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

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

Gunn shrugged and turned away. Wesley found his shotgun near one of the charred bodies. He pulled a long board out of the rubble and began dragging the body away from the others. Not all the parts followed.

"Ah, hell, what are you doing, Wes?" Gunn protested, looking ill.

"I'm breaking the circle. Better late than never, I suppose. I don't know that it will make much difference, but one shouldn't leave portals intact if one can help it." He clamped his jaw shut at the smell of the distintegrating, leaking body.

After a moment, Gunn found another board and went to the other side of the formation, pulling a body out of line over there. Several minutes later, the diagram was thoroughly disrupted.

"Now can we go?" Gunn said impatiently.

"Yes." Wesley paused, though, to pull a vial of holy water from his pocket and sprinkle it over the area. The bodies hissed where the drops fell. "It's the best we can do. I should have been faster," he muttered. "I should have seen--"

Gunn came over and nudged him. "Not your fault, Wes. We were all looking at it."

"Well, it's hardly the first time I've fucked up something important, now, is it." He pulled away and headed across the roof as fast as his own injuries would let him. "Aren't you in a hurry?"

"Yeah."

Lorne followed them to the elevators. "You two are off after Fred?" Wesley nodded. "Even though you don't know where she is." Gunn nodded. "Yeah. OK, while you two are looking for the yellow rose of Texas, I'm going to see if I can find Angel. And then I'm headed back to the hotel--if I can get there."

"Good idea," Wesley said. "Someone should check on Connor and Cordelia."

"Angel won't let anything happen to his boy," Gunn said. "I think we can leave them to him."

"You're right."

They parted ways on the street, Lorne hugging the side of the building as he worked his way to the alley in back where Angel would have landed.

Wesley and Gunn stared at the street. The fireballs were mostly burnt out before they hit the ground, but some small fires smouldered in cars and trash piles. Down here at street level screams could be heard, along with distant sirens.

"Looters'll be out," Gunn observed.

"And worse." Wesley pulled out a pistol and offered it to Gunn, who thought a moment then took it. "Which way?"

"There's this diner we go to, she loves their pancakes, she likes to go and think . . ."

Wesley studied the agonized look on the face of his former brother-in-arms. "She does love you, you know. That's why she came to me."

Gunn glared at him, then headed down the street, staying close to the buildings.

"She wanted revenge," Wesley continued, following, "and I asked her why you weren't with her. She said it wasn't in you, and that was one of the things she loved about you." Gunn stopped, his head bowed. "She knew you're not that cold. That's why she came to me. Because she knows I am."

He reached Gunn, and they stood in silence for a moment.

"I killed him, Wes," Gunn finally whispered. "I couldn't let her do that to herself. She wanted his death, one way or another, and I gave it to her. And now she can't stand to look at me."

Carefully Wesley put a hand on Gunn's shoulder. "I asked her to let me do it. She wouldn't let me. I should have insisted and spared you both. It could hardly matter to me, I'm already lost--"

Gunn whirled. "If you're lost it's because you want to be. Man, you just walked away, didn't even look back, didn't even say you were sorry--"

Wesley took two deliberate steps back. "I didn't say I was sorry? Well, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I believed the carefully orchestrated prophecy that I confirmed probably half a dozen times before I could bring myself to accept it. I'm sorry I believed the beaten and bloody woman who had a knife behind her back. I'm sorry I believed any of you might just possibly trust that I had a reason. I'm sorry I believed my friends would pause long enough to let me fucking *explain*! And yet I am probably the single most naive person in the entire city of Los Angeles, because I continue to believe in the things and people I shouldn't, and all I've done is be just exactly too late to stop the end of the world." He managed to catch himself, to fight back the tears that burned his throat. "I hope you find her and that she's all right."

He got barely three steps before a hand wrapped around his arm. "Let me go, Charles."

"Not again, Wes. Not again."

He managed not to break down until the arms pulled him in. He held Gunn just as tightly, and both were too busy with their own tears to comment on the other's.

"I can't do this alone, Wes," Gunn whispered. "Hell is falling on my city, and the people we love are out there in it. God knows what's gonna show up next. I'm not going to let the world end with you looking at me like you hate me."

"It would be easier if I did. But I don't. I can't."

They were both close to saying words that, while appropriate to say when the sky rains fire and the Horsemen the Apocalypse are climbing into the saddle, are not the best thing to say when you have to focus on the job and keep the distractions to a minimum. So they only looked at each other, letting what truths show that would in their eyes.

And then they put some distance between them, reminded themselves of the locations of their weapons, and went out to save the world or die trying.

Ohhh. I really like it, connie. I very much like it.

And I can post it before I get Jossed. I love it when the openings pop into my head and all I have to do is get WordPad open and let it go.

How strange, my first double post.

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

Snerk!

Wes calling Gunn "Charles" threw me right out of the story, though. Am I forgetting an instance of him doing that?

Buffistas: I need help! I have written an epic, which Word scarily counts at 225 pages. Some of that is doubtless my formating, but it plainly needs a very good beta. It may be the badfic, it certainly has moments of being the very sucky fic. If- no, when- that's the case, I need someone to tell me. It's got slash, but not smut. Is anyone willing to take it on? Please?

If you are, reply here or the profile addy is good. Thank you.

Am-Chau, I'd be more than happy to look it over. You can send it to my profile addy.