[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Three 17/18 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Three 17/18

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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Wesley had about twelve books of short stories, and he
looked them out and put them in a stack by the door,
and took a different book in each time. Angel was
lucid about once a day. He never called for Wesley by
name, acted sometimes like he thought the mixture of
scents on the shirt was Wesley's name. He didn't even
talk about reading, or about books, probably because
the books weren't there in his room any more. When he
called, it was for Wesley to "tell him", to "show
him". He did recognise Wesley and he accepted Wesley's
presence completely, and he became absorbed in the
stories, but in a way that seemed to make him less
lucid the more he concentrated. By the time he was two
pages in, he thought the story was real, happening
now, he thought the people in the story knew about him
and Wesley reading the story, and he thought that he
and Wesley were somewhere in the book.

"What does it say first? Does it say why the library
made you different? Why you were kneeling? The bed
still smells of pain."

"No, that isn't in here."

"Why not? They know." Stabbing at the page. "I want to
see it. Properly. Like this."

"Well. Maybe they'll tell you. But not until you know
some more of their story."

Angel had a vision on Saturday evening, while Wesley
was in the middle of cooking a curry. The vision
brought out Angelus - the first time with a vision in
the new apartment - and they chained and gagged him.
The restraints probably weren't necessary here, and
God knows they were coping well enough with Angelus
loose; but they knew the restraints worked so they
might as well keep on using them.

Gunn looked up at the screen as soon as he same out of
the bedroom on Sunday morning, but he didn't see what
he was expecting. "He's loose! You let him out! When
did you let him out?"

"At about five. I heard him wake up. I thought he
might be lucid. But he was deep in hell."

"And you still let him out? On your own. You know how
he gets! He could have torn you up and shoved you
under the mattress."

"I could see he wasn't like that. I took the gag off
first. He was just frightened. He seemed more
frightened because I was on my own. He kept looking
for you."

"You know you should have woken me up. Did you feed
him?"

Wesley nodded. "I know it doesn't make any difference.
But I have to give him something."

"You gotta wake me up, Wes. Don't do that again."

A long shrug, conceding but not repentant. "I thought
he might be lucid."

Angel wasn't lucid at any point that Sunday, and by
the time they left for training on Monday evening,
Gunn was starting to wonder if that Saturday's vision
had been the end, and then to wonder if he should tell
Wesley what he was thinking, or wait for Wesley to
bring the subject up.

Back home, Gunn played at the computer while Wesley
read the newspaper and then that first book of short
stories that he'd read with Angel. After about an hour
Gunn paused the game to go and get a soda, turned to
ask Wesley if he wanted anything from the kitchen, and
saw Wesley getting to his feet, looking alert and
relieved. Gunn looked up at the screen, and yes, Angel
was awake, standing with Wesley's shirt in his hands,
and handling it with the care he only showed when he
was lucid. Wesley started to cross the room, but then
Angel let the shirt drop to the mattress, and there
was something very wrong with the gesture, with the
way Angel then turned his back. Dismissal. A chilling
indifference. Nothing like the way Angel behaved when
he was about to call for Wesley. Gunn and Wesley
looked at one another, concerned and puzzled, then
Gunn went to wait for Wesley, to work out what was
happening with Angel.

Angel was in a low place, slumped, looking almost
hollowed out. He turned to look at the door, moving
very slowly, like he was pushing all the time against
some great weight. His expression was empty, stayed
empty as he looked up at the ceiling, then out of the
window, and then as he backed up against the wall. A
long pause after he'd reached the wall, then he very
slowly folded in upon himself. Was he lucid? Or could
he be in hell, maybe... showing another type of
reaction to the trophies he thought Angelus had left?

He was speaking now. They could hear the murmur from
the receiver a few feet behind them on the coffee
table, though on the screen they couldn't see his face
or any sign of movement. Again they looked at one
another, then over at the receiver, and then they left
the screen and went to turn the volume up.

"They should've... They should've... They should've
told me. I knew it was time but... they should have
told me. I would have... They didn't want him. They
didn't want him any more. He wasn't - So they got rid
of him. Like... Like...They sent him away. They must
have said... it was like firing him. He's been -
That's what - What did they tell him? Did he - He
wasn't what they wanted. They must have... They should
have told me. But they just took him. He wasn't...
They took him."

That seemed to be all. And now that Angel was silent,
he seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into that
slump.

"Who the hell's 'they'? Is it the guards? You think
they... let him have a friend there? But he acts like
he almost expects them to play fair. Where is he?"

"I'm - I'm not sure. He might... He might be talking
about the Powers. Their plans for him. He might... He
might be talking about what happened to Doyle. He
doesn't have a normal sense of time any more. Anything
can seem like yesterday to him if he still has strong
feelings about it. He might have..." A shrug. "...been
looking for Doyle on my shirt. I don't know."

"We leave him like that?"

A very difficult question for Wesley. "I don't know
what I could say to help if it is Doyle. And my shirt
was - Maybe he doesn't know me now. But then we could
be as wrong as we were about why he tore up the books.
I think I have to find out. Assuming he is lucid."
They went over to the bedroom door. Wesley knocked,
but Angel showed no reaction at all. "Angel? Can I
come in? Is there anything I can do?" A sharp movement
of the head. Not a "no", more like he'd turned
watchful. Suspicious.

Almost in a whisper, Gunn said, "Looks to me like he's
thinking you're not real. Like you're a hallucination
again. Y'know, he could've been talking about you with
all of that. Just as much as Doyle."

Wesley paused with his hand raised to knock again,
frowned deeply, looking very uncomfortable.
Eventually: "Maybe. But he still... Maybe." He glanced
up at the screen then turned the key in the lock.
"Angel, I'm going to come in." He opened the door,
bent to take the next book off the stack, and then
stepped in to the bedroom. "Angel, do you know who I
am? Do you know where you are?"

Very slowly, Angel raised his head, looked at Wesley,
eyes cold, then brought himself to sitting upright.
"You think they've changed. That they'll let you back
if you..." Shaking his head. "You don't have a place
here now. Watcher! They've taken it. Can't you feel
that?" Impatient, like Wesley was being deliberately
stupid. "This is just... This is just because I
said... They want me to..." Shaking his head again.
"But I know what they've decided. I know what they've
done with you."

Wesley moved closer, hand held out slightly. "I don't
quite understand what you're saying, Angel. But no
one's done anything with me. Did you think... I'd
left?"

With no warning, quicker than Gunn could follow, Angel
was on his feet, right in front of Wesley. Wesley
flinched and dropped the book. "Don't do this, we all
know you shouldn't be here. It's already... Go and
tell them what -" An abrupt shake of the head, and
then he turned away. "Tell them I don't want you
either. I never wanted you."

Gunn was in the room; to do what, he didn't know, but
he couldn't just stand and watch.

"No. I know." So quiet. Wesley just accepting. "I'll
go. I won't - I'll leave you alone. When you get
hungry... If you ever want a different book... Charles
will bring you anything you need. Goodbye, Angel."
Really goodbye, like this was the end. He'd never even
try to speak to Angel again.

Gunn was waiting to put his arm around Wesley, but
Wesley pushed past him, shaking his head and not
meeting Gunn's eye. By the time Gunn had closed and
locked the door and slid the bolts, Wesley had already
shut himself in their bedroom. Or pushed the door hard
closed, at any rate; if he'd turned the lock or slid
the bolts on the inside, he'd done that much more
quietly.

Gunn tried the handle and the door opened. He stepped
in quickly, then closed the door. "Wes?" The room was
in darkness. Gunn couldn't see Wesley, but he could
hear the small, choked sounds coming from the far side
of the bed. Wesley was crouched down, face buried in
the crook of his elbow, which was propped on the hard
seat of his bedside chair. Gunn knelt beside him and
held him by his shoulder and his waist and said
nothing, not even his name.

What could he say? It wasn't alright. It never could
be. He wished... He wished... That Angel could be sane
again, for however long it would take for him to
understand what he'd done, and then to make it right.
To do whatever Wesley needed. But now Angel could
never make it right, even if, when he was sane, he
would have wanted to. And Gunn didn't know Angel, he
didn't know what Angel wanted or what Angel felt, he
just knew what Wesley deserved.

Gunn hated Angel now. Wanting to kick Angelus bloody:
that was nothing. He didn't even know yet, what would
be enough punishment. Make him take a wound right
through, in a way that wouldn't heal.

After a few minutes Wesley raised his head, not
recovered exactly, but controlled. He put his hand on
Gunn's thigh, leaned against him, and Gunn kept the
same hold, but tightened. "I'm sorry. I - I'm sorry."
Wesley's breathing was still very unsteady.

"You - He didn't know what he was saying, Wes."

"Oh, Charles." As quiet and sad as his last words to
Angel. "He knew exactly what he was saying. He knows
me as... He knows me. He's remembered everything
important."

"Don't say that. Don't. Look, I'll - I'll run you a
bath. Then we'll share a beer and talk about stupid
movies or something while you're in the bath. Forget
about him. I'll turn the screen off. I'll turn the
receiver off. We'll forget about him."

A deep breath, with only a slight shake, then, slowly:
"That sounds good. I do need to get warm."

"Yeah. I'll start now?"

Gunn felt Wesley nod, then draw away. "I'll change
into my robe."

When he moved back to Wesley after topping up the hot
water for the second time, Gunn said, "How long's it
been since you took a bath without bringin' a book in
with you?"

Wesley laughed. "Longer than I can remember. I even
started looking for one just now. Out of habit."

"Guessed you did. Know that sound a mile off. You
lookin' for a book."

"It seems strange to..." Wesley swallowed. "I'll never
read with him again. It's over now. I can put all of
those books back."

Gunn shook his head. "He'll change his mind. First
look at me, he'll be sorry."

A small smile. "I wonder what he'll make of you."

Gunn got a wicked idea. "Think I'll mess with him.
Tell him I've had him for twenty years. Denzel's
president. On his second term 'n' all."

"Who's Vice-President?"

"Uh. Y'right. Hard work. I'll put Alka-Seltzer in his
blood then. Somethin' like that."

Quietly: "You don't have to be angry with him."

"I do, Wes. Being crazy... 's a piss-poor excuse.
Anyone else hurt you like that, I'd -"

"No. It's a reasonable excuse. Going crazy,
especially. Knowing it. So he's... past the point now
where I can help him. It had to happen."

Wesley's patience was unbearable. Fiercely: "He was
lying. You know he knew he was lucky."

A shrug. "I'm not what he would have asked for. That's
not... I don't care what he wants. What he doesn't
want. Not that much. It was -" Wesley swallowed. "It
was saying that he didn't want me either. The
'either'. Because I have so many things I'm ashamed
of. And he knows about all of them."

"No." A pause. "Like what?"

Wesley shook his head. "Not now. They'd seem... You
wouldn't... It doesn't matter."

Like hell it didn't matter. And Gunn knew he would
understand, whatever Wesley thought. He wanted to
prove that, but not now, not by trying to force Wesley
to talk. He laid his hand over Wesley's wrist, drew it
down to Wesley's fingertips. "You can tell me, y'know.
When you're ready." And Wesley nodded.

Angel probably wouldn't be lucid again for at least a
couple of days, but Gunn slept with the receiver next
to him on the nightstand. Angel wouldn't know his
name. How would he call? Would he still want to do the
reading thing?

"It's empty. The room's empty. Where is he?" The time
was 3:18. A hallucination. Probably. Gunn got out of
bed without waking Wesley, and took the receiver with
him.

Not a hallucination, but a dream. Angel was lying on
the mattress, moving restlessly. "No, that's wrong.
Get a doctor here. You knew I'd be coming today. He
should be here ready. Wyndham-Pryce. Room 129. You
know this is his room. Why would you move him?" The
voice had been impatient, now it became angry. "Taken
away? No, he hasn't. He's in this hospital. Look
again. Type it in again. He should be here ready. Find
him." A pause. "You're lying. He's here. I'll find
him. He's in one of these rooms. Wesley? Are you ready
to leave? Where are you? I've got everything ready.
Your books. And your clothes. You'll have the bed.
I've found a good sword. Come on." Becoming anxious.
"Where are you?"

How many rooms had Angel searched in dream-time? Five?
A hundred? It didn't matter. Not in this type of
dream. You never found what you were looking for.

Now protesting: "He should be here. He's supposed to
be here. It's wrong. Taken away. When was he taken
away? When did you... see him? A long pause, then very
subdued: "That was yesterday. I should have been here
yesterday. I would have... It's too late. But his
books. I have his books. We're supposed to... What
happens? If he's been taken away, what happens?"

Looked like no one knew. Angel became even more
restless, but he was done with speaking - just grunts
and sighs now. Gunn went back to bed and lay awake for
a while trying to figure out how to describe the dream
to Wesley. ("He wanted you to be there, Wes. He did.")
But maybe Wesley really didn't need to hear that. Or
maybe it would bring up all that other stuff, make it
worse. Gunn hadn't decided by the time he fell asleep,
and in the morning he said nothing to Wesley about the
dream.

Angel wasn't lucid on Tuesday or Wednesday, but
halfway through breakfast on Thursday morning he was
there with the book in his hands, and he was calling
for Wesley. "You are there. Aren't you? I can hear
you." He sounded hopeful. Relieved.

"Yes, I'm here, Angel. Is there anything I can do for
you?" Wesley was wary. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really. Are you going to come and read?"

"If you want." Wesley unlocked the door and went in.

They sat down and Wesley opened the book, but Angel
interrupted him after just a few sentences. "I thought
you were gone. Not that I really thought it but as
something hanging over me. It seemed true. I felt it."

"Where did you think I'd gone? Back to England?"

"No, you weren't anywhere. It was as if you'd been
lifted out. Someone had... cancelled your right to
exist. There was just the space where you used to be."

"It sounds like a hallucination. Though you don't
usually remember them."

Angel nodded. "I knew it didn't make sense. But I was
- I couldn't quite believe it when I heard your
voice."

Wesley was smiling. "I'm glad you didn't believe it.
I'm not ready to be cancelled." And they turned back
to the book.

Wesley's coffee was going cold, and Gunn poured it
away and made a fresh pot. Angel was in a good mood,
very talkative, by his standards. He interrupted the
story several more times, didn't seem to be making
much effort to follow it. He was talking about the
future, and not on his usual "What will I be?" track,
but talking like he wouldn't always be locked in the
room, like he and Wesley had received some guarantee
that he'd get better. Wesley didn't question him, just
went along with wherever this new assumption led,
which wasn't very far: driving to Torrance to buy
weapons, keeping up a contact in the Police Department
(long gone, as far as Wyndham Gunn was concerned).

Wesley was out again after less than half an hour,
bringing the book with him. Angel had drifted off very
quickly at the end, just short of shutting down.

"Sounds like it was a new type of hallucination on
Monday." Gunn held out the fresh mug of coffee to
Wesley. "Should've realised. He'll say anything."

Wesley nodded, also in a good mood, though a quieter
one than Angel's. "Maybe he is getting better. If he
can remember his hallucinations and realise that they
couldn't be real. I wonder how quickly we'll recognise
the next one."

For the rest of the morning Gunn kept on looking up at
the screen, not to check what Angel was doing (very
little), but to stare at him and try to decide how
much he still hated him. The same amount, probably,
but with a different type of hate. No satisfaction,
now, in imagining the punishment he might inflict; the
Angel who'd hurt Wesley just didn't exist any more,
he'd been a jagged fragment thrown out by the madness,
fallen to dust some time that same night.

But that fragment had come from somewhere, from
somewhere deep inside Angel, and it had known Wesley,
and it had known exactly what it was saying. The Angel
that was still with them, that was so glad to see
Wesley again... Well, that Angel had to have his roots
in the same deep place, and that place was full,
wasn't it?, with the cruellest thoughts about Wesley.
Should their Angel escape completely, be forgiven,
completely, just because he'd been lucky enough not to
be tempted to let those thoughts out?

Yes, because that was the easiest answer to live with.
Because Wesley was happy to forgive. Because it made
Wesley happy, to forgive.

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