[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Three 15/18 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Three 15/18

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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On Thursday night, while they were out training
between themselves, the tape caught Angel calling for
Wesley again, but this time the sounds went on for
much longer. The actual calling was mostly in the
first minute, getting more and more anxious and then
Angel clearly realised that Wesley wasn't going to
come and read with him, and that he would have to read
on his own again. This time, however, he went back to
the very beginning of the book. He didn't read out
loud, not exactly, but he did talk to himself as he
read, explaining who the Bad Czeck was, who Jane Wayne
was, that no, he'd never met them, that this wasn't
happening right now, that it wasn't Mother's Day, that
there was just an ex-cop telling a story to pass the
time. He wasn't quoting Wesley word-for-word, but he
wasn't leaving much out from what Gunn could remember.

He seemed absorbed and content, though his way of
enjoying the story must be a million miles from what
this Wambaugh guy had intended. After about half an
hour he started to lose focus, not explaining any
more, but making remarks that probably came at first
from something in the book but drifted further and
further away, and became slower and quieter until he
must have shut down or fallen asleep. He was lying on
his side with his back to the wall, the book face-down
between his knee and his hand.

Friday was their second session with the duals: two
new demon-names they'd have to remember. Gunn made a
chart to put on the wall, with pictures copied from
Wesley's books. They'd sorted out the padding for
Wesley on the Wednesday so that was now part of their
morning routine: Gunn helping Wesley strap the padding
on before he got dressed, making him ready for
whatever the day might hold in the way of training or
vision.

On Friday morning, Gunn had just started adjusting the
fit when Wesley said, "I want to come straight home
after the training. I don't want to stay out for the
noodles and the beer."

"You bored with duals already? Hope you got some other
idea for payin' em back."

"I didn't -" Wesley sighed. "I should have said,
'Would you mind going without me? Just for tonight.'
Or until Angel's settled in properly. Right now... I
don't want to leave him for any longer than I have
to."

Never mind "right now": wasn't that the story of
Wesley's life? Main difference with "right now" was
that tape-recorder: the sound of Angel all hurt and
bewildered when it turned out Wesley had a life of his
own. Five to ten days, that email had said from the
jewellery site; next week, it had damn well better be
next week. "Course I don't mind. Better sound Yan out
first, though. Could look bad, comin' this soon. Hafta
keep 'em sweet, Wes."

"I know. I'll talk to her. Try to present it as...
just an idea."

"Or me. Depends who has the best chance to get her on
her own."

This time all three duals could have fitted in the
car, but Yan said she'd ride with Gunn. Turned out
Grouw might be joining them after training; they'd
need to call him when they knew when and where they'd
be going. Perfect opening, seemed to Gunn. "You know
Wes's got this sick friend needs looking after?
Guessin' Grouw told you, 'cos he's who we used to
train with."

"A head injury, Grouw said. Makes him violent."

"Sometimes, yeah. Well, since we moved apartments he's
been gettin' weird when he's left on his own too long,
and -"

"You need to get back. Sure. Grouw'll come and pick us
up. Say nine, nine-thirty?"

"No, I'm still good, it's just Wesley. He's the one
Angel gets weird about. You're all OK if he drops
out?"

"No problem. I thought there must be more than Grouw'd
said. He made it sound far too easy."

"Easy enough for me. Different for Wes. Guess you'd
know how bad it can get, with violent and weird?"

"Up to a point. Their cells are moved out of our
section when they seem to have gone insane."

Angel hadn't called for Wesley, not when they were out
training or after Wesley had got back. Gunn was woken,
though, at three in the morning, by Wesley coming back
to bed, turning the receiver back on even before he
took his robe off.

During the day on Saturday, Angel was lucid twice, and
Wesley wouldn't let them just pick a time for their
training session. Instead, they had to wait for Angel
to fall asleep and then wake up again, to try to be
sure they wouldn't miss a lucid period. And, yes,
Angel had remained awake and in hell all the time they
were gone, so they were obviously gonna do more of
that, fitting their lives around the chance that Angel
might be lucid. Nah, they'd settle down in a few
weeks; Wesley would get hardened, decide that having
to re-read a chapter on his own was not the worst
thing that could happen to a brain-damaged vampire.

Gunn went out again on Saturday afternoon, spent a
couple of hours visiting the sites of some of the
visions and some of the Angel Investigations cases,
looking for any signs that trouble might be coming
back, and also looking for people to talk to, just to
see what he could pick up. Another hour or so doing
the occult bookstores, listening in, asking what
people had been buying, buying a couple of serious
books for Wesley, and a book for himself about demon
dimensions. The book was by one of their competitors
in the L.A. demon market, who claimed that he'd
visited at least twenty of the dimensions, had been
lucky to escape with his life, but had still left
fabulous demon-women pining for him in every one. Gunn
had already guessed that the guy had even less of a
grip on reality than Angel, but it was worth five
bucks to see the full proof. And then Blockbuster for
"Hollow Man" and Trader Joe's for lasagne and key lime
pie; they weren't making it an official "date" this
time, just an evening of winding down.

Angel called when Gunn was about to serve out the
lasagne (smell of food woke him up, maybe) and he
didn't even bother to call for Wesley by name, just
stood there by the wall with the book open, saying,
"They're ready. They want to start now. Villalobos
won't want to wait." Gunn put the lasagne back to keep
warm and used the time to start his own book. They'd
probably finish their two books at about the same
time, since Gunn couldn't ignore Angel's questions and
comments any more than Wesley could.

"No. No, it's not the same person. That was Leery, in
the bar. Lester is someone different. This is the
first time Villalobos has met him. They just have
similar names."

A pause, in which Angel studied Wesley. "They have
names. Do you have a name?"

"Yes. My name is Wesley."

Slowly: "Wesley." Then: "Did you have a name in the
school? When you were in the library? Or were you
someone different then?"

"My name was Wesley then, too. Just the same."

"And when I was lost? When I couldn't come near them?
Did he know your name? Angelus. Did Darla know it
before?"

"I - I don't understand what you're asking, Angel. My
name is Wesley. You've always known me as Wesley."

Angel nodded several times. "I've always known you. As
Wesley."

"That's right." A smile of encouragement, then Wesley
got them back to the book.

There was no call during the night and Angel was
asleep when they woke. They got up quickly, to be
ready to go training as soon as they knew they could
leave Angel, but Angel woke up lucid (and knowing
Wesley's name), so they didn't get out until nearly
midday.

Angel had a vision while they were gone, and the tape
suggested that it had hit during a mercifully brief
hallucination about being tortured (probably in hell,
possibly involving a pair of demons and being taken to
a different room). The tape had caught the words from
the reverberation phase very clearly. Angel was still
repeating some of the words when they got back from
training, and from his mutterings and the drawings
they would probably have been able to work out that an
Aabaxes had dug its tunnel somewhere on the beach,
they would have known to look for the big sandcastle
with the turrets and the rows of tiny shells and the
arched gateway scooped out so deep you'd almost think
the castle was hollow. They would have known the name
of the child that was going to vanish into that
gateway, but without the tape they wouldn't have known
which beach to go to.

Afterwards they gave themselves a shower and then an
hour in bed. They'd been filthy, sand everywhere, just
stripped themselves in record time, then helped get
each other clean. There were marks on Wesley's skin
from the padding and the straps, very slight, where it
had rubbed or pressed in. Gunn traced the marks,
almost absent-mindedly, as they lay, quietly, during
the middle of their hour in bed. Would Wesley get
calluses there, to match those on his hand? And what
did it say about Gunn that the idea turned him on?
That he already enjoyed undoing the straps, the same
way he enjoyed undoing the buttons on Wesley's shirt?
Nothing, Angelus. It said nothing. Except that he was
in love with Wesley, he was in love with Wesley's
body. So it was natural, it was totally natural, that
he was in love with everything that was different and
personal and private about Wesley's body.

Gunn read some more of the demon-dimension book during
the evening and then found himself lying awake after
Wesley had gone to sleep, thinking too many messy
thoughts about crazy people.

Angel was slowly waking up. Gunn heard him sighing and
shifting, then getting to his feet, moving around.
Gunn was waiting for the sound of pages being turned,
and there it was, and then seconds later: "We need to
read. We have to read." Angel's voice was quiet; he
seemed to be talking to himself, not calling for
Wesley. But that wouldn't last.

Gunn gave a deep sigh, hauled himself up on his elbow,
and shook Wesley gently by the shoulder. "Wes? Wes,
you should wake up. He wants to read."

Wesley had turned the receiver off before he got out
of bed, but Gunn turned it back on after Wesley had
been gone for about a minute; he wasn't going to
sleep, so he might as well know.

Angel had forgotten almost everything about the story.
Wesley started like he usually did, by giving a quick
reminder of where they'd got to last time and Angel
must just have stared at Wesley, maybe shaken his
head, too lost even to ask questions.

"No? Well, maybe it's been too long since we read all
that. And maybe it wasn't interesting enough for you,
anyway. We could look for something better."

"No." Definite. "This is the book."

"OK. That's good. I like this book. It's a good book,
right from the start." Gunn heard the sound of Wesley
finding his place in the book with one hand, and then
they were back in the bar on Mother's Day, with
everyone looking at the Bad Czech, waiting for him to
lose his temper over what he was reading in the
newspaper. Angel clearly thought he was hearing the
story for the first time, but he only asked a fraction
of his usual questions, and he guessed that the
ferocious cop Ludwig was in fact a dog, well ahead of
the punch-line.

Wesley was leaving some stuff out, like he always did;
he'd told Gunn that he was simply too embarrassed to
read out the description of the drunk dog having a wet
dream on the pool table, so he skipped several lines
and said that it drooled instead. And, being Wesley,
he announced each change clearly in the tone of his
voice, including some changes that he had not
discussed with Gunn: no way that red-haired cop had
said that his wife was fucking a "black man".

Angel seemed to start drifting off shortly after the
detective Villalobos arrived at the bar. His comments
became fewer and stranger and then stopped. Wesley
carried on reading, but getting slower and quieter,
until he stopped too; and then after about ten or
twenty seconds of silence, Gunn heard Wesley put the
book down on the floor and get to his feet.

"The book!"

"It's right there, Angel. You can read it whenever you
want."

"You read it. You..." The sound of Wesley sitting down
heavily, like he'd been pulled back. "Read it."

"Of course I'll read it. Let me know if you feel
you've heard enough."

Angel wasn't hearing a word about Villalobos drinking
his vodka and getting the worst feeling about the
gooned-out vice cop with the eyes like bullet-holes,
and Wesley's voice was quite different now he was
reading to himself, quicker and much flatter, and he
was getting bored and tired. Eventually he must have
seen some new change in Angel, and he slowed and
stopped again, and put the book down again, and this
time was able to leave.

"Oh, God, we kept you up. I'm sorry." Wesley looked
nearly as exhausted as he'd been when Gunn had first
met him, when he'd been coping with Angel on his own.

"Couldn't sleep, anyway. Y'must know that scene in the
bar off by heart."

Wesley nodded his head, then shook it over and over.
"Why didn't I get a simple book? 'Look, this is the
hero. He looks like this, and he sees this, and he
does that.' No jokes. No tricks. And absolutely no
Rottweilers on pool tables."

Gunn laughed and pulled Wesley into his arms. "Yeah,
but you'd be bored readin' that even once. How much
you think he'll remember tomorrow?"

Thoughtful: "I don't know. I think it was the vision
that wiped it out. We'll see if it... just erased a
few lines on the page. Or ripped out half the sheet."

"Not like there's a whole lotta sheets left."

"No. Not many."

* * * * *

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