I know. At least I'm in good company

Hey, in my fanon, you dated him.

And I'll be forever grateful for that.

claps

Sweet jebus Ple, that was amazing.

And not a bit of Pron in sight!

Edit for site/sight confusion.

t creeping up to put head against Plei's knee carefully I still can't really get my head around the whole Buffy and Wes had a kid thing, but I got allergies over Wes and Angel.

I got allergies over Wes and Angel.

See, I told you to hold out for part two!

Brava, Plei. The ending is pure genius. I share Steph's curiosity, but I also agree with your decision to leave it out of the text.

This character has legs enough for a run of several stories, you realise. If it strikes your fancy.

I threw in a clue to the how early on in Part II.

Props for anyone who picks up on what my original plan with it was.

I'd say something, but you actually told we what it was when you were writing it, so nada.

But Ple, I'm so happy/proud/gushy. Congrats!

See what happens during slow days at work? Non-spellchecked, barely read a second time, Wes and Gunn in a time of fire ...

When the sky rains fire, one clings to the known quantities.

Things can get worse.

The fates do not give a good god damn about one's good intentions.

When the world was ending, Wesley wanted to be next to Gunn.

He clung to the unconscious man, injuries aching, mind screaming as the apocalypse he'd always expected, the one they didn't stop, rained down all around.

Dammit, it wasn't supposed to BE like this! There were prophecies, warnings, the Watchers had spent a millenium and a half cross-referencing everything known about the end times. What mad twist had taken the universe when both the forces of good and the forces of darkness were blindsided?

Why had Cordelia received no vision about this? Or was her amnesia the vision? Why had all the rules changed?

He rested his cheek against Gunn's scalp, calming himself with the familiar smell, the warmth of the skin, and sound of the breathing.

The scent was different now, though. Less pure Charles Gunn, more Gunn-and-Fred. It was still a good smell, and he didn't know how long he'd be allowed to breathe it in. So he closed his eyes to the red flares and his ears to the hiss of falling flame and lived in his sense of smell.

Gunn moved and groaned a few moments later. "Fred?" he gasped, opening his eyes. "Oh, sweet Jesus . . ."

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "It's rather bad."

Gunn went still. "Wes . . . ?"

"Right here." Wesley didn't look down, just watched the fire fall. And waited. Gunn moved slightly, not quite trying to get loose from Wesley's arms but not really comfortable there either. He muttered a curse. "You shouldn't move, you're hurt."

"Whole fucking *world's* hurtin', man . . ." But pain made him stop moving. After a moment, he relaxed. "We're fucked, aren't we."

Wesley was glad no one could see his twisted smile. "It certainly seems so."

"Where is everybody?"

"Angel fell--as angels do, I suppose--"

"Wes! Focus, man."

"Yes. Sorry. Angel was thrown off the roof. I believe Lorne ended up near the bar. I haven't gone to see."

"Oughta get off the roof . . ."

"It would seem the obvious thing to do. But going out in that doesn't seem a good idea."

Gunn pulled away, snarling at the pain but getting to his feet. "Fuck that. Gonna find Fred."

"Where is she?"

Wesley could have stabbed himself for the look of loss and agony that went over Gunn's face. "I don't know," he finally whispered. Gunn turned to look out over the city, out at the hellish sky. "Out there. In that. Somewhere."

Wesley likewise got to his feet and looked at the city. He told himself that he wasn't scanning the skyline for the Wolfram & Hart building, where Lilah would most likely be. Minions of evil weren't likely to suffer on the day hell came to earth. Possibly the champagne and caviar were being passed around the board room right now.

"At least nothing's burning."

"Yet," Gunn added. "We should go. While there's time. I might know some places she'd be."

Up this high, they couldn't hear what might be happening at street level. No sirens, no screams, the city was mute in horror before this catastrophe. Los Angeles was used to threats from below. The sky had always been clear and blue and serene.

Wesley shook himself out of his morbid reverie. "We should find Lorne, see if he's all right. And find Angel--"

"Angel is either dust or he's fine. Nothing we can do for him."

"There is a great deal of latitude between dust and fine. He was stabbed in the neck--"

"He's a vampire, he'll heal." Gunn turned away, staggering a little. "Lorne!"

A groan came from a doorway beyond some rubble. "Someone remind me why I wanted to leave Las Vegas." Lorne staggered into view, holding his head.

"You were being used as the spotter for a group of unscrupulous futures traders sucking the lives from innocent people," Wesley said helpfully.

Lorne glared at him. "Thank you, my little scone with clotted cream."

Gunn looked ill. "Clotted cream? And what's in that that will clot? No, don't tell me."

"No," Wesley said, "it's not something I could eat after learning about vampires either. Lorne, are you all right?"

"Compared to an hour ago? No. Compared to the rest of the city? Peachy keen. Where's Angel-cakes?"

"We're--not sure. The demon threw him off the roof."

"Oh, dear. We'd best find him."

Gunn was hobbling around looking for weapons. "You go find him. I'm gonna find--" He paused, then bent over painfully to pull something out of the rubble. His axe, his hand-made, balanced-for-his-grip, laughed-at, ruined axe.

"Oh, Charles," Wesley sighed. "I am sorry."

Gunn shook himself and tossed the axe back on the rubble. "Doesn't matter. Only thing that matters is finding Fred." He looked down as he kicked something, then he bent over again. "I think this is yours," he said, tossing a pistol to Wesley.

"Oh, yes, thank you." Wesley popped the empty clip and replaced it with a spare from one of his jacket pockets.

"This one, too."

"Thank you." He reloaded the second pistol as well and replaced them in the holsters under the jacket. "Do you see my shotgun?"

Gunn just looked at him. "Carrying a lot of hardware these days, English."

"Whatever tool works." He met Gunn's eyes calmly. "I would like to keep from having a blade in my throat ever again."

"It ain't like you, going all Terminator like this."

"I think it's quite safe to say that you never knew me. My apologies for not being the man you had in your mental box."

"Um, crumpets?" Lorne interrupted. "Can we angst later? After the Old Time Gospel Hour's rendition of