fic fic fic
Jun. 10th, 2002 07:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mimeserewhat I want to know is why the pessimist emoticon dealie is *naked* and highly disturbing. anyway.
fic.
*
Gunn feels bad, in hindsight, the way he looked at Wesley -- and Faith too, but mostly Wesley -- when Rondell brought them in. This is the guy, he'd said. That wasn't what I meant, he thinks about saying -- except Wesley wouldn't know what he was talking about. And it had been what he meant at the time. It just wasn't how he meant it, now.
Maybe Wes wouldn't have cared-- Wes almost-snarling at him, probably wouldn't have. Wes wouldn't have cared if he knew what Gunn had meant, and probably wouldn't now either.
This made the whole question of why Gunn was following him outside -- after dark, *out* like they were somewhere in the suburbs, up in the hills with the rich and inhuman -- something that looked a lot like stupid.
"What, you got some sort of hankering?"
"A...hankering?" Wesley looks right, then left, head tilted as if he could possibly smell something on the air.
"Yeah, you know. For midnight donuts, maybe, or getting yourself *killed*."
"That's why there's two of us."
"Yeah, that's why." Wesley picks left, just goes like Gunn doesn't know he has no idea where he's headed. "Two of us, two thousand of them."
Wesley glances back at him, and Gunn can just make out a smile in the dark. "Honestly. You sound as if you're frightened."
Fucker, thinks Gunn. But he's still following when Wesley ducks out of the street and heads down an abandoned alleyway. Because they wouldn't want to be walking targets, oh no. He says as much and gets another sharp little smile and he makes a face in return. "We might as well be walking around and ringing the dinner bell."
"We're hardly *feeble*, Gunn."
"We're hardly *superheroes*, Wesley."
Wesley just looks at him. "I didn't ask you to come." He moves on down the alley, close to the wall. "I'm perfectly capable of--"
"Wesley--"
He keeps going, like Gunn's not saying anything. "--handling myself in a routine--"
"*Wesley*."
"Yes, Gunn?"
"I got your back, okay?"
"If you insist."
And that's really it, isn't it? Gunn does insist. Gunn insists like he insists on the sun coming up in the morning. Wesley does not go out alone. Wesley and Faith, especially, do not go out alone together. He hasn't forgotten their first night in Los Angeles.
Neither have the vampires.
White people are really more trouble than they're worth, he thinks. Crazy white people especially.
In the middle of all this thinking, Wesley's managed to build up a nice bit of speed and is rounding the corner while Gunn is lagging behind. Shit. Shit and shit and that is the sound of a fight.
He's got a stake in his hand as he follows Wesley around and *that* is not a vampire, ladies and gentlemen. "Holy fuck," he says. "That is one fucking ugly ass--"
Wesley's already thrown a stake and is pulling out the mini crossbow. "Demon."
"Fuck, man. I *know* what it is." Gunn throws his stake too, and watches it sink into the thing's stomach and stick, quivering. "Jesus."
"This is a fine time to find religion," says Wesley. He shoots and scores a hit in the eye, but that just seems to make the thing madder.
"Praying seems like a pretty good damn idea right now."
"I prefer to put my faith in--" Wesley picks up a rock and throws it at the wall across from them. The demon turns toward it, roaring, and somewhere behind it there is someone screaming. A crazy scream. A really, really pissed off scream.
"Faith," says Wesley, and damn if he ain't smiling.
Sometimes, Gunn *really* fucking hates them.
*
It's no surprise at all that Faith and Wesley are arguing.
"You didn't need to come after me. I'm the Slayer. I slay. You, Fisher, are a *Watcher*. You watch. I slay. It is in the fucking job description."
"You Slayer, me Watcher. Yes, I do follow your charming little descent into barbarism."
Gunn thinks about telling them to shut up. They *won't*, but it will make him feel better. Or it will get him his ass kicked, 'cause he can take Wesley, but Faith is something else. Quiet is alive, most of the time, but they never seem to grasp that simple little rule. He's never been out with them but that they're arguing like an old married couple.
Faith bares her teeth at Wesley and, quick as anything, he pushes her up against the wall with a cross pressed tight against her throat. "Don't ever fucking joke about that."
She shoves him away and takes off running.
"Damn," says Wesley. "Usually she just hits me." He starts to follow her.
Gunn thinks about beating his head into the wall. "Are you completely lacking in people skills?"
"Faith is not people."
"Don't even fucking go there, man."
Wesley just looks puzzled. "She is the Slayer, Gunn."
"Yeah," says Gunn. "'Cause I give a damn about some mystic white girl."
Wesley sniffs. "They're not all caucasian. In fact, the vast majority of Slayers in the past century have been--"
"Okay, did I ask?"
"Not as such, no."
"Then don't share." Gunn's moving ahead now and Wesley jogs a little to catch up. "What I'm saying is that you can't beat on a girl for making a bad joke."
"She has to *learn*."
"Not like that and not from you and not while I'm fucking around. We clear?"
"An undead Slayer is an abomination."
"An undead anything is an abomination. It's a snowman, even."
"A yeti."
"Fucking Bigfoot." Gunn turns to face Wesley. "You didn't answer me."
There's a long pause while Wesley doesn't say anything. Finally: "My job is to keep her alive."
"Did we forget the little talk we had about revisionist history?"
"We never had a talk about revisionist history. *That*, I would remember."
"We're having one now," says Gunn. "You came here to die." He says it flat, the way Wesley did. The way Faith's eyes had looked.
Wesley smiles cheerfully. It's really just kind of scary. "I'm still rather planning on it, actually."
"I'm not," says Gunn, and he could kick himself. Somewhere, he's aware that Wesley is not walking next to him anymore. Wesley's standing behind him while Gunn keeps walking, until he's far enough away to make Wesley run to catch up.
He doesn't say anything. Gunn doesn't really expect him to.
*
fic.
*
Gunn feels bad, in hindsight, the way he looked at Wesley -- and Faith too, but mostly Wesley -- when Rondell brought them in. This is the guy, he'd said. That wasn't what I meant, he thinks about saying -- except Wesley wouldn't know what he was talking about. And it had been what he meant at the time. It just wasn't how he meant it, now.
Maybe Wes wouldn't have cared-- Wes almost-snarling at him, probably wouldn't have. Wes wouldn't have cared if he knew what Gunn had meant, and probably wouldn't now either.
This made the whole question of why Gunn was following him outside -- after dark, *out* like they were somewhere in the suburbs, up in the hills with the rich and inhuman -- something that looked a lot like stupid.
"What, you got some sort of hankering?"
"A...hankering?" Wesley looks right, then left, head tilted as if he could possibly smell something on the air.
"Yeah, you know. For midnight donuts, maybe, or getting yourself *killed*."
"That's why there's two of us."
"Yeah, that's why." Wesley picks left, just goes like Gunn doesn't know he has no idea where he's headed. "Two of us, two thousand of them."
Wesley glances back at him, and Gunn can just make out a smile in the dark. "Honestly. You sound as if you're frightened."
Fucker, thinks Gunn. But he's still following when Wesley ducks out of the street and heads down an abandoned alleyway. Because they wouldn't want to be walking targets, oh no. He says as much and gets another sharp little smile and he makes a face in return. "We might as well be walking around and ringing the dinner bell."
"We're hardly *feeble*, Gunn."
"We're hardly *superheroes*, Wesley."
Wesley just looks at him. "I didn't ask you to come." He moves on down the alley, close to the wall. "I'm perfectly capable of--"
"Wesley--"
He keeps going, like Gunn's not saying anything. "--handling myself in a routine--"
"*Wesley*."
"Yes, Gunn?"
"I got your back, okay?"
"If you insist."
And that's really it, isn't it? Gunn does insist. Gunn insists like he insists on the sun coming up in the morning. Wesley does not go out alone. Wesley and Faith, especially, do not go out alone together. He hasn't forgotten their first night in Los Angeles.
Neither have the vampires.
White people are really more trouble than they're worth, he thinks. Crazy white people especially.
In the middle of all this thinking, Wesley's managed to build up a nice bit of speed and is rounding the corner while Gunn is lagging behind. Shit. Shit and shit and that is the sound of a fight.
He's got a stake in his hand as he follows Wesley around and *that* is not a vampire, ladies and gentlemen. "Holy fuck," he says. "That is one fucking ugly ass--"
Wesley's already thrown a stake and is pulling out the mini crossbow. "Demon."
"Fuck, man. I *know* what it is." Gunn throws his stake too, and watches it sink into the thing's stomach and stick, quivering. "Jesus."
"This is a fine time to find religion," says Wesley. He shoots and scores a hit in the eye, but that just seems to make the thing madder.
"Praying seems like a pretty good damn idea right now."
"I prefer to put my faith in--" Wesley picks up a rock and throws it at the wall across from them. The demon turns toward it, roaring, and somewhere behind it there is someone screaming. A crazy scream. A really, really pissed off scream.
"Faith," says Wesley, and damn if he ain't smiling.
Sometimes, Gunn *really* fucking hates them.
*
It's no surprise at all that Faith and Wesley are arguing.
"You didn't need to come after me. I'm the Slayer. I slay. You, Fisher, are a *Watcher*. You watch. I slay. It is in the fucking job description."
"You Slayer, me Watcher. Yes, I do follow your charming little descent into barbarism."
Gunn thinks about telling them to shut up. They *won't*, but it will make him feel better. Or it will get him his ass kicked, 'cause he can take Wesley, but Faith is something else. Quiet is alive, most of the time, but they never seem to grasp that simple little rule. He's never been out with them but that they're arguing like an old married couple.
Faith bares her teeth at Wesley and, quick as anything, he pushes her up against the wall with a cross pressed tight against her throat. "Don't ever fucking joke about that."
She shoves him away and takes off running.
"Damn," says Wesley. "Usually she just hits me." He starts to follow her.
Gunn thinks about beating his head into the wall. "Are you completely lacking in people skills?"
"Faith is not people."
"Don't even fucking go there, man."
Wesley just looks puzzled. "She is the Slayer, Gunn."
"Yeah," says Gunn. "'Cause I give a damn about some mystic white girl."
Wesley sniffs. "They're not all caucasian. In fact, the vast majority of Slayers in the past century have been--"
"Okay, did I ask?"
"Not as such, no."
"Then don't share." Gunn's moving ahead now and Wesley jogs a little to catch up. "What I'm saying is that you can't beat on a girl for making a bad joke."
"She has to *learn*."
"Not like that and not from you and not while I'm fucking around. We clear?"
"An undead Slayer is an abomination."
"An undead anything is an abomination. It's a snowman, even."
"A yeti."
"Fucking Bigfoot." Gunn turns to face Wesley. "You didn't answer me."
There's a long pause while Wesley doesn't say anything. Finally: "My job is to keep her alive."
"Did we forget the little talk we had about revisionist history?"
"We never had a talk about revisionist history. *That*, I would remember."
"We're having one now," says Gunn. "You came here to die." He says it flat, the way Wesley did. The way Faith's eyes had looked.
Wesley smiles cheerfully. It's really just kind of scary. "I'm still rather planning on it, actually."
"I'm not," says Gunn, and he could kick himself. Somewhere, he's aware that Wesley is not walking next to him anymore. Wesley's standing behind him while Gunn keeps walking, until he's far enough away to make Wesley run to catch up.
He doesn't say anything. Gunn doesn't really expect him to.
*
