[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Two 10/12 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Two 10/12

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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When the time got past eleven, Gunn started thinking
about heading home. Grouw might have seen him checking
his watch, had maybe planned this already with Piriti,
because Grouw suddenly turned serious, leaned towards
Gunn and said, "So this business you're in? Where you
been, to get to be such an expert on demons?"

"I been on the street, most of the streets in two,
three miles from here. Keeping me 'n' my crew from
goin' down to vampires. Yeah, got a problem with
vampires. Month ago, hadn't even met another type of
demon."

Grouw shrugged. "Vampires. Yeah. So what you think you
can do here? How many 'Demons for Dummies' books you
read in that month?"

"I'm not the expert. Matt told you that, right? It's
my partner. He's English, 's read more books, knows
more languages than you can imagine. What I've seen,
he can learn any language. First time I worked with
him, it was because of some humans who'd seen some
Massiac demons and got scared. He explained how they
were harmless, how you could make sure no one bothered
each other."

Grouw was shaking his head. "Don't know the Massiac."

"They're in tunnels in some parks. But that's what I
think we can do. And more, but don't you think it's
worth an expert to learn how not to get bothered? Or
do the bothering?"

Grouw looked at Piriti then Matt, then back at Gunn.
"We'll need to meet him."

"Of course. Be better someplace we can talk. This
is... I've only ever heard him listen to classical
music."

Matt said, "We'll be at my place most of Sunday.
Redondo Beach. Between two and three?"

"OK. Great. Wha'd'we bring?"

Piriti had been silent but now came straight in with:
"The lyrics to 'Houses in Motion' translated into
formal Chachaspe and into family Chachaspe, and into
Hull. A list of all of the demons he's met in the last
twelve months, with names, dates and places. And the
plan for a tour of L.A. likely to appeal to a Sas
Vanna, including at least fifteen stops."

Gunn nodded then raised his hand. "Have to write that
down." He went to get a request-sheet and a pen from
the bar, then wrote what he remembered and checked it
with Piriti. "The lyrics'll be on the net, right?"
Right. "So, where in Redondo Beach?" Matt gave him the
address and his phone number, then Gunn folded the
paper, put it in a pocket, and sat back and looked at
the three of them, smiling slightly. "Y'do this a lot,
do you? Checkin' the new guys out? Like you're the big
committee, runnin' half the town. Havta say, y'got it
set up nice, with those secret identities. Hadn't
guessed for a second, till you just now broke cover."
What, was he supposed to act like it came natural to
him, taking orders from a bunch of kids?

They glared at him, then Matt and Piriti gave
near-identical snorts of amusement and were suddenly
completely relaxed. Piriti said, " 'Secret
identities'. We should change the name of the group."

"What're you now?"

" 'The Reasons'. The Three Reasons, for short."

"That works, too." Well, not really, but what was he,
their manager?

Matt said, "We don't use it. Why don't we use it?"

" 'cos then we couldn't change it when we found a
better one."

"Oh, yeah."

Grouw was still glaring at Gunn, maybe even harder now
he was on his own. Gunn met his eye and turned
serious, waited for him to see that there was nothing
here meant as a challenge. An invitation, that's all
Gunn meant, that it was time for them all to give up
some of the bullshit, lighten the load. Finally Grouw
said, "We got friends here. Be on us if you turn out
to be a pair of assholes."

"I know. Do the same myself. Well - If I was ever in a
good enough mood to give the assholes a chance."

Grouw nodded, not smiling. "Sunday, then."

"Sunday, yeah." Gunn got to his feet, put on his
jacket, and picked up the pen to take it back to the
bar. "Thanks, guys."

* * * * *

Gunn couldn't believe how nervous Wesley got about
Sunday: really anxious and obsessive, especially about
the translations. Gunn spent a lot of Friday working
with Wesley on the tour of L.A.  Wesley produced a
rough design first thing in the morning, and Gunn
brought his local knowledge, did the research on the
web, suggested improvements, and typed up the design
through its various versions. Gunn also typed Wesley's
list of demons, which they had out of the way by
midday on Friday.

The translations, though, Wesley had to do by hand and
on his own, and Gunn saw him go through at least ten
versions of each. Of all the things that Gunn tried
with Wesley to get him to chill, only sex worked,
though it worked very well, not only during, but for
hours afterwards. And Wesley wanted to chill, got
annoyed with himself, with the hair-trigger alarm in
his brain. Still, Gunn would wake every morning to
find himself alone in the bed, and Wesley next door in
stubble and robe, refusing to admit how long he'd been
back at work.

When Angel was having a good day (or a good
half-hour), his reaction to Wesley's state was
half-concerned, half-amused.  He'd bring Wesley a mug
of tea, ask him how much longer he needed before he'd
realise that he'd got it perfect the first time, and
then usually check with Gunn what Wesley was working
on, and why. Gunn told Angel about the plans to reach
a larger market and Angel needed just as much
persuading as Wesley; but Gunn had expected that, and
was much softer-hitting and more patient than he'd
been with Wesley. During the other times, not so good,
Angel seemed so sensitive to Wesley's anxiety that he
wouldn't even come into the room. He'd open the door
of his room and then see Wesley and stand there for
ten, twenty seconds, looking surprised and bewildered,
like someone he trusted had just yelled at him for no
reason.  Then he'd back away, sometimes quickly,
sometimes slowly, and shut himself in. Maybe he could
feel Wesley's tension directly, smell it, from the far
side of the room. Or maybe it was enough that Wesley
had not turned at the sound of the door, that somehow
Wesley did not know that he was there.

On Sunday morning at about eleven, Wesley showered,
shaved, and dressed in his best suit; and emerged
almost relaxed, certainly no worse than a on healthy
"alert". The suit. Must be the suit.

Gunn had expected the group to look surprised when
they saw Wesley, but then he hadn't told them about
Wesley the fighter, just about the books and the
classical music. They acted at first like they'd all
agreed just how to behave: very polite, like they were
being taken out to dinner by friends of their parents.
Gunn wondered about trying to break the ice, then
decided that he was the only one who was feeling
uncomfortable with the inch-thick company manners. 
The ice would melt in its own time, or he'd just get
used to working like this.

They asked Wesley where he wanted to start, and he
suggested that Piriti and Grouw should read his
translations, and then they might have questions for
him. Grouw was slower than Piriti to admit to being
impressed, but Gunn thought that was just because he
and Wesley had more difference in their ideas about
what the song meant when it was in English.

"Yes, it could mean that. In which case I would render
that line as 'Max fyd, mer hayr, agan surg vic.' I
also thought it could mean..." In the course of his
work Wesley had considered interpretations of the song
that had never occurred to the group, and they
obviously thought they'd already had every possible
argument about "I'm walking a line - I hate to be
dreaming in motion." For a minute or so they seemed
like they might forget Wesley and Gunn were even
there, but Matt brought them back and asked about the
tour plan.

Wesley gave out copies of the plan and talked them
through it, explained that he'd aimed for a balance
between the familiar and the exotic, making some
assumptions about the background and interests of this
Sas Vanna and what he might find familiar or find
exotic. The tour had views, it had history (human, Sas
Vanna, and generally-demonic; heart-warming,
thought-provoking, scandalous, or just weird), it had
food (human and Sas Vanna), it had driving, it had
walking, it had wading, it had museums, and it had
trash. Gunn didn't care about this Sas Vanna, he knew
a hundred people who'd sign up for that look at L.A.
and so did the group, judging by all the laughing and
nodding and starts of surprise.

Grouw said, "What are you doing the weekend after
next?"

A brief look at Gunn, expressionless apart from raised
eyebrows, then: "I have no idea. Why?"

"My sister Yan's in town with one of her boyfriends.
They're both Sas Vanna. Half Sas Vanna. D'you want to
come along and test out your tour? We'd do the meals
and everything. Try to make it worth your while."

Wesley looked briefly stunned, then went straight into
flustered. He bent his head, fumbled with his papers,
then cleared his throat hard before raising his head.
Gunn had seen that determined, apprehensive expression
several times now, and knew exactly what Wesley was
going to do next.

Yes, he was handing over the copies of his list. "You
shouldn't decide anything until you've seen this. Most
of these demons I met for no more than five minutes.
And at the end of that time they were dead."

Shock, and then all three scanned urgently through the
pages of the list, mouths dropping open at the length.
Matt was the first to recover. As apprehensive as
Wesley: "Any Chachaspes? Or Hulls?"

"No. And no Sas Vanna."

Grouw was glaring again. "Like he'd tell us if he
had."

"Better believe he would. He's kinda stupid like that.
Lie to save anyone except himself." All four looked at
Gunn, the group surprised and thinking, Wesley
surprised and annoyed. Gunn raised his eyebrows and
said to Grouw, "Ask him why. Why he had to fight
them."

Grouw checked briefly with Piriti, then: "So why?"

"Because they were harming or threatening people.
Innocent people, who had offered no provocation
whatever. We had to save the people."

"That's people as in humans." Piriti was stating a
fact, very certain.

"Yes. It's what I was trained to do."

Grouw said, "Harming humans how? Most of yours'd
scream murder if me or Piriti walked past on the other
side of the street. You trained to ask questions? Or
just told the human's always right?"

"I can take you through the list. You can decide on
the degree of harm and on how I was trained." A pause,
then Grouw shrugged and nodded, and Wesley told them
about the Photh near Houston, back in November.

By April, they'd heard enough. "OK. Even if there was
a Hull on your list... You gotta right to protect your
kind, when it's like that. But  it isn't just demons
who harm humans, nothing like. Why'n't you protect
humans from humans? Or do you?"

Wesley was shaking his head. "There's a police force
for that. The demons I've fought... You could say that
they chose to operate in a place where they cannot be
brought to the law. Or is there a parallel system that
I haven't heard about?"

Piriti said, "Not for anything on that scale. Not
involving humans. Or not as a system?" The question
was for Grouw, who nodded. "There are rumours of
groups of residents - like my family - having to do
what you do if someone's getting stupid with humans.
We have to live here."

"And of course they don't think to take nets, so
they've no chance of bringing their target back
alive." Grouw's tone had changed completely, was
comfortable, like this was something he'd said a
hundred times before.

Matt must have felt the change too, since the relief
seemed clearer in his voice even than the teasing.
"Well, I guess they haven't heard all your sister's
net stories. Not even once."

Grouw shrugged. "She makes half of them up."

"Yeah. But which half? And which half makes them up?"
Piriti was making a joke, not asking any real
questions, and the other two laughed like it was a
good joke, and then Grouw turned to Wesley and asked
him again about the weekend after next.

"I see now why the translations were getting to you."
They had stopped on the way home for ice-cream and a
walk on the beach. "That was kind of a dirty trick.
Like asking you to translate ten different songs."

"I don't think it was deliberate. It's just their
favourite song at the moment, they couldn't name
another song if you paid them. And they like not
knowing what it means, it makes it more of a game."

"Yeah, more about the music. They'd said something
like that."

"It was an interesting problem. Tedious for you,
though, I'm sorry. 'Walk Like a Man' would have been
much more straightforward. So I'm stupid, am I?" There
had been scarcely any pause or change of tone; the
question must have been right there waiting, maybe for
every minute of the last half hour.

"Well, I'd have to think very carefully before I sent
you undercover. Most people try to think their way
around trouble. Y'know? You're either waitin' for it.
Or headin' straight at it."

"I've never had good results trying to avoid it. And
it's rarely as bad as you'd imagined. Telling yourself
you can avoid it... You can make yourself a thin layer
of feeling safe. But really you've just bought
yourself another day of living in fear."

"So you'd rather take the chance of having every demon
in L.A. after you than live in fear for a day."

Wesley shrugged. "There are many different kinds of
fear. And I know I did the right thing: in killing the
demons and in telling the boys. For me, it's taking
responsibility for my actions. Is that so stupid?"

Gunn shook his head. "I'd never expect you to do
anything else. No one would, who had even the first
idea about how to read your face."

Wesley sighed. "I see. No undercover, then. What do
you think of the boys? Do you like them?"

"Sure. Think they're a great team. Don't you?"

"They're delightful. But I don't think I could spend
an entire day in their company. They're just too young
for me. Too boisterous. I'd get bored and want to be
home with my book. And I don't behave well when I'm
bored like that."

"Really?"

"I sulk."

Gunn laughed. "What excuse d'you wanna make, then? I
still wanna go. And we have to, anyway, for the
business. We've got two weeks - I know you can make me
into Mister Junior Demon Expert in that time."

* * * * *

Gunn did enjoy his meeting with Lilah Morgan, although
the two of them decided to hate each other pretty much
on sight. No, not "hate",  it wasn't nearly that
important, to either of them. But Gunn read her with
one look, down to the bones, knew they couldn't have
respect, they couldn't have trust; and that also
wasn't important, because they both knew that they
needed each other. So they smiled, and agreed, and
were tirelessly interested, and both made the game so
easy to play that they could have continued for twice
the time.

She seemed sincere, though, in the good things she
said about Wesley. She said a lot of the translators
she worked with could be arrogant and defensive, and
that Wesley's modesty and honesty were refreshing.
He'd only made one serious mistake that she knew of,
and she knew of it only because he'd called her as
soon as he'd realised.  Too late, for that particular
prophecy, but she hardly ever reminded him of that
mistake now.

If she did deal directly with demons, she was never
going to give him any details that he'd believe ("Yes,
but only among the fabulously wealthy. And they all
live in the sheltered dimensions. Taxes. The travel
expenses would ruin you, before you could hope to see
any return."). The one thing that he did learn from
the meeting was that he didn't want to do business
with people like her, even if that was the end of the
market with money to burn, and even if he'd had a hope
in hell of getting any more of her type to take
meetings with him. You couldn't deal with people that
rich and stay clean. You just couldn't. So he could
forget all that and concentrate on Caritas and the
bookstores, concentrate on looking for other leads in
the part of the market that kept itself to this
dimension.

* * * * *

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