[Gunnwesley] Fic: Kungai Part Four 7/11 (Wesley/Gunn, NC17)

[helenraven]

Title: Kungai Part Four 7/11

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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About a quarter of Wyndham Gunn's current cases had
come to them through contacts they'd made in doing the
survey, and they expected the proportion to get
larger. Some were from the businesses that had
supported the survey, some were from demons who'd
filled in the forms, and the latest was from a
newspaper that had contacted them to ask for
information from the survey and then had hired Wesley
to assess their archives. They got the work from the
newspaper even after Wesley had told the journalist
that he couldn't tell her anything about the survey
results until the security precautions had been
agreed, which wouldn't be for at least another month.

The security precautions were to ensure that survey
results would only be released for purposes that would
benefit the demons who had contributed: it must never
be used to track down enemies or prey (except for
visions, of course, like the one with the Haklar
demon). There would be rules, an application
procedure, background checks, and a
properly-representative review board. Wesley had asked
the committee of businesses that had supported the
survey to design the security precautions while he was
working on the survey itself, but they didn't really
get very far. Yes, they accepted Wesley's argument
that the survey database should be public property
(the community as a whole had made it possible,
therefore the community as a whole should own it), but
they'd really much rather keep it to themselves, for
the business advantage. They had held meetings, and
they'd produced a design for the security precautions
that they seemed to think was good enough. Gunn and
Wesley spent two evenings sketching out and typing up
a better design, and then another two evenings working
out how to present their design so it looked like a
tribute to the committee's design rather than a
demolition. The tact had worked and now they were
making real progress, but they'd be lucky to get the
system in place by fall.

Of course Gunn and Wesley weren't making the boys wait
until fall, the boys were another exception (and this
time one that the committee didn't need to know
about). The committee members were probably making
their own exceptions all the time, using their own
copies of the database: doing favours for friends or
just plain selling the information. So their security
precautions were already shot full of holes but it was
still worth doing. The day would come when they were
gonna need those rules, they were both sure of it.

* * * * *

Angel was ignoring Gunn. He'd never paid Gunn much
attention since Gunn wasn't the one who carried the
blood, but when he'd been scared of both of them he'd
at least bothered to track Gunn's movements. Didn't
need to, anymore; he knew he was safe from anything as
long as Wesley was there. He didn't even look at Gunn
when Gunn was about to chain him for his shower. He
looked at Wesley instead and said, "You don't have to
chain me. I know I can't escape."

"No. You wouldn't get very far. But we do have to
chain you, Angel. You get angry sometimes, without
warning. You change. We have to take precautions."

"I thought... I thought he couldn't get out without...
You wouldn't call him."

"It's not just him. As I said, you get angry
sometimes. I know you don't remember."

"I... I remember being angry. I remember what -" He
shook his head. "Have I been angry with you? What did
I do? Did I -"

"You taught me to be careful. That's all. You need the
chains, Angel." And Angel nodded and raised his hands
behind his back.

How did Angel know he couldn't escape? How many times
had he tried and failed? And how angry had he got with
the guards? He'd attacked them, sounded like. Probably
done some damage. Yeah, they probably made sure he
remembered that.

Angel had gradually stopped asking Wesley why he was
different from the other guards. He didn't seem able
to learn Wesley's name, but the same number of
repetitions had drummed into him the idea that Wesley
didn't know the other guards. And Angel had added his
own ideas, which emerged fragment by fragment: not so
much at feeding times, when Gunn was usually there,
but when Wesley needed a break from work and would go
in and keep him company for ten minutes.

"He thinks we don't know that we're working in a hell
dimension. He thinks that the demons in charge have
somehow hidden everything unpleasant from us."

"Boy! How stupid does that make us?"

Wesley shrugged and nodded. "He doesn't see it like
that. He doesn't need us to justify being here. He
doesn't want us to change anything in how he's being
treated. How he was being treated. He just keeps
telling me to 'be careful'. That they must have plans.
That they're using us. And he's..." A brief, fond
laugh. "You should hear him struggle to warn us that
we're in the wrong place. While avoiding telling me
anything about what kind of place it really is. I
shouldn't laugh, he's... Of course he has his pride.
But he's so transparent when he's being evasive."

The warnings didn't come every day - they probably
depended on what Angel had been dreaming about - and
Gunn had to wait several days before he could hear one
again, and this time listen properly.

"Isn't pride. The reason he won't say. He's worried
you'll run to the boss and get fired. Or worse. Wants
to keep you here. 'n' keep you safe."

"Oh. Of course. He's taking a risk, then, in warning
us at all." A sudden smile. "Unless he's relying on us
being stupid."

Gunn shrugged. "Thinks he could lose you if he doesn't
warn you. 's a tough one. He does OK, you ask me."

"I'll tell him, then, that we will be careful. And we
won't do anything to let them know that he's warned
us. If he stops warning us, that will presumably mean
that we've stopped him worrying about it."

Angel looked so relieved when Wesley gave him the
reassurance, more relieved even than he'd looked when
he'd first started trusting Wesley; Gunn thought for a
moment that Angel was going to hug Wesley. The
warnings stopped very quickly: within a week.

* * * * *

Wesley cut his hand badly during a session with the
duals one Tuesday: a deep, ragged gash right across
the palm and up the side of his index finger. The
Ehiba half of Tarrag had wrenched his sword away and
raked him with a claw in the same motion. It had been
an accident: Tarrag had every reason to expect Wesley
to react more quickly. Gunn took Wesley to the
emergency room and kept him company while he had a
shockingly-painful painkilling injection and twelve
stitches.

Gunn thought he knew why the accident had happened:
Wesley had been distracted because something had
reminded him of the sex they'd been having recently
during their own training sessions. He'd told Wesley
it could be dangerous (OK, no, he hadn't - but he'd
thought it, afterwards, he was going to tell him).
They'd had it under control before, never even talked
about it, somehow blocked out the sight and smell and
feel of one another, managed to concentrate on the
body as an instrument, all science and numbers and
repetitions. Second-nature to Wesley, Gunn had
thought. Wesley taking everything so seriously, no
room to admit you were having fun, and Wesley's brain
did love to concentrate. But recently Wesley's body
just had too much energy - or that was how it felt to
Gunn. And it felt good, so... Gunn had been letting
himself wait until he saw the right time for saying
they should stop, instead of just saying it as soon as
he thought it.

Still, this really wasn't the right time, with Wesley
miserable and annoyed with himself and hardly able to
do anything what with the stitches and the dressing;
he couldn't hold a pen, he could barely make a cup of
tea. Gunn took them to Blockbuster on the way home and
rented some low-key movies (just enough action, just
enough laughs), and they lay together on the couch.
Wesley kept on thinking of things that he wouldn't be
able to do for a week. Wash his face. Drive the car.
Carry a pint of blood. Gunn made soothing noises
(properly soothing, from Wesley's reaction), and kept
his hold tight on Wesley's waist.

The local anaesthetic had worn off by the end of the
movie and Wesley got really annoyed with himself when
he was getting ready for bed. "Believe it or not, it
doesn't hurt that much. I know I look as if I'm - It's
because it's my hand and there are different ways of
trying to do things. I keep on trying to find the way
that hurts least. It would be easier if I didn't have
a choice."

"I get that. Hand's gotta be the worst that way."

Wesley was in a much better mood by morning and had
decided that he could carry a half-pint of blood (and
another, as soon as Angel asked for it). He didn't
carry any during the morning because Angel was asleep,
and instead he worked out how to use the tape recorder
to make notes on translations and research, since
using a pen hurt too much.

Angel noticed Wesley's bandaged hand immediately, and
was disturbed by it, and unable to take his eyes off
the hand. "You're hurt."

"Not badly. But I'd be grateful if you'd take this
beaker now. I am starting to feel the weight."

Angel took the beaker, drained it in a single motion,
then threw it aside, stepped forward, and lifted
Wesley's hand in both his own. Gunn picked up the
beaker, set it outside the door, then went back to
stand guard.

"What did they do?"

"They didn't do anything. I was fighting - I was
learning to fight - and I made a mistake."

"Why - Why did you have to fight?"

"I learn to fight so that I can help people. This was
an accident last night, during a lesson."

Angel had been exploring Wesley's palm with his
fingertips, but now he was tugging at the edges of the
dressing. "Show me."

"That hurts, Angel. Wait." Wesley pulled his hand away
then turned to Gunn, face asking a question, which
Gunn guessed was: "Should I show him?" Gunn shrugged,
Wesley frowned for a few seconds, then glanced at
Angel, shrugged back at Gunn, and held his hand out
for Gunn to remove the dressing. The dressing was
fresh on that morning and there was no blood - or no
spot bigger than a pinhead.

Angel traced the line of the wound, first to one side,
then right along the stitches. His touch must be more
careful than it looked, because Wesley didn't make a
sound.

"It's hot."

"Yes. It's healing."

"What... What were you fighting with?"

"I had a sword. But I caught my hand on a barb. Like a
hook."

"A sword? I -" Angel let go of Wesley's hand and
stepped back, then looked hard at Wesley, up and down.
Then - surprising - he turned and looked Gunn up and
down too. He looked thoughtful, like he was trying to
work something out. A slight, quick shake of the head,
and he turned back to Wesley, stepped forward, even
closer than before, and fastened his hands about
Wesley's shoulder and upper arm, fingers dug in,
half-kneading, half-clawing.

"Hey!" and "Ow!" - ignored by Angel.

Gunn moved in and Wesley must have heard the water
sloshing. Quickly but quietly, eyes on Angel's face:
"No, let him. He's not being... I want to know."

A few more seconds and the fingers relaxed, and then
stroked over the same areas, maybe in apology. "It
isn't natural."

"Now, really. I've been fencing for most of my life. I
was considered quite promising."

Slowly, hands still moving: "This isn't fencing.
You're fighting to kill."

"We - have to be able to. Yes."

Angel nodded and took his hands away, but stayed at
Wesley's right side, couldn't be an inch between them.

"Would you kill me? Would you kill him?"

"No. Because you're not going to harm anyone. Either
of you. You can't, now."

Should have been reassuring but Angel backed away,
shaking his head hard. "You don't know. They didn't...
He does. He still does."

"No, Angel, That stopped a long time ago. Before you
came here. I know you think it's still happening. But
that's just a trick."

"I - I felt him." Angel swallowed. "I tasted..."

"It was a dream. You have strong dreams here. You
remember some things too clearly."

"A dream." Angel closed his eyes for a few seconds,
then, with a tilt of the head: "Do I dream about you?"

"I think you used to. But not recently."

"I don't remember."

"I know." A pause. "Would you like me to bring you the
rest of your blood? That was only half a measure."
Angel shook his head then wandered away to sit in his
corner. "Well, if you get hungry later, just call.
I'll be listening." But Angel wasn't. Not ignoring,
exactly. Gone somewhere else.

Gunn locked the door then turned to Wesley, arms
folded. "Wes. Gotta say this. This was really a
prison, I'd be askin' for reassignment. Reportin' your
clueless ass. You so do not get this job."

"He was just... He needed to do it. There was no
harm."

"You don't let the prisoners check out your muscles!
Don't care what they think they need. You got limits.
And that's what he needs more. Look!" At the screen,
with Angel now curled in on himself. "How's that
helped him?"

"I suspect he has other things on his mind than my
muscles. And this isn't a prison. Or only for Angelus.
For Angel it's... I think it's a hospital.
Treatment... doesn't have to be rigid."

"You sayin' it's a cure? What book you read that in?"

"Not..." Wesley sighed. "I mean 'the way we treat
him'. Charles, please let me... Let's wait for him to
prove who's right."

"Don't wanna see the proof I think we got comin'.
Hospital... Prison... You better know you're both of
you on probation."

Gunn was out working for most of the afternoon and
evening, while Wesley stayed home and did bookwork.
When Gunn came home Wesley was still at his desk.

"You've eaten, right."

Wesley nodded. "I heated something."

"What about him? Did he call?"

"No. He left that to Angelus. I should have insisted
on giving him both half-pints at once. He's never
liked asking."

"You mind if I watch TV?"

"Go ahead. I'll go and read in the bedroom."

"Jeez, don't be like that!"

"I'm not being like anything. You want to watch
television, I don't. I'd be able to concentrate while
it was on if I was able to make written notes, but I
can't write. So if I want to concentrate I have to
move to another room. I'm not sulking, you're not
driving me out."

"Hmm. But that's the same as what you'd say if you
were sulking."

Wesley stood up and tucked the book under his arm.
"Yes, but if I was sulking I wouldn't be asking you to
make me a tea during the first commercial break."

Gunn had to laugh. "OK. You go."

Wesley had taken Gunn's side of the bed, to have the
nightstand next to his arm. Before Gunn had moved in,
that used to be Wesley's own side of the bed. "Thank
you, Charles." Wesley touched his hand, just for a
second. "What are you watching?"

"Rerun of 'Cordy'. Just caught the last half. News
next. Or I'll just surf. Yeah, know that drives you
crazy. You're Mister Concentration."

"I was born in the wrong century. Charles. I'm sorry
about earlier. Of course you think I should be more
careful. But remember it was just him and me for
nearly a year. I've dealt with him in a hundred
different moods and in some ways he's hardly changed
at all. I think... I take fewer risks than you give me
credit for."

Gunn nodded and sat down on the bed, and put his hand
on Wesley's thigh, just above the knee. "I guess. Was
hard to imagine by the time I met you. But I still
think you're... Thing is, he really thinks he's in
prison. 'n' we know he doesn't like it when you try to
mess with that. You treat him too much like he's in a
hospital and... What if he stops trusting you? Slowly,
so we don't realise?"

"Alright, I'll..." A sigh and a thoughtful frown.
"I'll try to behave in the way he'd expect me to. If
he seems disturbed by today, then I'll... I'll make a
point of stopping him the next time he does something
like that." Wesley relaxed suddenly and tilted his
hips to move his leg against Gunn's hand. "I wish I
could touch you. I'd try to keep you from going back
to the news."

"You can touch me."

"It hurts too much. Everything I want to do would hurt
too much."

"Hurtin' right now?" Wesley nodded. "You tried taking
anything? Tylenol or anything?" No. "I'll go and get
some. And turn off the news."

Wesley swallowed two tablets with tea while Gunn put
his hand back on Wesley's thigh, but further up.
Wesley smiled and shifted his hips again, but then
shook his head. "It'll still hurt too much."

"I know. I was planning on doing all the work."

A sweet end to an argument. They were so good
together. Falling for the strange, reserved man, so
quickly, after just one lunch and two beers -
something in Gunn had known what he should have been
looking for. No point, though, in looking earlier.
Wesley had been on the other side of the world.


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