[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Six 9/12 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Six 9/12

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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Lilah had brought him a lasagne, a couple of Chinese
dishes and some egg-fried rice, and a pack of beers,
all from Trader Joe's. "Just in case you didn't have
anything. Or anything that required this little
effort. If you've already eaten, they'll keep."

Gunn had been rescued: from either plain
pasta-with-olive-oil, or from his first attempt to
cook liver.

Lilah had a special envelope for the manuscript. Gunn
gave her Wesley's notes and she put them in a separate
folder. She asked how he was, offered help. He
shrugged, said he'd told most people who needed to be
told, he'd found an undertaker.

"Does he know?" Nodding towards Angel's door. Gunn
hadn't yet plugged the screen back in. Angel was
quiet.

Gunn nodded. "Doesn't seem to care. I thought he'd
turn violent. Dangerous. But he was almost bored."

"Why would he be violent? Would he see it as a chance
to escape?"

"They were close. Much as you can be with him. He
trusted Wesley. But y'can't predict him. Waste of
time."

She looked at the door, expression very serious, then
sighed and turned back to Gunn. "If you think of
anything I can do. I know you've got so much to deal
with. I've spoken to Gavin Parks, so he knows the
situation and you needn't worry about eviction. He'll
give you indefinite extensions on the rent. I vouched
for you."

She wanted to keep Angel in L.A. But she was thinking
of Gunn, too. She was imagining. Gunn thanked her, and
then she left.

Gunn plugged the screen in and found that Angel was
sitting reading the salt book. When had Wesley last
fed him? Thirty hours ago, at least.

Angel had got up onto his knees at the sounds from the
door and for the first half-second he was radiating
welcome but then he slumped, he looked hollowed out.
He thanked Gunn for the blood, polite but barely
glancing at him: all of his attention was on the
doorway, and he was so anxious, and so hopeful. Oh,
God. Have to tell him again. And with the chains this
time.

When Angel saw the chains he started to pull his
sweater off. It would probably be easier to let him
think the chains were for the shower, but Gunn didn't
want to be with him naked. Or lie to him. "No, Angel,
keep your clothes on. This is for something else.
Shouldn't be for long. 'n' no one's gonna hurt you."
Angel nodded, looked alert and curious.

"Angel, I have something terrible to tell you about
Wesley. He died last night. I'm so sorry."

And there it was: disbelief. Closest to Piriti's
reaction: pure, stunned disbelief. Gunn gave him maybe
half a minute to take it in, then: "I am so sorry."

Five second more staring, then Angel frowned, shook
his head sharply and said, "Again?" Puzzled,
demanding, impatient.

"Yeah, I -" Gunn sighed. "I'll always be sorry. But I
won't say it again if it's gonna bother you. Guess
y'don't need t'hear it."

Even more puzzled. "What?"

They stared at one another, both breathing audibly.
Finally: "Angel... I know there ain't a right thing to
say. It's just fillin' in. You tell me there's
anythin' you need. Like... need to know. Need to
hear."

A beat, then Angel growled, and surged against the
chains. "Why's he dead again? It's too. Fucking.
Soon."

Jesus! Gunn lurched backwards from where he'd been
kneeling and nearly lost his balance. "Dead again? He
- Angel, you know he wasn't a vampire. He died last
night. I saw it. I was there. That's it. That's it."

Fierce, shaking his head over and over. "They can't
keep him away from me. He has to be with me. They gave
him to me."

Gunn clutched his head and shook it so his teeth
rattled. "No. No. You and your fucking 'them'! He gave
himself to you. And he knew all along it would kill
him and now it has. Shut the fuck up about 'them' and
- and - Face the fact that he's gone."

Angel had been listening, and listening seriously, but
it was clear from his expression that he was hearing
something else. He left a pause then said gently, like
the undertaker women, "They don't tell you anything,
do they? It won't be long. And he'll be just the same,
he'll love you just the same."

Gunn gave a strangled cry and threw himself toward the
door. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't, he just had
to - he just had to -

In the laundry-room, face forced against the back of
his arm over the seat of the chair, hands gripping the
edge of the frame, feeling it bend and fight. He was
crying. Not sobbing, no noise at all, but his eyes
were weak, they made him cry. He dragged them over and
over against the sleeve of his jacket, trying to force
the tears back in, but now his mouth was opening,
wide, wide, and his throat was rising, and he was
going to howl.

Just in time he lunged forward and his jaws closed
around his wrist, and the pain gave him something else
to hold onto.

He washed his face at the sink, dried it on the other
sleeve, then went upstairs to take Angel out of the
chains.

"Thank you."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry." Looking like he wanted to touch: a hand
on Gunn's shoulder, at least.

"Yeah, I know." And Gunn stood up and was gone.

Leeth called when Gunn was about to eat. He'd now
informed all of the relevant people and could Gunn
meet him at the church at 1 p.m. the next day? Also,
was Gunn able to find Wesley's copies of the keys to
the church? If not, then Leeth would get another set
made before their meeting. Gunn found the keys in the
bowl, labelled "Church" in Wesley's handwriting.
Wesley was so organised. So consistent in the ways he
was organised. If he had left a will, Gunn would have
been able to find it in ten minutes.

Gunn put some music on and ate at the table, then
drank beer and watched TV until it was nearly midnight
and he thought he was ready to sleep again.

Midnight. By the clock in the truck Wesley had died
sometime between 12:10 and 12:35. Probably 12:20? That
time, those times, would have a weight for him now for
the rest of his life. He lay with his back to the VCR,
and then he suddenly got off the couch and went over
and unplugged the VCR. They never taped anything,
anyway - who cared if the clock wasn't set?

* * * * *

Gunn spent all the hours that he could at the church.
He didn't need the demons to move furniture for him,
so he didn't have to stop when he was waiting for the
paint to dry in the one room, but could move on to the
next. A hundred times a night, when he was using the
ladder, he'd imagine doing this with only one arm.
Endurance. Silent, solitary endurance. He'd seen that
in Wesley from the start, and he knew now that Wesley
had been forced to it, most of his life. To keep going
when every day was a grinding effort, because you knew
it was right.

The Kekulei were kind to him. They didn't talk to him
but someone was leaving soda and snacks for him, and
as soon as they saw that he was working on more than
one room in a night, Leeth called and asked how they
could give him most help with the furniture.

He was getting home exhausted around seven or eight.
He'd have a bath, feed Angel if Angel could be fed,
and then fall into sleep for a solid six or seven
hours.

He wasn't dreaming, not about anything, but Angel was
dreaming a lot about Wesley, and sometimes about Gunn
- or about someone, anyway, who was raging with grief.
When he was lucid he'd try to be so subtle about how
he was waiting for Wesley, and so tactful with Gunn.
He never tried to say anything, but he always stood up
and went over to take the beaker, getting right up
close and radiating waves of "support". Gunn didn't
try to argue with him again, he just couldn't face it.

* * * * *

Wesley's body had been released to the mortuary, but
the paperwork was still going through the consulate
and the flight probably wouldn't be for at least
another week. The woman called and gave Gunn a contact
for arranging the suite and the viewing.

"Mister Gunn, you should be aware... The services that
have been ordered on this side do not include
preparation. That will be done in England for the
viewing there. That means... that his face won't have
the colour that you might be expecting."

Lady, I live with a corpse. But no, Angel only looked
what he was if you starved him for two weeks. He
thanked her for the warning, and asked what the
English firm was like, if they had anyone who'd done
this before: cutting open the zinc box. Yes, they'd
last done it just a month ago, and she talked some
more about the firm: the history, things about them
that had impressed her. In the process Gunn learned
that Wesley was going to be buried, not cremated, and
that they were expecting to have to move him to a
different casket.

Gunn had finally told Swift that there wouldn't be any
gathering in L.A. He had several reasons, thought he
didn't give her any of them. One: the people who'd
expect to be there couldn't be allowed to meet - if
the crew was put in the same room with Swift and
Piriti and Leeth, then remembering Wesley would drop
right off the list. Two: they'd never had anything for
Alonna, never for anyone in the crew - and he had to
deal with that idea in his own way, on his own. And
Three: Angel could never have been there. Two people
in the world who loved Wesley. Made no difference that
one of them was so crazy he might never accept what
had happened. If they couldn't both be there, then
there would be no point: it would be empty, and a lie.

On the day before Gunn had arranged to take the suit
to the mortuary, he went into Angel's room with a pair
of nail-clippers, and he cut off a lock of Angel's
hair, close to the temples. He'd wondered if the hair
would turn to dust, but it didn't, and he wrapped it
securely in a square of Angel's drawing paper, and he
put the packet deep in the inside pocket of Wesley's
jacket. So Wesley had that from Angel, and the ring
from Gunn; he wouldn't be going home alone. Angel had
asked what Gunn was doing and Gunn had said, "It's for
Wesley," knowing that Angel would see that as a
promise, and hardened now to those looks on Angel's
face.

He took all of the beer money along with him to the
mortuary, and after he'd passed over the clothes and
seen them handled with care, he said, "I know they're
not paying you for preparation. The family. But with
that suit..." He took the roll of bills out of his
pocket. "He should be clean-shaven. The colour doesn't
matter but he should be clean-shaven with that suit.
Do you know how much -"

The mortician raised his hand to block out the sight
of the money. "I'll see to it. I know. You want things
right."

* * * * *

The next morning, Gunn came home for the church to
find Angelus there, stuck in a vision. Might be a real
vision, might be a fake vision - hard to say anything
except that the cursing of the headache suggested it
was at least two hours old. And Gunn didn't care, he
really didn't care. It might be different if it was
Angel and there were drawings of the actual person.
The eyes showing the terror, the pleading, the praying
that this couldn't really be happening. But then it
might not.

If he'd been in the apartment when it hit, if he'd
managed to figure it out, then he'd've called the crew
and yeah, great to make a difference. But he'd missed
it and, y'know, he really didn't care. Not like Wesley
would have. Or Angel, when he was sane.

In the bath, with Angelus drowned out by the running
water and the rush-hour traffic, Gunn thought, "I
can't see myself doin' this alone. Can't see anyone,
comes to that." Been different back when Wesley was on
his own: Angel knew about his own visions back then,
he didn't need babysitting, he could go out and do
most of the fighting. Now you needed two, at the
least: to watch him in shifts, to go out and earn the
money, to fight with some chance of surviving. And to
keep each other going.

But he couldn't bring someone into this. How could he
do that to anyone? It was no life, it was hell. More:
it was close to being murder -spending time with Angel
could kill you. Doyle: six months. Wesley: two years.
Those weren't good numbers.

Not that Wesley had "brought" Gunn into it, not like
Gunn was thinking now. He'd thrown himself into it,
not given Wes much choice. Where he was meant to be.
Always. But for anyone else... He'd say, "Run. You
don't want this. You don't want to know if you could
handle it."

The crew. Yeah, he'd thought about that. Safety in
numbers for the visions. Share the watching over so
many people you'd hardly notice it. But asking them to
take in a vampire, feed it, help ease its headaches...
Even if he explained about the soul like Wesley had,
that wouldn't be enough. Angelus spoke for himself,
and they'd kill him for it the first time they saw
him. Be murder again. Two weeks for Angel, max.

What, then? Who? A group like the crew, but demons?
Didn't exist - or he'd have met it on his rounds - but
he'd put together one crew, he knew he could make
another one.

And offer them what? A life off the streets, yeah, but
then risking that life to rescue humans from other
demons (stupid humans, a lot of 'em, who should never
have gone down that street in the first place). If
they had any sense, this crew, then once they'd
learned his style and his tricks they'd ditch him and
Angel and strike out for themselves. 'cos he wouldn't
really be there for them, not doin' it for them. For
Angel. And for Wesley. That's what Wesley had been
trying to say, wasn't it, when he was dying? "Look
after Angel."

No, as far as Gunn could see, the only people who'd
take it on would either be crazy or would have some
weird reason of their own, enough to make it balance
out. Like... voyeurs. Or keen on the chance for
bondage. Not for love. Please. Please. Do anything but
send him a man who would do it for love.

Maybe that was it, though. The Powers would send him
someone? If they had sent Wesley as a gift to Angel.
Or even sent Gunn to Wesley, so it was all arranged,
that they'd meet at the thrift shop? Maybe. Maybe. But
they'd made their choices too, him and Wesley.

That morning he went to the bedroom to sleep for the
first time since it happened. Partly wanting another
door between him and Angelus. Partly feeling Wesley
was near him again somehow, because of the suit. He
lay awake for a while, going round the same thoughts
about Angel, and then the thoughts crowded him too, in
his dreams.

When he woke up he was lying on his left side, facing
the empty space, and he was solid hard, aching with
it. Not just his cock aching. His skin, too many way
to count. And inside him, like begging. His hand: to
slide flat over Wesley's stomach and then fit to the
curve of Wesley's waist. His thighs: for Wesley's knee
pushing between them. Wesley's knuckles on his throat,
Wesley's mouth opening to him with a sigh. He pulled
at himself, rough, wanting no pleasure, wanting this
over. He wasn't asking his mind for anything, would
want it blank, but it gave him the first time he'd
ever woken up in this bed, with Wesley in his robe
sitting up beside him.

He could go back to the couch. Or to the bathroom
floor. But he wouldn't. It was going to be like this
for him. For years, maybe for years. Not one thing he
could do to change it.

* * * * *


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