Nope, they're not from the show, just my pointy pointy head.

Only the dollar is from the show. The rest--mine.

Then I want you to write more so I can find out what is in the sealed box. Of course, I just want you to write more because it's you writing more Gunn/Wes, and in fact just you writing.

mememememe

Hee. Will do. I mean, I know what's in the sealed box, and it's a fairly mundane item, and I'm not at all certain if I'll spell it out. But mostly, I want my boys back together, damn it.

Plei, can't wait to read more.

So, saw the episode and now your other fic makes sense to me. Of course Lilah's ghost would be telling Wes that Angelus killed her because it's not her ghost, but Wes' mental projection of her. Which is actually far more gut-wrenching.

Wes/Gunn! There needs to be so much more Wes/Gunn in thte world.

Plei, it's shaping up as intense and moving and you really do Wes' voice very nicely indeed.

Wes is the character I write the most often.

Most writers have a character like that. 22 of the 36 stories I've posted involve Wes. Not including WIPs. I have perhaps one non-Wes WIP.

Jeebus.

Most writers have a character like that.

Not me. I think the only characters I've written with any sort of consistency are Buffy and the Fraser/Kowalski pairing.

Now, reading, on the other hand.

More Gunn/Wes. I'm slipping slightly into schmoopville. Thems the breaks.

That's right. Fred was here for the first anniversary. He doesn't remember much of what he said or did, but he does remember that most of it was ugly, and that Fred decided it was the last straw. So his ex-girlfriend has called their mutual ex-boyfriend to help him deal with the anniversary of his ex-lover's demise. There's that word again. The pendulum has swung back to farce. Really, how can it be avoided?

Gunn glances around, takes in the half-empty bottle and the tidy arrangement of personal effects. "Looks like you already did," he mutters.

Wesley waits for the disgust, the blame, the usual barrage of accusations, but none of it is forthcoming. Gunn just looks at him, his face troubled. It's possible for them to just stand and stare each other into exhaustion. Theirs was a fragile peace, upset by Fred and never fully reassembled. He hasn't spoken to Gunn in... it must be six months, give or take. That would be the last time professional needs overcame personal dislikes. Sad, really. All of it, and suddenly, he's too tired to play this game again. He wanders over to the sofa and sits down, considering his response carefully.

"Thank you, Gunn." He's aware that he must look a mess. He's also aware that he'll be fine come morning, if slightly worse for wear. He doesn't need help, or supervision, or company. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, no matter what Fred thinks."

"Fred thinks you're going to spend the night beating yourself up again. You telling me that's not what's going on?"

"However masochistic it may seem, it's not something that requires the presence of a nursemaid."

"Might require the presence of a friend."

"Is that what you are? You have a funny way of defining friendship, Gunn."

Gunn doesn't answer. In fact, he leaves the room. When he comes back, he's carrying a glass of water and a plate of dry brown bread.

"You eaten today?" he asks. Wesley thinks for a second, and shakes his head. "Didn't think so."

The plate gets set in front of him, and the water gets pushed into his hand. Apparently, he has a nursemaid in spite of his objections. Typical of Gunn to not take him at his word.

"Angel wants to know if you'll come back to work for us." The abrupt change in subject takes a moment to process. So Gunn has ulterior motives. It's not the first time Angel has requested he return to the agency, though it is the first time he's used a middleman.

He's thought about it. He's not certain how he managed to stay there for as long as he did, but the crisis forced them all together, and the settling of dust in the aftermath took some time. Every single time, he reaches the same conclusion.

"I can't do that." Too many memories, too much blood (literal and figurative, on Angel's lips and Wesley's hands, no matter that it's not what happened, it's still what he saw, still what he feels), and not enough time nor enough space.

"Yeah. Didn't figure you would. Can't blame you. If I was in your shoes--"

"You're not."

"I have been."

"Alonna. But it's not the same, not really. Alonna was turned. Lilah wasn't. Alonna was good, or at least fighting for it. Lilah wasn't. Alonna was worth grieving over. Was Lilah?"

Deb, I know this is far behind, but:

Everyone is not saying a word about last installment of Needfire and I used Pink Floyd and I need to know if it works there.

I liked the way you handled the dreaminess quite a bit. Reminded me of alleged activities of my almost forgotten youth. I had one, possibly weird, question.

You said they made love in the doorway. I want to know, standing up? laying across the lintel? On the steps? Just a little more detail?