[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part One 3/11 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part One 3/11

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


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Gunn tried to reassure himself that at least nothing
he'd done had made things worse for the man. He'd been
pleased to help Anne, hadn't he? And pleased that Gunn
was impressed enough to ask for more. That would still
count for something, wouldn't it, even when Gunn had
done so badly at taking no for an answer? He
swallowed, took a mouthful of coffee. "But he has good
days?"

"Oh, yes. But they don't run to a schedule."
Wyndham-Pryce paused, finished his own coffee. "That's
why you can't fit him in to your patrols."

Gunn nodded, some way to being reassured. The man
didn't blame him for asking or for the way he'd asked;
the bleakness was gone and he was all business again.
Gunn said, "I was gonna say it wasn't just Angel I had
in mind for the patrols. You can handle yourself. But
you got enough goin' already, don't you?"

A brief nod of the head. "I wish I could see more of
what you're doing. But I couldn't leave Angel alone
for that length of time."

Angel wasn't just the man's friend, Angel was his
lover. That was the only reason Gunn could imagine why
a person would hold so strong for someone who wasn't
family: if they'd made some serious, serious promises
to one another, long ago. And they weren't family -
one look could tell you that, even before you heard
the voices and knew the names. How long had they been
together? And where had they met? And were the good
days good enough that they could still be lovers? No,
no, that couldn't be something to hope for, that would
have to be worse than having nothing: getting into bed
with someone you loved, knowing that the next morning
he might not even remember your name. No one could be
that tough, not even a man who would fight demons for
a living when he only had one arm. Gunn had been
through rough times, really rough, yet he couldn't
imagine for a second how this man coped - on his own
in a foreign country, with no crew, no family, with
nothing. And now Gunn felt that he had to know, he had
to know everything - or he'd be trying to imagine, and
didn't that usually get you something far worse than
the truth?

"Are you - The two of you - I mean, is he your...?"
Gunn had already started to ask the question when he
realised that he might be wrong. He had no idea how a
straight Englishman was likely to react if you called
him a fag, but there probably wasn't any kind of
straight man who took that well. Too late - he'd
already gone too far to pretend he'd meant something
else.

Wyndham-Pryce looked faintly puzzled while Gunn was
trying to figure out how to put his question, then his
eyebrows shot up, and then he threw his head back and
laughed. There wasn't any edge in his laugh, no kind
of dig at Gunn - he just thought it was the funniest,
funniest idea. Then, shaking his head: "Me and Angel?"
and he burst out laughing again.

Gunn had never felt so glad to be wrong. And not just
wrong about the two of them being lovers, but wrong
about what the Englishman's life must be like -
because a man who could laugh like that wasn't worn
down to the metal, nowhere near. Gunn shrugged, and
grinned, and just sat back, enjoying the sight. The
man looked totally different when he laughed. Not like
another person, but so much younger. With each new
peal of laughter, Gunn got closer and closer to
deciding that he liked Wyndham-Pryce. Before, he'd
been interested in him, to get something out of him.
Now he'd given up on getting anything, but he'd also
got past feeling guilty about being blinkered and
selfish, and he'd got past the morbid curiosity - and
he just liked him for how he laughed, and for the care
he'd seen him take of his friend, and for the help
he'd given Anne, and the real interest he'd shown in
Gunn's crew, and for wearing his best suit when he was
working for nothing and his clients were all street
kids.

Finally the laughter subsided to the point where Gunn
knew he had enough of the Englishman's attention to be
able to shrug again and say, "Well... Y'know... Just
seemed like..."

"No, no, I can -" He was clearly trying to suppress
his laughter, but it kept breaking through. "If you
knew Angel... Me and Angel. He's... Nothing would make
him think of me like that. Believe me." Now he was
just smiling - and Gunn liked him when he was just
smiling, too.

"Yeah, you convinced me." A broad smile, and then Gunn
turned serious. "But, Wesley, it's a hell of a thing
you're doin' for him. You know that's why I asked,
right? That's a hell of a thing to do for a friend."

Wyndham-Pryce shook his head, now entirely serious
himself. "He's saved my life, more than once. We go
back several years, to before the damage started. It
was the only thing I could do."

Gunn nodded. "I get it." A pause. "You know you can
call me if you need help with... I dunno. Another nest
of vamps in a thrift shop." The exact opposite to what
taking the guy out to lunch was supposed to achieve.
But Wesley needed the help, and the crew would enjoy
the fights, like they had the one in the thrift shop.

"Thank you. And you know you can call me if you need
research on demons or anything else I can do from the
apartment."

They went in different directions on leaving the
restaurant, and Gunn drove home wondering how long it
would be before they'd meet again, and smiling as he
thought of yet another thing that he liked about
Wesley, or as he remembered the exact moment when
Wesley had burst out laughing.

Making friends with a middle-class white guy - a new
experience, definitely, or it would be, when he knew
for sure that they were friends. Wesley had become
formal again at the end, warmer than he'd been with
Anne, but not by much. He held out his hand, thanked
Gunn for the meal, and it felt like the end of a
business-meeting. A good meeting, but that's all that
you think afterwards: "Yeah, that was a good meeting,
that was worth doing." You don't drive away wishing
the meeting had been longer, wanting to know what the
other guy thought about a hundred things that had
nothing to do with business.

There were rough patches on Wesley's hand, calluses,
probably, from the weapons training he'd said he and
Angel did every day. Every good day, that'd be.

Gunn decided that he even liked the formality. It was
part of the man's style, like the suit; it was how
they did things, where he came from. And, OK, with the
formality and everything he could be pretty sure that
Wesley wasn't gonna do anything that assumed they'd
gotten to be friends. Nothing like calling to suggest
another meal ("I'm going to be in your area around
lunchtime." "I've found something that might help you
with your ideas for locating nests."), but if Gunn
called, did the in-your-area thing, then Wesley
wouldn't need persuading, not like he had this first
time. He'd call in a couple of weeks, maybe, before
the end of the month.

* * * * *

Wesley called late on a Tuesday night in the last week
of the month. Gunn wasn't on patrol that night, and
was hanging out in the workshop along with about half
the crew.

"Charles? It's Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. I need help.
Right away."

"Yeah, what's happenin'?"

"Angel's had a tip-off. About a demon that's about to
rise in Fairfax. But Angel... I can't take Angel. And
if it's really an adult Lurgan, then I'm going to need
help."

"How much help? Four men? Eight? What sort of
weapons?"

"Four should be enough, even for an adult. Swords. And
some crossbows, if you have them."

"Where d'we meet? We gonna need a plan, or 's it
obvious what to aim for?"

"It's not obvious, I'll need to brief you before we go
in. If we meet at Packard and South Hayworth. That's
two blocks away from the house."

Gunn didn't ask for volunteers. He told Jackson, Vince
and Eladio to grab a blade and a crossbow each, and to
jump in his truck; he would explain on the way.

Wesley was already there when they arrived, standing
by his car with his sword at his side. He had two
books laid open on the hood, and he used a flashlight
to show them the pictures of the Lurgan in its
different forms: dormant, ambulant, and with its
digestive apparatus deployed. Each form was disgusting
and disturbing in its own way.

"It's probably been lying dormant in the garden for
weeks. The most likely location is under one of the
trees. I think we should try to force it out, from a
distance, using the crossbows. Then three should keep
it occupied from the front while the other two try to
take out both of its nervous systems at the same
time."

Wesley's lower lip was split, and swollen badly enough
to affect the sound of his voice. Gunn now thought
he'd noticed the difference over the phone, but then
he'd put it down to the tension and urgency. Of
course, Wesley was tense, and he was urgent, but he'd
also been punched hard in the mouth, probably some
time in the last few hours.

"Sounds good. Who does what?"

The Lurgan was under the second tree, and it erupted
from the soil like it had been waiting for them. If
they'd been closer to the tree, testing the ground
with a sword or an axe, then those first few seconds
might have been very different for them. But using the
crossbow meant they were well out of its range when it
burst out of the ground, and they had time before it
reached them to work out what was front and what was
back, and the fight was over in a matter of minutes.

Gunn and his team celebrated with their usual
high-fives, and Gunn didn't think for a second of
including Wesley. You could tell at a glance that it
wasn't his style, and he didn't seem offended -
probably he was relieved.

"Well done, everyone. You made it look easy." Wesley
was walking towards the street. "I don't think the
family even woke up." Gunn checked, and the house was
still in darkness.

They started to follow Wesley out of the garden,
though Vince hung back. "We just gonna leave it
there?"

"It attracts insects when it's above ground. Some
animals, too. It'll be gone by morning." Wesley's
voice was losing the warmth that it had held when he
was congratulating them, but the change didn't sound
to Gunn like a deliberate return to being formal, not
a natural part of Wesley's English style. The change
didn't seem deliberate, more like Wesley was
preoccupied, like his attention had switched to some
point a long way from them and the garden.

The difference became even more obvious to Gunn when
they reached the truck, and Wesley leaned his sword
against the tailgate, and turned to shake hands with
each of the other men, thanking them. This was
Wesley's formal style and it was sincere and focused,
and warm if you knew what to listen for. Gunn hung
back so that he would be last and would have a chance
to say more than "Hey, any time."

"Thank you, Charles. I don't know what I would have
done." The feel of the calluses of Wesley's hand
struck Gunn's nerves more strongly even than the first
time; why, he didn't know, because half the crew had
hands the same or rougher, even some of the girls.
Must just be because it was so unexpected, seeing how
Wesley still looked more like an accountant than
anything else.

Not been stupid enough to come out here on your own.
You know that much, right? "What would have happened
if we weren't here?"

"It would have eaten the family. Eventually. Or
rather, finished eating, eventually." Wesley knew far
too much about what would have happened; Gunn could
see it in his eyes.

"Well... Good thing you got a tip-off, then. You got a
good source." Gunn thought of something, and frowned.
"They didn't have any pictures to show Angel this
time? That why he -" Gunn broke off as Wesley
flinched, turning his head sharply to the side and
taking a step backwards. Then he seemed even more
startled by his reaction than Gunn was, and in the
process of trying to recover he knocked his sword
over. Gunn retrieved it for him, handling it carefully
to avoid getting demon gore on either of them.

"Thank you. I have to go."

"Sure. Been a long day. Now you really know you can
call for help at any time." Gunn grinned at him, but
Wesley had become distant again, and the change was
more noticeable even than in the garden; he just
nodded at Gunn, and was already turning away.

The men were in high spirits on the drive back. Gunn
was happy to join in when prompted, was proud of them
all, but now he had a preoccupation of his own and he
didn't put his usual energy into the celebrations.
Angel had hit Wesley. Something to do with the
tip-off. Was it because Wesley had suggested calling
Gunn for help? Had Angel seen that as an insult? And
in that case, what would Angel do when Wesley got back
to the apartment with his books and his sword? Wesley
shouldn't go in there alone. But Gunn couldn't follow
him straight there, not when he had the others in the
truck. For all he knew, Angel might be bad enough that
he would have to stay with Wesley all night. And
besides, he was sure that Wesley wouldn't want him to
tell anyone about Angel.

He dropped the men off at the base, asked Jackson to
take his weapons and clean his sword, and headed out
again straight away. Wesley's apartment building had
seen better days, but hadn't given up all hope. Their
apartment was on the third floor, at the end of the
corridor.

Wesley came to the door in seconds, but opened it
slowly. He looked dazed with exhaustion. "Mr.
Rodriguez. I'm sorry. I know..." He blinked. "Charles?
Charles. What are you - I must have -" He shook his
head. "I'm sorry. If I did something to -" 

"You did a buncha things made me think I should come
check you're OK. And don't tell me you're fine, not
when you've got the neighbours complaining. Let me
in." Wesley stepped back, and Gunn closed the door
behind himself. "Has he tried to hit you again? I
mean, since you got -"

Behind a door at the far end of the living room,
something was snarling, and there were irregular,
muffled thuds, in time with the worst of the snarling,
like the thing in the room was throwing itself against
the walls or door. Gunn stared at Wesley, appalled.
"Tell me you've got a dog."

Wesley shook his head, then broke eye contact, sighed,
and backed slowly away into the middle of the living
room.

"How long's he been like this?"

"Since the tip-off. The pictures... Something about
the pictures. They affected him badly. It happens
sometimes. I don't - It's hard to tell why."

"I'm guessing he doesn't know who you are."

"I don't think he knows who he is."

"He's locked in?"

Wesley nodded. "I have to, when he's like this. I had
to, before I could leave."

"Is he likely to hurt himself?" Wesley shook his head.
"Is there anything you can do to calm him down?"
Another shake. "Then you know what I think?" Wesley
opened his mouth, looking determined, almost fierce,
probably expecting a lecture on what would really be
best for Angel. "I think you and I should have a
couple of beers and spend the next hour trying to
pretend we have normal lives."

A still second, then another, and then Wesley burst
out laughing, sounding relieved, and sounding like
maybe he'd just decided he liked Gunn too. Liked his
style, for sure. Gunn grinned like he had at the
restaurant, but pleased with himself too, this time,
because this time the joke had been deliberate.

"I haven't got any beers." Wesley had stopped laughing
quite quickly, but his smile was almost teasing.

"Then I'll go get them. Wha'd'you like?"

"Anything as long as it's cold. And not Corona."

"Cold and not Corona comin' right up."

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