and his beer-drinking shirts, and his
fighting shirts, and his fuck-me shirts. But all of
them button-down shirts, because it was so difficult
for him now, to pull something over his head. Street
clothes from a thrift-shop. That wasn't his Wesley.
His Wesley wore his best suit to a meeting with
homeless kids.

"What's with the clothes?" Gunn had joined Wesley in
the kitchen. "They for Anne's kids or something? She
call while I was out?"

Wesley shook his head. "I had to get... something
different. I can't wear - I'm not that person any
more."

"So you - Some other guy's T-shirt? And another guy's
jeans? So who are you, then? Hell, Wes! You gotta
wardrobe full of clothes I love you in."

Wesley closed his eyes and turned away. His voice was
shaking. "You shouldn't. You shouldn't have. That
was... a shell. I never had - There was nothing there.
Now..." A deep sigh. "I won't pretend. I can't."

Gunn couldn't speak, for how long he didn't know.
Finally, on a whisper: "That you loved me?"

Wesley turned back in a jerk, mouth and eyes wide with
shock. A pause, then he started to reach out, and then
pulled his hand back with another jerk. Now his look
was Angel's look, beaten, and he said slowly, "That I
was worth anything. I don't know..." Shaking his head,
over and over. "I can't feel."

Oh, God. Gunn took the two steps and pulled Wesley
into his arms, held him tight, tight. "Wes. Wes. Don't
talk like that. Please. God, don't. It's the shock.
You're - You're half-crazy with shock. I know why. I
know. But I can't - Even just telling you, 'You're
wrong. You're not what you said.' Don't make me say
it, what you said. Don't make me even think it. We're
gonna get through this. All we've been through with
Angel, course we'll get through this. But don't -
Don't talk like that. It's the shock. It's - It's just
the shock."

Wesley had been tense in Gunn's arms, was still tense.
But then his hand came up, pressed on Gunn's back.
"No. I won't. I'm sorry. I know you - I'll stop it.
I'll stop."

"It'll help, Wes. It will. You too."

Gunn could feel Wesley nodding, but then Wesley was
pulling back - just slightly, not pushing him away. "I
should start the curry. There's a lot of chopping."
Gunn let go, and moved back to the doorway.

"You want to rent a movie? I think 'Crouching Tiger,
Hidden Dragon' is just out."

"I won't watch it. So you should get whatever you
want."

"What'll you do?"

"I'll go to the bedroom. And - you're not driving me
out. I want you to enjoy your film. I'll be glad to
know you're enjoying it. I just - I'm not in the mood
to do anything."

Gunn rented "Thirteen Days" and "O Brother, Where Art
Thou?" from Blockbuster - not too obvious as movies to
change Wesley's mind, but not what Gunn would have
chosen just for himself - and he got more beer on the
way home. He put on one of Wesley's classical CDs and
lay on the couch with a travel book (maybe originally
Angel's) - and after a few pages he started to feel
horny. Nothing to do with the book. Just... Saturday
night, and Wesley busy in the kitchen, and the smell
of spices, and the Blockbuster cases stacked on top of
the T.V. A date. His body knew all the signs of one of
their dates, and it would not listen to reason. It
didn't even care about the chill that still gripped it
from seeing the clothes, from all those things Wesley
had said. Wesley was close, there was the evening
ahead, it wanted sex.

Boy, but it was going to have a long wait if it wanted
anything more than Gunn's hand. Wesley saying he
couldn't feel... Gunn remembered, in the bad years for
him with his crew, that there'd been times when he
hadn't thought about sex in two, three weeks. Like the
connection had just been cut, shut off like it had
never been there. And his heart, too, clenched solid,
biting down on rage, pressed down with despair.
Warmth, lightness, openness didn't belong there, had
no chance of forcing a way in. He was surrounded by
people he knew he liked, some he knew he loved, but he
didn't feel it. And then that would be past and he'd
forget what it really felt like, how those bad times
took you over. Until the next bad time, maybe six
months later. Two weeks must have been the longest one
of those bad times had lasted. They'd been short at
first, a few days, but by the end - and he remembered
this from what Alonna would say to him - by the end
each bad time always lasted at least a week.

And Wesley now was worse than Gunn had ever been. Much
worse. He'd never talked like Wesley was talking.
Never. Alonna would get sick and tired of him picking
apart all the ways the odds were stacked against him,
he'd seen her exasperated, bored, annoyed with him -
but never scared for him like he was feeling scared
for Wesley. A month for Wesley? Two, even?

No. No, he wasn't going to try and guess. He wasn't
going to say, "Well, he's five times worse than I was,
so..." One day at a time. One movie, one bag of worn
clothes, one hard-on with nowhere to go (except maybe
the bathroom, because the music had shifted and now
Wesley was working in time to it, and Gunn could see
Wesley's reflection in the T.V, just clear enough to
show the stubble - and Wes with stubble on a Saturday
evening, with all the signs of a date...).

Again, Wesley drank water and ate a third of what Gunn
ate. But he smiled when Gunn thanked him for the meal
- too brief, more of a tremor, but still the first
time since Thursday.

Wesley didn't go to the bedroom when Gunn started
watching "O Brother, Where Art Thou?", but went down
to do laundry instead, including the thift-shop
clothes. Gunn got caught up in the movie very quickly,
and it was more than half over when he paused it to
get another beer and realised that Wesley hadn't come
back.

The wash-cycle must have been finished for at least
half an hour but Wesley hadn't moved the clothes to
the drier. He was sitting in the battered plastic
chair, near the washer, but turned away from it, his
back to the door. He looked around and started to
stand up when Gunn came in, then paused, looked like
he was going to sit down again, then gave a sigh,
pushed the chair out of the way, and started to unload
the washer. He'd been crying. Not much, and he looked
again like he didn't know he'd been doing it; the
tracks were so clear, he couldn't have even tried to
wipe them away.

"Was it a good film?"

"Not done yet, but yeah, you'll like it. I'd watch it
again, any time. You gonna stay down here 'n' guard
the drier too?"

"I might as well."

"I'll bring you some tea." All he could think of to
offer.

A pause, then Wesley frowned and smiled at the same
time. "No. I'm fine. I'm sorry I made you interrupt
your film."

"When you're done, then?"

Gunn sat with the remote in his hand for maybe ten
minutes before he could bring himself to press play.
Watching a movie, drinking a beer - knowing that the
man you loved was sitting alone in a bare room, crying
because... because he hated himself. What kind of man
could do that? Well... the kind of man that Wesley
wanted him to be. Or wanted him to pretend to be.

What did Wes want? Not to have to think about him. To
be sure that he wasn't going to come downstairs again
worrying, asking questions. Nothing would stop Gunn
from worrying, but maybe he'd be able to hide it
better if he gave himself the movie to think about
too.

After Wesley had drunk his tea he went straight to
bed, saying he was leaving Gunn to watch the film.
Again, Wesley didn't take his clothes off, and he
didn't get properly into bed. He was lying on his
back, though, not turned away, and he lay and watched
Gunn get undressed, and he reached up and touched
Gunn's hand on the pillow and wished him goodnight.

Gunn was woken several times in the night by Wesley
having restless dreams. Not nightmares; he kept on
saying, "No," but then he said, "That's not hurting
me," so Gunn stopped wondering if he should wake
Wesley up.


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