[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part One 1/11 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[Fiona Clements]

Title: Kungai Part One 1/11

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


-----------------------

Gunn and the other three men had been on patrol for
nearly three hours when they headed into the back
streets between Normandie and Western. Denker, with
its row of peeling storefronts, wasn't usually part of
their route, but they heard the sound of fighting from
a block away. No problem figuring out where the sound
must be coming from: the thrift shop in the middle of
the block was the only store with any lights on.

"Grille's down. Looks like it's still padlocked."

"Must've got in through the back. Or it's a domestic."

As soon as they got close enough to see through the
window, they knew it wasn't a domestic. There were at
least six men in there, and they all knew how to
fight. Looked to Gunn like they were set to kill each
other - not to make the other side back off, choose
another part of town, but to really make it final.

"Looks like business." They didn't come out on patrol
to stop white thugs from breaking one another's necks.
Not black thugs, neither, but make all the faces white
like that, and Gunn wasn't even gonna wonder what the
fight was about. "Nothing to -" Gunn was about to
drive off when one of the men inside was thrown
against the backing board for the window display. The
board gave way, and then the man was sprawled on his
back in the window, giving Gunn and his team their
first clear view of any of the faces inside the store.
It wasn't any kind of man there in the window: it was
a vampire. Before Gunn and the other three could even
draw breath for an exclamation, the vampire was a
cloud of falling dust, staked with a speed and skill
Gunn could hardly believe.

"Man!"

"We're on it!" The fight was about killing vampires -
all Gunn and his men needed to know. Gunn put his foot
to the gas and took them to the alley round the back.
There was a convertible with both front doors left
open, parked at an angle halfway along the alley. Gunn
pulled up behind it, they leapt out of the truck and
headed for the open door of the store two-by-two. They
all knew the procedure, knew that the others knew it:
Gunn had not needed to give a word of direction.

Jackson and Rondell were first in, took the nearest
vampire, and Gunn and Taye took the next-nearest. Both
vampires were gone in seconds, and Gunn and Taye were
eager for their next vampire, but it seemed there were
only two left and they were already taken. One was
being kicked around the room by a large man, clearly a
born fighter; it must have been one of those kicks
that had sent that first vampire crashing through the
board. The other vampire was backed against the
counter that ran the length of the side-wall to Gunn's
right, trying to find a way to deal with the swinging
axe of a man who didn't look like he should be any
kind of fighter. An accountant, he looked like, should
be fussing over numbers at some desk. If the other guy
was a born fighter, then this one was every skinny
white guy with glasses who ever set your teeth on
edge.

He was pretty good with that axe, though. It was a
double-headed axe with a two-inch spike at the end,
and Skinny McNumbers was using the spike to keep the
vampire at a distance, keep it moving, wear it down
with wound after wound, clearly waiting for his chance
to take a swing at the vampire's neck without leaving
himself open. He wasn't as good as Gunn would have
been, though, or half of Gunn's crew. He didn't have
the balance, and he didn't seem to know a chance when
he saw it. Right there, after the jab to the shoulder.
He should have switched the axe to his left hand, and
then he could have -

He didn't have a left hand. The left sleeve of his
white-white accountant's shirt was empty, folded up
and pinned flat over the armhole. So that was the
problem with the balance, that was why he was still
waiting for his chance. Gunn asked himself how he had
not seen that immediately, because now that empty
sleeve seemed like the most noticeable thing in the
room. Most of the time he couldn't even see it,
because the man was facing the counter and Gunn could
see only his back or his right side, but the knowledge
of that absence drew all of Gunn's attention.

Taking on a nest of vampires with an axe when you were
a skinny guy with glasses: that earned Gunn's respect
even if you did turn out to be an accountant. But to
go into battle with only one arm, even with your
friend the fighter... Against five vampires. That
earned more than respect. Gunn was pretty sure of his
own courage, but it would be a reach, it would be a
big reach, to imagine himself with what this man was
doing. OK, not Skinny McNumbers. Make it
Skinny-and-Brave.

Gunn heard Fighter bring his vampire down, heard the
strike of the stake, the sigh of disintegration. He
didn't turn to look, determined not to miss a second
of what was happening with the axe, but expecting
Fighter to join in, bring the battle to a quick end.
The vampire must have been expecting the same thing,
because it suddenly ducked to the left, taking a deep
wound in the forearm as it pushed past the axe-blade,
and ran for the only exit. Maybe it hadn't realised
that Gunn and his team were there, or maybe it thought
it would be quick enough to get past them. Rondell got
there first, but Gunn knew that any of the four could
have stopped it. They cheered, slammed in for a round
of high-fives, then broke apart and turned back to
face the other men.

Gunn stepped forward, hand held out towards Fighter.
Skinny-and-Brave was a few feet closer, but Gunn was
aware that he hadn't put the axe down yet, so shaking
hands could be awkward. Besides, Fighter's style
looked closer to his own - seemed like the easiest way
to approach them. "Man, that was a good fight! Who the
hell are you guys?"

Fighter took a step backwards, suddenly clumsy and
uncertain. And Gunn had to struggle to keep on
thinking "Fighter", when the awkward movements, the
wary eyes were saying "The Fat Kid". He looked like a
lifelong victim, exactly the Fat Kid kind, even though
the face and the body could have belonged to a male
model. Gunn stopped, let his hand drop to his side,
then looked at Skinny for guidance, maybe an
explanation.

Skinny was bending to lay his axe down on the floor.
Then he went to stand in front of Fat-Kid Fighter -
and this revealed that he was at least as tall as the
other man, able to shield the other's face from Gunn's
view.

"It's OK, Angel. These gentlemen saw us fighting, and
they came and helped us. They killed three." His voice
was quiet, but it reached Gunn clearly. Gunn had never
before been in the same room as an English accent. If
he closed his eyes he could have been watching 
Masterpiece Theatre (which would have meant that he'd
dropped the remote while channel-hopping). He could
have been listening to Lord Stiff-Neck on the lawn
drinking tea. What the hell was this man's story? What
had brought him from tea on the lawn to an L.A. thrift
shop?

"I - I didn't see it. Wouldn't I have seen it?"
Fighter was American. No clue in his voice which state
he might be from.

"You know you don't see everything. It doesn't matter.
They helped us. They helped us save those people."

Gunn saw Fighter - Angel, was it? - tilt his head
slowly to the side, like he was getting up the courage
to look around Skinny-and-English. But then he jerked
his head back, and Gunn thought he saw him shaking his
head. "What - What do I -"

A brief touch of the hand to a solid shoulder. "It
doesn't matter. Why don't you go and check on the car?
I'll be with you in a few minutes. These gentlemen can
see that you're not ready to meet them right now."

Gunn took the hint first, moved to behind the counter,
well clear of the path to the door. He turned to
gesture to the other men to follow him, but they were
already on the move. Skinny walked his friend to the
start of the corridor, keeping between him and the
counter. "I'll be out in a few minutes." He waited at
the door, watching. Gunn heard the footsteps and then
the slamming of a car door, and Skinny finally turned
to face them.

"So who are you guys?" Gunn didn't hold his hand out
this time. He had no idea now what to expect from
these men.

"Wesley Windham-Price." A nod towards the door.
"Angel. Thank you. You're obviously very experienced.
And very well trained." A pause. This Windham-Price
was a serious man. He hadn't smiled, hadn't come close
to smiling, even when saying thank you. "Were you...
sent? Or are you here on your own?"

Gunn shrugged. "We were on patrol. Do it every night.
Heard the noise. Haven't seen vampires down this way,
though, since..." He looked at the others for help
with the date.

"Two years? The nest on 52nd must've been two years
ago." Yeah, that'd been Taye's first big fight since
he joined the crew. Didn't surprise Gunn that Taye was
the one who remembered.

"Then I'm very glad you kept it on your patrol route.
This nest..." Windham-Price gestured with his head to
the room behind him. "They were going to take over the
shop. Prey on the customers. I think they could have
made it last for months."

Gunn said, "Ugly. Yeah, woulda been real ugly. How
d'you find out about it?"

"Angel - We had a tip-off."

"Good tip-off. Y're not short on experience either.
How long you been huntin' vampires?"

"A few years. Hunting demons. Sometimes the demons are
vampires."

"Yeah? We keep busy enough just with vampires, and
there's twenty of us." Twenty since two months ago,
two months from the previous Saturday, when Alonna had
died. "How d'you keep up?"

"We don't try to patrol. We try to advertise, where we
can." He reached in his hip pocket, pulled out a slim
wallet, put it on the counter in order to open it, and
then handed Gunn a business card.

Angel Investigations.
The Experts on Demons.
For all Types of Information and Assistance.
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.
Partner.

And an address in Inglewood, about five miles south
from Gunn's base. Wyndham-Pryce, then, not
Windham-Price. Seriously Masterpiece Theatre.
Seriously. "So you're out on a case tonight?"

Wyndham-Pryce shook his head, put his wallet back in
his pocket. "A tip-off. There's no client. I hope the
people would never even guess what would have happened
to them."

"D'you get much work? What're your rates?"

"It's a sliding scale. For you. For anyone you vouched
for. It would obviously be free." He took a step back,
looked along the corridor towards the car, then looked
back at Gunn. "I have to go."

"Sure."

Wyndham-Pryce knelt, picked up his axe, then said,
very sincerely, looking round at all four of them,
"Thank you. Good luck with your patrols." He turned
and left, and Gunn and his team stayed exactly where
they were behind the counter until they heard the car
drive off.

Jackson said, "You hear him with 'these gentlemen'?
Jeez! You think they all talk like that?" Rondell
said, "Freakiest coupla white guys I ever saw," and
Taye said, "Good fight, though. Give 'em that. They
took on five. Just the two of them."

Gunn put the business card in the pocket of his
jacket. "Let's go. Get back on patrol." He pulled the
back door closed when he left; they hadn't tried to
set the store right, but he wouldn't leave it looking
like an open target.

When he was undressing for bed a few hours later, Gunn
moved the business card to his wallet. He lay in bed
and found himself working through a familiar,
well-worn set of thoughts about Alonna. He was still
trying to figure out why the real feelings of grief
and guilt hadn't hit him yet; wondering if it would
happen tomorrow, next week? He missed her, but really
only in the way he'd missed friends who'd moved away
from L.A. You'd almost think he didn't realise she was
dead, like he was telling himself she'd just moved
away; when she was settled, she'd write, she'd call.

Well, of course he knew she was dead. But he didn't
feel it, not properly. Shouldn't he be torn up with
the grief and the guilt, having to force himself to
get through each day, to deal with other people? What
did it mean that instead of that he was enjoying life
more than he had in years, he was remembering how it
felt when he liked himself? He had the wrong feelings,
and he didn't even feel guilty about that - he just
felt puzzled.

He'd been so busy since she died. Did that make sense
as a reason? Busy organising the crew, selecting
deputies, setting up new training in weapons and
tactics. And busy weighing up his contacts, figuring
out how to get the best use out of every friend and
every acquaintance. He was good at all this: making
things happen, getting people to help him - and,
especially, getting people to help themselves, to
believe there was always some way out. Maybe he was
even better at it now than he had been when the crew
had first formed, out of the Skills Exchange he'd
organised at the Rec Center.

Felt like a long time ago, the Rec Center: all that
great energy and him right in the middle of it. Hard
to believe it had only been four years ago, felt like
twice that - half a lifetime, even. Hard to believe
even when Gunn knew exactly why the time had felt so
long: because of the vampires, because the vampires
had moved in during those years, and after they moved
in Gunn's whole idea of time had gradually changed.
Before, each day was a chance to get things done, but
after... Each day had too many hours, each minute
another minute when the vampires might attack. And the
crew was his crew, and he was the one who had to get
them all safe to the end of every day, pull them from
hour to hour while he knew the vampires would never
give up, not when they had all the time they could
ever want. The years against the vampires had changed
Gunn's ideas about so many things, not just about
time. If he wanted to sum it up, he'd say he'd gone
from always seeing the possibilities in every
situation and every person, to always seeing the
worst.

No one had seemed to notice those changes in him.
Or... Sure, Alonna could see the rage, and the
suspicion, and the despair. Seemed sometimes like that
was all she'd had to say to him in the last months: to
tell him every thing she saw in him that wasn't right.
But she'd never remind him how he used to be so
different, never ask if he knew how it had happened,
if he had any ideas for how to get back to the way he
used to be. But why should she be the one to remind
him, when everyone else had forgotten the old Gunn,
the Gunn they'd followed from the Rec Center - when
even Gunn had forgotten?

People had noticed, though, when he'd changed back,
got all that energy, that flood of ideas. The original
members of the crew recognised his old style and his
old attitude, and he'd seen them teaching the newer
members what to expect. He guessed - from what they
didn't say, what they didn't do - that they thought he
must be keeping a promise to Alonna, so they were
thinking his cheerful mood was a front, an effort
every day to keep it going.

No harm letting them think that, and he didn't know
himself why he'd woken up on the third day after
Alonna died remembering exactly how he'd felt when he
knew the Skills Exchange was going to work, and with a
list of twenty things he could do that same day to
make life better for his crew. Could be just the fact
that, for the first time, they'd been up against
vampires who'd had a real plan of their own. Could be
the exhilaration of surviving the major battle with
those vampires immediately after Alonna had died. Even
at the height of the battle, without realising, he'd
been seeing and storing everything that was happening,
so when he woke on that third day, he knew exactly why
he believed that the fight could be almost easy when
the crew worked properly together, and he could see
every one of the hundred, two hundred moments when
opportunities had been lost because the crewmembers
didn't know well enough what to expect of each other.
Possibilities. Was all about possibilities. A week
before, he'd've thought of those moments and just seen
them as lost - and his fault they'd been lost, each
one somehow his fault. But now... Who'd be thinking
"lost" when the truth was that the crew had won?
They'd done so much right in that battle, and he was
proud of all of them, and fired up to see everything
they'd do even better in the next battle. So he was
that Gunn again, the one who saw possibilities, the
one who made them real. And you wanted proof of how
real, then you just had to count the dusted vamps.

The vampires in the thrift shop, they'd've been easy
to kill even in the bad days, when Gunn'd lost sight
of how to do what he did best. But back then he'd've
come away from the fight thinking that the two white
guys were ungrateful, unfriendly weirdoes, and he
would've let them know what he thought, probably
walked out long before the English guy could've given
him that Demon Expert business card. He wouldn't have
been interested in them, maybe not even impressed by
that Angel guy's skill or the English guy's courage;
he wouldn't have given them the benefit of any doubt,
not once they'd done just the first thing to bug him.
And they'd done more than one thing: not asking any
names, not smiling, leaving after just a couple of
minutes; and that Angel turning into a stuttering dork
the moment a strange black guy talks to him. That
still did kind of bug him, had him making bets with
himself about how different the two would have acted
if Gunn and his three had all been white -seen that
often enough, not hard to know the signs. But he
hadn't let it bug him enough that he had to walk out,
so he'd got the card and the offer of help, and he'd
got to see that the English guy did have it in him to
show respect. "Anyone you vouch for." Could mean more,
even, that he'd said it without a smile.

So Gunn was interested in them, he was wondering about
them. Yeah, there was the bet about how they'd've been
different with their own kind, but alongside that he
was thinking that maybe he shouldn't be so sure what
kind that really was. English, with a fancy name and a
missing arm. And with a friend who scares vampires but
then has to be walked to the door. So they hadn't
acted like Gunn would've if they'd been the ones come
to help Gunn and his crew - that didn't matter, not
the way Gunn was thinking now. He didn't have to
figure out everything about them, just enough to get
the best use out of them for the crew. Starting with:
was Wyndham-Pryce really an expert? and how much work
would he really do for free? Gunn would be looking for
a chance to test him out.

* * * * *

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