[Gunnwesley] Fic: Bedside Manners (Birthdayverse #14)

[Katarina Hjärpe]

Title: Bedside Manners
Author: Katta ( head_overheels at hotmail.com )
Pairing: Gunn/Wes
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The story 
is based on events on the show Angel, but is an unauthorized piece of 
fanfiction. No copyright infringement is intended.
Spoilers: Birthday, To Shanshu in L.A.
Series/Sequel: #14 in the Birthdayverse Realities series, season finale. 
Previous stories can be found at 
http://www.geocities.com/katta_hj/fanfic/Angel/birthday/index.html
Summary: After the explosion, everyone takes on different roles.

***


The first thing Gunn noticed was the noise: a high-pitched whine that got 
increasingly annoying the more he woke up. He couldn’t tell what the hell it 
was. Not a phone signal or alarm clock or any of those things that tended to 
wake you up.

Whatever it was, it really made his headache worse. He probably shouldn’t 
have been drinking so much last... When had he been drinking? He couldn’t 
remember drinking.

Something was definitely wrong, though. He had a hard time breathing, for 
one thing, like he had a cold, but he couldn’t remember a cold either. And 
his eyes wouldn’t open. He tried harder still and managed to crack open an 
eyelid, if just barely. It hurt really bad and his eyelashes blurred his 
vision, but he could see that the room he was in had white walls and some 
tubes and shit hooked up next to his bed.

A hospital.

That was when it all came back to him – the explosion, the strange crystal, 
Angel screaming his lungs out in the bedroom.

”Jesus,” he breathed to himself.

Something stirred next to him. Moving his head a little, he saw Wesley 
leaning forward in a chair. ”Gunn? You’re awake?”

”Yeah,” he replied. ”Kind of wish I wasn’t.” He grimaced. ”Can’t someone 
turn off that noise?”

”What noise?”

”You know. That ’hmmmmm’ – that noise.”

Wesley was silent for a moment, and then said, ”I think that might be your 
ears ringing.”

Right. Explosion. Jesus, on top of everything else, that was really what 
they needed. Even through eyelashes, he could tell that there was something 
different about Wesley, but he didn’t know what. He looked shabby and tired, 
but then, he’d been looking like that a lot lately.

”How’s Angel?” he asked.

”How’s *Angel*?” Wesley repeated like he couldn’t believe the question. 
”He’s... better.”

”Got the spell fixed, huh? That rocks.”

Wesley chuckled, though there was no humour in it. ”Yes, I suppose it does.”

Gunn licked his dry, swollen lips. ”So... how am I?”

”What?”

”The funeral mood’s got to be about something. If it’s not Angel, I’m 
thinking it’s me.” The weird part was, he didn’t *feel* all that bad. Now 
that he was awake, he knew the stuffiness in his nose probably meant it was 
broken, and his entire face felt about two sizes too small. And there was 
something definitely wrong with his arm, and most of him hurt, but it was a 
manageable pain, not the excruciating kind he would have expected if he’d 
been blown to pieces. Of course, he’d seen people dying who swore they 
didn’t feel a thing, so maybe he was worse off than he knew.

Wesley’s cold hand closed firmly around Gunn’s. ”You’ve taken a good 
beating, but apparently there are no internal injuries and very few broken 
bones. Your arm took the worst of it.”

Gunn tried to lift his arm to take a look, but it was on his right, and he 
still hadn’t managed to open that eye. ”But it’s gonna be okay, right?”

”The doctors sounded fairly positive about that, yes.”

Fairly positive could mean just about anything. He figured anything would 
sound fairly positive compared to, say, not *having* an arm, and he would 
have raised his eyebrows if he had thought his face could bear the strain. 
Perhaps the pain in his face was the reason he didn’t ask for details. 
Couldn’t be too bad anyway. No doctor he’d known had ever tried to sweeten 
bad news for him; maybe they saved that kind of shit for people who could 
afford to get pissed. Of course, there was a risk that *Wesley* would try to 
sweeten it – but Gunn didn’t think he would. Not about something like this. 
”And my eyes?”

”You have a ruptured cornea – as I understand it, it might be fine, but 
there’s also a possibility that you might need a transplant.”

He frowned, but quickly stopped doing that, since it caused a pulling 
sensation in what he suspected to be stitches. ”I’m gonna have a dead guy’s 
eye?”

”A tiny *piece* of a dead guy’s eye.” He couldn’t see Wesley, but the smug 
dryness came through even in speech, and he gave Wesley’s hand a weak punch.

”Cut it – hey, ” he added as a thought struck him. ”Singular.”

”Cut it singular?”

”Eye singular. So what’s wrong with the other one?”

”There’s nothing wrong with the other one.”

He opened his eye just to see if Wesley was shitting him, but he seemed 
honest enough. ”It *hurts*.”

”Oh. *That*.”

”Yeah, that.”

Wesley sighed. ”You’re sporting a shiner. That’s all.”

”Just a shiner, huh?” He closed his eye again. ”Was a bit worried there for 
a while.” Although he tried to sound flippant, he was deeply relieved. The 
view out of the tiny crack of one bruised eye was pretty limited, and he 
would have hated for it to go on for any length of time.

”As I said, you took quite a beating. Many bruises and cuts.” Long, cold 
fingers traced his face – it hurt, but it felt good at the same time. ”I 
think you may scar.”

That didn’t surprise him. The way his face felt, he figured he was lucky to 
have any skin left at all. ”Yeah, but we’re talking the sexy, Seal kind of 
scars, not the disfiguring Frankenstein kind, right?”

”Frankenstein was the inventor,” Wesley said. ”And I hardly think it will be 
as visible as Seal’s.”

”Aw, now you’re disappointing me,” he teased, expecting Wesley to laugh, but 
the laughter never came. There *was* something wrong – really, seriously 
wrong, but if it wasn’t him, and wasn’t Angel, what was it? The apartment? 
But it had been a shitty apartment anyway, and even if Wesley wasn’t used to 
living in basements and hallways, Gunn doubted he would be so morose over a 
lost place to live. No, morose was the wrong word. Bleak. Wesley was 
*bleak*, and not knowing why scared him more than any injuries could. 
”Wes...”

Wesley stood up abruptly. ”I have to go.”

”What? Why?” Gunn opened his eye, but Wesley had already proceeded to the 
other side of the bed, and he had to roll over on his side to see what was 
going on. The movement made his head pound worse, and he felt a wave of 
nausea rise up. ”I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Wesley stopped, glancing out the window into the corridor before he grabbed 
a bedpan and held it up for Gunn to use. ”Go ahead.”

Gunn tried to fight the nausea, but that made his nose hurt worse, and he 
finally threw up into the bedpan, the pain in his skull causing him to see 
flashes of light and bright swirly colours.

”Left out the concussion, huh?” he said weakly.

”Mr. Pryce?” a man said from the corridor. ”Could we have a word with you?”

Wesley put down the bedpan and stood up, his hand resting briefly on Gunn’s 
shoulder before he left. ”Of course.”

Gunn tried to see what was going on, but pain still clouded his vision. 
Still, that voice had told him enough – he didn’t need to see a uniform and 
a badge to recognize a cop.

What the hell had Wesley gotten himself into?

***

Lockley closed the door to her flat and gave Wes a long, hard look. ”You 
shot that guy *three times*.”

Wes took off his jacket and hung it on a hook, avoiding Lockley’s gaze. ”If 
this is an interrogation, shouldn’t I have a lawyer?”

”Gee, let me think,” she said sarcastically. ”No, because you *shot* your 
lawyer.”

”That’s not an admission I want to make at this time. And he’s not my 
lawyer.”

Kate exhaled through her nose and shook her head a couple of times before 
saying, ”This is not an interrogation. If it was, I would have kept you in 
the interrogation room instead of hauling you home with me. This is me being 
fucking *pissed off* at you, Pryce. You shot that guy, and you made me an 
accomplice with those stupid marks.”

”I doubt any officer of the law would arrest you for scribbling runes on a 
man’s forearm,” he said, proceeding inside.

”You think this is a joke? Attempted murder, Pryce!”

”Now, that I don’t understand,” he said. The flat was quiet, which he 
supposed was a good sign. ”You’d have to be a very poor shot indeed to 
attempt murder and shoot a man in both arms.”

He opened the door to the guest room and found Angel lying on the bed in the 
same position as before. At least there were no more thrashings.

”So what was it, then?” Lockley asked from the doorway. ”Torture? Payback?”

Even though he’d done it before, Wes leaned down and gave Angel a quick, 
inexpert examination. Angel’s eyes reacted to light, which indicated that he 
saw *something* – it simply wasn’t them. He didn’t react to sounds, and as 
for touch, it was anybody’s guess. Wes made sure to touch him anyway, just 
in case this was nothing more than a prolonged awakening after an exhausting 
nightmare.

”Have you tried feeding him?”

”I don’t like McDonald any more than you do, but he could be facing 
permanent damage here.”

”Good.”

”And you could be facing jail time.”

Wes stood up and faced her. ”Have you tried feeding him?” he repeated.

She stared at him, and finally shook her head. ”I bought some bags of blood, 
but I haven’t been home to feed him. They’re still in my bag.”

”Then can you go get them? Please?”

She shrugged and left the room, muttering, ”You know, I’d really prefer it 
if you weren’t polite along with the creepy.”

He waited for her return, hoping that the feeding would tell them more about 
Angel’s condition. Would he even be able to eat? If not, they might be 
forced to kill him – even if Angel was no longer in pain, they couldn’t 
spend their time force-feeding a catatonic vampire. He still hadn’t found a 
new flat, and he certainly wouldn’t bring Angel to sleep in the shelter as 
he had done for the past few nights. As for Lockley, it was only a matter of 
time before she tired of the arrangement and threw Angel out or staked him 
herself – though considering how she spoke of him, she had given the vampire 
remarkable comfort. It was a very nice guest room, and the bed had clean 
sheets. Wes was even ready to wager that the pillow had been fluffed.

”Here,” Lockley said, returning to the room with a bag of blood that she 
handed to Wes. Then she stepped back, obviously ready to let him handle the 
actual feeding. Unfortunately, he still needed her.

”Come here,” he told her, nodding towards the head of the bed. ”Hold him up 
while I feed him.”

She did as she was told, and Wes slowly poured it into Angel’s mouth. At 
first there was nothing, just the mouth filling up with blood, and then, 
just as he stopped pouring so the blood wouldn’t spill out onto the sheets, 
Angel swallowed. Wes started pouring again, and the vampire kept swallowing, 
faster and faster, clearly eager to still his thirst. He even moved his hand 
a little as if trying to hurry the procedure, though it never reached as far 
as the bag, and he frowned hard in concentration.

”Weird,” Lockley said. ”It feels kind of like watching someone breastfeed.”

Wes smiled. He didn’t know about breastfeeding, but it did feel like a good 
omen.

When the bag was empty, Kate lowered Angel’s head again, and he lay down, as 
still and untouchable as before. The blood staining his lips was the only 
sign that he had moved at all. For a moment, they both hovered over him, 
waiting.

”Angel?” Lockley asked, her voice surprisingly soft. Angel didn’t react. She 
waited a while longer, and then shrugged. ”Well, at least we know he’s in 
there.”

When she stood up, her eyes were cold again. ”Now, about you shooting that 
guy...”

”It’s not a topic I wish to discuss,” Wes said, leaving the room to discard 
the empty blood bag.

***

Someone knocked on the door, and before Gunn had time to turn around, a 
voice said, ”How’re you doing, big brother?”

Gunn smiled. ”Alonna!” As he turned his head, the greeting became a startled 
curse as his sister came into view.

”Is that any way to say hello?” she asked, approaching the bed.

”You...” Staring was hard with the shiner, but Gunn gave it his best shot. 
”Your hair...”

Alonna drew her fingers through the short-cropped, bleached curls. ”Yeah, I 
changed my looks a bit. Figured I’d make it harder for people to recognize 
me.”

”*I* barely recognized you,” he said. ”You look so... different.”

”Sort of the point, yeah. You don’t like it.”

”I... yeah, I do.” It was more than just the hair; her clothes were 
different too. She was wearing a tight, sleeveless, turtle-neck top with 
some sort of blue and grey pattern, and yellow pants so bright, looking at 
them forced him to blink. It looked kind of hot, but it wasn’t Alonna. She 
looked more ready for the beach than for a fight.  ”You’re gonna attract 
vampires looking like that.”

”Just vampires?” she asked with a shrug. ”Well, I guess it’ll come useful 
next time we’re on a hunt.”

”You can’t go hunting in that,” he said sharply. ”Not on our streets.” If 
she wore a flashy outfit like that, people would assume she had money, and 
that assumption could get her killed faster than any vampire.

”I *know*,” she said, sounding irritated. ”Jeez, I just got off the plane an 
hour ago. I’ll go change later.”

”Sorry,” he said, ashamed that he’d snapped at her. Alonna knew how to 
handle herself, that hadn’t changed just because she’d spent a month 
drinking tea and casting spells, or whatever it was people did in English 
witch covens. ”You look great.”

She didn’t reply, but the sad look on her face as she sat down on the 
rickety chair by his bed told him clearer than words that however he looked, 
”great” wasn’t it.

He self-consciously touched the stitches and bandages on his face, wondering 
how bad they looked. ”How do you like the patchwork they’ve done on me?”

She looked away for a moment; that frightened him.

”Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

”Is it true you could have lost an eye?” she asked.

”In a sense,” he replied, suddenly feeling very tired.

”In *what* sense?”

”In the sense that I could have lost my life. I’m mostly glad *that* didn’t 
happen.”

She sighed and stroked his head with fingers that were softer than he 
remembered. ”Glad to see you’ve gotten your priorities straight.”

It was an echo of their old argument, and his voice sharpened when he 
answered, ”It wasn’t a vamp’s nest, Alonna. I didn’t go out to hunt this; it 
was a bomb in my fucking kitchen.”

She got an odd expression. ”Wasn’t it Wesley’s kitchen?”

”Uh... yeah...” He didn’t know how to get out of this. It had just slipped 
out, and he could think of no excuse that would salvage the situation. In 
all honesty, he wasn’t sure he *wanted* an excuse. He’d never been in the 
business of lying to his sister.

The truth, then, and God in heaven help him. ”Thing is, Wesley and I... 
we’re sort of... together.”

She didn’t say anything. The silence stretched out, and he started to wonder 
if he should prompt her a little, maybe crack a joke or something. It was an 
inappropriate time for joking, but then at least she could tell him off for 
that.

But before he could speak up, she did. ”Romantically?”

The word annoyed him. It sounded like a schoolboy crush, or dinner and a 
movie. ”When was the last time anything in our lives was romantic?”

”You know what I mean.” Her voice was flat – it was impossible to tell if 
she was upset, or amused, or what. Face all blank too.

”Yeah. And yeah, we are.”

She looked down and laughed a little. ”Gotta admit, didn’t see that coming. 
*Him*, yeah. Jesus, it was pretty obvious from the start that he wasn’t just 
hanging around for your fighting skills. But you...” She shook her head. ”Is 
it just... I mean... how long?”

”Since he got Angel out. More or less.”

Her chin fell down. ”You and him? Since *before* I left?”

”Yeah.”

”And he... Have there been others?”

”No. Alonna...” He took her hand in a firm grip. ”I would have told you. 
Maybe not right away, but I would have.”

”So it’s just Wesley.”

Was it? When asked like that, he couldn’t give a simple yes or no answer. 
He’d thought about it, of course, wondered what had meant more - the 
girlfriends he’d had, or the guys he’d looked at without even thinking about 
what it meant. It wasn’t a fair comparison. He couldn’t make it into all 
women but Wesley, or men and women and Wesley, and definitely not all men 
and Wesley. No matter what he tried to call himself, it felt like a lie. Or 
an approximation – and if that wasn’t a Wesley type of word, he didn’t know 
what was.

”I guess it’s like those cubes,” he said.

”What cubes?”

”You know - the ones with coloured squares that you’re supposed to twist and 
turn. And sometimes you make a side fit so it’s all the same colours, but 
hell if you can ever make all of them fit.”

She looked at him as if he was crazier than Angel. ”Your point being?”

”With people, it’s like... You can think they’re gorgeous, or you can like 
having sex with them, or you can like *them*, love them even, and I guess 
there are about a dozen other things that could match too.”

”And Wesley’s the finished cube?”

He snorts at that. ”No way. He’s an uptight white guy who keeps pet vampires 
and messes with magic. But I ain’t ever met someone I liked that much in 
that many ways.” He went quiet, suddenly feeling embarrassed to have said so 
much, even to Alonna.

All she said was, ”Huh.” Even with his vision still mostly blurred, he could 
tell that her gaze was fixed on him, as if she expected him to change right 
in front of her eyes.

”You okay with this?” he asked.

She gave it some thought. ”If I say ’no’, next time something like this 
happens you’re not even gonna tell me, are you? I don’t mean right away – I 
mean ever.”

His heart sank. ”So it’s ’no’ then.”

”It’s more of an ’I don’t know.’ I thought I knew you – what you wanted, 
what you were capable of. Seems like I don’t. That’s not okay.”

”You do know me,” he said. No one knew him better than Alonna, even if she’d 
missed that one detail. Well, that one big honking clue about his life, but 
then, he hadn’t known it himself either.

”I thought you were trying to *die*. That you were hanging with Wes because 
you thought he could show you to the action.”

He had to smile at that. ”Well, in a way...”

”You were jumping to get into his pants. That’s almost...”

”Anti-climactic?” he suggested.

”To say the least.”

He had to smile at that. All these changes, and still Alonna’s top priority 
was to nag him about staying alive. ”And the man-on-man stuff? That doesn’t 
bother you?”

”Gunn, please,” she said sharply. ”I’m trying not to think about the 
man-on-man stuff.”

He flinched, which hurt almost as much as her words. ”Oh.”

”I’ll... get used to it, okay? I got used to Wesley being there, I can get 
used to him... and you...” She took a deep breath. ”Okay. Yeah. It’s gonna 
take a while.”

”I know you don’t even like Wes...” he started.

She shrugged, and even smiled a little. ”He’s okay. He knows who’s in 
charge.”

”You?” Gunn suggested.

The smile widened to a grin. ”Damn right. Where is he, anyway? I’d have 
thought he’d be glued to your side.”

So had Gunn – but Wes hadn’t returned, and unless he had severely 
overestimated his own importance, that meant something bad was going on. 
”The cops took him away.”

”Cops!? Why?”

”I don’t know why.” He fumbled for her hand and found it, squeezing it hard. 
”Can you find out for me?”

”You bet,” she said, rising from the chair, ready to head out the door. He 
held her back.

”Wait. There’s something else. The guys... Rondell in particular. I don’t 
know where I stand with them right now. Could you find out?”

”They know?”

He nodded silently.

”Then I don’t have to find out where you stand, ’cause you’re standing in a 
heap of trouble.”

”Tell me about it. I think Rondell will want to take over – it’ll probably 
be him. I just don’t want it all blowing up in my face before I’m fit to 
handle it.”

”One explosion’s enough, huh?” She sat back down and thought for a while. ”I 
gotta say... even if you *could* make things better with them, you’re not 
gonna be ready to fight for a long time, bro. Not to mention that agency you 
and Wesley have going tends to keep you busy.”

”So what are you saying?” he asked with heat. He’d have thought he could 
count on her support in this at least, and he hated to admit that what she 
said made a lot of sense. ”I should just give up and let Rondell take over?”

”Uh-uh.” There was an odd note in her voice, one that usually came before a 
grand plan of vamp annihilation. ”That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

***

Funny, all these weeks away from home, and that dank old basement didn’t 
just look the same – it smelled the same too. She saw George standing guard 
by the stairs, holding the axe awkwardly pinned under his elbow as he 
fumbled with a cigarette, and she headed over to him, smiling to herself at 
the familiar sight.

”Hey, hey,” she told him. ”Don’t destroy the sweet scent of mildew for me – 
it’s been too long already since I last smelled it.”

The axe came clattering to the ground as George spun around. ”Alonna! Damn, 
look at you, girl!”

Alonna smiled and spread her arms, giving him a better view. She’d gotten 
her clothes changed, as she’d promised Gunn, but even if the new outfit was 
a better match for the neighborhood, it was still very much a new outfit – 
and of course, the hairdo was pretty obvious.

”New and improved,” she said. ”Can’t say the same about you, though. What if 
I’d been a vampire?”

”It only turned dark, like, ten minutes ago,” he protested. ”Like a vampire 
would show up that fast.”

”As I heard it, last time they showed up in broad daylight.” She walked past 
him into the basement, looking around to see if the rest of the security 
measures worked better. The traps still seemed to be rigged the way they 
were when she left, and she carefully avoided stepping on the wrong stones 
in the stairs.

”You know about that?” George asked, following her.

”They have telephones in England,” she pointed out. ”I called Gunn.”

”Oh.” He hesitated for a moment and then asked, ”About Gunn... Has he...”

She cut him off. This was a discussion she wanted to have with the whole 
gang. ”What’s the plan for tonight?”

”Uh... one of the girls saw a vampire down by the drive-in yesterday. We’re 
gonna check it out.”

”One vampire?” Yeah, all the security measures seemed to be in place. A 
mighty fortress was their smelly cellar, and it felt great to be home. ”That 
doesn’t take all of us. We should split up. For one vamp, I think we could 
risk it – let the rest whip up some food.”

They were down in the basement now, and the people sitting around all looked 
up, their faces showing different variations on surprise at seeing her. 
Rondell had been sitting on a mattress, but now he got up, smiling at her. 
”Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in.”

She hugged him tight, amazed at how much she’d missed them all. No more 
funky incense or things floating about in the kitchen, no more rain anytime 
she stepped out the door. No more weird accents she could barely understand. 
Just a bunch of people she’d die for if she had to, four concrete walls and 
a floor. So it didn’t have an oak finish. Who cared?

”Good to see the place hasn’t been falling apart completely without me,” she 
said.

”Came close,” he said, watching her intently. It was clear he was going to 
put the cards on the table right away. She appreciated that. ”You heard 
about Gunn?”

”That he got himself blown up?” she asked, grateful for the opportunity to 
remind them what the major issues were. ”Yeah, I heard.”

”Well, that and... the rest.”

”He’s gone fag on us,” James piped up from further into the room.

Rondell threw him a murderous look, but didn’t argue. None of them could – 
they wouldn’t even meet Alonna’s gaze. She nodded slowly. ”Yeah... gotta be 
a bitch. Still, if any of you boys need to defend your virtue, I’ll be right 
there helping out.”

”Oh, come on, Alonna,” Rondell argued. ”Don’t be like that.”

”Don’t be like what?” she asked. ”Don’t be standing up for my brother? Don’t 
be reminding you that he’s saved all of your collective asses at least once? 
Hell, even Wesley’s been helping us out from some tight spots.”

”Nobody’s saying they haven’t,” Rondell said, crossing his arms. ”But you 
ain’t seen Gunn lately. He’s changed. And he’s hardly ever around anymore.”

Alonna waited. She knew what was coming, but she sure as hell wasn’t going 
to speed it up.

”I think we need someone else to take charge.”

She forced herself to smile. ”Well, you’re lucky, then, that I got back when 
I did.”

She could tell exactly when the message got through to all of them. First 
Rondell’s eyes widened – he’d always been quick on the uptake. Then gasps 
and mutters indicated that the others were catching up. A couple still stood 
there oblivious, waiting to be clued in.

”You want to take over,” Rondell said, his voice filled with wonder.

”Well, I’m not looking to be the ruling monarch of this place, but yeah. 
It’s my gang as much as Gunn’s.”

That hadn’t always been true. During the first few years, Gunn had been the 
one making a name for himself, drawing people in. She’d been the hanger-on, 
the protectee, and then the bait. But those days were long past – she just 
needed to give the rest of them the chance to figure that out too.

George was already smiling. James’s eyes darted from her to Rondell – in 
theory, everyone would make up their own minds, but in reality, a lot 
depended on Rondell’s answer. Being a girl, she had a disadvantage over Gunn 
when it came to claiming authority, but she also had a pretty big advantage. 
Rondell *liked* her – if they’d lived in one of those dopey high school 
movies, he would have asked her to the prom.

”Gunn knows about this?” he finally asked.

That almost made her laugh. They were kicking Gunn out, and they still 
worried about his opinions? ”Course he does. He’s my brother. I’m not gonna 
tar and feather him or whatever you guys were planning. And neither should 
you. Sooner or later you’ll need him. Don’t want to deal with him come the 
day? Fine. I’ll deal with him. You deal with me. Sound okay?”

Silence met her proposal. Then Rondell smiled and nodded. ”Damn, girl, it’s 
good to have you back.”

She released a breath she hadn’t know she’d been holding and returned the 
smile. ”Good to be back.”

”Alonna?” That was Teresa, tentatively touching her arm. ”What’s up with the 
*hair*, sister?”

Alonna smiled and ran her fingers through her hair, remembering the soothing 
comments Brigid had made as she cut it all off. The end result had been 
everything the witch had promised. ”Awesome, isn’t it?”

***

Gunn had expected Wesley to come pick him up, but when he stepped out into 
the hospital corridor, it was Lockley who came up to him.

”You’re my welcoming committee?” he asked. ”Didn’t figure you for the type.”

”I’m looking for Pryce, actually,” she said. ”I thought he’d be here.”

”Yeah, so did I,” he said, looking down the corridor in both directions to 
try and find Wesley. Since everything was still fuzzy on his right, that 
meant turning his head around like an owl. Still no Wesley. That alarmed 
him. He could think of few things that would stop Wesley from bringing him 
home from the hospital, except for things pale and bitey in nature. Maybe 
he’d been arrested – he’d been awful quiet about what the cops had been 
doing there, no matter how hard Gunn pumped him about it, and Alonna hadn’t 
found anything out. But if the cops had taken Wesley, why would Lockley come 
*here* to ask about him? She was a cop; she’d know things like that.

”If it’s me he’s trying to avoid, you can tell him there’s no need,” Lockley 
said. ”McDonald dropped the charges.”

It came so unexpectedly, all he could think of asking was, ”What charges?”

”The works. Attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering...” She finally 
seemed to catch up with what he meant and silenced, wetting her lip with her 
tongue. ”You didn’t know.”

Gunn shook his head, dumbfounded. Wesley had tried to *kill* Lindsey 
McDonald?  He didn’t have to ask why, not with all the stitches still aching 
on his skin, but he just couldn’t see it. Wesley didn’t get mad, not like 
that. Not get pissed and beat someone up mad. He was cold in a fight, even 
when he made mistakes or grew tired. Overthinking, that was his problem most 
of the time. Calculating to the point where he couldn’t just act on 
something. The thought of him doing something rash in the heat of the moment 
was... not *Wesley*.

”He was shot,” Lockley continued when Gunn didn’t answer. ”Three times. 
Twice in the right arm, once in the left. From what I understand, the poor 
bastard’s worse off than you.” She shook her head slowly. ”I get why he did 
it, of course, but I would’ve felt a whole lot better if he’d just taken a 
fist to the guy’s face like a normal person.”

”He shot him in the arms,” Gunn repeated, trying to make sense of it all. 
”On purpose?”

”You’d have to be a really crappy shot to hit someone in both arms by 
mistake,” she pointed out.

True. And Wes was nothing if not a good shot – it was one of the few areas 
where he could be guaranteed to get a fairly good hit every time, regardless 
of how jittery or off his game he might be. There was no way Wes would aim 
to kill someone and hit even one of his arms, much less two.

Which meant it wasn’t attempted murder, and that would’ve comforted Gunn so 
much more if it didn’t also mean that what it *was*, was torture. And that 
wasn’t something he wanted to believe of Wes, not ever. Trouble was, 
something like that he *could* see. A shiver went down his spine. Jesus 
Christ, what had he gotten himself into?

Lockley’s expression changed, and she nodded down the corridor behind Gunn. 
”Speak of the devil.”

Gunn turned, but to his right, which meant he had to spin almost a full 180 
before Wes came in clear view.

Just like last time, Wes looked like hell warmed over, but he smiled when he 
saw the two of them in the corridor. Gunn smiled back, trying to ignore the 
part of the brain that kept showing him Wes shooting Lindsey in cold blood. 
This wasn’t the place to start an argument.

”So sorry I’m late,” Wes said as he came up to them, placing his hand on 
GUnn’s upper arm in a sign of greeting. ”How do you feel?”

”Dizzy,” Gunn said. ”Itchy. Mostly just fine, though.” He was actually 
amazed at how little things hurt, considering the number of stitches they’d 
put in him. As long as he didn’t try to use his hand or make grimaces, he 
could almost forget they were in there.

”Good to hear it,” Wes said. Turning to Lockley, he added, ”I went to see a 
man about a flat. It looks like present arrangements won’t be needed much 
longer.”

She stared at him. ”A flat what?”

”Apartment,” Gunn said, and wasn’t that weird, that he could translate from 
England-English fluently now, and he’d never even been out of LA.

”You have a place?” Lockley sounded relieved, and she even smiled a bit. 
”That’s great!”

”Uh, I don’t have a place quite yet,” Wes warned. ”I still have to see 
someone else, and then *he* will send me somewhere else yet, apparently. But 
my source seemed confident that it’s only a matter of days.”

This dimmed Lockley’s enthusiasm somewhat, and Gunn felt a bit suspicious. 
Wes sounded way too evasive – and his ”sources” were usually of the 
supernatural kind. He really hoped they weren’t going to live in some 
haunted mansion. No matter how good the mansion-bit would be, it couldn’t 
compensate for the haunting bit. He even thought he’d rather go back to 
their old apartment, bombed or not. It wasn’t as if he was used to high 
standards.

”So, you’ve been staying at Lockley’s place?” he asked. It occurred to him 
that speaking about Lockley in third person was a bit rude, and he added to 
her, ”Sorry, your place?”

”Oh, no,” Wes said. ”I’ve been sleeping in Anne’s office, mostly. No, just 
Angel.”

”Angel? But he has a place.” Which, coming to think of it, weirded this 
whole situation up even more – he was pretty sure Angel would have been glad 
to have Wes stay there. Well, okay, not *glad*, but not grumpy about it 
either. Unless, of course, Wes had been holding out on him. ”He’s not okay, 
is he?”

Lockley’s eyebrows flew up. ”What, you haven’t told him?”

”Told me what?” He looked sharply at Wes. ”You said he was okay.”

Wes sighed. ”I said he was better, which he is. He’s simply...”

”Catatonic,” Lockley said.

”He’s not catatonic.”

”He’s just lying there,” Lockley told Gunn, ”totally unresponsive to 
anything except food. And as it turned out, he hadn’t been paying his bills 
for quite a while *before* this shit happened, so I’m keeping him at my 
place.”

”Jesus.” And no one had told him. Sure, there wasn’t a whole lot he could 
have done, lying on his back in a hospital bed, but the thought of all this 
going on while he wasn’t looking was just a bit too much. He shook off Wes’s 
hand and stalked down the corridor, knowing that if he didn’t get out of 
there really fast, he’d soon start yelling so loud he’d wake up the coma 
patients.

He found a parking lot with a whole bunch of cars but no people, and he sat 
down on the ground, his back to the brick wall. The air was hot and smelled 
of petrol, but he still took deep breaths, ignoring the ache in his broken 
nose.

He should have stayed in his basement. At least there the rules were simple. 
Search for food wherever you could, kill vampires when the chance arose, and 
try not to die. But no, he had to get involved with a pansy-ass Englisman, 
and now he’d been demoted from his own gang, evil lawyers blew him up, and 
his own boyfriend shot people for kicks and told him lies.

Worst of all, though, there was a vampire lying lost in his delusions, and 
he actually gave a damn. No wonder his people didn’t want him around 
anymore.

A shadow fell in front of him, and he knew its shape so well he didn’t have 
to look up before telling Wes, ”I’m more patched up than an old quilt. If I 
so much as raise my voice, I’m bound to pop some stitches.”

”So don’t raise your voice.” Wes remained hovering over him for a moment and 
then sat down, slowly, as if waiting for an objection. ”I should have told 
you about Angel. I just wanted the good news to be a bit better before I 
did.”

”And Lindsey?” Gunn asked, finally looking up. ”When were you going to tell 
me about him?”

Wes, looking stunned, gave no answer, which confirmed what Gunn already 
knew:

”You weren’t.”

Wes’s face face became closed and guarded. ”I take it Lockley did.”

”She told me the charges had been dropped.”

Wes blinked, the mask slipping for a brief moment. ”What?”

”McDonalds dropped the charges against you.”

Wes’s brow furrowed. ”Did she tell you why?”

Gunn shook his head and suggested, with a mix of hope and sarcastic despair: 
”He didn’t have a case?”

Wes gave him a look that clearly stated what he thought of such a ridiculous 
statement.

”No, of course he did,” Gunn continued. ”’Cause you did it. You shot the guy 
three times in the arms, and you may have messed him up for life. Does that 
make you feel good?”

”I’m not sorry he suffered, if that’s what you mean,” Wes said calmly. ”But 
that wasn’t my reason. I needed the scroll of Aberjian back to try to remove 
the spell from Angel.”

”Oh.” He should have known. When had Wes done anything without good reason? 
Wanton destruction wasn’t his thing – hell, he was the one who wouldn’t even 
kill a demon if he considered it harmless. ”I thought... I thought it was 
payback. For what happened to me, and to Angel.”

”Well, yes, that too.”

Gunn shook his head, refusing to believe the simple admission and the 
dispassionate way Wes said it. ”No. *No.* You don’t get to say that, you 
don’t get to...”

”Gunn...”

”No!” Gunn raised his hands as if to ward Wes off. ”I never asked you to go 
after anyone for me. I don’t think Angel did either. Did he?”

”He wasn’t in a position to ask me anything, remember?” Wes pointed out, his 
voice cold. ”Lindsey’s not an innocent victim. I did what I did to counter a 
*slight* portion of what he’s put us through, and I took it no further than 
I had to. But if you want me to feel sorry for him...”

”Oh, who cares about him?” Gunn shouted, standing up. ”This isn’t about him. 
It’s about you. About us.”

Slowly, Wes stood up as well, meeting his gaze. He said nothing.

”We’re supposed to be the good guys,” Gunn said quietly.

”You be the good guy,” Wes replied, and the hard edge was gone, making him 
seem younger and more bewildered than he had in a long time. ”I don’t think 
I have the energy anymore.”

Neither one of them said anything after that. Gunn was still angry and 
upset, but he had been given pause by how tired Wes looked. He’d always 
known that he might lose Wesley to the fight, the way he risked losing 
everyone he cared about. Now it seemed he risked losing him in another way 
entirely – by having him turn into someone he no longer recognized.

Well, at least he knew one thing: he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose him 
through harsh words said at an ugly-ass hospital parking lot.

He looked in both directions, but there were no people around that he could 
see, just row after row of cars. Wes might still freak out, of course. Not 
to mention that he might pop some stitches. But he was willing to take the 
chance, and so he very tentatively pulled Wes closer and kissed him.

It was time to go home, wherever ”home” could be.

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