[Gunnwesley] Fic: Teamwork (Birthdayverse #12, PG-13)

[Katarina Hjärpe]

Title: Teamwork
Author: Katta
Email: head_overheels at hotmail.com
Website: http://www.geocities.com/katta_hj
Summary: It's hard to get the job done when you don't even know who's on 
your side.
Series: Twelfth in the Birthdayverse Realities series. I'm *so* sorry I've 
neglected it for so long! This and previous stories can be found at 
http://www.geocities.com/katta_hj/fanfic/Angel/birthday/
Pairing: (Gunn/Wes)
Rating: mild PG13
Disclaimer: All characters portrayed in this piece of fiction are owned by 
their creators Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.
Warnings: some violence and bad language, hints of slash
Spoilers: Universe spoilers for Birthday, story spoilers for Blind Date.
Thank you: Thanks to Eloise and Maggie for the beta!

***

"They're acting all weird," Gunn said, pacing between the piles of books in 
Wesley's living room. "Trouble is, I can't tell if they're acting all weird 
because James told them, or if he didn't tell them and they're acting all 
weird because *I* am. Or, you know, if they're not acting weird at all and 
I'm being paranoid."

"I know the feeling," Wesley said and turned off the TV.

"So what should I do?"

Wesley shook his head. "I have no idea. I'm notoriously bad at dealing with 
situations like this one."

"But you're all calm. I can't be calm. You're dealing."

"I'm *dealing* because they're not my crew," Wesley said with an apologetic 
smile.

Gunn stopped. "Oh." It made sense, he supposed. After all, they macked in 
front of Angel all the time, and if some other of Wesley's friends – say 
that English clone of his and the girl with the funny name – were to see 
them together, he wouldn't give a rat's ass. Apart from what they might be 
telling Alonna, of course.

Shit, he didn't know what *he* wa goings to tell Alonna. Maybe it was just 
as well that she was in England and didn't have to find out right away.

"I do have something that might cheer you up," Wesley said, rising from the 
sofa and walking over to Gunn.

"Wes, I don't want to have sex right now..."

"A pity. But that wasn't what I was talking about."

Wesley dug something out of his pocket and handed it over to Gunn, who felt 
a slip of paper being pressed into his hand. He took it, puzzled.

"What's this?"

"Have a look."

Gunn unfolded the slip, which turned out to be a cheque for... His eyebrows 
shot up. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"I know."

"He must have written it wrong." Though it seemed pretty unlikely that David 
Nabbit would have written both the numbers and the letters wrong. Believing 
that three zeros should be two was one thing, but no one miswrote 'hundred' 
to look like 'thousand'. Especially not someone smart enough to make 
billions of dollars on computer software.

"I talked to him. He hasn't."

Gunn ran his fingers over the text on the cheque, as if the ink might come 
off and reveal the whole thing to be a scam. "Five thousand dollars," he 
said softly. "You could damn near buy back your bike with this."

"I don't have any use for my bike. And half of it is yours anyway."

Gunn's head jerked up. "Huh!?" Yeah, they'd split the cheques before, no 
reason to do things differently now, only... "That's two and a half grand!"

"We're partners, remember?"

"Yeah, but it's two and a half grand."

"So it is. You do half the job, you get half the salary. What else did you 
expect?"

"No, that's what I expected, I just..." Gunn looked back down on the cheque. 
Two and a half grand. Jesus. He couldn't think of anything he wanted that'd 
cost him that much money. And all for getting back some porny photos.

A thought struck him, and he shook his head. "A third. Both of us only get a 
third each. You got to let Angel have a share too."

"Oh," Wesley said. "Yes, absolutely."

"We couldn't have done it without him."

Wesley gave him a funny look, and then smiled. "I thought you didn't like 
Angel?"

"Like's got nothing to do with it," Gunn objected. "He helped out, we gotta 
pay him for it. Besides," he added after a beat, "he saved my life."

"Mm." Wesley laid his hand on Gunn's ass and pulled him closer. "For that, 
he should probably get *all* the money."

"Let's not go overboard." He leaned in to kiss Wesley's earlobe, but looked 
up a moment later, wondering at the silence from the rest of the apartment. 
"Where is he, anyway?"

"Angel?" Wesley asked, his breath tickling Gunn's neck. "Grocery shopping."

"Whoa!" Gunn stepped back, throwing a worried glance at the door. "Are you 
sure that's a good idea?"

"You want him to be a partner, and yet you don't trust him to buy some 
groceries?"

"No, it's just..." It threw him off balance, hearing that word 'partner' 
used about Angel. Business partner, of course, but he had gotten so used to 
its double meaning, he almost got jealous. And even as a business partner, 
Angel seemed a weird choice. Still, if he was going to keep helping out, he 
had to be paid for it. "I guess as long as he comes back with the actual 
groceries and not three red roses and a chainsaw..."

The look on Wesley's face made him stop. "What?"

Wesley shook his head. "Nothing. You just reminded me of something I read 
once."

"Horror story?"

"Something like that."

Wesley's voice was still tense, and Gunn realised that the stupid joke had 
actually scared him. As if Angel, even in his crazier moments, would go 
Texas Chainsaw Massacre on them.

"Come on, Wes," he said. "I'm sure he'll be all right."

"Glad one of us is." The worry was so obviously real that Gunn stopped 
trying to protest and just pulled Wesley close. Holding him like this, he 
tried to remember the mornings when he'd wake up to no one's body but his 
own, no lean arm wrapping around his back (and damn it, if Wesley wasn't 
building up some serious muscle), no stubble scratching his face in a kiss. 
The memories were there, but they felt flat and unreal. This was reality.

"No fear, Wes," he said. "Even if it did happen, he won't get to you. He'd 
have to kill me first."

"And that's supposed to calm me, is it?"

"Why would Angel turn evil when he never has before..." Gunn's voice died 
away and he drew back, looking sharply at Wesley. That downcast gaze said 
more than words. "He has, hasn't he?"

Wesley nodded. "He did two years ago. I wasn't there to witness it, but as I 
understand it he was as vicious a monster as before he gained his soul the 
first time."

"And you didn't think I needed to know this *why* exactly?" Wesley still 
couldn't meet his gaze, and Gunn shook his head. "You thought I'd stake 
him."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Maybe. Once. Damn it, Wes, I owe the guy! How the hell *could* I?"

Wesley looked up and smiled, which did nothing to calm Gunn down.

"Get that stupid smirk off your face. I hate you." He embraced Wesley again 
and leaned his chin on his lover's good shoulder. "Bastard."

He could feel Wesley laughing, though the laugher was silent. Damn him, 
becoming all amused now that he'd gotten Gunn worried in his stead. As if 
the gang hadn't been trouble enough to occupy him, now he had to wonder if 
the crazy vampire was going to turn into crazy *evil* vampire.

A key turned in the lock of the front door, and his head whipped around. For 
a dread moment, he didn't know what to expect, but once the door opened, 
Angel stepped in juggling a large paper bag, a smaller plastic one, and the 
keys. It was hard to imagine anything less homicidal. Still, some vampires 
were great at pretending to be harmless, right up to the point where they 
tried to stick their fangs in your neck.

"They didn't have any cottage cheese," Angel said. "And I didn't know if 
you'd want regular cheese, so I... didn't..." His voice trailed off as he 
caught Gunn's expression, and though he didn't say anything he looked over 
at Wesley in confusion.

Wesley sighed, all traces of laughter instantly gone. "I told him about when 
you lost your soul... back in Sunnydale."

Angel stood there hugging the bags in his arms. "Oh," he said miserably, and 
then added, "Perfect happiness."

Knowing Angel, that might be a comment on the weather in China, but Gunn 
still asked, "Huh?"

"Buffy and I had a moment of perfect happiness. That's how it happened."

Perfect *happiness*? That was hands-down the most ridiculous trigger for a 
spell he'd ever heard of, and since Wesley and he started this Private Eye 
business, he'd seen more spells than he wanted to. "If that's a euphemism 
for something, I'm not sure I want to know what."

"It is," Wesley mumbled behind him. "Just what you'd think actually."

Gunn raised his hands. "Whoa, *not* listening!" So Angel and that Buffy girl 
had... and he had... Fuck, she was lucky to be alive. Though seeing how 
she'd beaten Alonna in a minute straight, he suspected luck had nothing to 
do with it. That girl could hold her own if anyone could.

Jesus, she had slept with a *vampire*. Had he told her? But vamps were 
colder than humans; there was no way of not knowing when you got so close to 
one.

Gunn got a very very strong urge to wash out his brain with strong bleach. 
Still, if that was how Angel went evil, he couldn't see it happening any 
time soon. Not unless he got crazy enough to hallucinate that he was doing 
Little Miss Pink Leather Pants, which, granted, was a definite possibility.

Maybe they should buy some shackles.

Angel shifted the bags, which were nearly slipping. "It's not going to 
happen again."

"What if it does?" Gunn asked, not taking his eyes off the vampire.

"Then you kill me." Angel gave a small, melancholy smile and walked out into 
the kitchen with the groceries.

Gunn stared after him, and then at Wesley. "Is he serious?"

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

Gunn looked back towards the kitchen as he said, very softly, "I would, you 
know."

"I know," Wesley said. "You should."

"It's not him. If you were an evil vampire, I'd kill you too."

Wesley gave a half-smile. "Good to know."

"Would you do the same for me?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Good." Gunn thought about it. "Though I wouldn't actually *have* a 
heartbeat."

The half-smile was definitely a whole one now. "There is that, of course."

"Wes..."

"Yes. Yes I would."

Gunn could hear the refrigerator door open and close. It was hardly fair 
that Angel got to stock them up with food he couldn't actually eat. He 
wasn't evil vampire yet, after all.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Wesley's waist and leading the way into the 
kitchen. "Let's make sure there ain't a chainsaw at the bottom of that bag."

***

Wesley had barely gotten into the truck before his cell phone started to 
ring. He contemplated putting Gunn's axe on the floor, but it was still 
rather bloody, and Gunn could be quite a fusspot when it came to blood on 
the seats.

"Would you...?" he asked.

Gunn rolled his eyes and fished the phone out of Wesley's pocket. "I'm the 
one driving. Now you want me to take your calls too?"

"Well, I'm the one holding your bloody weapon!" He didn't even realise the 
pun until he had said it, at which point his mouth started twitching in the 
most treacherous way.

Gunn grinned back at him. "I'm gonna figure out a way to make you the 
driver. You better believe me." The phone kept blaring out its rings, and he 
muttered, "Yeah, yeah," before picking it up. "Hello? Yeah, but he's kind of 
occupied. Can't it wait until tomorrow? What do you mean it's..." He turned 
the hand that held the steering wheel so that he could cast a glance his 
watch. "Yeah? Who is it? Huh. I'll ask."

He put down the phone and gave Wesley an apologetic look.

"Client?" Wesley asked.

"Hell no. If it was a client, I'd ask them to wait until we'd gotten a bit 
of sleep. It's Anne. She's got someone there who needs to see us."

"Who?"

"She wouldn't say. I guess one of the kids has gotten into trouble."

Wesley frowned. It wasn't like Anne to be so secretive, and he couldn't 
think of any of the kids who'd want to be anonymous. Perhaps she thought 
they were being overheard. Whatever the reason, he owed it to her to help 
out. Still, he had to take into consideration the possibility that it might 
be a trap, that she could be held against her will.

"All right," he said. "Tell her we're on our way."

While Gunn finished talking to Anne, Wesley looked back to see what Angel 
was doing. He could see him sitting on the platform, his arms resting on his 
knees. To Wesley, he looked like a meditating Buddhist monk. It was amazing 
how much better he had become lately – he'd still talk to people who weren't 
there, but tonight he had managed to get through the entire fight without 
allowing himself to be distracted even once, and he was still *trying*, day 
by day. If indeed they *were* walking into a trap, Wesley would be – though 
it surprised him – quite a lot more at ease having Angel there. And he 
rather suspected that even if Gunn wouldn't admit it, the same was true for 
him.

Gunn hung up and put the phone back in Wesley's pocket. "So what do you 
think?" he asked.

Wesley grimaced. "Can we bring in weapons?"

"Sure," Gunn said, keeping his eyes on the road. "I'd love to have some teen 
punk try and take my axe."

His point was undebatable. "All right, no weapons."

"Thank you."

"How about Angel?"

Gunn gave him a quick glance. "Wouldn't go without him. People change their 
habits, it makes me shifty. And Anne is *not* in the habit of letting people 
in after curfew." He was forced to hit the brakes as a battered, brown car 
in front of them made a sudden turn to the left, and he ground the heel of 
his hand into the horn with a force that indicated he was bothered by more 
than the careless driver.

Strangely enough, Wesley found Gunn's irritation comforting – at least his 
fears weren't just paranoia, and they'd be prepared if anything happened.

They drove on in silence, and it wasn't until they stopped outside the 
shelter that Wesley realised that they hadn't told Angel where they were 
going. But Angel was still sitting in the same pose, as if he hadn't even 
noticed where they were. So much for being better.

"Angel?" Wesley called as he stepped out of the truck. "Are you coming in 
with us?"

Angel looked up and got a puzzled expression as he saw the unfamiliar 
street. "We're not home."

"That's right, we're at the shelter." Wesley had to resist the urge to speak 
to Angel in a gentle, condescending tone, as if reassuring a small child. 
"You remember the shelter, don't you? We came here after we got you out of 
that gladiator ring."

"Right," Angel said slowly, his eyes drifting towards the barred door. "Are 
we here to see the boy?"

"No. At least not that I know of." Wesley weighted Gunn's axe in his hand, 
uncertain what to do with it. He couldn't very well toss it in the back – it 
would be stolen faster there than inside.

Gunn promptly solved the issue by taking the axe from him and tossing it to 
Angel. "Here. Don't let anyone take it from you."

His course of action didn't seem to surprise Angel, who nodded and grabbed 
the axe with both hands. Wesley, however, raised his eyebrows. "You trust 
him with it more than you trust me?"

"Well, yeah," Gunn said with a half-smile. Spreading his hands out as a 
balance, he continued, "Superhuman strength on one hand, and..."

"One hand on the human," Wesley filled in. "Right." There was no doubt that 
Gunn had a point. Any street kid who'd try to take a weapon away from Angel 
would be sorry indeed.

Something about the shelter disturbed him, and it took a while for him to 
realise that it was the silence. He had been working early shifts before, 
and there had always been voices coming from inside. Quite often music too. 
Now there was nothing. He knocked on the door, to get rid of the silence as 
much as to call Anne's attention.

It only took about a minute for Anne to open the door. She frowned a little 
when she saw Angel, but unlocked the bars.

"You brought a vampire here?" she asked.

"Just invite him in, Annie," Gunn said impatiently.

"She doesn't have to," Wesley said. "He's been here before."

"And I'm not too happy about that," Anne muttered. She ushered them all in, 
though, before barring and locking the door again. Nodding at the axe Angel 
was holding, she asked, "Are you going to carry that?"

"Gunn told me not to let anyone take it," Angel replied.

Anne sucked her cheeks in and breathed out hard through her nose.

"Come on, Anne," Gunn argued. "What were we supposed to think? You call us 
over here at this hour, and there's not a soul in sight..."

"They're all sleeping," she pointed out. "But Lindsey thought you'd be more 
available at night."

"Lindsey!?" Gunn scoffed. "McDonald? I can't fucking believe this."

"He's waiting in the office," Anne said, pointing with a thumb over her 
shoulder.

Wesley focused his gaze on the office door, approaching it with 
apprehension. What would the lawyer be up to this time? More promises mixed 
with half-veiled threats, or a more direct approach? He had no doubt in his 
mind that Wolfram & Hart could get them arrested - or even killed - if they 
wanted to, and the thought of an eye-to-eye conversation alarmed him, 
because he couldn't see the purpose of it.

"Talk to him, will you?" Anne added, and the pleading tone in her voice made 
Wesley snap out of his thoughts.

"Has he threatened you?" he asked.

"No, of course not. I just can't take any trouble. Please."

"There won't be any trouble," Lindsey McDonald said, opening the door to the 
office. He stood in the doorway, watching the rest of them, and for a split 
second no one was even breathing. "Not from me."

He sounded sincere, but then, he had sounded sincere the first time Wesley 
had met him as well, even though his only real concern had been for his 
firm. It didn't mean a thing. What was new, however, was the fear. Lindsey 
sounded frightened, and that was unexpected enough that Wesley stopped his 
frantic speculation and gave a curt nod. "All right. I'll listen. Why are we 
here?"

Lindsey's shoulder sank an inch, and he took a deep breath. "I need your 
help."

"What?" Gunn protested, making a wry face. "You've got to be kidding me."

Lindsey's gaze was firmly fixed on Wesley. "I want out."

"Boo-fucking-hoo," Gunn said, grabbing Wesley's arm. "Come on, let's get out 
of here."

Wesley didn't budge. "No." To Lindsey, he added, "Shall we take it in the 
office?"

"No, we shall not take it in the office," Gunn said, "we shall leave right 
now! That guy cancelled your green card, Wes. Out of spite."

"I know what he did," Wesley said, surprised at the sound of his voice. It 
sounded like an echo from another generation. "It was my green card. You 
want to leave, leave. But you don't tell me what to do."

"They sponsored the ring," Angel said quietly.

Wesley had half forgotten Angel's presence, and the comment gave him pause. 
"I know," he said, surprised that Angel did. He'd told him, of course – but 
somehow he had assumed that Angel's memory had declined along with his 
sanity. Now he felt a pang of regret. "You don't have to stay either."

Angel grasped the handle of the axe so hard his fingers whitened. "I'm 
staying."

"Yeah," Gunn said, sounding none too happy about it. "We're not leaving you 
alone with him."

"I'm not here to hurt him," Lindsey said. "Or any of you."

"You shut up," Gunn said. "Wes, are you sure?"

Wesley nodded and turned his gaze back to Lindsey, holding it. "Why now? 
What happened?"

"There's this client... a killer," Lindsey said, fumbling for words. "She's 
blind, but it's like she sees with all her body. Creeps me out. But that's 
not the thing. The thing is, there's a new contract. She's gonna kill some 
kids."

"I see," Wesley said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking hard. The 
murder of children might be enough for anyone to grow a conscience. Might 
be. But could he take the risk?

"You think I'm lying."

"No... I don't. But I do have to wonder what the right price would be to 
persuade you to go straight back to you office and sell us all out, along 
with the children."

"I wouldn't do that," Lindsey said, and there was a tinge of falsehood in 
his voice that made Wesley all the more convinced that the rest of it was 
true – and that truth would be no reason to trust Lindsey.

"Of course you would," he said. "You sold your soul once. That easily 
becomes a habit."

"You think you know so much about me," Lindsey said with sudden heat. "A few 
months of slumming and suddenly you're world wise? Weren't you a Watcher, 
once? Useful education, that. Runs in the family, unless I'm mistaken. Now 
maybe you would have looked at life a little differently if you'd started 
out with nothing. And with nothing, I mean no shoes, no toilet..."

Wesley stared at him in utter disbelief. He simply couldn't believe that 
anyone would come up with a sob story like that in a *shelter* of all 
places. True or not, it was an insult to the kids, to someone like Li who 
had nothing but his life and had risked even that to save Angel. And it was 
a hell of an insult to Gunn, who was standing less than five feet away from 
Lindsey, a cynical expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said when Lindsey took a pause to breathe. "I'm not used to 
playing this game. Is this where I'm supposed to say that, oh no, we all 
lived in a cardboard box on the road, with nothing to eat but cold gravel?"

Gunn chuckled, which caused Lindsey to throw him a murderous glare and say, 
"This isn't a game."

"Whatever the reason," Wesley said, "I think you chose a poor venue for such 
a line of defence."

"In other words," Gunn said amiably, "can it, lawyer-boy. Our Wes may have 
been a golden boy, but you ain't no different from the rest of us. And I 
gotta say, the teen whores upstairs get a whole lot of more respect from me 
than you do. Sure, they went at a cheaper rate, but then, one night with a 
rent boy isn't quite the same thing as a lifetime with his soul, now, is 
it?"

"A lot longer than a lifetime," Lindsey said. His voice was soft now, and he 
closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "Fine. Whatever. Will you 
help me?"

Trust wasn't really the issue, Wesley realised. He had sworn to help protect 
the innocent, and fired or not, he still believed that. Danger came with the 
job; he'd forever have the physical reminder of that, and he'd come to 
accept that the next injury might be fatal. What difference did it make if 
it came due to betrayal? At least he'd be prepared.

"I'll help the children," he said. "If that's the same thing, so be it."

***

"Can someone explain to me again," Gunn asked, "why born-again-boy can't be 
the one doing this?"

"It's a two-man-job," Wesley said in that annoying, patient tone of voice 
that really should be saved for Angel during his rambling times, because 
Gunn had his head all together, thank you very much, and didn't need anyone 
talking down to him. "I can't do it. Do you want Angel to?"

"I could do it," Angel said, sounding a bit affronted. "I could tune Darla 
out – I'm getting good at that. But why should we do it at all?"

"To save the children," both Wesley and Lindsey said, and wasn't that 
freaky, hearing both of them speaking at once like the Disney ducklings.

"We don't even know that there *are* any children," Gunn said, scowling at 
Lindsey.

Lindsey bared his teeth in a wide grin. "Well, you'll know when their dead 
bodies are found, won't you?"

"I hate this guy," Gunn told Wesley.

Wesley sighed and rubbed his eyes behind the glasses. They were starting to 
look swollen. Dawn was seeping in the windows, and the three of them had 
been up all night. Even the damned lawyer was going wrinkly at the edges.

"What do you want us to do, Gunn? I'm open to suggestions."

Gunn remained silent, because what could they do? He wished Alonna could 
have been there, or one of the guys from the gang – hell, all of the guys 
from the gang. Most of all, he wished for a simple fight. Instead, he had a 
couple of maybe-nonexistent kids about to be killed by a maybe-nonexistent 
girl Daredevil, and his so-called team consisted of an evil sleazebag, a 
nutcase vampire, and... well, Wes. He loved Wes like crazy, and when they 
were sparring he could tell that despite that arm, Wesley would be a really 
great fighter one day. But that day hadn't arrived yet. Meanwhile, Gunn was 
the one who had to go into the high quarters of an evil he wasn't even 
allowed to kill.

On the other hand, if he said no he knew that those children, real or not, 
would never leave his thoughts.

"All right, I'll do it," he said reluctantly. The sound of his own words 
made him edgy, and though he tried to sit down and plan along with Wesley 
and lawyer-boy, he reached a point where he just had to jump up and head for 
the door.

"You guys will figure something out," he said. "I'm gonna get some air."

He couldn't leave the house, of course – once the doors were barred, you 
needed a key to open them from outside. Instead, he went to sit down in the 
kitchen.

He was surprised to find Anne there, eating a grilled cheese sandwich.

"I thought you'd gone to bed," he said, sitting down opposite her.

"Uh-uh," she said, taking another bite. "I can never sleep when people are 
making big hero plans in my office."

Gunn snorted. "Right." Still, she had a point, and coming to think of it, 
she kept a bed in her office. Sure she could sleep somewhere else, but he 
could understand if the situation would make her a little wary. Damn it, the 
thought of that slick son of a bitch making up plans with his Wesley...

"How can you stand them?" he asked with sudden venom. "How can you take 
money from them? Don't you know where that money comes from?"

"No, and I don't want to know," she said, her face stiffening. She swallowed 
the piece she was chewing and put the sandwich down on the plate. "We're 
doing good with that money. That's what matters."

"They defend demons," he said, leaning forward to force her to look him in 
the face. "Keep them safe; make sure they can go on killing. They tried to 
get Angel out of the picture, 'cause they don't like his visions saving 
people they'd rather have dead. All of Wesley's sources say the same 
thing..."

"I don't care!" she said shrilly, standing up. "I told you, I don't want to 
know!"

He stood up as well, towering over her across the small table. "Then you're 
whoring yourself out as badly as he is! Those lawyers are covering up for 
monsters, and you..."

"Don't you dare!" she cried out. "Don't you dare take the moral high ground 
with me! You and Wesley, playing at being super heroes..." At the last word, 
she slammed him hard in the chest with the heel of her hand for emphasis. 
Tears were forming in her eyes. "Leaving me to pick up the pieces. It's all 
about killing the monsters for you, isn't it? Once you've saved the damsels, 
you don't care what happens to them. Well, guess what? Damsels have to eat, 
and I'm feeding them! You've been fed here often enough that you ought to 
know that, and you took him away!"

She tried to slam him again, and he caught her hand, bewildered by her 
words.

"I took... who? What are you talking about?"

"I don't care about the fight," she said. There were still tears in her 
voice, but she bent her head down so her eyes were hidden behind drapes of 
hair. "I care about the kids. They need to stay alive for more than just the 
one night there are monsters trying to eat them. You're making it pretty 
damned hard for me. First Wesley, now the lawyers?" She shook her head. 
"What do you want from me? Do you want me to run this place alone, on a 
budget of zero? I can't do that."

"I didn't... Jesus." Gunn stepped around the table and put his arms around 
Anne. "Annie girl, I didn't take Wesley away. They're the ones who took his 
green card, those lawyers."

"They wouldn't have done it if he'd just been working with me," she said. 
"Nobody would have bothered, but you had to drag him into the fight..."

"He was in the fight already, Anne," he told her softly. "He was trying to 
escape it after what happened to his arm, and who can blame him, but that's 
not who he is. He *is* the fight. Okay," he amended, "so he's not very good 
at it. That's beside the point. He will be. This line of work – it's great, 
and you're great, and I couldn't admire you more..."

"Except when I'm whoring out to law firms," she added wryly.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said. "Thing is, Wesley... he'd lost his 
dignity. If I could help him find it, I'm not going to apologise about it."

She looked away. "Sometimes I hate you both."

"Anne..."

"I need those lawyers." She loosened herself from his hug and sat down 
again, looking up at him. Her eyes were dry now. "Evil or not, they're 
helping me."

"We'd help you, Anne. You know that."

She actually smiled at that – a wide, girlish smile. "That's awfully sweet 
of you, Gunn. But financially, that's not going to help much."

Point. At least... and then he remembered the cheque. "Actually, we got a 
shitload of money from a case, so if you want it..."

She thought about that for a moment. "How much is a shitload?"

"Five grand. Though I can only offer you my share."

"Oh, Gunn." She shook her head, smiling. "I won't say no, though I probably 
should. It's very generous of you. But it's not close to the kind of money 
we get from Wolfram and Hart."

"Course not," he said, suddenly feeling very tired. He needed sleep; sleep 
and something to eat – and maybe a world that didn't suck.

"You'd have to be *Bill Gates* to be able to give that kind of money away."

Bill Gates. Computer software. Jesus fucking Christ. Gunn sat up straight, 
grasping Anne's hands. "If I get you – not Bill Gates, but a billionaire 
with a shitload of money – would you stay away from Wolfram and Hart?"

"Yeah, because you know so many billionaires."

Gunn grinned. "I only need to know one."

Anne watched him closely with an expression he'd only seen on her face when 
people had tried to convince her they weren't stoned. "All right," she said 
at long last. "You give me a billionaire; I'll give up Wolfram and Hart. No 
problem."

"Great!"

"Does that mean you won't give me that money for the shelter?"

"I'll give it to you." He leaned over and grabbed her head, kissing her on 
the forehead. "Right now, I could give you the world."

A cough from the doorway caught their attention. Wesley was standing there, 
his head cocked and his thumb in the front pocket of his jeans. "Is this a 
romantic encounter?" he asked, his voice sounding twice as English as usual. 
"Should I leave?"

It was pretty cool to see how fast Anne could turn deep red. She had to have 
ultra-speedy blood vessels or something.

"No! No... we were... he was offering... that is to say..."

"Relax, Annie," Gunn said, seeing the glint in Wesley's eye. "He's messing 
with us."

Wesley smiled, and Anne's face faded into its normal colour, only to grow 
little pink spots on her cheeks as she said, "Great. Embarrass me for 
nothing, why don't you?"

Wesley looked baffled, and Gunn didn't blame him, but then, he didn't blame 
Anne either. Sometimes he forgot that not too long ago, Anne had been just 
another flaky dopehead. She'd grown a lot of spine since then, but tonight, 
after that chewing-out he'd taken – no, he didn't blame her for not wanting 
to be the butt of a joke, even a good-natured one.

Wesley seemed to pick up something of that too, because he said, "I'm 
sorry," and added in a very apologetic tone, "It was – it was supposed to be 
a joke. A bad one. We're all tired."

"Do you at least have a plan?" Gunn said, his flippant change of subject a 
way to try and ease things over.

"Mm. We just might be able to pull this off." He nodded towards the office. 
"Are you coming back in to hear the details?"

"Yeah, sure." He gave Anne a pat on the hand and rose from his chair, 
joining Wes at the door.

As they were leaving the room, Wesley turned back and asked, "Anne? Are you 
feeling quite all right?"

She sighed and picked up her grilled cheese sandwich, which was starting to 
look pretty drab. "Go save the world. Both of you."

***

Gunn missed his axe. Sure, if Wesley was right he wouldn't need it, but 
breaking into the evil white folks' Mecca, it would have felt a lot better 
to be armed with something other than a blow torch and some pixie dust. And 
to make it all worse, he was in a sewer again. He'd spent more time 
sewer-walking during the past few months than in an entire life before 
Wesley.

What really bugged him was knowing that Lindsey was walking in through the 
front door in his fancy suit like every day. He half hoped the guy would run 
into trouble – not necessarily *lethal* trouble, just the kind that'd shake 
him up a bit.

Except you never knew what he might end up saying if he got shook up.

Gunn found the bars and started working on them with the blow torch. At 
least if Lindsey hadn't put his pass where he said he would, Gunn would 
still have clear passage back. Unless ugly demon thingy from Wesley's book 
showed up early and caused some trouble.

"If I get killed doing this," he muttered to his absentee lover as he took 
the bars off, "I'm going to haunt you forever, you limey son of a bitch."

He climbed out of the sewer and discarded the overall he'd been wearing. 
Beneath it, he had one of Wesley's old suits. It was uncomfortable as all 
hell, and he hated the tie, but at least he might pass for a lawyer in it. A 
good thing they had been able to take out the seam at the sleeves without it 
showing, because it'd look mighty weird otherwise.

The pass was right where it was supposed to be, and Gunn checked his 
borrowed watch – fancy enough that he could almost understand selling your 
soul for it, if it wasn't for the whole evil thing. Okay, so right about 
now, Lindsey should be fixing the security cameras, which meant all he had 
to worry about was ugly demon thingy.

His fingers were cold as he punched in the code, and he held on tightly to 
the blow torch with the other hand. It ruined the lawyer image, but he 
wasn't getting rid of it until he knew that the demon was out of the 
picture.

The door opened, and he heard a growl that caused him to swing the blow 
torch in a wide circle. It hit the demon in the nose, giving him enough time 
to find the bag of dust in his pocket and blow it in the demon's face.

It froze so fast Gunn had to bite his cheeks not to laugh. If only all 
fights were that easy! He circled the creature, scrutinising it in case he 
ran into one again.

"So, you're the Preggothian, huh?" he told the inanimate demon. "Damn, 
you're ugly. And here I thought you just didn't portrait well. Don't get me 
wrong," he added, "some of my best friends are ugly-ass demons."

He returned to the sewer long enough to cautiously drop the blow torch in, 
and as he passed the demon on his way into the offices, he amended, "Okay, 
so that was a lie. None of my best friends are ugly-ass demons."

Once inside, he lost all desire to make jokes. There were no people around, 
but there didn't need to be. The vault was just like the lawyers: slick, 
speck-free and with a million dollar sparseness. It made him feel ten years 
old again, with arms and legs a mile long and no way to stop himself from 
knocking over the milk glass. He moved cautiously across the floor and 
restricted even his breathing as he searched through the cabinets.

He found a bunch of CDRs that might be what he was looking for, and so he 
grabbed them all and stashed it away in his backpack. Lindsey and Wesley had 
both wanted him to carry an attache bag, and he could see their point – way 
more lawyerly – but he had still refused. He wanted his hands free.

Having done what he came for, he started looking around, only half-aware of 
what he was doing. As mysterious and forbidding as the cabinets looked, he 
suspected that the wealth inside was rather like the stuff he'd already 
taken: incredibly valuable, but only if you already knew what you were 
looking for. This was an evil law firm, not an evil jewellery store, and you 
wouldn't be able to sell this shit on the black market.

Not that he'd want to. Taking food at the supermarket was one thing, but 
he'd never been the type to take cars apart or break into places, and his 
aunt would've given him a good chewing-out if she'd known he was even 
considering it.

He turned to leave, and that was when he saw the scroll, lying on display 
like some holy shrine. *So* swipeable – and very clearly valuable too.

Well, they were evil. Might as well fuck with them a little.

The moment his hand closed around the scroll, alarms went off, and he 
hurried out of the room, past the still frozen demon and down into the 
sewer. He fumbled for the cell phone – sure, he could leave Lindsey out to 
dry, but after taking that scroll, his conscience was already queasy enough.

"Get out," he said once he heard that slightly Southern voice in his ear. 
"Now!"

Something rustled above him. A guard? He hoped it was a guard, because if it 
wasn't it was the demon, and he was all out of dust.

"Oh, *fuck*," Gunn said and started to run.

***

Wesley had chosen to retreat to Old Al's back room and get the computer 
started long before Gunn arrived. It was better than sitting in the shop 
with Al watching him from the counter and Robert the mask watching him from 
the wall. He didn't think he was especially paranoid, but after an hour or 
so, those two really started to unnerve him, and so he excused himself.

He quite liked the back room, as it turned out. It had a vague scent of dust 
and incense that appealed to him, and though it was full of various items, 
none of them had eyes.

Rather like their current foe. He had looked her up at the Internet, and her 
record was quite colourful, though she had never been convicted. Wolfram and 
Hart knew what they were doing.

When Gunn did saunter in, he was grimy, sweaty, and alone, but still in one 
piece. Wesley gave him a relieved smile and asked, "Where's Lindsey?"

"Don't know. Still in there, maybe." Gunn sat down on a large cardboard box 
and shook his head. "I had to leave in a bit of a hurry." He almost knocked 
a stack of book over and managed to straighten it in the nick of time. 
Looking around, he asked, "Why are we meeting here, anyway?"

"Computer files require a computer. Do you have a computer? I don't have 
one. Although I am thinking perhaps I should get one."

"I'm surprised old Al's got one. That guy's so..."

"Old?"

"Well, yeah. More than old. Some fancy word that means really god-damned 
old."

"Antediluvian," Wesley said dryly. "Do you have the files?"

Gunn took off his backpack and dug out the cases. He opened one of them, 
handing the disc to Wesley, and put the rest down on the table.

"Thank you," Wesley said, sliding the disc into the computer. Glimpsing 
something else in the backpack, he nodded towards it and asked, "What's 
that?"

"That's... uh..." Gunn slowly took a scroll out of the backpack. "That's the 
hurry I was in. It set off some alarms."

"Why did you take it?" Wesley asked, taking the scroll from Gunn and turning 
it over in his hand. It looked very ancient and rather interesting.

Gunn shrugged uncomfortably. "It seemed important."

"Hm." Well, it probably was, if it set off the alarm. "I'll take a look, as 
soon as..."

His voice died away as he saw the computer screen filling with meaningless 
symbols.

"Fuck!" Gunn said. "Now what?"

Wesley kept staring at the screen, his heart sinking. He could only think of 
one 'now what' and it wasn't one he was too fond of. His jacket was hanging 
behind him on the back of the chair, and he reached down, fishing out first 
the cell phone and then the phone book. Slowly, hoping for another solution 
to come to him, he searched out Giles's phone number and dialled it.

"Giles? This is Wesley. Do you... by any chance... have Willow Rosenberg's 
telephone number?"

"Of course," Giles replied, not even asking why Wesley was asking. "Give me 
a minute... Ah yes. Do you have a pen?"

Wesley turned to Gunn: "Pen and paper?"

Gunn opened the desk drawer and retrieved both items, holding them up. 
"Ready when you are."

"Got one now," Wesley said into the phone. "So what's the phone number?"

He got the phone number from Giles and relayed it back to Gunn, who 
dutifully wrote down all the numbers and then hesitated with the pen 
hovering over the pad of paper

"Could you ask him..." Gunn started.

"Yes?"

"About Alonna?"

He had almost forgotten about Alonna, which embarrassed him. She had saved 
his life, after all. "Gunn wants to know if you've heard anything about 
Alonna. Uh-huh?" He listened to what Giles had to say and then told Gunn, 
"He says she's fine, and that she's a lot of help at the coven. Also – hang 
on – 4423-75001372."

Gunn wrote down those numbers as well. "What's that?"

"That's Alonna's phone number," Wesley said softly and was rewarded with a 
wide grin.

Calling Willow was in some ways harder than calling Giles. What did you tell 
someone once you'd opted for letting them die rather than having the bad guy 
win? He couldn't even give an honest apology, since he didn't regret it. To 
make it all worse, once he'd greeted her he heard her voice droop into a 
kind discomfort that told him clearer than words that she knew what had 
befallen him, and that any remainder of hard feelings was overshadowed by 
pity.

"I was wondering if you could help us out with some computer files we need 
decrypting."

"Oh, sure!" Willow said eagerly. "We've been decrypting computer files 
today, I'm on a roll here, it'll be fun. "It may take a while, but we can do 
it over the phone. Uh.. can you type... while you're... on the phone?"

"No, but Gunn can," he said, happy to surrender the phone. Any longer, and 
he might have said something unforgivable to that sweet, well-meaning girl.

As Gunn and Willow worked together over the phone on decrypting the computer 
files, Wesley started on the scroll. Unrolling it, he found such a strange 
mix of languages and alphabets that it was both exhilarating and a bit 
frightening.

He returned to the shop, where Old Al was standing with his elbows on the 
counter, doing the crosswords.

"How's it going in there?" Old Al asked without even looking up from the 
crossword.

"Oh, just fine." Wesley looked down on the scroll, and half-hid it behind 
his back, though he wasn't sure why he would want to do such a thing. "I was 
wondering.... if I might borrow some of your dictionaries? Just until we can 
return home."

"Help yourself," Old Al said, jerking his head towards the bookshelf by the 
counter. "No beverages, though. You spill it, you own it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Wesley assured him, going over the bookshelf to 
look at the selection. There were three different Aramaic ones, and putting 
the scroll down carefully on the floor, he picked the dictionary he knew to 
be most comprehensive. He also took out a Sumerian dictionary, a Cantonese 
one (he really should have learned that language a long time ago), and after 
a look back in the scroll and a moment's thought, an Aegean one. That would 
do for starters, though he had no doubt that this was a long-term project.

He sat down on the floor and started leafing through the books, careful not 
to crease the pages. The scroll wanted to roll itself up all the time, and 
it was a tiresome task to keep it open while he looked up words, 
particularly since he had to be so careful not to destroy it.

The next time he looked up, his back was aching from keeping an 
uncomfortable position for so long, and the shadows were growing long. Gunn 
stood in the doorway to the back room, watching him.

"Was I right?" Gunn asked. "Valuable stuff?"

Wesley gave a wide grin and wiped his dusty palm on his sweatshirt. 
"Prophecies of Aberjian."

Old Al looked up at this, giving a low whistle, and even Gunn looked 
impressed, though he had most likely never heard of the prophecies in his 
life. "Is that so? What do they prophesize?"

"I have no idea!" Wesley said happily. "But they're here! And they're not 
lost! They've been lost for centuries – and now they're not."

Gunn smiled. "Yay team us."

Wesley pulled himself together. Perhaps he was being a tad on the pathetic 
side, but finding the lost prophecies of Aberjian struck him as a perfectly 
good reason for an enthusiastic reaction, up to and including patheticness. 
Still, they had a case to solve, and a pressing one at that.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"We're in. That Willow chick really knows what she's doing." Gunn shook his 
head in admiration.

"And Miss Brewer?"

"She does, too." A spasm of disgust came upon Gunn's face. "She blinded 
*herself*, would you believe it? It was all part of some self-discovery 
mojo."

"What?" Wesley asked, thinking he might throw up. After all these months, he 
had still to get used to all the implications of his own disability, and the 
thought of anyone permanently mutilating herself on purpose was 
unfathomable. Then again, she didn't have to see people's glances, and 
judging by what Lindsey had said her senses were stronger than an average 
person's. So maybe she wasn't missing out. Still, it made him queasy to 
think about it.

"Yup," Gunn said. "She was off studying some Ninja, Nanjy..." He took a 
scribbled note from his pocket and threw a glance at it. "Nanjin. Some kind 
of religious thing off in Pajaur, wherever that is."

"India," Wesley said, remembering a dagger in his father's study. His heart 
sunk. "Well, that explains her powers."

"It does?"

"Yes. They believe enlightenment is seeing with the heart, not the mind. If 
Vanessa Brewer studied with them, she'd be more sensitive to her 
surroundings than even a sighted person."

"Which she is," Gunn pointed out. "This is not good."

"No." He didn't want to say the next part, but lying was not an option. 
"She's damned nigh unstoppable."

"Well, we've heard that kind of shit before," Gunn said, putting the note 
back in his pocket. "And we're stopping her."

***

"I need you guys to pick up the mentor guy and keep him safe," Gunn said. 
"If assassin chick turns up, you fight her, but be careful. She doesn't need 
eyes to see your every move."

"And what will you do?" Rondell asked. His arms were crossed over his chest, 
and most of the other guys were mimicking his position.

"We'll find the kids – preferably before she does."

"'We' as in you and *Wesley*?" Jamie asked, sounding pretty cocky for 
someone who was afraid of his own shadow.

Gunn threw a quick glance at the others. None of them met his gaze. So the 
little son of a bitch had told on him, just like he'd thought. Damn it. He 
did *not* need this right now. "We as in me, Wes, Angel and the lawyer," he 
said, crossing his own arms. "You got a problem with that?" The question was 
directed at Rondell, not Jamie. Jamie wouldn't dare do something on his own 
accord. If anything was to happen here, Rondell would be the one holding the 
strings.

Rondell clicked his tongue. "I don't know. Maybe. How come you trust a 
vampire more than any of us?"

"Don't be an ass," Gunn said, more harshly than he'd meant to since he tried 
to drown the treacherous thought that Rondell was telling the truth. "He's 
stronger than all of us and a lot harder to kill. I need him where she's 
most likely to turn up. If someone wants to come along, fine, but I need two 
teams. Wes and Angel are on mine, period, and I want Lindsey where I can 
keep an eye on him."

There was a moment's tense silence, and then Rondell nodded. "George, you're 
going with him. The rest of you guys are coming with me."

At any other time, Gunn would have told Rondell off for trying to take 
charge, but he felt in his guts that if he did, he'd have a rebellion at his 
hands, and he didn't have the time to deal with it. And so, knowing what it 
might cost him, he just nodded. "Thanks," he said, the word bitter in his 
mouth.

He had to hand it to George – the guy had the sense to keep quiet as they 
headed back for Wes and the others. Maybe it was just embarrassment, but 
whatever the reason, it gave Gunn the chance to banish all worries from his 
mind and concentrate on the mission at hand.

He was pleased to find that Angel was grim and focused, and that even 
Lindsey had wiped off the attitude. As for Wesley, he had both a short sword 
and a gun attached to his belt, and over his white shirt he was wearing – 
Gunn's mouth opened of its own accord – a tight, black leather vest.

Gunn wanted to ask, 'who sexed you up?' but of course that was out of the 
question with George around. Instead, he settled for, "Ain't that a bit too 
Han Solo for you?"

"It's harder to cut someone wearing leather," Wesley said, his tone so 
clipped he sounded almost pompous. "As for the weapons, I have not 
previously fought a foe with Miss Brewer's powers, and I considered it best 
to be prepared for everything."

"If that's even possible," Gunn muttered.

His fears were confirmed once they reached the house. Blind children, the 
files had said, but he wasn't prepared for what he found. Two boys and a 
girl, each from a different continent and having their hot cocoa with 
sandwiches – it'd had been a pretty little Kumbaya picture if not for those 
small faces contorted with fear, only their milky-white eyes showing no 
emotion, and for the woman towering over them, the tip of her cane already 
sullied with blood. Gunn took a few steps forward and almost stumbled over 
the dead guy lying on the floor. *Jesus Christ.*

The woman turned around at his gasp of breath, revealing a dispassionate 
face and eyes as white as the children's.

"You take her, we take the children," Wesley said, bringing Lindsey along 
with him to the shuddering little ones.

Vanessa Brewer caught their motion and swung her cane out, sending Wesley 
flying against the wall. Gunn sent a blow in her direction, but found 
himself punched in the guts so hard it took his breath away. God damn, that 
woman was *strong*.

A gunshot made him jump. George – good thinking, except that she was still 
human, and gunshots could attract unwanted attention. He'd just *love* to 
have the cops show up after they managed to kill her. If they managed to 
kill her.

It seemed pretty doubtful they would. The bullets were flying right against 
them, but she just dodged them, and when George's clip was empty she knocked 
the gun out of his hand. As unlikely as it seemed, she was kicking *all* of 
their asses. The only upside was that Lindsey and Wes had gotten the kids a 
good way towards the door.

Vanessa seemed to grasp that her targets were getting away and lunged for 
them, sticking her cane through the stomach of the nearest person standing 
in her way.

Who just happened to be Angel. He stumbled backwards and stood there 
wavering as she pulled the cane out and ran ahead, but the next second he 
had caught his composure and punched her just as she was about to run her 
cane through the neck of the Mediterranean boy.

She almost fell over, but managed to get back up and turned around, a 
puzzled look on her face. Angel stood his ground, waiting for the next blow.

Up until that point, she had moved like a sighted person, always spotting 
the exact location of each and every one of them. Now, her head moved slowly 
from side to side, as she tried and failed to 'see' Angel.

George had managed to get back his gun and was reloading it, and Wesley and 
Lindsey were still trying to get the kids out, which left Gunn to try and 
aid Angel in the fight. He wasn't so sure that he *should*, though. The two 
of them – vampire and blind woman – were now involved in some sort of 
strange dance, where Angel would hit fast and then freeze into immobility, 
while Vanessa circled around him, sometimes finding him but usually not.

"Change of plan," Wesley said in Gunn's ear. He held the little girl's hand 
and reached out to let Gunn take over. "Here."

Gunn took the little girl's cold and clammy palm, and Wesley turned to 
George as he took out his gun. "George, ready?"

The two of them fired together. Vanessa dodged the bullets like before, 
taking a step to the side. This sent her straight into Angel's arms, and he 
simply put his hands around her neck and twisted.

Her body fell to the floor, the white eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"What the hell just happened?" Gunn asked.

"Heat," Wesley replied, slightly out of breath. "Body heat – Angel doesn't 
have any."

Angel had been standing motionless over Vanessa's corpse, but at the sound 
of his name he blinked, shook his head and met Wesley's gaze. "You grazed 
me," he said, sounding almost petulant.

Wesley smiled. "I figured it wouldn't harm you." Still holding the gun, he 
brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Gunn got a very, very strong urge to pin Wesley to the bed right that 
instant. To distract himself, he squeezed the little girl's hand and told 
her, "No need to be scared."

"I'm not," she said, and she did sound a whole lot calmer than *he* would 
have been in her position. "We're safe now."

"That's right, you are."

One of the boys stepped away from Lindsey and fumbled for the little girl's 
hand. He frowned a little, and then cocked his head and told Gunn, "That's 
not how *I* play cops and robbers."

Despite his heating cheeks, Gunn had to laugh. There was definitely a 
downside to having people around who could see into the heart of things. 
"Shut up."

***

Wesley woke up to a much too bright morning sun and a warm brown body next 
to his. Torn between shading his eyes against the former and wrapping his 
arm around the latter, he finally lift his hand to his temple and blinkingly 
got out of bed, moving across Gunn as he did so. Gunn remained sleeping. 
Well, they had had a long night – a long couple of days, for that matter. At 
least now the children were safe with their mentor, and their telepathic 
abilities would be put to better use than to embarrass adults, though it did 
seem to be their favourite little game.

He put on his bathrobe and walked barefoot to retrieve the morning paper 
from the post box. Back in the Academy, his demon detection teacher had 
imprinted on them the importance of reading the papers, since so often there 
were hints that could lead to paranormal activity. Preparation, preparation, 
preparation, as always. Wesley had found it to be good advice, and kept up 
the habit.

Settling down in the kitchen, he started on the paper. With the ease of 
practice, he skimmed through the main headlines and the foreign affairs – 
all great for general interest, but hardly ever anything of use for his work 
– before moving onto the briefer articles.

He found nothing vital in the local section and moved on to entertainment 
and economics without expecting much. At home, he most likely would have 
skipped them, but then, this was Los Angeles.

And it was in the economics headline he found the headline that raised his 
eyebrows, though it wasn't paranormal as such: 'McDonald new Junior Partner 
at Wolfram and Hart.' So Lindsey had chosen to resell his soul after all.

"And he would be quite wise," Wesley mumbled to himself, remembering an old 
quote attributed to Mirabeau, "to take money for muck."

Well. It was disappointing, but somewhat expected. Even so, Wesley brushed 
the paper aside, feeling oddly disappointed in it, as if the sheets of paper 
were somehow to blame for Lindsey's treachery.

He wondered what effect this would have on them. Would Lindsey step back, 
now that they had worked together, or would he pursue them harder, to prove 
to his bosses that he could? Wesley hoped he never had to hear from the man 
again, but suspected his hope was in vain.

The soft sound of naked feet came closer, too loud to be Angel's, and he had 
a smile ready when Gunn showed up, in his underwear and with pillow creases 
on his cheek.

"I thought you'd be sleeping for hours still," Wesley said.

"Same to you," Gunn said. He walked over to the coffee pot and sniffed its 
contents. With a grimace, he then proceeded to start making some of that 
brown water *he* labelled coffee. "Angel's out cold in the living room. Can 
a vampire die in his sleep?"

"If he's staked in his sleep, then, yes."

"You know what I mean. It's like having a turtle sleeping in its shell. 
Until he wakes up, there's no knowing if he's dead or alive."

"If he's not dust, he's not dead."

Gunn just grunted. He seemed to be in a pretty foul mood. It could be due to 
lack of sleep and caffeine, of course, but it could also be due to something 
more dire, and so Wesley asked, "Is something going on?"

Gunn took a cup from the sink and rinsed it under the faucet. "Nope."

Wesley waited.

"Except I have to go talk to the gang."

"About last night?" Wesley asked.

"Mm."

"I thought they did fine last night. George was a tremendous help."

"George's a good one," Gunn said, pouring coffee into the cup. "I think 
he'll stay. If he gets the chance."

"Gets the chance?"

Gunn sighed and sat down opposite Wesley. "It goes like this. Not too long 
from now, Rondell is going to come to me. He'll tell me that the gang's not 
too happy about the way I've been running things. That they're not sure I'm 
up to the task anymore. I'll ask if that's how everyone feels, and a few of 
them might say no... George might say no, for one. But thing is, we're not 
that many altogether anymore. Chain and Bobby are dead, Alonna's over in 
England. We can't afford to split the crew up. If too many people say yes, 
the rest of them are going to have to follow – and I'm on my own."

Wesley thought of Rondell, a no-nonsense, tough young man, but loyal to the 
core. Or so he'd thought. He shook his head slowly. "I don't understand. 
Rondell is your *friend*. What changed?"

"*We* changed," Gunn said, his voice harsh and gravelly. "You and me. 
Together. Crews like mine aren't run by fags. They're just not."

As unreasonable as he knew it to be, Wesley felt a pang of guilty 
conscience. Perhaps that was the reason his answer became so angry: "That's 
ridiculous. You've led them forever. What is it they expect you to do? Start 
wearing high heels and fainting at the sight of blood? This hasn't *changed* 
you."

Gunn watched him in silence, and finally smiled a little. "There's a vampire 
asleep in the living room, and I'm not even going to *try* to kill him. 
Hell, I admire him. You've got me fighting humans and talking to demons, and 
my baby sister's off in Europe 'cause she tried to kill a Slayer. I've 
changed all right."

Wesley looked down, at loss of what to say.

"So have you," Gunn continued. "You're stronger than you used to be, and 
faster. Not so by-the-book and eager to please anymore."

That was unexpected, and Wesley found himself smiling back.

"We've changed, yeah. And I don't blame them for being wary." Gunn shrugged. 
"But personally, I think they're missing out."

"Can't you convince them of that?" Wesley asked, trying hard to keep his 
voice steady.

"Maybe. But if word gets out... They can't afford to be seen as weak."

"They're your friends."

"Not going to do them a fat lot of good if they're dead," Gunn said 
matter-of-factly.

He was serious, and that gave Wesley pause. For years, he had tried to keep 
his personal life as far away from his father and the Council as he possibly 
could. It had become second nature to him. And yet, what would have happened 
if they'd found out? Disgrace, certainly. Possibly a sacking and some 
financial trouble – all of which had come to pass anyway.

This was life and death for several people, and secrecy was a train long 
since passed.

"I'm sorry," he said, meaning it wholeheartedly.

"Yeah, well." Gunn started drinking his coffee. "That's life. Anything in 
the paper?"

Wesley put his elbow on the small headline at the bottom of the economy 
pages. That news could wait until later. "No job for us today."

That was, after all, the truth.

***

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