Title: Comfort (1/1)
Authors: DangerMouse (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Rating: P*-13 just because of the slash. Nothing
Spoilers: Everything up to "Supersymmetry"
Disclaimer: The characters and settings belong to
Mutant Enemy, the WB, and serveral other people, I'm
sure. The story belongs to me. Strictly for fun, no
profit. I promise to return the characters with as
few mental/physical/emotional problems as possible.
Feedback: Makes me so happy, I could lose my soul.
Constructive criticism welcome, flames are not.
A/N: This is quite a bit shorter than my usual style,
but I think it works for what it is. Enjoy the fic
and I hope to hear from you!
I get it now.
I get why Angel is always sittin' in his office,
starin' at the wall, when he thinks we ain't lookin'.
I get why he sometimes disappears in the middle of
conversations, his eyes gettin' all dark and funny. I
get it now. I so get it.
I wish I didn't.
Fred, my beautiful, sweet - and did I mention
beautiful? - Fred is sleeping right now, curled
against my side, her hand on her cheek, all
innocent-like. She's not smiling, though. She
usually smiles in her sleep. Didn't used to, when I
first met her, but lately, she smiles. She'd been
happy, these past couple of weeks, goin' on about her
paper. Never understood a lick of what she was
talkin' about, but that ain't nothing new. Her eyes
were lit up like I ain't ever seen 'em before.
But, tonight, her eyes went dead.
The minute I ran across that room and snapped that
guy's neck with my bare hands, her eyes went dead.
She looked at me with something like disbelief, maybe
a little disgust. I could feel it. But I had to do
it, I had to stop her from killin' the bastard. I
didn't want to have to look at her the way she wasn't
looking at me tonight. I'd never have been able to
live with myself.
We didnít talk when we got back to the room. We just
went about our nightly things, brushing out teeth,
changing our clothes, that sort of junk. Then, we
went to bed. Not a word. Not a word spoken between
us. At least, I don't think she spoke. If she did, I
didn't hear. I ain't heard nothing really since I
killed that guy. Nothing but the sound the snapping
of his bones made when I just grabbed his head and
twisted, over and over again in my head.
It was easy - too easy. I just put my hand on his
head and turned, like I was trying to open a large jar
of pickles. It twisted that easily. And even over
the roarin' of the portal and the shoutin' of my own
brain telling me not to do this, I heard it. I heard
his bones warp and break. It's a strange noise,
unlike anything I'd ever heard before. I don't think
I could describe it. I don't think I want to, anyway.
I can't take it anymore, I just can't. Before my body
tells my mind what it's doing, I'm already standing up
and changing my clothes, slipping into my shoes, not
caring if I break down the backs. My hand ghosts over
a weapon, Fred's weapon, still sitting on the dresser,
and I pick it up, heading out the door, going down to
the lobby. It's late, but it ain't early. Angel
might still be up. I don't see him though.
I'm in my truck and driving before I even realize I'd
* * * * * *
Gunn raised his hand an knocked on the hard, wooden
door without hesitation, the loud, hollow sound
temporarily drowning out the imaginary one in his
head. He waited patiently outside the door, listening
as soft footsteps approached, a brief silence as the
light streaming from for peephole went dark, then the
audible clicking and clacking as several locks and
chains fell undone. The door swung open.
"Come in," Wesley said, his voice even, stepping
aside, not at all surprised to see his former employee
standing in the hallway, holding a crossbow.
"Thanks," Gunn replied in kind, walking into the dark
apartment. He went straight into the living room,
hearing the door being closed and re-locked behind
him, hearing Wesley as he padded back across the
carpet after him. Gunn turned to look to look at the
man, glad for the darkness and deep shadows in the
apartment. He hoped it was hiding his eyes.
"I'm bringing this back," Gunn said, holding out the
crossbow. The older man took it wordlessly. "I
recognized it as yours. Fred came here?" Gunn asked.
"Yes," Wesley replied, walking over to his weapons
cabinet, drawing out a key to open it.
"And you told her how to open the portal?" Wesley
shook his head, putting the crossbow back in its
"No, that was her idea," he said, still not turning
around as he re-locked the antique case. "I showed
her other things, other types of vengeance." He
tilted his head in the direction of his bookshelf.
"I'd hoped to scare her off... or at least, buy you
and Angel some time to get to the man first."
Finally, he turned back to face Gunn, staring
carefully at the young man's face. "You were too
"Angel wasn't," Gunn said, "but I was."
"She killed him?" Gunn closed his eyes.
"I did." He opened his eyes again, seeing Wesley
staring at him, his expression unreadable in the dim
light. "I did, before she could." When Wesley didn't
reply, Gunn turned and walked over to the couch,
sinking down into a spot that felt all-too familiar.
It was hard to believe that, just a year ago, he'd
been sitting in the same place, laughing over Kung Fu
movies with his best friend, eating greasy popcorn and
joking about the action on the screen, each of them
wondering if they could incorporate the moves into
their work. He remembered the one with the girl
dancing over the tree-tops, remembered asking Wesley
if that was really possible, then listening to the
long winded reply of how some humans and a few demons
could do such things.
Hard to believe how such a short amount of time could
change so much.
"Are you okay?" Wesley asked him. Gunn almost
laughed. Such a simple question. One he could have
asked the one who just voiced it so many times in the
past, one he should have asked. But he didn't, though
- too late to stop what had happened between them,
just like he was too late to stop what had happened
tonight. He almost laughed.
Instead, he heard himself ask in a strange voice, "Can
I stay here for a while?"
Silence, for a brief moment that stretched into
eternity, then, "Yes."
"Sit with me?" In an instant, a familiar warm body
was sitting down in it's familiar spot, the warmth of
Wesley's side brushing up against him sending waves of
inexplicable comfort towards his heart. A pale,
long-fingered hand interlaced with his own and for the
first time that evening, the sound of breaking bones
faded out of his mind, replaced with the comforting,
even breathing of the man sitting next to him.
"Thank you," Gunn whispered, gripping the hand
tightly, feeling the familiar calluses rubbing against
"You're welcome," Wesley replied softly. Gunn leaned
against him, closing his eyes, enjoying the familiar
scent of Wesley's hair as it tickled his nose, taking
the comfort for as long as he could get it.