[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Six 8/12 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Six 8/12

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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What now? So what now? It was 4:18 and Angel was
finally asleep, and everyone that he needed to talk to
was asleep now. He should sleep. He should try to
sleep. Because the next day was going to be hard.

He couldn't go back in the bedroom. He got Angel's
blanket from the weapons closet, and he turned out the
lights and kicked off his shoes and lay down on the
couch.

He didn't want to think. About what had happened.
About the next day. The next week. The next month. And
he didn't think. He managed to empty his mind, make
the air in there too thin. Thoughts did step up, they
launched themselves, but there was nothing to carry
them. No drama, no wreckage, they just disappeared,
like a vampire hitting a wall of sunlight.

No thoughts, nothing with any notion of direction. But
images. Sounds. Feelings against his skin. All there,
already there. Not needing air, nowhere to go. He
couldn't control anything about the way they showed
themselves to him, like his mind was a spotlight
swinging loose in a storm.

At 5:00 on the VCR, with no change in what his mind
was doing, he accepted that he was not going to sleep.
He booted the computer again and played Duke Nukem,
and that took him past dawn and through till it was
time to make coffee. When he turned away from the
refrigerator holding the milk, he saw that he'd put
out two mugs, and then he looked at the level in the
jug and realised that he'd made coffee for two. He put
the second mug back.

He had to tell people. He should make a list.

Lilah Morgan. The Kekulei. Piriti, in case he was
expecting a page. Grouw, to get a message to the
duals. So was he going to stop training? No, he'd
always be training, it was part of his life, but...
just him with two duals... Four against one, what
would that be for? Until he knew, until he could
imagine it, he'd be wasting their time.

Matt? Not for any reason but because otherwise he'd
hear it from Grouw. Made more sense for all the boys
to hear it the same way. And then Matt wouldn't have
to figure out how to make his call ("Oh, Gunn, man, I
just heard..."?).

So Anne, then, as well as Rondell. Because she'd hear
it from the crew. He would keep the training with the
crew, same two nights a week. He'd done it before
without Wesley. Done it long before he knew Wesley.

The bookstores? Guess they wouldn't expect it, not in
the same way, but if they'd got talkin' Wes up for
some catalogin' work... They'd look stupid if they had
to get back to the guy and say no, it wasn't gonna
happen. Not real stupid, 'cos how could the guy get
angry? But he didn't want anyone, when they heard, to
be thinking, "Damn! That's gonna be a pain." He wanted
them to be thinking first of Wesley, not themselves.

Swift? Yeah. And she should know before he called the
Kekulei.

Who else? Was there anyone else?

There was Angel.

Gunn felt like he'd got taken out of time, like he'd
spent five minutes maybe with nothing in him. Or like
a statue, just solid cold. Telling Angel. Dealing with
Angel. Trying to be ready for what Angel might do.

He should chain him first, before he told him, because
Angel might turn violent. And Gunn had to be able to
tell him from close to, the way he'd want to be told.
Not be shouting it from the doorway.

("Sylvia!")

It's for the boy.

No. No. But he would chain Angel. He had to. And,
really, would Angel even notice the chains compared to
the knowing that Wesley was gone?

Grouw and Lilah got into work the earliest that Gunn
knew of, around half past eight. He called Lilah first
because she'd be the easiest, she'd know what to say;
and they could make arrangements for returning the
manuscript, they could keep it just business.

She was shocked, she was sorry, so sorry. Wesley was a
remarkable man, she had always looked forward to their
meetings. She could collect the manuscript directly
from the apartment. Maybe that evening, around eight?

Grouw didn't know what to say. A lot of "Oh, God"s and
then "Is there anything I can do?" Gunn just asked him
not to call Matt, or not until the evening because
Gunn should have got through to Matt by then. And
yeah, he was going to page Piriti right now.

Swift asked about the funeral. She expected the
ceremony would be humans-only, but if there was a
gathering afterwards... She knew many people who would
want to pay their respects.

"No, it'll be in England. The funeral. With his
family."

Then just a gathering? Something separate for L.A.?
Gunn didn't know, he hadn't thought, he had to find a
funeral director first. But he'd let her know, of
course he'd let her know.

Wesley's main contact with the Kekulei was a music
teacher called Leeth. A deep, quiet shock, like he'd
be staring at the wall and thinking about this all the
rest of the day.

"I admit there were times when I regarded him as an
exceptionally inconvenient fact. But he was a truly
brave man."

No hint that he'd even started to think about the room
half-painted or the three or four still untouched; and
the idea first came to Gunn out of gratitude and then
was obvious in seconds as a thing that he needed to
do, for Wesley: "I know you didn't want me helping
him. But would you let me finish what he started?"
Leeth would have to talk to some people - not to get
approval, just to inform them - and then he'd get back
to Gunn and they'd arrange a time to meet at the
church.

Not even 9:30. Oh, God. None of the bookstores opened
till ten, best time to get Matt was lunchtime. He'd
tell the crew at training tomorrow, and call Anne just
before or just after.

A funeral director. They'd probably be open by now. If
they ever closed. First of all, he had to get a handle
on how much more was involved since Wesley was going
back home, how much further he'd have to look.

He got the Yellow Pages, picked a local firm, and
explained to them what he needed. What he needed was
called "repatriation", and no they weren't able to
offer that service but they gave him the number of
some firms who did, including an English firm with an
agent in L.A. He called the English agent first, and
she was able to meet with him that afternoon, so he'd
start with that.

Repatriation. So what made it so complicated? What was
involved? He went online to search, and it was weird
but most of the sites that he found were English. If
he added "L.A." to the search then he got news
articles about bones and things in museums, where the
tribe wanted them back in New Zealand. But no sites
for any firms - or not high in the list - whereas take
out "L.A." and the top twenty had six sites for
English firms. They must really travel a lot. (Or die,
when they travelled?)

One of the sites was for the firm he was meeting that
afternoon, and he was starting to read their details
of the paperwork when he heard a quiet groaning from
Angel's room. Lucid, almost certainly, and with one of
those headaches where he had to lie still. As good as
chains. Better since it would go away on its own,
should be almost gone the next time he woke up. But to
tell him when he was in that much pain...

Gunn gave a long, shaking sigh, closed his eyes, and
covered his face with his hands. There would never be
a good time to tell him. Headache. Or chains. And Gunn
would have to go in with the Exedrin and the ice-water
- because that was what they did, that was how they
tried to help him - and he couldn't go in and not tell
him, leave him thinking that Wesley might be back any
moment.

He got up and went to the kitchen for the bowl and
everything, and Angel stopped groaning and started
calling for Wesley.

"No, Angel. It's me. It's Charles." Shouted towards
the door, so the disappointment would already be over
by the time he went in.

Angel seemed glad to see him, managed a nod and a
fractional smile as he held his head up for the pills.
After he'd taken them Gunn said, "How bad is your
headache, Angel? Is it bad enough that you can't move,
you couldn't stand up?" Another nod.

Gunn moved back slightly, held himself poised on the
balls of his feet, ready to run. "Angel, I have to
tell you something terrible. About Wesley. He's dead.
He died last night. I'm so sorry." Angel was looking
hard at him, but showing no reaction. After about ten
seconds, a slight, puzzled frown, but then that
quickly eased. Angel wasn't even breathing. "Angel?
Did you hear me?"

A slow, slow blink, then: "What happened?" Faint
curiosity, no more.

"You know we go out and fight sometimes? To help
people who are in trouble."

A nod. "He fights with a sword."

"Most of the time. Well, he was hurt very badly. And
he died before help could reach him."

More silence, some deeper frowning. Eventually: "What
have they told you?"

Couldn't be less of a clue what he was thinking. Gunn
wasn't going to make anything up: he wouldn't know
where to start. "What do you think they should tell
me?"

But Angel just looked away, towards the door. After
maybe a minute, back to Gunn: "Do they know where he
is?"

In the nearest morgue, but of course he didn't mean
that. "I think probably... he isn't anywhere."

Angel closed his eyes, then gave a slow nod, and
another, and opened his eyes again. "But you're still
here."

"Yeah. I'm not goin' anywhere."

"That's good." A long sigh. "It will be different
without him. We will want him back."

Understatement. Or maybe it wasn't with Angel. What
the hell did this mean? How did he go from being so
protective and fixated when Wesley cut his hand, to -
To this nothing. Maybe he'd seen this happening. Every
day he'd known that this could happen. A vampire,
looking at a mortal.

"I have some things I ought to do, Angel. Is it OK if
I leave you on your own? There's the ice and the cloth
there, for your head."

A nod, with Angel already closing his eyes and turning
his head away from the bowl and the door.

Gunn sat down again at the computer then found that he
was shaking. Adrenaline. Got so keyed up about telling
Angel, imagining so hard on his behalf. Wasted effort.
Total wasted effort. What had Wes said once? Laughing,
because he'd planned something for Angel and then
Angel was all "Yeah? So?" Saying that would teach him
to forget how "He's not sane. He's not human. And he's
not me." Wes laughing. But Gunn was still shaking.

No sleep. Too much coffee. He could lie on the couch
and try to get a couple of hours. But he was waiting
for Piriti to return the page, and what good would two
hours really do? Should do something about eating
soon, or the shakes'd get worse all day.

Get out, go to the park or something. Walk. Sit.
Things being green, being quiet. Look out for a diner
on the way.

The diner was almost empty, still serving breakfast.
He had pancakes, bacon, eggs. Orange juice, not
coffee. He sat and stared out of the window. The world
out there, and Wesley not in it. He couldn't let
himself think about what that really meant for him.
Not yet. Not now. He could feel the gathering inside
him, a breath being drawn deeper and deeper and he was
terrified of the scream that was coming, how he would
ever make it stop.

Piriti called when Gunn was halfway through his second
transit of the park. Gunn had thought Piriti was going
to be worse than Grouw and he was right. Grouw had
taken it in enough to start thinking that he should be
saying something, he should be doing this better.
Piriti was raw reaction, not aware of what he was
saying. "But he -", "But he -", over and over, and
"No". Finally, full-force: "But what are you going to
do?"

"I'm going to finish the painting. I think he'd want
it finished. I - Probably be easier on my own. Just
workin' straight through." Cold, but he didn't need
Piriti's help, not like Wesley. And he didn't want
him, not in this state, not to be locked in alone with
him for hours every night. Should be Solito's job, not
Gunn's.

Matt was the first one to mention Angel. "You - You -
Know nothin'll help but if you're ever feelin' like
you want company... Y'just call. Any time. Know
there's Wes's sick friend but... You've never talked
like he got to be your friend."

"I - Yeah. Yeah, thanks." He might. He might call.
Matt had been good, really good in those first few
days after Barney. The only person he'd told about how
Wesley was then, how he wouldn't let Gunn near.

Gunn went back to the apartment to get the phone bill
where he'd written that English number. Angel was
still lying the same as Gunn had left him: half on his
front, with his face buried in the crook of his arm.
Not his usual way when his head was that bad: he
usually lay flat on his back. But then usually Wesley
would be with him, talking quietly to him and keeping
his forehead cool.

Gunn had some time before the meeting so he read the
rest of the firm's website. Airline regulations said
he had to be embalmed, he had to be in a coffin with a
zinc lining. Special paperwork for the British
Embassy, to get permission for the journey. Special
paperwork for the airline. More once he was home,
maybe another autopsy. No prices, nothing for
anything. But a warning in bold at the bottom of every
page, saying that payment must be made in full before
the repatriation could proceed. How much would a
coffin be with a zinc lining? How much was airfare to
England? More than they had, obviously more than they
had. But how much more?

The agent was a tall woman all in black, chestnut hair
in a thick plait down her back, held herself like a
ballet-dancer - or maybe just like an undertaker,
always on duty to be still and respectful. First-off
she asked Gunn about his connection to the deceased.

"We were partners."

"Business partners?"

Gunn paused, shrugged slightly, then nodded.

"Mister Wyndham-Pryce had been living here in the
States? For some time?"

" 'bout three years."

"Who is the next-of-kin?"

"His parents. Dunno whereabouts they are, exactly. But
they gave the number of the funeral director that they
want to use."

She nodded. "Have you met his parents? Did they ever
visit?" Gunn shook his head. "Will you be going to
England for the funeral?" Definitely not. She nodded
again and started going into the details of
regulations and paperwork and what she could do
herself, and what she would arrange with the L.A.
funeral director. There were three or four L.A. firms
that she used regularly, all excellent for price and
service; she would recommend choosing the one closest
to LAX in the direction of the hospital.

"How much is this gonna cost? It's gotta be thousands,
right?"

"For a death in these circumstances, depending on the
choice of coffin, it would be between three thousand
and four thousand dollars."

Gunn couldn't help himself: he flinched then shut his
eyes hard, frowning and gritting his teeth as he tried
to figure out how the hell he would get that. Borrow
it, but... Who did he know who might have it to spare?
Lilah Morgan, but he couldn't do that. It would be
out-and-out begging and he just couldn't. Anne? If she
hadn't spent all of the money that Wolfram and Hart
had raised for her, and he was pretty sure she hadn't.
He could manage to ask Anne, because she knew from the
inside what it was like to have to ask. He'd go to the
shelter straight after this.

"Mister Gunn?" Gently.

Gunn snapped straight back, saw a look like real
concern. He smiled, shook his head, and said, "Was a
rough year for us, last year. Guess I'll hafta sell
one of the racehorses."

"You don't have to do anything. The costs are met by
the next-of-kin. The remains belong to them. In legal
terms, the repatriation is a service that they have
chosen."

Gunn blinked, then took four heavy breaths. "I can't
ask them." She'd probably think it was guilt, not
knowing what to say to the poor parents. If only. He'd
borrow ten thousand, and from Lilah Morgan, rather
than have to speak to Wesley's father again.

"You don't have to. We will. The financial side is
handled by the main office in England. I just make the
arrangements here. We'd contact them at the start, via
the people at Albins, to explain how the process will
work. That is, if you decide to recommend us to them."

Gunn looked down at the floor. After about ten
seconds: "Would I be able to see him? Before he
leaves?"

"Of course."

He swallowed. "I don't know what clothes of his
they've got over there. If he left any. Could I - I'd
like to see him in this one suit. I'd like to remember
him like that. Can I choose what he's wearing?"

"For the repatriation. Yes. It would be very good if
you did. But they -"

Gunn interrupted, shaking his head. "That doesn't
matter. What they do. I'm never gonna know." Then
nodding: "Yeah. Yeah, please. I want you to do it."

She explained to him what would happen over the next
few days, what contact she'd have with him. When they
were finished she walked him to the door and she shook
his hand.

"I'm very sorry for your loss."

Standard words. She must say them ten times a day. But
she said it like she meant it, like she saw him. She'd
never known Wesley - not like Lilah or Piriti or
Swift. All she'd seen was Gunn: Gunn how he was
without Wesley.

Tears were suddenly stinging Gunn's eyes, and he
blinked them away hard, and shook his head and grunted
something, and pulled his hand away and walked fast,
fast down the corridor, ran down the stairs.

Ten minutes sitting in the truck thinking about
selling Angel's car, about who owned Wesley's books,
and he was back in control. He decided he'd call Anne
now, call Rondell too.

They weren't shocked. Sad, asking Gunn what they could
do, but not shocked because they'd had this too many
times before. This was what happened. Friends died by
violence in the street.

Back to the apartment. He was tired now, really tired,
his brain feeling full of sand, trying hard to turn
into cement. Leeth probably wouldn't call back until
the evening. He could sleep until Lilah was due to
collect the manuscript.

Angel was lying on his back now: with his pants
halfway down his thighs, busy having a happy wet-dream
about Wesley. Gunn shouted, "Oh, you... fucker!",
unplugged the screen with a yank, and was one move
away from grabbing the heaviest book within reach and
throwing it through the screen.

"Monster. Fucking monster." Under his breath as he was
walking away from the door. But where was he going?
Still to the couch to sleep? He did need to sleep. But
with Angel next door doing that?

The bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and took
his shoes off, but then he just couldn't lie down.

The bathroom floor, with Angel's blanket and then half
the towels. Yeah, he could sleep there the way he felt
now. He set his watch for 7:30 and then turned out the
light. Of course Angel was a monster. He should have
been prepared. Angel got turned on by the idea of
killing Wesley. He'd lived with that for months, he
shouldn't still be shocked. That was how it was. Deal
with it.

He slept.


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