Title: Green Card

        Author: Katta ( head_overheels@hotmail.com )

        Website: http://www.geocities.com/katta_hj

        Archive: list sites, all others ask first (I'll say yes)

        Summary: ...and what to do when you lose yours.

        Rating: mild PG13? Some slash, a bit of violence, that's all.

        Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and others own the main characters 
        and this universe.

        Sequel: Seventh in my Birthdayverse series after "Out in the Open". Look 
        for the others in list archives or on my website.

        **********

        Going to Wesley's house was way too awkward for Gunn's liking. He'd have 
        preferred it if he could see the guy on his own ground, or on neutral 
        territory like the shelter. At least this was more private, which he 
        supposed was a good thing if he was going to kiss Wes again. On the 
        other hand, if he *wasn't* going to kiss Wes again...

        Shit. He didn't even know what to say to the guy, whether to start with 
        the embarrassing stuff or with the shooting – and that could turn out 
        pretty embarrassing too. As he walked up the stairs to Wesley's 
        apartment he tried to come up with a good opening line. He hadn't 
        expected Wesley to be on the landing outside his door talking on the 
        phone.

        "No, I don't know what's wrong. It's not supposed to… Gunn!"

        "Hey, Wesley. Haven't seen you around for a while." That would have been 
        a good enough greeting if they'd met on the street, but for showing up 
        at a guy's apartment it was a bit lame.

        Wesley didn't object to it, though, just nodded over his shoulder. 
        "Could you get my keys out and let yourself in? I'm in the middle of 
        something." Gunn fished the key chain from Wesley's pocket, trying not 
        to think too hard of what parts of Wesley that made him touch. He opened 
        the door and inside. Wesley entered after him, still on the phone.

        "I told you, I don't know. It's supposed to last another three months... 
        Anything is *possible*, Anne, but green cards aren't usually revoked for 
        no reason."

        Gunn looked up. Wesley's green card had been revoked? Would that mean he 
        had to leave the country? Normally, the answer would have been a 
        definite no. Half of the people Gunn knew didn't even exist by 
        government standards. But Wes was upper class – it didn't show as much 
        anymore, but he was – and might not want to join the ever growing group 
        of illegal immigrants.

        "Calm down. Who's Lilah?" A brief pause, and Wesley's face changed in a 
        subtle way. "Ah."

        His voice had gone so cold it was startling, and Gunn watched him 
        sharply, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind.

        "Anne, I have the feeling this may take some time and effort. I suggest 
        you find someone to take over my job for a while."

        "What!?" Gunn had to protest at that, but found himself on the receiving 
        end of a stern scowl.

        "I'm sorry. I'll try to figure something out. All right? Goodbye, then."

        Wesley turned off the cell phone and put it down on the hall table. 
        "Sorry about that. To what do I owe the honour?"

        Was that sarcasm? Gunn chose to ignore the possibility, wanting to stay 
        on track. "What did you do that for?"

        "Do what?" Wesley asked, heading into the living room. "Lose my green 
        card? It wasn't entirely on purpose, I'm afraid."

        "Give up your job like that."

        "Give up!?" Wesley's voice rose to a level Gunn had never heard before. 
        "Do you have any idea how hard I've worked *not* to give up? How much 
        effort it takes? Or do you think rebuilding one's life is something done 
        in a coffee break?" He slammed his fist hard into the wall. "I've done 
        *everything* to stay head above water, and before I know it something 
        like this happens and it's ripped away from me all over again."

        Gunn was dumbfounded, although he mentally scoffed at himself for it. 
        This wasn't unexpected – shouldn't be, anyway. It would have been 
        stranger if Wesley *didn't* think like that. So why had he assumed 
        everything was fine?

        "You still got me," he said, trying to bring at least some comfort.

        It sounded weak even to his own ears, and Wesley apparently agreed, 
        giving a sound that was halfway between sigh and laughter. "Yes, that's 
        so helpful, Gunn. Especially if you intend to run off every time you 
        make an advance at me."

        That hurt, and it was probably meant to. "I'm not running now, am I?"

        "You're not making an advance at me now."

        There was really just one way to respond that would be the least bit 
        effective. Right now, getting them both a little calmer was a whole lot 
        more important than any fears of where things may be headed, and so Gunn 
        took a few determined strides forward, captured Wesley's head in his 
        hands and kissed him.

        It was done more to prove a point than anything else, but he proved it 
        even to himself as the kiss deepened and he stopped thinking of what 
        might come, because just having Wes right *here* right *now* was pretty 
        great in itself. When he finally broke loose, he was grinning. This 
        wasn't so scary.

        "Not running," he said.

        Wesley's face softened slightly, and he reached out for a chair, sitting 
        down without taking his eyes off Gunn. "I'm sorry. That was way out of 
        line. I have no business demanding that you..."

        "Save the excuses. You're freaked. I get it."

        Wesley looked down, and after a moment's pause started speaking in a 
        very low voice. "Tell me if I'm paranoid, Gunn. Wolfram and Hart – the 
        lawyers who have been helping the shelter – have an interest in the 
        fight club, forcing clients to sponsor it. The first time I came to the 
        fight club, I found that they also had an interest in *Angel*, of a 
        rather negative kind. From what I understand, they wanted him to stay in 
        the fight club until he died or went completely insane."

        Well, that was a perspective Gunn had some understanding for, but 
        nevertheless he wasn't sure he liked what he was hearing. He'd never met 
        any of those lawyers in person, but he knew how highly Anne thought of 
        them, and what kind of big shots they were.

        "So I take down the fight club," Wesley continued, "get Angel out of 
        there, and a few days later I get a phone call from Anne, saying my 
        green card has been revoked, and that she has spoken to her *lawyers* 
        who don't think they can do anything about it. Now, what I want to know 
        is, is all this coincidental?"

        "Son of a bitch," Gunn said, feeling a sudden need to find a chair 
        himself. He pulled one close the way Wesley had and sat down without 
        looking. "You really think..."

        "I don't know *what* I think." Wesley rubbed his brow with the back of 
        his hand. "I may be paranoid. I hope I am."

        "Cause if you're not..."

        "I just made myself some rather powerful enemies."

        Not good. *So* not good, if it was true. "But wouldn't they try to 
        convince you first? Talk to you?"

        "I don't know. Maybe."

        "What about–" Gunn couldn't bring himself to use the word "Angel" about 
        a bloodsucker "–the vampire? Have you talked to him?"

        "Not yet." Wesley raised his head and looked pensively at the door – the 
        door to the apartment, not the bedroom one. "He went home last night, 
        and at that point the issue wasn't... quite as pressing. I had other 
        things on my mind."

        That reminded Gunn of the reason he'd come. One of the reasons. "Wes... 
        did you shoot someone that night at the fight club?"

        He'd have expected some sort of reaction to that question, but Wesley 
        just nodded. "Yes. I take it you, too, read the coroner's report in the 
        papers."

        "Yeah. I should have known." Three bodies, two of them ripped into 
        unrecognisable pieces, and the third unmarred except for the wound in 
        his chest.

        "I can't regret it, Gunn. I wish I could, but I can't. He made a profit 
        and a sport of the death of living creatures. Evil creatures, perhaps, 
        but they didn't die because they were evil. They died because it was fun 
        to *watch*. And in any case, I had to get Angel out."

        "So you chose the demon over the man?"

        "And I'd do it again."

        The tension in the room was so thick it was practically touchable, and 
        Gunn knew this was the defining moment. He could bolt over a kiss, but 
        if he bolted over this, he wouldn't have to bother with coming back. 
        Wesley wasn't going to budge. If Gunn wanted to, he could refuse to 
        accept it, maintain that a vampire was a vampire no matter how many 
        souls you threw into the bargain, and that killing a human – especially 
        to save a demon – was simply *wrong*.

        He could do that, and Wesley would let him leave without protest.

        "You gotta talk to him, though," he said. "Find out what he knows about 
        these people."

        Wesley nodded, and the relief was so clear on his face he must've had 
        known exactly what Gunn had been thinking. "Will you come with me?"

        And that son of a bitch just had to keep *pushing* it. "Yeah. Sure."

        **********

        The vampire's apartment reminded Gunn of Wesley's first one. Not quite 
        as bad a dump, perhaps, but unlike Wesley, the vamp did nothing to 
        better the appearance. Hell, even *his* place looked more lived-in than 
        this. There were clothes, books and other random objects strewn over the 
        floor and furniture, and most of it was covered in dust.

        He half wished it was proof of the vampire dusting itself, but knew it 
        wasn't so. The dust was too spread out for that. It was just lack of 
        cleaning, and not of the slobby kind. This was a "I'm so low I can't see 
        my surroundings" kind of mess. It hit a little too close to home to be 
        comfortable – no vampire should *ever* be able to have those feelings. 
        It was a human thing. Had to be.

        "Angel? Are you in there?"

        "Where *is* he?" asked Gunn, freaked out by the silence.

        "If I knew that, I wouldn't be calling for him."

        That patient superiority in Wesley's voice was damn near insufferable, 
        and Gunn mouthed a "bastard" behind his back. He'd promised not to 
        leave. That didn't mean he was anybody's whipping boy. He could finally 
        make sense of what Anne had said about Wesley's tendencies to get into 
        school teacher mode – *bad* schoolteacher mode, as she'd put it.

        Of course, she'd also said that from what she could tell, he did it when 
        he was nervous. It didn't make it any less annoying, but at least a bit 
        easier to take.

        Wesley froze, whispering, "Do you hear something?"

        Gunn started shaking his head, but in the sudden silence he heard sounds 
        from the next room and changed it into a nod. Very slowly, he proceeded 
        to the door and opened it, revealing the vampire lying on the floor 
        inside, clutching his head in obvious agony.

        "I think he's sick."

        Wesley pushed past Gunn and leaned down next to the vampire. "Angel? Are 
        you all right?"

        The vampire raised his head, and Gunn got a very bad feeling in the pit 
        of his stomach.

        "Wes, don't do that. You don't know..."

        Before he'd finished speaking, the vampire was on its feet, grabbing 
        Wesley by the throat and shoving him up against the wall. Gunn cursed 
        himself for letting Wesley get so close. He'd been stupid enough to 
        trust Wesley's assurance that this vampire was different, even though he 
        should have known better. He lunged for the vamp with a stake in his 
        hand and was met with a backhand strike and, bizarrely enough the 
        warning, "Stay away from her! She's dangerous!"

        Gunn prepared to hit again, but in order to fight him, the vampire had 
        been forced to shift its grip on Wesley's body, moving down to the 
        shoulders. Clearly the touch set off some memory, because it blinked a 
        couple of times, an incredulous look on its face.

        "Wesley?"

        "Hello, Angel," Wesley said in a hoarse voice, steadier than Gunn would 
        have anticipated. "We were hoping you could give us some information 
        about a certain matter."

        The vampire let go of him and turned for the door. "I don't have time."

        "You have time to strangle him but not to talk to him?" Gunn blocked the 
        door, holding up the stake.

        The vamp scrutinised him, but more like a gang leader eyeing the new kid 
        around than a demon checking out its lunch. "Can you fight with more 
        than that?" It sounded way too sane for someone who'd been raving half a 
        minute earlier, and although Gunn would never have openly admitted it, 
        it made his skin crawl.

        "You bet I can."

        "Good. Grab a sword, then, and we'll talk on the way."

        Gunn stared, which caused the vampire to sigh. "You came here to talk, 
        not to fight me. If you fight *with* me, we can talk on the way. And I 
        really don't have time for this. There's a demon about to attack a girl 
        ten blocks away."

        "How do you know that?" But the vampire had already lost interest in 
        him, brushing him aside and heading for something in the next room. "How 
        does he know that? *Does* he even know that?"

        Wesley shrugged. "I think we'd better follow him."

        There was a loud clatter of metal from the next room, and then the vamp 
        re-emerged, carrying the hugest goddamned sword Gunn had ever seen. 
        "It's not dark outside yet. We'd better take the sewers."

        Gunn glared at Wesley. "Sewers!?"

        **********

        "Sewers," he repeated later, stumbling through said sewers holding a 
        large axe in one hand while he pressed the other over his mouth and 
        nose. "I know I said I'd stay, but you're really pushing it, English."

        "You can leave if you want." Wesley's voice was slightly choked, since 
        his one hand was occupied by the short sword he was carrying. "I 
        wouldn't hold it against you."

        "I *said* I'd stay, didn't I? I just don't want to take orders from you. 
        And I *definitely* don't want to take orders from some crazy vampire 
        running off on a whim to fight monsters."

        "I wouldn't call a supernatural vision a 'whim', Gunn. Besides, the 
        worst thing that can happen is that we get a bit dirty and there's 
        nothing there to fight."

        "No, the *worst* thing that can happen is that he decides there *is* 
        something to fight, and we're it."

        The vampire had been ignoring them so far, but now it said over its 
        shoulder, "I didn't mean to hurt him."

        "And that's supposed to put me at ease?"

        It stopped and turned to look at him. "I promise not to start fighting 
        until you two say so." Its eyes drifted over to Wesley. "Are you sure 
        you'll be okay?"

        "Angel," Wesley said, and despite everything it was pretty funny to hear 
        that reasonable tone of voice used against a bloodsucker. "I picked a 
        gladius *precisely* because it's meant to be used with one hand. If I 
        were the one with the over-dimensioned claymore you would have reason to 
        worry. And I can assure you I don't intend to rush into a fight if I 
        believe you or Gunn better equipped to handle it without me."

        The vamp looked like it was about to protest, but closed its mouth, 
        shrugged, and started to walk again, so fast they had to half-run to 
        keep up. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

        "What do you know of a law firm called Wolfram and Hart?"

        "They're bad." It didn't seem very surprised by the question, Gunn 
        noticed.

        "How bad is that?" It was clear from Wesley's voice that he still hoped 
        to be able to reason his way out of this green card situation.

        "Worse than whatever you're thinking. There are demons causing more 
        mayhem, but half of the time Wolfram and Hart are the people *paying* 
        those demons. If there's some sort of dirty business in this town 
        they're not involved in, I sure don't know what it is. Does that answer 
        your question?"

        Wesley, who had turned pale, nodded mutely. So much for a chance of 
        getting that green card back, Gunn thought, and that thought was enough 
        to make him forget the stench and the stupidity of all this, because he 
        might not get the chance to spend much more time with Wesley.

        So he didn't say anything more until they climbed up to the surface and 
        he found there was actually a demon up there. Big, grey, ugly demon.

        "Holy *shit*!"

        "Is that a permission to fight?" the vamp asked, ready with the sword.

        "Yes! Fuck! Fight it *now*!"

        He followed his own advice, lunging in with the axe. Wesley, he saw, had 
        gone to pull the girl out of the demon's reach. Good thinking – if he 
        got close enough to get any proper use of his short sword he'd be in 
        deep trouble anyway. That massive "claymore" the vampire sported 
        suddenly didn't seem like overkill.

        For about fifteen minutes after that he shut off his thoughts of 
        anything that didn't have to do with the fight, until the vampire 
        finally cut off the creature's head, which bounced across the ground to 
        the girl. At least she didn't scream or faint or something stupid like 
        that, just took a step back and started sobbing.

        "You're good," the vampire said as if *that* was the surprising bit 
        about this fight.

        "Yeah? Well, so are you."

        There was a small patch of grass nearby, not deserving the name of a 
        lawn, and Gunn went over there to clean his axe. While he was trying to 
        wipe of the sticky demon blood he was interrupted by the vampire 
        moaning, "Oh God, now she's feeding on it!

        Gunn spun around, not sure what he'd be seeing, but the girl was still 
        standing as far away from the demon as she could come without backing 
        through the wall, trying to stop her tears. A shiver ran up his spine. 
        If seeing the vampire go from crazy to normal in a manner of seconds had 
        been spooky, seeing the process reversed was a lot worse. But there was 
        no rage in the vampire's face now, only pain and disgust, and strangely 
        enough, it made him look more human.

        Gunn didn't want to think about that, so he finished cleaning up his axe 
        and headed back to Wesley, surprised to see that his sword was stained 
        as well.

        "You got some shots in after all?"

        "Better for me if I hadn't," Wesley said wryly. "Have you noticed how 
        this blood is barely even liquid?"

        "Yeah, and that's the best part of it." Gunn sighed and threw another 
        glance at the confused vampire on the other side of the dead demon. This 
        day was just getting worse by the minute. "Can we go now?"

        **********

        Wesley stuck his keys back in his pocket and went to make some coffee. 
        Right now, he very much needed it.

        Gunn was leaning against the doorframe, watching as Wesley got the 
        percolator ready. "You're making it too strong."

        "I like it strong. I've got milk and sugar for you if you don't."

        "Will you go back to England?"

        That wasn't the response he had expected, and he very nearly made the 
        coffee too strong for himself as well. "No."

        "Why not?"

        He forced his hand not to shake as he put the measure and the coffee bag 
        back in the cupboard. "Mainly because I hate it there. Although we do 
        have better winters."

        Gunn laughed at this, but the sound was more concerned than anything 
        else. So, what will you do? Just hang with us, or..."

        'Hang with us', obviously, meant the demon fighting – or at the very 
        least helping out with the demon fighting, with the support, research or 
        anything else a Slayer might need. And that was what he was meant for, 
        after all. He still had that purpose, more than ever before, and he was 
        grateful for it. It just didn't pay the bills anymore.

        Although if Angel had described the city correctly, perhaps it could. 
        There were supernatural fight clubs, brothels, lawyers... somewhere in 
        all this, there had to be someone needing a Watcher.

        "Wolfram and Hart get paid to represent evil," he thought out loud. The 
        percolator beeped, but he didn't have time for it. "Perhaps I could 
        represent good."

        "You're gonna be a *lawyer*?"

        Gunn sounded incredulous, and Wesley quite agreed with him. "Don't be 
        ridiculous. I couldn't go anywhere near a courtroom."

        "So what do you plan to do?"

        He wasn't *planning* anything at all, and just let his mind wander, 
        trying to find the stray thought lingering there. "What I do now, I 
        suppose. Research things. Perform simple spells. Kill demons, if you'll 
        help me. Whatever people need me to do."

        Gunn was beginning to look interested, if still very doubtful. "You mean 
        like an investigations agency or something?"

        Wesley's mind indicated that it believed this to be the word it had been 
        looking for by stopping all thoughts for a second. When it started to 
        move again, he said, "I think I do, yes. Although I suspect one should 
        really have a license for that sort of thing..."

        "For investigating demons?" Gunn pulled up a chair and sat down. "Not 
        hardly. But how the hell are you going to get clients?"

        "There are plenty of places I could put up ads," he said slowly, 
        realising the consequences of what was coming out of his mouth. Placing 
        his name and phone number all over town might not be the best course of 
        action if the lawyers really had been tampering with his green card.

        "Saying what?" Gunn asked with a grin. "'Wesley Wyndham-Pryce Magical 
        Investigations, If It Haunts You We Hunt It'?"

        "I can't have my name on it." Though anonymous ads weren't exactly 
        designed to induce trust and comfort. "If you're in on this... but then, 
        you probably shouldn't risk it either."

        Gunn was shaking his head before Wesley had even stopped talking. 
        "Forget it. This is your gig."

        Wesley's heart sank, and he went to get the coffee so as to avoid 
        looking at Gunn. "Of course. I shouldn't have assumed..."

        "Wes, don't be an idiot. I want to work with you. I'm just not going to 
        take the credit for what's yours."

        "Oh. Well." He poured the coffee and went to sit down, trying not to 
        smile. "Gunn Investigations has a certain ring to it, though."

        "No way."

        "Or a compromise: Gunn Investigations of Magic and the Paranormal."

        Gunn frowned hard, and Wesley found that not smiling was quite an 
        impossible task. "How is that a *compromise*?"

        "I'll be the acronym."

        After a brief, puzzled silence, Gunn burst into laughter. "You sick 
        bastard." The laughter died as fast as it had started, and instead Gunn 
        sported a far too familiar guilty expression. "Sorry."

        "I made a joke," Wesley said, rather annoyed. "You are permitted to 
        laugh. In fact, it might even be considered polite to do so."

        "Yeah." But the guilty expression didn't disappear.

        Wesley sipped his coffee, waiting for Gunn to get over his imagined faux 
        pas.

        "So you're really serious about this?"

        "I don't know. I think so. What do you say?"

        Gunn's eyes were starting to glitter. "I say we go for it."

        **********

        If the guy behind the counter was Old Al himself, he sure deserved the 
        nickname. Even from where Gunn was standing, trying to outstare an 
        ancient mask of some sort, the guy looked downright mouldy. He appeared 
        to be human, but only in the loosest sense of the word. Gunn seriously 
        suspected that the blue girl over at the demon brothel – and God did he 
        ever want to forget seeing *that* place – had been on something. He 
        should've known the opininon of a girl who spelled Marie with two Es had 
        to be out of whack.

        "How is this meant to be read?" the old man asked, turning over in his 
        hand the flyer Wesley had given him. "Private Eye or just Private?"

        "Either way would work," Wesley explained for the fifth time that day. 
        "You could also read it Private Watcher."

        "Is that so?" Old Al said, and from the tone of his voice maybe that 
        Maree girl hadn't been so dumb after all. None of the others had shown 
        any reaction to the word 'Watcher'. He turned the flyer over a few more 
        times, as if that would cause it to reveal hidden text. "Where else are 
        you putting it up?"

        "Well, we've been to Madame Dorian's, Sleipner Store, Hecate..."

        "Hecate stinks," the old man said sharply. "The other places aren't too 
        bad, but the people over at Hecate are the kind who'll tell you to walk 
        backwards around a churchyard at midnight on Maundy Thursday when you 
        can walk backwards around your own kitchen on any Thursday night at all 
        and get the same effect. *And* they'll charge you an a... a fortune."

        Gunn recognized the half-take, and it made him both more and less 
        sympathetic towards the old man at the same time. So he was human enough 
        to make a fool of himself. That would have made him a lot more relieved 
        if Wesley hadn't been in the middle.

        Not that Wesley seemed bothered by it. He only gave a polite half-smile 
        and headed into a discussion about spells that was definitely beyond 
        Gunn's territory. It seemed amiable enough, and Gunn turned his 
        attention back to the mask. The creepy thing was still staring at him.

        "*Four* flowers for a midsummer night's spell? All my sources have seven 
        or nine."

        "Of course they do. They have no idea what works, so they throw in what 
        worked last time – magical numbers, silence, nudity... All you need is 
        the right four flowers, mark my word."

        From the corner of his eye, Gunn could see that Old Al was leaning 
        forward, waving a finger in front of Wesley's face like some parody of a 
        school teacher.

        "Rites are all very well when they're needed, my boy, but they're not a 
        replacement for knowledge."

        Gunn stifled a laugh, but Wesley showed no sign of appreciating the joke 
        of the situation. On the contrary, he looked ready to start taking 
        notes. Gunn rolled his eyes at the ancient mask.

        It winked at him.

        Gunn did a double-take. Both its eyes were open now, but he could have 
        sworn one of them had been closed for a moment there. And its grin was 
        looking even cheekier than before. Creepy. Still, kind of cool at the 
        same time. At least someone here had a sense of humour.

        "Hey, how much for the mask?" he asked, walking up to the counter. Up 
        close, he could see that Old Al really was mouldy – or if it wasn't 
        mould, it was something very like it. Ew.

        "Robert?" Old Al said, knitting his eyebrows so close together they 
        might never part. "Robert's not for sale. He gives me a prophecy every 
        full moon, steady as a clockwork. An accurate one, too. You wouldn't 
        want him." He waved his hands dismissively. "I'll get you that book now."

        As Old Al hobbled into the back room for whatever book he was getting, 
        Gunn turned to Wesley. "So, you two are getting along, huh?"

        Wesley's grin was much too boyish. "He's letting me borrow his copy of 
        the Book of Verdandi. *Borrow* it! If he'd offered to *sell* it... but I 
        could never afford it anyway. Do you have any idea what this means?"

        "No," Gunn admitted, daring to run his hand through Wesley's hair now 
        that they were alone. "But as long as you're happy, that's okay."

        "Happy? Gunn, if this works, if it really works, then it's the best 
        thing I've ever done in my life. And I think it will work. I think I'm 
        getting a foot in."

        "Because some mouldy old guy is letting you borrow a book?"

        The grin wouldn't go away. "He may be mouldy, but he's good."

        **********

        "So how long until we know?"

        Wesley put down his magazine, even though he'd just found a small notice 
        about Cordelia Chase from "One Life to Live" negotiating for her own 
        series. After fifteen minutes of browsing through trash about soap stars 
        getting into near-fatal accidents or even worse marriages, he thought he 
        deserved to read that one. Particularly since he'd been reading all that 
        to *avoid* thinking of Gunn's question.

        "I don't know. Certainly not yet. People will have to actually notice 
        the flyers first, read them, write down our phone number..." He tried to 
        smile. "Not to mention get a demon problem."

        "Yeah, well, that last shouldn't take more than ten minutes in this 
        town."

        Wesley smiled politely and returned to his magazine. It really did seem 
        like Cordelia was getting somewhere in life. Hardly surprising, really.

        The phone rang. Oh, dear. Wesley looked at Gunn, who shrugged and 
        gestured at the phone. *You take it.* Right. And he wouldn't be the 
        least bit disappointed if it wasn't a client.

        "Hello?"

        "Oh, hello, Wesley. This is Lindsey MacDonald. I'm sorry it's taken me 
        so long to call. I've been a bit busy."

        So, not a client, and like he had promised himself, he wasn't 
        disappointed. He was much too occupied by the cold fury he was feeling. 
        That calm, pleasant voice with its nearly unnoticable accent was nearly 
        unbearable now that he'd heard what Angel had to say about its owner.

        "I see."

        "This business with your green card must have been very disturbing, of 
        course, but you'll be pleased to know that I think we can fix it."

        "Really?" His voice was cold, but his palm was getting sweaty, and he 
        could see Gunn's face taking on an expression of increasing concern.

        "Sure. From what I can tell it's just an administration problem – you 
        know what that's like. We'll have you back at the shelter in no time. 
        Although..."

        Here it was. "Yes?"

        "I've been hearing some rather alarming things about you lately. 
        Particularly that you seem to have spent some time around a vampire 
        named Angel."

        "That's true, I have."

        "Well, as your lawyer, I feel I have to warn you about him. He's pretty 
        bad news, even for a vampire. The kind who gets people into trouble, you 
        know what I mean? I'd hate to see you get hurt – or killed. Plus, as a 
        lawyer, I have some responsibility towards the shelter. Making sure the 
        employees have the kids' best interest at heart and don't keep the wrong 
        company. Or try to fake a green card, if that should prove to be the 
        case."

        "Mr. MacDonald," Wesley said, gripping the phone hard. "What's that 
        expression again? Ah, yes. Fuck you. This *is* worth losing my job over."

        He turned off the phone and lay it on the table, shivering with rage. 
        Gunn stepped up to him and lay a calming hand on his upper arm.

        "The point of no return, huh?"

        "I may be standing on a ticking bomb here," Wesley said, closing his 
        eyes in order to think better.

        "Yeah? Well, you're not standing there alone. We're partners now, 
        remember?"

        Wesley smiled and opened his eyes just in time to see Gunn blush harder 
        than should have been possible for someone so dark.

        "Uh, when I said 'partner', I meant that in a strictly... purely..."

        Wesley wasn't quite as good as Gunn at the grab and kiss routine, but he 
        gave it his best shot. When they were done, he leaned back a bit and 
        watched Gunn expectantly. If his mouth was curling into a smirk, it 
        wasn't entirely his own fault.

        Gunn licked his lips. "Maybe not all that strictly."

        "Maybe not," Wesley said, and kissed him again.