[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Five 8/20 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Five 8/20

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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On Sunday morning Wesley still didn't shave, and he
dressed in clothes from the thrift shop and looked
grim and determined, which Gunn had seen before, in
the early days when Wesley was coping with Angel on
his own. And that was reassuring, really. Because Gunn
knew that person, that grim Wesley, knew Wesley must
have been coping like that for months, maybe getting
grimmer every day. But when that Wesley laughed he
looked like a different person, and Gunn had been able
to make him laugh. Not deliberately (or not at first),
but still he'd done it, and now he could imagine this
Wesley laughing. Some day, when neither of them was
expecting it.

Training was terrible again. Afterwards they went for
brunch at Soup Plantation (Gunn's idea), and Wesley
did eat. Just salad, but no one looking at him would
think there was anything wrong, not like seeing him
struggle at home. Maybe that was the answer: taking
him out to eat.

Anne had been repainting the shelter, and she'd had
some paint left over and had given it to Rondell, so
Gunn got handed a brush as soon as he arrived at the
base and got made part of the big team painting the
main bedroom. He would've worn different clothes if
he'd known - his digging clothes - but no big deal. In
one of their breaks he got enough time alone with
Rondell to ask him what the crew was doing for
training now, and whether there was room for him and
Wesley, a couple of times a week. Sure there was. When
did they want to start? OK, Wednesday. Around eight.

"Wes... Y'might need to go easy on him. At first. He -
He had somethin' go wrong. Took it hard. So he's...
he's been actin' like he's lost his nerve. He'll get
over it, but..." Gunn shrugged. "Haven't figured out
yet how hard to push him."

"Like Eladio, right? And Donnie?" Guys who'd had bad
near-misses, two, three years ago. Gunn nodded, 'cos,
yeah, that was as much as Rondell needed to know.
"Then we'll get him through. We'll figure it out"

When Gunn got home, Wesley wasn't working at his desk
like Gunn had expected, but then Gunn saw that the
door to Angel's room was open, and a glance up at the
screen showed him that Wesley and Angel were sitting
together in their usual place against the wall. Wesley
reading: that had to be good.

Gunn got himself a soda and was going to go change
into clean clothes when he realised that there wasn't
any sound coming from Angel's room. He took another
look at the screen, and then dropped his soda and
leapt to grab holy-water and a crossbow; Wesley wasn't
sitting next to Angel, he was lying against him, held
half-upright against Angel's chest, like he'd fallen
across Angel's thighs and Angel had caught him. Wesley
wasn't conscious, Gunn could see from the way he was
lying; and Angel was curled around Wesley, hiding
Wesley's face as well as his own.

"Put him down! Put him down, vampire. Get away from
him."

The vampire raised its head. Its face was human, and
there was no blood, not on its mouth or on Wesley. And
Gunn saw Wesley breathe. "He needs to sleep." Angel
was acting like he didn't see Gunn's weapons, like
Gunn had just come in to ask his opinion.

Gunn's heart was still pounding, not even starting to
slow, and now it felt like his brain had just stopped
working, might never work again. He had to do
something, he had to say something - but Angel's hands
were cradling Wesley's body, Angel's arm was crooked
to support Wesley's head, and Gunn's thoughts tore
apart, and there was heat and a roaring, and pressure
in slow, uneven waves. Finally (and his voice sounded
normal, how did it sound normal?): "He can't sleep
here. It isn't safe for him. You're too dangerous. We
never know what you might do."

Angel looked down at Wesley, then back at Gunn. "I
won't kill him. He doesn't want me to kill him." A
roaring again, but different, sharper. A different
disbelief, a separate area gone to overload. "I guess
you won't. But Angelus would. If he found him in here
asleep."

Angel looked alarmed, and he must have tightened his
hold because Wesley grunted and sighed, and rolled his
head a quarter turn over the curve of Angel's arm, and
then slowly sank back. Almost a whisper: "Would he
find him? Would they let him find him?"

"He was here yesterday. Angelus. I saw him. They don't
care. They wouldn't do anything to stop it."

Angel stared at Wesley for a long time. Then, still
looking at him: "Where can he sleep? He needs to
sleep."

"You have to wake him up. Make him leave. You can't
let him sleep in here."

Angel was frowning, shaking his head. "Where does he
sleep? You. Where do you sleep? I could take him
there." He shifted his left arm off Wesley's waist,
and made to get to his feet and pick Wesley up.

Gunn hesitated. Angel needed to learn to wake Wesley
up - no exceptions, no "but if I'm here, it's OK for
you to -". But Christ did Wesley need to sleep. Looked
like he'd sleep through an earthquake.

"Is it near where we go for the shower? Is it there
now?" Angel had got to his knees, very smooth -
impossibly smooth when you thought about how he was
having to hold Wesley steady in his arms the whole
time. Not human, that strength and control. A cat,
Gunn had thought long ago. A panther.

A different bedroom then, and Wesley naked in the bed,
and sleeping and sticky from sex.

"No. You can't." Not a panther. Nothing natural. A
demon in a corpse. "You can't see where he sleeps. I
told you to wake him up." Gunn hooked the holy water
into his pocket and slung the crossbow over his
shoulder, stepped over, right in Angel's face, leaned
in and shook Wesley by the shoulder, hard enough that
he felt the padding shift under his hand.

"Charles? What? What was...?" Groggy, confused. Then
Wesley seemed to notice that he was being held off the
ground, and he started fumbling to get to his feet,
very disoriented and unfocused. Gunn was reaching out
to steady him when Wesley looked up and saw that it
was Angel holding him, and he went rigid with horror.
Angel let go almost immediately and Wesley fell
heavily to the floor; Gunn had no chance of catching
him, just managed to jump back so Wesley didn't fall
against his legs.

Wesley landed with a yelp of pain, and didn't try to
get up like he would have in a fight, but just lay
gasping. "Oh, God, Wes, I'm sorry. He was - I told him
to put you down, but I - I should have made him. Are
you OK? You hit your head?"

Wesley nodded, then slowly rolled over onto his knees
and clambered to his feet. Gunn helped him up then
kept him close with an arm around his waist, and
Wesley did lean on him, really seemed shaken. Not
surprising. This was Wesley's near-miss. Missed by an
hour, maybe, not the seconds that Rondell would mean.
But if Wesley had gone in an hour earlier, if Gunn had
come home an hour later... They both knew what could
have been waiting for Gunn.

"C'mon. Let's get you out of here." Wesley was
following Gunn's coaxing, making for the door. Angel
was edging along the wall towards his corner; Gunn
could hear each dragging step and the rasp against the
roughness of the wall. The sounds stopped before Gunn
and Wesley reached the door but Gunn didn't think that
Angel had got to his corner and he took a look over
his shoulder to check. No, Angel was still a couple of
yards short. Slumped against the wall, his back to the
corner. Very withdrawn: sulking, or maybe guilty about
hurting Wesley. He was looking towards where they'd
been sitting, and Gunn turned his head to look too,
and saw a drained beaker, right against the wall on
Wesley's side, like Angel had given it back to Wesley
and Wesley had forgotten it. Gunn would get it after
he'd seen to Wesley.

"Thanks. I'm OK now." Wesley had pulled away but he
was leaning against the table, still not holding
himself right.

"How's your head? Thought I heard it bounce."

A smile, and Wesley looked more like himself, much
more awake. "I haven't got concussion. You must have
heard my glasses trying to decide where to break.
Fortunately the vote was split." Wesley didn't want to
sleep - well, he did, he kept on yawning - but he
shouldn't, or he wouldn't sleep again at night. He'd
do some translation; the effort of concentration
should wake him up. And a strong tea would help.

While Wesley was putting the kettle on, Gunn went back
into Angel's room to get the beaker. Now Angel was in
his corner, hunched over. After he'd got the beaker
Gunn stood looking at Angel for a while, then went
over and knelt down at his level, at a safe distance.

"Wesley's OK, Angel. He was just kinda shaken.
Surprised. I know you just wanted to help him. 'n' I
wanted to keep him safe. It'll be easier next time.
You just wake him up straight away and tell him he has
to leave."

Angel slowly raised his head, stared at Gunn,
expressionless, then lowered his head again. Gunn
shrugged and left.

Gunn decided to have a bath. He needed to chill out,
let the adrenaline soak itself away, and there was the
paint and dust and sweat he'd got with his crew. He
took the travel book in with him but didn't read more
than a page; just lay and listened to the sounds of
Wesley working, clear through the half-open door, and
with only a wall and a linen-closet between the desk
and the bath.

There hadn't been a book. Not where they'd been
sitting, not where they could have reached. The books
were all in their stack in the corner, neat like they
hadn't been touched in a week.

(A week. Last Sunday. Wesley dressing for his meal
with Barney. Smart and impatient in his suit.)

So they hadn't been reading. They must just have been
talking. Yeah. Angel must've given the beaker back to
Wesley and said, "Stay and talk. Sit down here right
next to me. Talk to me." And Wesley hadn't said, "I
can't." He hadn't said, "I'm not in the mood to talk
to you. And there's nothing to talk about." Nothing
like he'd said to Gunn. So natural and comfortable to
be talking to his vampire he must've leaned heavier
and heavier against him until he fell asleep. And then
Angel got to hold him. Angel got to know, with each
slow, peaceful breath, that he was doing this right,
he was doing what Wesley needed.

And then Angel got to see that Wesley really didn't
want to be touched. Would Wesley have looked at Gunn
like that, if he'd woken up in Gunn's arms? Yes.
Probably. So Gunn almost felt sorry for Angel. But
Wesley had stayed and talked to Angel. Wesley had
acted like he wanted to talk to Angel.

"What were the two of you talking about before you
fell asleep." Gunn hadn't dressed yet, was still in
his robe. Maybe he'd stay like this; act out through
clothes, like Wesley.

Wesley frowned. "I can't remember. He said I looked
different. Smelled different. He could still smell
something of the men who'd worn my clothes before. So
he asked about them. But after that..." A shrug. "I
can't remember."

"So - You tell him why you're not shaving? About what
happened?"

Wesley flinched, just slightly, then shook his head.
"I told him I'd made a mistake."

The exact truth. Angel got to hear the exact truth.
"Did it help? Talkin' to him. How long'd it take you
to fall asleep? I know you weren't reading."

Wesley sighed, looked over at Angel's door. "He knows
a great deal about making mistakes. We - We've always
been similar in some ways."

" 'n' I'm too different? Just won't understand? You
must've sat down there wanting to talk to him. What's
that from? You say you can't talk, you can't do this,
you can't do that. You mean just with me. So... what's
he do?"

Wesley closed his eyes, looking exhausted, and dropped
his head back. A deep sigh, then another, even deeper.
When he raised his head to look at Gunn, it was with a
visible effort. "Nothing. Nothing you'd want to do.
Nothing I'd want you to do. It's more... what he's
done. That makes him worse than me. Much worse. Where
you're better. I feel - I feel like a disease. I don't
want you to be near me. I want you to stay safe. But
him..." A shrug. "I can't make any difference to him.
I don't love him. He's never loved me. It's... It's
simple."

Angel curled over Wesley, facing down Gunn and the
crossbow for the sake of Wesley's sleep. But Wesley
hadn't seen that, so he didn't know as much as Gunn
did about what Angel felt. "I ain't better. Wes. Wes."
He put his hand over his eyes for a couple of breaths,
then dragged it slowly back over his head. "Guess you
know everythin' I'm thinking to say to you right now."

A small nod. "I think so."

"Be wasting my breath?"

Another nod. "This wasn't my first mistake. Not by any
means. I -" He swallowed. "I can't. I can't bear to
tell you. I know you'd have to -" A long, shaking
breath. "All this time I'd been hiding from them. From
my mistakes. I'd been hiding behind you. Behind Angel.
Letting myself think that I'd changed. When all the
time... So - I know I'm being selfish. That it must be
-" Shaking his head. "That there's no reason you'd
understand."

Gunn shrugged. "Well... I c'n guess why it's simpler
with Angel. He's never got jealous, has he? Of me?"
Wesley shook his head and mouthed a no. "I wanna hold
you like that. Know you didn't let him, not on
purpose, but... Jeez, I'm even jealous that he got to
sit that close to you! But that's just -" A small
smile, just a twist. "Didn't even know I got jealous
till I met you."

No joke to Wesley, anything but. Frowning, pained:
"I've no right to - To that attention. From you. I
never - You shouldn't. You shouldn't."

OK. So add a couple more months to the time for Gunn
to have to take his "attention" to the bathroom. He
leaned forward, took Wesley's hand, and rubbed his
thumb back and forth around Wesley's ring. "You got
the right. A hundred times over. Hundred and one if
you'll pretend you never saw me get stupid over bein'
jealous. Yeah, it's simpler. Course the two of you
talk." He sat back. "But you gotta promise you'll
never fucking fall asleep in there again. I've told
him ten times now he's got to wake you up. Now you
tell him another twenty. Christ, man! First few
seconds, you looked like you could be dead."

"I'm sorry." Wesley put his hand on Gunn's knee, bare
through the gap in the robe, and Gunn had to close his
eyes for a moment at the punch of heat to his heart
and his cock, blood urgent to the point of pain. "I'll
tell him every time we sit down."

* * * * *

On Monday morning Gunn went out in the truck to call
the two clients he hadn't reached on Saturday. One
hung up, the other said he'd been going to call later
in the day: he'd heard four different stories over the
weekend (including one that had Wesley breaking down
in the hotel, on his knees to a Kekulei demon, begging
for forgiveness), and he hadn't really believed any of
them. He didn't want to close the case, though he
didn't see how Gunn was going to be able to do the
work, not with what he'd seen of people's attitudes
("Hey, I was homeless, livin' on the streets since I
was twelve. People lookin' though me, prayin' not to
have me speak to 'em... Didn't hold me back then.
Won't now."); so he'd give Gunn two weeks to see what
he could do, but then he might have to take the case
somewhere else because he did need results.

Three cases left out of eleven. Not bad. Really. Gunn
had brought along envelopes and covering letters for
both of the clients (reckoning they'd both hang up),
so he was able to go straight to the Post Office and
send back the files for all of the eight other cases.

While he was waiting he got a call from Matt. Matt
said he'd spent all Sunday evening talking with Grouw
and they were both really worried about Wesley and
Gunn. Gunn couldn't talk, not in line at the Post
Office, and Matt was about to go into a class, but he
had a couple of hours free for lunch.

Gunn told Matt some of what was happening with Wesley
- not the terrible things Wesley kept saying, nothing
about Angel - but about the clothes and the eating and
not getting into bed and refusing to let Gunn near.
Gunn had needed to talk to another human, someone
who'd know what he meant if he said he loved Wesley.
And Matt was his only human friend who knew about
Wyndham Gunn, who understood that Wesley's mistake had
changed everything. Matt listened properly and
quietly, and when Gunn asked, said he couldn't think
of anything that Gunn could do different. Just had to
wait, like he was doing, remember it was shock, it had
just been a few days, only felt like forever. Wesley
would get better, gotta focus on that. He'd find his
way out of the shock.

God. Good to hear that from someone else. And Matt
hugged him goodbye - because he needed it, they both
needed it - and no one seeing it would guess that this
was a straight guy hugging his fag friend for the
first time. Matt wasn't thinking "straight" and "fag"
(and he had to sometimes, didn't he?); he was just
thinking "friend". Like Gunn with Wesley, their first
night of beers and talking, with Angelus still
snarling in the next room. Wes had needed to be held
then, and he'd known it, he'd wanted more. Of course
he had. People needed to be held.

Matt invited Gunn over to the beach-house, too, if he
needed to give Wesley some of that time alone.

"What about Holly?"

A shrug. "You mind if she's there?" Gunn shook his
head. "I'll tell her you've got stuff goin' on at
home. Need to get out and chill. Know she'll be OK
with that."

"How'd we meet?"

Through a guy Matt used to know. Taylor. Who'd been
into self-defence, been on some course with Gunn.

"Taylor. OK." He'd come over on Thursday, probably.
Which had been Caritas night just a month ago.

Time to get down to work, time to keep those three
clients. Have to go very carefully, treat every talk
with a demon like a raid on a nest of vamps, always
keep a clear line to the exit; but keep everything
casual, like you'd never think of being scared, 'cos
you know you've done nothing wrong. He wanted to call
Swift first, get a reading or something from her
before he went in. But that was just avoidance:
putting it on someone else; wasting time. Anyway,
people knew where she stood on Wyndham Gunn, so she
wouldn't get to hear the worst. Gunn just had to see
for himself.

A tough few hours, but after the first three demons,
Gunn knew that he could deal. Like a raid on a nest of
vamps, it was a hell of a challenge, and it needed
doing, and damn! but it was the best feeling in the
world when you saw them start to fall back, when you
knew you'd carried it through. Didn't matter what they
said about him or even about Wes, just ran straight
off him 'cos none of it was true.


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