[Gunnwesley] Fic: Dreams and Awakenings, (Birthdayverse #13, PG13)

[Katarina Hjärpe]

Title: Dreams and Awakenings
Author: Katta
Email: head_overheels at hotmail.com
Website: http://www.geocities.com/katta_hj
Summary: Angel is caught in his visions, and Wesley and Gunn have to find a 
way to help him.
Pairing: Gunn/Wesley
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: The characters in this fic – Chen Li and random doctors aside – 
belong to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt and Mutant Enemy, not to me.
Warnings: violence, hints of slash
Spoilers: Birthday, To Shanshu in L.A.
Thank you: to Eloise for beta reading

***


Waking up, Angel could hear Gunn and Wesley speaking in the kitchen, and 
though it was little more than a murmur, he lay listening for a while, 
letting it ground him in reality. It had become such a chore, untangling the 
dreams and the waking world, but he knew he could manage it when he heard 
those voices and smelled freshly brewed coffee.

But there was no smell of coffee. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, 
where Wesley sat at the table, surrounded by books and note pads, while Gunn 
sat on the work bench, sharpening his knives.

”Shan-shu,” Wesley said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. 
”Or possibly shu-shan.”

”You don’t know if you’re reading backwards or forwards?”

”It’s a complicated dialect.”

Angel walked past them both without greeting, his mind set on the 
percolator. He removed the disturbingly light pot and looked into its 
brown-tinted emptiness.

”There’s no coffee,” he said.

Gunn gave a wry grin. ”Someone drank it all.”

”I’m sorry about that, Angel,” Wesley said, still rather preoccupied with 
his books. ”I was starting to get tired.”

”Some people *sleep* when that happens,” Gunn said. ”I’m telling you, if you 
sit around up with those books one more night, you’ll go insane. And not the 
soulful, ’I see dead people’ insane like Angel here. I’m talking hardcore, 
Bates motel insanity.”

Angel let the comment slide, mostly because Wesley *did* look a bit tired. 
”Maybe you shouldn’t have come with us to the lair last night.”

”Keep him inside, and all he does is go back to the books,” Gunn pointed 
out. ”And drinking all of the coffee. He’s driving me crazy.”

”Then it’ll be three of us,” Angel said. He dug threw his pocket and found 
some wrinkly bills. Not much, but he could hardly go shopping with one third 
of an uncashed cheque. ”I’ll buy some more coffee.”

Gunn rolled his eyes. ”You’re a *vampire*. Can’t you go one night without 
coffee?”

”Yes, but I don’t want to.”

Gunn seemed about to say something, but his eyes met Wesley’s and in the 
end, he just shrugged and returned to his knives.

In all honesty, Angel had found he *liked* grocery shopping. It was such a 
mundane, normal event, even if he had to wait until after dark to do it. It 
took him out in public, to people besides his ghosts and the two fighters 
who - as much as he liked them - really didn’t need him hanging around 
during off hours. And yet it didn’t require him *talking* to anyone; not 
even the shop clerk.

Even though he was just out to get coffee, he skipped the 7-11 down the 
block and went straight for the supermarket. There were enough people there 
that even if Darla *did* show up, it’s be easier to ignore her. The sounds 
of footsteps following him in, he could tell himself belonged to just 
another person.

It wasn’t Darla who showed up first, though. It was Doyle. Rounding a 
corner, Angel found him standing in the aisle, his face distraught.

”You?”

”I’m sorry,” Doyle said, shaking his head slowly.

”What are you...”

Something brushed Angel’s hand, and he glanced aside, but before he could 
see what had touched him, his mind exploded with pain. A vision. He could 
see some hooded figures gathered around a large box, and a man in a suit – 
that Lindsey guy.

The pain faded. He still kept his eyes shut, fighting nausea, but started to 
pull himself off the floor. A slight hand – Doyle’s hand – closed around 
his.

”I won’t desert you now,” the familiar Irish voice whispered, so close he 
could feel the breath tickle his ear.

”Sir?” That was most definitely *not* Doyle; too high-pitched and American. 
”Are you all right?”

”I’m fine,” Angel said, standing up slowly. He opened his eyes and tried to 
smile at the worried, pimply young face in front of him. ”Just a dizzy 
spe...”

bleeding man vampire bite scaly demon eats what he can dead woman dead man 
dead baby limbs all torn apart never any voice woman in a box crying child 
wait for the judgement horned demon sun going black blood in their eyes 
blood in their mouths chased by vampires beating each other bruises and cuts 
down to the bone face all twisted scared woman in a box caught on a cross 
twisting and screaming whips cut deep spikes through their heads a spider 
eats their hearts took her whole family killed her too she sucks out their 
brains faces change all crying crying screaming woman in a box woman in a 
box in a box...

Angel screamed, but he couldn’t separate his own voice from the ones in the 
vision, didn’t know whether he was lying or standing. All he knew were those 
images, all that pain, and the hand squeezing his.

”Doyle,” he pleaded, ”help me!”

But he could hear no answer, had no body. Was the pain.

***

Since falling asleep on top of very rare books was generally considered a 
bad idea, Wesley did agree to get some shut-eye, if only until Angel 
returned with the coffee. He chose to lie down on Angel’s spot on the sofa, 
rather than in the bed, since then he was bound to wake up from the squeaks 
of the door. Cheapest burglar alarm ever, a squeaky door.

Right after he had drifted off, or so it seemed, he felt a hand shaking his 
shoulder.

”Huh... um... What?” He blinked a couple of times, and peered up at Gunn’s 
slightly fuzzy face. Even without his glasses on, he could see that Gunn 
looked worried, though he couldn’t imagine what kind of worry would make him 
wake Wesley up after first nagging on him for three days in a row to go to 
sleep.

”It’s Angel,” Gunn said, his voice tense and low. ”He had a vision at the 
supermarket.”

”Oh.” Wesley fumbled for his glasses and found that he was lying on them. 
”What of?”

”I don’t know. He’s still having it.”

Wesley started to understand why Gunn had seen it fit to wake him. He sat up 
straight, ignoring the head rush this prompted. ”Hallucinating, you mean?”

”I mean screaming his lungs out over at the hospital.”

”Hospital!? Gunn, he’s a vampire!”

”I know, but I can’t exactly tell them that, can I? Some guy trying to be 
helpful called an ambulance. I figured at first, okay, they won’t think he’s 
dead the way he’s screaming, so we’ll just wait until he gets better and 
then sneak him out of there. But he’s not *getting* any better, and they 
keep prodding him and doing tests on him... sooner or later, they’re gonna 
figure they hit jackpot in the freaks department.”

Wesley put his boots on and stood up. ”How long are we talking, here? When 
did this happen?”

”Couple of hours ago.”

He stopped short, staring at Gunn, who had the decency to look ashamed. ”A 
couple of... They *called* a couple of hours ago? And you didn’t *wake* me?”

”I figured I could handle it.” Gunn shook his head slowly. ”I think he’s 
dying, Wes. Or at the very least, he’s losing what’s left of his mind.”

Without another word, Wesley went to put on his jacket, and then continued 
down the stairs to the truck parked outside.

He couldn’t trust his voice not to shiver in rage, and so they drove in 
silence to the hospital, always staying slightly above the allowed speed 
limit. For that, Wesley was grateful, even if he still resented what Gunn 
had done.

But once at the hospital, Wesley forgot all his anger at the horrible, 
inhuman howling coming from down the corridors. ”My God. Is that him?”

”Yeah. He never stops, either.”

Wesley started running down the corridors, following the noise. It grew 
steadily stronger until he reached a door where a white-coat man – doctor, 
nurse, who cared? – tried to stop him from going inside.

”I’m family,” he said. ”He’s my brother.”

”Oh.” The man let go and followed him inside.

Angel was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by wires and machines that 
would do him no earthly good whatsoever. His hands and feet were restrained, 
but the rest of him was thrashing wildly, tears streaming down his face. And 
all the time that screaming, not interrupted by any need to inhale. A nurse 
was filling a syringe with blood from his arm, which was bad, but it could 
wait. Wesley hurried up to Angel’s other side, taking his hand.

”Angel? Can you hear me?”

Angel just continued screaming, showing no evidence that he heard or saw 
anything around him. Wesley felt a hand on his shoulder, and out of the 
corner of his eyes saw that it was Gunn who had caught up with him. He 
leaned into that hand, willing it to support him enough so that he could 
help Angel somehow.

”Excuse me, sir?” the man who’d tried to stop him began. ”Your friend Mister 
Gunn here mentioned that your brother has a medical condition, but he didn’t 
know which one.”

Wesley glanced at Gunn, who cleared his throat.

”Yeah, uh, that’s right. I told them about his blood disease and how it 
causes... uh... extremely low circulation and...”

”...and it affects his respiratory system,” Wesley filled in. Oh, how he 
loved Gunn. ”It’s called... eh... Lamia Incruentatis. Or something like 
that.”

”Go check it up once you’re done with the blood,” the doctor – Wesley was 
fairly sure he was a doctor – told the nurse. He pointed at another person 
standing further away from the bed. ”That drug you mentioned... combined 
with his condition... that could explain it. What I don’t understand is how 
he’s *alive* at all.”

”Drug?” Wesley had barely noticed the police officer before. Now he saw a 
young, pretty face, blonde hair and cold blue eyes, and he pieced those 
traits together into a memory. The detective he’d seen when he helped Li – 
whatever her name was. She had claimed she didn’t care for Angel, yet here 
she was, lying for him.

The doctors kept asking questions, and he and Gunn fed them unconvincing 
lies. Sooner or later they would find out that there was no condition of the 
type he was describing, and once that happened, he didn’t know what they’d 
do to Angel. He supposed it was lucky the vampire hadn’t shown his game face 
yet.

”Mister Pryce, if I could have a word with you,” the police officer said. 
”I’m Detective Lockley.”

”Of course,” Wesley said, wanting to talk to her as much as she seemed to 
want to talk to him. ”Can my... Gunn come along?”

”Yeah, sure,” she said impatiently, ushering them both out of the room and 
into an empty part of the corridor. Once she was sure they were alone, she 
said, ”Okay, what the hell is wrong with him?”

Wesley shook his head. ”I don’t know. He gets visions...”

”I know. Got them from Doyle, right?” She looked towards Angel’s room, his 
screams almost drowning out their conversation. ”This is a *vision*?”

”If it is, it’s lasted longer than ever,” Gunn said. ”Even with the 
hallucinations...”

”Who are you, anyway?” she interrupted, sounding annoyed.

”I’m his partner,” Gunn said, gesturing towards Wesley.

She stared at them for a moment, and then shook her head. ”Yeah, whatever. 
So, hallucinations. Is he finally losing his marbles completely? Is that 
it?”

”I told you,” Wesley said, ”I don’t know.” He hoped that wasn’t the case – 
if so, it wasn’t a question of getting him out of the hospital and trying to 
find what was wrong with him. ”He’s never been like this before. We *have* 
to get him out of here.”

”And how do you propose we do that?” Lockley asked. ”They’re not going to 
discharge him while he’s like that, and it’s not like we can sneak him out, 
the way he’s screaming. They’ll find out we lied to them, you know. These 
are doctors, not slow Joe in the back row. And when they do find out, do you 
think there’s a chance in hell you could pry Angel away from them even with 
a crowbar?”

”Can’t you tell them it’s a police errand?” Wesley asked.

”I don’t have the authority to yank anyone out of a hospital. You’d need a 
chief of police - or better yet, a bigshot doctor. Know any of those?”

”Maybe Lindsey could...” Gunn started.

”Lindsey’s back with Wolfram and Hart,” Wesley interrupted. ”They promoted 
him.”

Gunn gave him an open-mouthed glare, but didn’t say anything. Well, he 
supposed honesty was something they both had to work on. It would be hard to 
form any sort of real partnership if both of them were trying to spare each 
other.

”I don’t much care for those lawyers” Lockley said, ”but I guess McDonald 
could have bribed them, if nothing else.”

Gunn grabbed Wesley’s arm hard. ”Nabbit.”

Wesley had heard about Gunn’s promise to Anne, and now gave his lover an 
irritated look. ”Oh, for crying out loud, you can’t use David Nabbit as your 
personal piggy bank.”

”David Nabbit the billionaire?” Lockley asked. ”You know that guy, I suggest 
you call him. Right away.”

Wesley scowled at Gunn, who just shrugged and said, ”Come on, Wes. He 
*wants* to play with the big guys. And this is kind of an emergency.”

Wesley didn’t like it one bit. Using David Nabbit’s social inaptitude for 
their own purposes, even if the man would agree to it, was beyond 
reprehensible. On the other hand, this was more than ”kind of” an emergency, 
and any other options failed to present themselves.

”All right,” he said reluctantly. ”Call him.”

***

Gunn rather thought Wesley overdid it with the apologies after David Nabbit 
had arrived, considering that all the guy did was talk to a couple of 
doctors, shake a lot of hands, and mention something about a donation that 
didn’t sound very committing to Gunn – and hell, even *if* he ended up 
donating money to the hospital, it was a *hospital*. They probably needed 
all the money they could get. What was Nabbit going to spend it on, women?

At least they’d managed to get Angel out, though the drive home was a 
disaster. Gunn and Lockley had to stay in the back of the truck, restraining 
Angel, while Nabbit drove the truck as if it was... well, Gunn didn’t know 
*what* kind of vehicle you drove like that, all stops and starts and 
near-misses at the corners. He was convinced Wesley had to be a better 
driver, but unfortunately he hadn’t been able to convince Wesley in turn.

”So how do you know Angel?” he asked, sitting down on the vampire’s feet to 
avoid getting kicked again.

She gave him a frosty look. It was funny; she really wasn’t all that pale. 
White, blonde and blue-eyed, sure, but not like an albino or anything. But 
she gave off this really cold vibe that made her seem more colourless than 
she was, like she was made of ice or something.

”He helped me out on a couple of cases,” she said. ”Before I found out what 
he was.”

”And then what?”

”Then nothing,” she said sharply. ”You do know what he is, don’t you?”

”Yeah, I do,” he said, looking down on Angel’s crying, distorted face. He 
wanted to say something else, to take the edge off that disdain, but he 
didn’t know what. Wesley would’ve had a whole line of defense ready for why 
Angel was different from other vampires, but Gunn couldn’t quite bear to 
look this woman in the eye and say that hey, never mind all those people he 
killed in his day, because he saved me and mine. And what difference did a 
soul really make in a mind that was going to rot?

Somewhere beneath that human face, there were fangs waiting to come out. 
There was no way Gunn could deny that. But the guy who had gone down to the 
supermarket that evening for coffee – that guy wasn’t just a demon.

The truck screeched to a halt, took a couple of small skips, and stopped 
completely. Anyone else driving, and Gunn would have given him a few choice 
words. It wasn’t Nabbit’s money that stopped him, it was the eager look on 
the man’s face as he and Wesley came back to help unload Angel. Like a 
little puppy-dog tripping over his own ears.

Gunn wasn’t the kind to kick puppies, though judging by Lockley’s expression 
her foot was itching to try it. And Wesley seemed faintly embarrassed, like 
it was his fault Nabbit was on the sad side of things.

Getting Angel up the stairs proved a nuisance. They started with Lockley and 
Nabbit grabbing the arms and back as Wesley and Gunn took the legs, but 
halfway up, Lockley lowered her arms and asked, ”What floor was it again?”

”Third,” Gunn said, and what the fuck, they’d told her that downstairs. She 
didn’t seem the scatterbrained type.

”Damn it, it’s the spell,” Wesley said, and Gunn remembered the weird 
markings on their doorposts designed to keep cops and lawyers out. 
”Detective, if you and Gunn would switch places... thank you.”

Nabbit looked up the stairs, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. It 
wasn’t like Angel would hold *still* while the others traded places. ”Is 
there really no elevator?” he asked, as if they’d be walking up three 
flights of stairs carrying a raving lunatic just for the fun of it.

”Sorry, no,” Gunn said, grabbing hold of Angel’s back and shoulder. ”But 
it’s not that much further, really.”

They managed to get Angel the rest of the way up, ignoring the occasional 
neighbour peeking out from behind safety chains. Once in the apartment, Gunn 
steered for the living room, but Wesley stopped him.

”Put him in the bedroom.”

”Are you sure?” Gunn asked. Sure he wanted Angel to be comfortable, but 
apart from the sofa, the bed was the only decent sleeping space in the 
apartment, and no way could both he and Wes fit on the sofa. ”If this is a 
long-term thing...”

”The *bedroom*, please,” Wesley said, his voice cold.

So he didn’t even want to entertain the possibility that Angel could be 
stuck this way. It made the whole thing seem so much worse – Wesley wasn’t 
usually given to blue-eyed optimism. If this *did* prove to be a long-term 
thing and Wes was stuck in denial mode, Gunn didn’t know he’d be able to 
handle it.

After they had dropped Angel down on the bed, Lockley brushed her palms and 
asked, ”So, what now?”

”We’ll take it from here,” Wesley said. ”You’ve been more than helpful. 
Thank you.”

Gunn kept quiet. In his opinion, they could have used some more help, but it 
creeped him out having cops around the house. Nothing against the lady. And 
Nabbit, well...

”If there’s anything you need,” Nabbit said, ”I want you to know that I’ll 
be ready for your bat signal at any time.”

Bat signal? Okay, Gunn was starting to see why this guy made Wesley cringe 
so. That was just beyond dorky. Still, he was offering his help, same as 
Lockley, he deserved the same respect.

”Thanks,” he said. ”We appreciate it. And if you get any more cases... 
blackmailers or... you know, whatever, we’re your guys.”

”Oh, I know, I know,” Nabbit said, putting his hand on his chest. ”Battling 
the forces of darkness, even now... You guys rock.”

”Thanks. Bye now,” Gunn said mildly.

He had to admit, he was a little bit relieved seeing the two of them leave. 
What with Angel’s flailing and crying, he’d found it hard to be sociable.

”You gotta admit, the guy’s kind of sweet,” he told Wesley.

”Very sweet,” Wesley agreed coolly.

”And I’m still glad he left.” Gunn sat down on the edge of the bed, holding 
Angel down with a lighter hand – the vampire’s movements were slower now. He 
was exhausting himself, most likely. ”Wes, you got to face facts. Angel 
might never come out of this.”

”I know,” Wesley said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. ”I just think we 
need to consider all possibilities before we give up hope.”

”Oh, absolutely,” Gunn said. Angel’s flailing arm caught him on the nose, 
and he grabbed the wrist. ”Hey, knock it out, fang-boy...” He trailed off, 
seeing the strange mark on Angel’s skin. It looked like a drawing of a 
crutch hitting a ball. ”What the hell is this?”

Wesley moved closer to see. ”It looks like... some sort of spell.”

”Son of a bitch,” Gunn swore. ”Someone did this to him. On fucking purpose. 
A god damn fucking *spell*.”

”A spell,” Wesley repeated. His voice sounded so strange that Gunn looked 
up.

Wesley was smiling – a wide, bright, boyish smile.

”Wes?” Gunn asked. ”Are we on the same page here? Someone...”

”Did this to him,” Wesley said. ”Yes. Which means it can be undone. It’s not 
forever, and I won’t have to stake him.”

Stake him? Jesus Christ. So that was why Wesley wouldn’t even consider the 
sofa.

”I’ll have to find out what the symbol means,” Wesley said, sitting down as 
well. ”But when I get back...” He leaned in and gave Gunn a deep, long kiss, 
his hand rubbing against Gunn’s crotch.

”Hey,” Gunn said, somewhat out of breath, when Wesley broke loose. ”I was 
excited before you even started, here.”

”Good,” Wesley said, standing up. ”You watch him. I have to go and talk to 
my sources. I’ll find a way to fix this.”

”Great,” Gunn said. Angel’s hand hit him again, and he took hold of it. ”See 
if you can find some hand cuffs, though.”

Wesley grinned, already by the door. ”For him or for you?”

Gunn stared after him, but couldn’t think of anything to say until the front 
door was already closed and he heard Wesley running down the stairs. He 
looked down on Angel. ”Handcuffs, huh? Well, I’ll try anything once.”

Angel screamed. His voice was starting to sound hoarse.

”Aw, shhh, pal,” Gunn said, stroking Angel’s forehead. ”It’ll be all right. 
Wesley knows his stuff. He’ll reverse the spell, and then I’ll rip the balls 
off the bastard who did this to you. You’d better believe it.”

It was tough, sitting here with Angel and not knowing if he could hear 
anything you had to say. And beyond that, the noise really grated on Gunn 
after a while. He started to wish Wesley would be back soon for his own sake 
as well as Angel’s, which made him feel a bit guilty.

But Wesley didn’t come, and Gunn started to wish they hadn’t been so quick 
to send the others away. He took a bathroom break and spent the whole time 
tense and listening, in case Angel took a turn for the worse. Whatever 
”worse” would be.

This was ridiculous. Once he got back into the bedroom, he took his 
cellphone out and called Anne.

It took long before she answered – hardly surprising, he realized as he 
glanced behind the curtain and found that it was still dark outside – and 
when she did, she said no.

”I can’t,” she told him. ”I’ve got to prepare breakfast in two hours, and I 
can’t spend those two hours listening to a screaming vampire. I’m sorry.”

”Okay,” he said, because he could see her point, even though he wished he 
didn’t. ”Do you have anyone there who might?”

She thought about it. ”Manuel?”

”Manuel’s a dipshit.”

She didn’t deny it, or ask why he couldn’t use one of his own. But then, 
Anne tended to know what went on out there, so chances were she’d already 
heard that Charles Gunn was inches away from being kicked out of his own 
gang.

”What about that kid who helped Wes?” he asked. ”Li?”

”He was *shot* last time, Gunn.”

”Well, at least then he’s devoted.”

There was a pause, and Gunn pressed the phone close to his ear so Angel’s 
cries wouldn’t make him miss anything Anne might say.

”All right,” she said finally. ”I’ll ask him.”

”Thanks, Annie. You’re a rock.”

He hung up and smiled at Angel, stroking his arm. ”We’re gonna get a bit of 
company. You don’t mind, do you?”

Angel’s cheeks were wet with tears now. It was weird, seeing a vampire 
actually weep. Gunn wondered if they could all do that, or if it was due to 
the soul thing.

It couldn’t have been more than ten-fifteen minutes until he heard something 
from the kitchen. He frowned, not sure if he had imagined it, and stepped up 
towards the door. Hearing another sound, this time from the hall, he walked 
out of the room. It couldn’t be Li – no way could the kid have gotten there 
so quickly, and the door was locked anyway.

”Wesley?” he called, but there was no reply.

Stepping into the kitchen, he found no one there, just the pile of books 
Wesley had left on the table.

The books. But not the scroll. Instead, there was a white stone, roughly the 
size of a golf ball but shining with a dimmed light. As he stepped closer, 
the ball got brighter – so bright that he closed his eyes and put up a hand 
in defence.

The blast was so loud that it drowned out all sounds from the bedroom. Pain 
stung his arm and face, and he felt himself being flung backwards. Something 
large and hard hit the back of his head and body, and then he heard nothing 
at all.

***

”Got it,” Rick of Rick’s Majick N Stuff said triumphantly, waving a small 
leather volume.

Wesley hurried to his feet. ”You do?” He had been to five different magic 
shops and had almost given up hope.

”Ayup,” Rick said and showed Wesley the page. ”Mark of Voca. Particularly 
nasty fellow.”

”Does it say how to reverse his spells?” Wesley asked, scanning the words to 
look for a clue.

”Hmm...” Rick started leafing through the pages. ”Words of Anatole. Found 
in...” He drew in a disappointed breath between his teeth. ”The lost scrolls 
of Aberjian. Sorry.”

”Got them,” Wesley said. ”Thank you.”

”*Got* them?” Rick’s voice became high-pitched from incredulity. ”You have 
the prophecies of Aberjian? You?”

”Me,” Wesley said with a smile. He half expected Rick’s eyes to fill with 
dollar signs.

”Excellent. If you ever, uh, think of selling them...”

They both knew that Wesley would never ever sell something so rare and 
valuable if he could help it, but he didn’t want to dangle the hope in front 
of Rick and then take it away either, so he just said, ”I’ll keep you in 
mind.”

”That’s all I’m asking.”

On his way out of the shop, he tried to phone Gunn, but no one picked up. 
Odd – but maybe Gunn had put the phone down somewhere and was unable to hear 
it through the noise Angel was probably still making.

At the thought of Angel’s agony, Wesley hurried his steps, catching a bus 
just as it was about to leave. At least now, it wouldn’t be long until they 
could undo the spell and give Angel some relief from the pain.

He stepped off the bus and rounded the corner, only to find the street full 
of fire trucks. Heart in his mouth, he started running, looking up to their 
apartment. Smoke was pouring out of the broken windows.

Someone caught his arm and forced him to a halt.

”There you are,” Detective Lockley said. ”What the hell have you done to 
this place? The bomb squad can’t get here. I damn nearly couldn’t myself, 
until I went with the fire team.”

”Bomb squad!?” Wesley said. ”There was a bomb? Where’s Gunn?”

”Your friend?” she asked. ”He was injured. The ambulance took him.”

Gunn injured – not dead, but injured. By a bomb. Oh, God.. ”Badly?”

”He was unconscious, but I think he’ll be all right.”

He nodded. ”What hospital?”

”USC. Pryce – Angel’s still in there.”

That gave him pause. ”Alive?”

”As alive as he can be.” Detective Lockley looked up at the smoke-filled 
windows. ”I asked the kid – he had the sense to gag him before the ambulance 
came. I can keep him out of this, but only if you get me up there.”

Wesley nodded and took the detective’s hand, dragging her with him up the 
stairs. It took him a while to process everything she’d said, and so they 
were already on the first floor when he asked, ”Kid?”

”You know, the Asian kid. Whatever his name is. He claimed your friend had 
called him and when he got here, the place was on fire. I sent him off with 
the ambulance, figured he’d be more use there.”

”Chen Li?” Wesley didn’t know why Gunn would call Li, but all things 
considered, he was happy he had. At least there would be someone with Gunn, 
even if it wasn’t him.

They got inside, and Wesley stared mutely at the mayhem that had been his 
apartment. The living room wasn’t too bad – singed around the edges, and one 
corner being sprayed with foam by a fireman, but mostly intact. But he 
caught a glimpse of the kitchen, and it was all blown out. So much for the 
prophecies of Aberjian. They were all gone now.

No.

No, damn it, because that made no *sense*. That was what they wanted him to 
think – that the scrolls had been burned down along with the kitchen, so he 
wouldn’t look for them. But there was only one group of people who would put 
a bomb in his home, and they wanted those prophecies as much as he did.

They couldn’t get there themselves, of course. But to hire an assassin or a 
demon of some sort... He had been foolish. The protective spells were all 
wrong.

”Okay, I found him,” Lockley said in his ear. ”He seems no worse off than 
before. Now, can you get the damn spell off the place?”

”Right,” he said absent-mindedly. ”As long as you help get it on me.”

”What?”

He dug through his pocket until he found a pen. ”Come on.”

They both went out into the hall, and he nodded at the chalk markings over 
the door, handing Lockley the pen. ”Draw them on me.”

”You’re kidding?”

”Do I look like I’m kidding?”

She took the pen and slowly drew each mark on his arm, glancing at the wall 
from time to time to make sure she got them right. He compared the two 
spells and, finding them identical, intoned the necessary words. Then he 
reached up and wiped the chalk marks away from over the door.

”There,” he said. ”You should be able to come and go as you want, now.”

Leaving her there, he went into the bedroom. Angel was lying on the bed, 
looking like a gangster from a bad Western movie with his face all bound up 
in a clumsy gag. But he seemed unaware of his new predicament, and at least 
he was quiet, so Wes left him be. Instead, he walked over to the desk, 
opened the bottom drawer and took out a gun, loading it slowly and awkwardly 
before putting it in his pocket.

”Take care of Angel,” he told Lockley as he returned to the hall.

She jumped, as if she had forgotten he was there. ”I will. Are you going to 
the hospital?”

The weight of the gun lay heavy on his chest. ”To begin with.”

***

It was strange, really. Wolfram & Hart had become such a fixture in his life 
that actually going in there felt foreign and familiar at once. Unlike Gunn, 
he marched in the front door and searched out the office of Lindsey 
McDonald. He was tired of the sneaky business.

Lindsey was alone in his office, which all things considered was probably a 
blessing.

”Wesley,” he said, standing. ”Why are you...”

”I want the scroll,” Wes said.

”Scroll?” Lindsey asked, his hand sneaking in under the desk.

”Scroll of Aberjian.” Wes took out the gun and pointed it at Lindsey. 
”Please don’t press that button. I will shoot.”

Lindsey’s hand stilled. ”We don’t have the scroll of Aberjian. You stole it 
from us.”

”And you stole it back. Obviously, I don’t know that you personally have it, 
but right now, I don’t care. I intend to hold you personally responsible for 
everything that goes on around here. You came to us, pleading us to help 
you, so I know that there is a human being in there.” He cocked the gun. 
”And that human is going to suffer.”

Lindsey’s hand was sneaking back under the desk. ”If you think anything you 
threaten me with is going to force me to talk...”

”You’re missing the point,” Wes said. He fired the gun. Lindsey’s hand fell 
limply down, and he clutched his arm, staring at Wes wide-eyed. ”Gunn’s at 
the hospital. Angel’s in torment. I’m not going to force you to talk. I’m 
simply going to shoot you, and *keep* shooting you, until you give me the 
scroll. If you don’t, I may kill you.”

He took a step closer, gun still firmly pointed at Lindsey. ”I’m a very good 
shot. A couple of inches closer each time... Do you know how long it takes 
for a man to die of a punctured lung? I may empty my clip before I even get 
to the heart.”

”You’re crazy,” Lindsey said. There was something oddly relaxed about him, 
and his eyes were fixed on the door behind Wes.

”Perhaps I am. You pushed that button, didn’t you?” Wes fired again, a bit 
higher this time, so that the bullet hit the shoulder. He didn’t want to 
risk injuring Lindsey’s hand before he had the scroll, and it was still 
firmly clutched around his right arm. ”Bad move. Still, see if anyone comes. 
I very much doubt it.” He angled his hand quickly to show the pen marks on 
his arms, and then angled it right back. ”Scroll?”

”I don’t have it.”

Wes tutted and moved to fire again.

”Okay!” Lindsey said, letting go of his arm to raise his hand in defeat. ”I 
got it. Jesus!”

He opened his desk and started rummaging about, and Wes held ready in case 
he was trying the old weapon-in-the-drawer trick. But when Lindsey’s 
blood-stained hand appeared again, it was holding the scroll. So the lawyer 
had *some* sense at least.

”Push it forward,” Wes ordered.

Lindsey obliged, and Wes took a step forward. There he hesitated. Taking the 
scroll would mean putting the gun down, and he certainly didn’t trust 
Lindsey not to take advantage of *that* situation.

There was really just one thing to do. He fired the gun again.

Lindsey gave a muffled cry and stared at his left arm, now bleeding as 
profusely as the right. He sat down heavily, as if his legs wouldn’t carry 
him – which was probably the case.

”Couldn’t have you trying to kill me,” Wes said, putting the gun back inside 
his pocket. He took the scroll from Lindsey’s desk – it was bloodied, but 
not so badly that he wouldn’t be able to read its contents – and retreated 
towards the door.

The spell still worked perfectly, he found as he stepped out of the office 
and no one looked tice at him as he walked out of Wolfram & Hart with their 
valuable possession in his hand. He would have expected his heart to race, 
his mind to be in a flurry of wild emotions. Instead he felt nothing at all 
except a vague sense of worry.

He could have sworn that, for the split second before Wes closed the office 
door, Lindsey McDonald had been *smiling*.

***

_________________________________________________________________
Hitta rätt på nätet med MSN Sök http://search.msn.se/