"I know there's no where you can hide it.
I know the feeling of alone.
I know that you do not feel invited,
But come back, come back in from the cold."
'I Know,' by Jude

*****

FRIDAY, 5:30 PM

There are things you do when you believe you're going to die. Things you say, that should never be said other wise. or at least things you've been harboring, pretending didn't exist. It's like your guts just fall right out, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

That's how Gunn found himself leaning over Wesley's body, spilling his heart out in front of a crowd of strangers. Wesley's blood stained his cold, trembling palms. And that truth thing happened.

Because after all, if Wesley didn't live, chances are Gunn wouldn't breathe another goddamn breath.

* * *

MONDAY, 2:38 PM
FIVE DAYS EARLIER

Wesley tried the doors to the church, but they didn't budge.

"It's locked." He told Gunn. "Maybe we can..." Gunn kicked it open with his booted foot. "Break it down and announce our arrival and hopes to kill the entire clan of Serphor demons."

"Oh. Oops." Gunn grimaced and lifted his bow and arrow toward the doors and a whole group of mean looking snake-like creatures turned in their direction. "Sorry."

"It happens." Wesley said, distracted as they were charged.

Gunn discharged an arrow and it lodged in the throat of one creature, knocking it into another. The nuns were in the back, tied together in front of a table covered in various rats and entrails. "How many?" Wesley shouted to Gunn as one of the demons wrapped it's green, flaky hand around his throat and tried to throttle him. Wesley slipped a knife free from its sheath at his side and tore open the creature's belly.

There was a sharp stinging sensation across his chest.

It stumbled back and fell to its knees. Bleeding white, oozy puss from the wound.

"Kinda busy!" Gunn yelled back, reloading his bow while a demon hopped onto his back and knocked him over. Gunn's bow slid across the church floor and the hiss of the demon on top of him stung his neck. Gunn flipped over, his knee connecting with the demon's stomach, he sent it sprawling across one of the pews. "10, I think!"

"Oh..." Wesley used the dead Serphor's body as a shield when another came flying at him in a hiss of rage, its fangs bared. "Well then, what say we kill them quickly hmm?"

"Good plan." Gunn called back, using a blade to chop the head of another demon off before he got bitten. Puss splattered across the side of his head. The nun's screaming became all the louder. "Coming ladies!" He bolted toward them but was tripped by the tail of one particularly viscous demon, dressed in a blood red robe. "Or maybe not." Gunn smacked his palms against the floor, cursing.

"You interrupt us." It said in a child like wail. "We only wish to feed our pet. It has been long since we have last seen it. Over a thousand human years."

"Pet?" The demon bent over him, and Gunn punched it with as much force as he could. "Wesley, there's a pet?"

Wesley was too busy fighting a group of demons that were circling him like he was a mouse, to answer.

"Yesssss," the demon hissed to Gunn as it swooped to the side when Gunn would have connected with his fist again. "It is very, very hungry."

"I don't like the sound of that." Gunn knocked the demon's feet out from under it and shoved a sword into its chest with a sickening juicy sound that threatened the Big Mac in his stomach, before it could get up. "One moment ladies." He called to the wide eyes, hysterical nuns as they cried out for him. "Wesley, dude - you okay?"

"I could use a little help." Wesley tried shaking a demon from his arm where it was attempting to bite him while thrusting his knife at the others to fend them off. "Their bite is deadly, Gunn. To the extreme."

"Kinda got that." Gunn jerked his sword free from the chest it was stuck in, and lobbed it through the air and straight at Wesley. It slid through the skull of the Serphor on Wesley's arm like a knife through butter. Wes flinched back as the blade came perilously close to stabbing him in the shoulder. The serphor released him and fell to the ground in a limp, disgusting sprawl.

"Thanks." Wesley stopped for a moment, smiling, then jolted when one of the final Serphor's lunged at him, swinging the blade up from his side in a deadly arc that plunged it into the demon's shoulder. It whimpered, and Wesley twisted the blade free, plunging into the chest.

The fight went on.

When the Serphor's were all dead and white goo dripped from Gunn's nose where one of the Serphor's had spurted at him in its final moments, they sat taking labored breaths, in the middle of all the destruction. Sighing, Gunn stood and gave Wesley a hand up. Together, they untied the nuns who all but trampled them as they ran out of the church in tears and kissed the ground.

"Thank you god!" One of them called.

"What about us?" Gunn asked aside to Wesley. He shrugged in return, wiping a speck of goo off his own cheek.

"Let's just get this mess cleaned up, then we'll-" A distinct growling could be heard behind them. Both men froze, before slowly turning to face what amounted to a very large, snarling dog. Very large. About the size of a small house. It stood on it's hind paws, having climbed from a hole that had been dug below the crucifix of Jesus.

"That would be the pet." Gunn muttered, taking the broad sword out of its sheath.

"Did I forget to mention they had a pet?" Wesley asked as they slowly began to back away.

"You might have."

"I thought it would be smaller."

Turning, they ran like there life depended on it. Because, well... it did.

"Yea', English, next time? Remember anything that needs to eat PEOPLE can't be very small."

"Noted." He knocked over one of the nuns, then dragged her back up and pushed her into a run. "Sorry madam, but move your ass." Behind them, the giant dog broke through the church walls, sending stone flying. His roar filled their ears. "Bloody apocalypse." The nun he had a hold of screamed and started mumbling in Spanish. "Apologies, forgot your religon..."

"Any ideas?" Gunn asked, laboring for breath as they ran full force toward a cliff. If they stopped, they would be eaten. If they didn't stop, chances are they'd fall to their death.

"None. But I'd rather not become dog kibble - so if we could.." Gunn grabbed his sleeve and pulled him up short just at the edge of the cliff as inspiration struck. Wesley caught on, and holding onto the nun, they dove to the side. The dog didn't have the same luck. Its growling turned into whimpering as he stopped running and dug up the earth with his heels as he tried to slow, but over it went, keening as it fell through the air.

Gunn and Wesley watched as it hit the earth, neither realizing they were still holding onto the other.

"Dead?" Gunn asked, letting Wesley go when he realized just how tightly he was gripping his friend. The nun fell to her knees, kissing the earth again. "And you'd think they'd get tired of that."

"I believe it is dead. Now let's go in there and clean up that mess."

Inside, Wesley went first to the pillars and dragged the bodies toward the exits. Gunn grabbed the ones near the pews. On the return trip, Wes was stopped near the altar of candles. Something had caught his eyes.

"What's up?" Gunn grunted as the dropped the last Serphor onto the ground outside. Wesley hadn't followed him. Stepping into the church again, he saw Wesley standing quietly, bending over something. "Wes?"

"Nothing." Wesley carefully rolled up a yellowed piece of paper about the size of a map, and slid it into his backpack. "Just some light reading material." Gunn narrowed his eyes. "Let's get out of here, I'm starting to smell."

"I could have told you that." But Wesley didn't laugh, just walked past Gunn with that serious look of his.

* * *

MONDAY, SOMETIME IN THE EVENING

"Sit still." Gunn muttered, trying to wrap the bandage tighter around Wesley's ribs. "This isn't gonna work if you keep flailing around like a sissy."

"I am not a sissy. That ointment your aunt 'allegedly' uses bloody stings."

"Means it's working." Gunn said succinctly, pressing on the bandage, trying to lock it into place with the small metal hook. "This thing is too damn small, how's it supposed to hold even a feather together?" He watched as Wesley flinched again, the muscles in his arms going steel. "Do you think they broke a rib?"

"I don't believe they did." Gunn's fingers were warm on his skin, so Wes pushed them away, standing cautiously. "Delayed pain catching up with me. Good thing it didn't feel like this when we were fighting."

"Adrenaline." Gunn watched him limp toward the bathroom. "Gets ya every time." Wes shut the door behind him, and Gunn took a deep breath, staring down at his palms. Then he clenched them into fists and turned firmly away. Fred needed checking on. She was writing on the walls when he entered her bedroom after knocking and receiving no answer.

"Gotta hurry," she muttered. "Not much time. They'll come... gotta hurry..."

The room was dark, he could barely see her.

"Fred?" She shook as if his voice had smacked her and stumbled into the corner, falling to her knees.

"Gotta hurry, soon... soon... soon!"

"You okay?" Gunn asked, coming to kneel beside her and help her back to her feet.

"I'm okay, just in a hurry. Things to do. So many things to do before we die." Gunn's eyes widened and he gripped her shoulders, making her face him.

"Look, you're safe here. Wes and I ain't gonna let anything happen to you."

"Wes and you, you and Wes." The words slipped free from her lips like a child's song. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G." And then she was laughing again, throwing her arms around him. "I'm so happy for you."

Swallowing, he drew back and looked into her eyes. Panic fluttered in his heart, and he didn't like to FLUTTER. But she didn't seem to know what she was saying. Closing his eyes in relief, Gunn sat down heavily beside her on the dirty floor.

Hoped like hell, he wasn't as obvious as Fred seemed to think.

* * *

WEDNESDAY, 2:30 AM

Gunn rolled over in the bed of the room he was using. Even though it was softer and cleaner, he still missed the dumpy mattress at his own apartment. Not that her regretted giving it up, not really. But at least when he'd lived there, he'd been near his old gang. Now living here in this big old place, even though it was rusted and creaky, they had pretty much given up on him. Turned their backs. Or maybe it was him who was doing the turning away?

And for what? Some job, making a few bucks to do what he had once done for free, just because that's the way life was? It didn't always sit well, this feeling of being a traitor to the life he had always known.

Hell, he was lying to himself again.

A part, a very big part of why he had agreed to move in here, had stayed more and more last year, was down stairs at this very moment, working at his desk. Yep. Gunn had a thing for the big ol' boss man. Wes was pretty much THE reason why he'd broken off his secret relationship with Ron. They'd been together for two years. Ron was the only one on this earth, besides Gunn himself, that knew CHARLES GUNN was gay. Shit, he had enough trouble in this world being black and trying to walk into a super market.

Screw being the QUEER black guy walking into a super market.

But it was hard and getting harder every day not to do something about the feelings crowding up his chest. He wanted to punch something, to beat it to a pulp until those feelings just went away so he could live in peace again. The peace of hunting at night and fuckin' during the day.

He wished Angel and Cordy would come back. But Angel had been some screwed up when Cordy convinced him he needed a break from everything and they'd left for - well, some place far, far away. His first love dead. Gunn could almost relate. Alanna's death had rocked him, so hard he hadn't thought he would ever come out of it. But he didn't care to think about his sister. That was like picking at a scar that never was, because the wound just wouldn't heal. It always resulted in the need to kill something, and that just wasn't gonna happen right now, besides he had to keep an eye on Fred.

Well, maybe Wesley could watch Fred... except that would mean talking to him when that wasn't at all what Gunn wanted to be doing. He was tired of talking. All they ever did was talk.

Gunn watched the ceiling; ears open to the noise of the man downstairs. He could hear footsteps, and the clanking of cups. God, he swore he could hear Wes breathing. Gunn pressed the pillow over his head, in order to muffle what must be his damn imagination working up. It was driving him insane.

Fuck it.

Maybe Wes wouldn't mind some company.

* * *

Wesley sat at his desk for a very long time, his eyes glued to the characters of the text in front of him. He stared so hard that they began to blur, dance even, and he had to take his glasses off and rub his fingers into the sockets of his eyes. Sighing, he slid the glasses back on, glancing up at the clock at the edge of the room, where it clanged three times.

He should be at home, he knew - but the muscles in his stomach were bunched with oncoming dread. He had to finish reading the transcription scratched in faded ink onto the paper before him. He'd discovered a pattern with the letters, which related closely to the Phoenician alphabet. They seemed to be a rough mixture with some unrecognizable script, one which he'd never seen before.

Pushing away from the desk, he went into the kitchen and poured some coffee from the pot that had been hard at work the last two days. The steam rose and tickled his nose pleasantly, waking him up. He caught sight of himself in the glass of the window, his reflection looked tattered, rough and abused. Wesley ran a quick hand over the stubble on his jaw and took a deep sip of coffee, wincing at the burnt taste of it.

Note to self: Do not drink coffee older than six hours.

Fact: You have before and you will again.

He was startled from his musings by a thump in the upper hallway.

Gunn stumbled down the stairs, and Wesley looked up at him as he came down in just his boxer shorts. Gunn had taken to staying at the Hyperion to keep an eye on Fred who spent most her time up in her room, every now and then begging for a marker or a pen. But she'd only yell from her room like a banshee until one of them came running in, then she'd calmly ask [like she wasn't crazy] for a writing utensil. Wesley had been willing to move in, but really it had been more appropriate for Gunn to give up his very small apartment in a dangerous area while Cordelia dragged Angel off to a healing retreat.

"Hey," Gunn muttered, heading directly for the coffee pot, unmindful of his near nudity. Wesley cleared his throat, looking away toward the open door way of his office where the translation lay half finished.

"Did I wake you?"

"Nah, I just thought you were a loud ass burglar." Gunn muttered, pouring the steaming coffee into a mug. Wes glanced back at him; saw that Gunn was watching him while warming his hands on the coffee cup, his eyes serious over the rim. "Why are you still here?"

Wesley leaned back against the window, letting it cool the skin of his back. It suddenly seemed overheated with the stress of the past two days, with the stress of Fred, with the stress of Gunn. Wesley cleared his throat.

"I couldn't sleep. I've just been working on some extra paper work that was lying around." Wesley shrugged, crossing his arms. Gunn looked dubious, but only took a sip of his coffee. Winced at the taste, and then took another sip. "You didn't have to come down."

Gunn stepped away from the counter, the light over the sink glazing his skin.

"I couldn't sleep either. You know how it is. Demons start invading the subconscious." He came forward, and for a second Wesley thought he might just walk right up to him and... but he only changed directions half way and headed toward the office. Wes cursed softly under his breath; all the scrolls were still laid out. Damning himself a fool, he followed behind Gunn. The man looked absurd standing in only boxers in the middle of the brightly lit office. Gunn looked pointedly at the strange looking markings on the yellowed papers, which were sprawled across Wesley's desk. "That the paper work you were talkin' about?"

Wesley smiled ruefully, rubbing a quick hand through his scattered black hair, before moving carefully around Gunn's body, and taking a seat at his desk again.

"It's... something I felt the need to look into." He admitted, strumming his fingers on the edge of the desk nervously. Gunn merely raised his eyebrows, expecting him to continue. Wesley sighed in defeat. "Okay, I didn't want to tell you about this, until I could be sure."

Gunn stiffened, catching the edge of worry in his friend's voice.

"What's up? New big evil or somethin'?"

"I'm not... entirely sure of that yet. But when we raided the Chapel last week, to stop the sacrifice of the nuns - remember the scroll that I found laid out near the candles?" Wes asked, leaning forward, his cobalt eyes intense.

Gunn thought back. Remembered.

'Just some light reading material...' The sunlight had slanted of Wesley's face, catching on the dark blue eyes and making the lips seem thick...

"Yeah," Gunn said finally. " But you got all stiff upper lip about it and didn't tell me what you wanted it for." Wesley slid his notebook out from beneath the papers, pointing to the words that were written down so very carefully. Gunn leaned over his friend's shoulders. Wesley was briefly distracted before he got back on the subject at hand.

"This is what I've been able to translate in the past week. It's not much, because to be honest, I've never seen a language or script like this in my life." Wesley's fingers plied the paper, running over the ink. Gunn's nose wrinkled up as he looked back and forth between the scrolls and Wesley's translation.

"That definitely gives me the bad tingle." Gunn muttered, rubbing his hand quick and hard over his dark scalp. "Definitely not of the good."

The ink stood out in stark contrast against the white paper. Seemed to draw the reader's eye. Or maybe that was Wesley's scrawl, the clear - precise lines of it.

"So far, I've been able to read a few lines. Basically - this is somehow connected to the death of the slayer."

"Buffy?" Gunn asked, sipping his coffee again. Wesley's eyes bored into the paper in front of him. As if he could make it give up the secrets it kept.

"As far as I can tell,,," Wesley's voice trailed off as he leaned forward, away from where Gunn's body heat radiated at him. "It speaks of Buffy, that when she lays cold beneath the soil, the earth will weep it's pain, and the heart will emerge for the first time in one billion years to mourn. The soil will split. All will suffer, all will pay. The ground will bleed, as if it's wound is too deep to bear. Terror will not be bound and the heart will die. Life will be no more."

"Was that supposed to give me the shivers?" Gunn asked near Wesley's ear in a low voice, and the Englishman bolted from his chair under the guise of grabbing another book and leafing through it. "'Cause that gave me very wrong shivers." Wesley shoved the book back onto the case, and took a deep breath.

He just couldn't get his equilibrium around that bloody boy anymore. And he was getting more certain every day that Gunn knew it and reveled in it. Except for the fact that Gunn was a self-professed straight man. Not that Wesley was Gay... or anything. Maybe just a little crooked.

"Regardless of your shivers Gunn, I've yet to decipher the rest of the prophecy, so we don't know the date or where for that matter, this is going to start. Much less, how to stop it from taking place." Wesley met Gunn's eyes for a moment, putting as much weight into the look as he could. He needed Gunn to understand the severity of their situation.

"Do you know how to..." Gunn reached for the phone. Wesley put a hand over Gunn's to stop him.

"We have no way to get a hold of Angel. Cordelia made it very clear when she dragged him off, she wasn't going to let anyone near him, not even for the end of the world." Gunn quirked his lips up, leaning back and sliding his hand free. Had a whole 'nother type of tingle that he wasn't gonna mention.

"Figures."

*****
Part 2:

5:03 AM

Wesley unlocked the door to his apartment at dawn. The sky was a purple light, reflecting off of the tall rising buildings and blanketing the flat lines of the ocean. L.A. was alive and kicking with people dragging themselves home after a night of booze and sex. Preparing for a few hours sleep and then the work day ahead.

He wished he could claim such a life style. No, his long nights were those of researching. His drink of choice: coffee. Not even that tea that only he seemed to love. It couldn't keep one going in the life style HE lived.

Of course his father had always had issues with any life style he led, so it didn't really matter. Catching himself before the thoughts could take a heavy hand, he tossed his jacket onto the couch. He'd pick it up when he awoke. If he awoke. At the moment he felt like the walking dead. Except less active.

The papers were carefully set on his desk and then he was dragging his clothes off. Almost tripping as his pants fell around his ankles and his shoes wouldn't fit through the holes. Sighing, he bent and slid the shoes off and then the pants. He left a trail of clothes behind him.

Tomorrow. Yes, he'd fix everything tomorrow.

Wesley fell face first onto his bed.

The last thing he thought of before sleep took him, was the way Gunn's whisper felt in his ear.

* * *

12:35 PM

Wesley set the papers back onto his desk. He'd studied them briefly over breakfast but hadn't been able to focus. The sun had been too bright, the chair too hard. Even the air was too thick. Frustrated with himself, he had rolled the scroll back up and stared down into his cup of coffee like it might lend him a few answers.

Silly.

Wesley turned on the coffee pot and whistled his way over to the lobby desk where the mail sat. Maybe if he just took his mind of his life for a second, his life and a few billion others, he could relax. Whistle, pretend, and it will come true. Right.

Junk mail. Junk mail. A subscription renewal to Vogue magazine. Junk mail. An invitation for the wedding of Anya and Xander, to one Cordelia Chase. Wesley put it down as if burned. Xander was getting married? God, now he felt old. Junk mail. Bill. Junk mail.

Grumbling, Wesley realized he wasn't going to get a reprieve and might as well just face the fire. Or at least the aging papers where the worlds destiny waited. Shoulders hunched, he headed toward his office and took a seat behind his desk.

Time to get to work.

After all, he had a planet to save and should stop ignoring that fact like he was thick headed.

'Yes, Father.' He wanted to say, but didn't.

* * *

2:38 PM

Gunn parked his truck in front of the abandoned building, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel for one indecisive moment. The boarded up windows weren't exactly welcoming, but they weren't meant to be. They'd never put up any bones about who they wanted in there. And it wasn't anyone but part of the tight knit group of Vampire Hunters. Underdog heroes.

He turned off the ignition, and palmed the keys as the got out of the truck, locking the doors behind him. As if it would matter if someone wanted to get in. Not in this part of town.

The sun was hot on his scalp and heavy on his shoulders as he strode toward the heavy metal door and banged his fist against it. They'd moved head quarters in the past month so this place didn't have the feeling of coming home for him. No, it was more like walking onto foreign territory, wondering if someone was gonna cock a gun and blow your head off.

A small metal slat slid back and revealed a pair of unfamiliar eyes staring back at him.

"State yo' business." A rough voice came through the door.

"I'm here for Ron." The eyes stared back at him. "Ya know, Ron, the person who hands you your orders?"

"He don't know your coming." Gunn grew impatient, and leaned forward, searing those eyes with his own.

"Now you may be right 'bout that. Open the fucking door."

"It's okay." Another voice said. "He's one of us. Mostly." Ron.

The door opened enough for him to step from sunshine into no-shine. The place was dank and a little filthy, but he could see from the many faces of young men and women snapping pieces of a weapon together. one that he himself had designed, the gang was running as smooth as ever.

"What's up?" Ron asked, raising a hand for Gunn in their shake. A drill sounded in the distance.

"Usual." Gunn said, eyes on the group of men whose faces stayed looking away from him like he wasn't there. "Heavy shit."

"That right?" Ron shook his head. His voice was dark with memories. "Ain't that always a bitch. Somethin' I should know 'bout?" Ron's fingers came up to hook into his jacket pockets in that familiar way.

"Maybe." Gunn shrugged, glancing away from Ron's subtly appraising gaze. A pair of eyes turned away from him when he looked their way. "Can we."

"Yo, J - take the watch for a min, bringing my boy in the back fo' some di-scuss-ion."

In the back room, Gunn's shoulders tightened when the door shut and locked behind them. "So let's drop the game, what do you want?" Gunn stared into Ron's ever-hard eyes. "You here for some weapons? I don't got any I'm willin' ta give up. You best look else where, boy - you took all I had. More than I had."

"I'm sorry for that." Gunn whispered with uncharacteristic softness. He kept his eyes on his shoes. "You know I'm sorry for that." There was a long moment of strained silence before Ron's hand came up, lifting his chin so Gunn would meet his eyes. Gunn could see that the pulse in Ron's neck was pounding. Hard. And he was swallowing like he had a fur ball lodged in his throat.

"You back, maybe? Not for them. You really back?" Gunn couldn't answer, stunned by the emotion in Ron's face. He'd only seen Ron emotional a few times in his entire life. And it had never been about their relationship. This was. He could tell by the way Ron's eyes traveled his face. His fingers sliding along like he was trailing them on a map. The memories surfaced like fog from the streets.

Laid out in Ron's bed, feeling what it was like to be with a man for the first time.

Ron's sleeping head rolling onto Gunn's shoulder when they were driving down the high way.

Kisses. Millions of wet, hot kisses.

Not being alone. God, that one got him the most.

Ron came closer, eyes darting around to double check that they were alone. And then he softly touched his lips to Gunn's, eyes wide open. "All you have to do is say so." Ron said against his mouth. "Don't matter if you say please o' not. You know I want ya." Another kiss, warm and sweet. Gunn let it happen. He hadn't been touched in so long. So long it was unbearable.

The kiss went on until it became a hot mating of tongues with Gunn's hands gripping the back of Ron's skull. And then, when Ron's fingers came up, touched the back of Gunn's neck in a gentle way that echoed Wesley's finger tips there on a night Gunn had gotten drunk and vomited all over Wesley's toilet - Gunn jerked away, gulping in breath. "What the fuck?" Ron asked in a voice like sand paper, pupils wide.

"I'm sorry." Gunn said. "So damn sorry." For a moment Ron stilled, as if everything inside of him stood perfectly in line. From toe to head, he did not move. Then he burst into a flurry of motion, ripping his jacket off and throwing it across the room. It slapped against the wall and fell to the floor. The action smacked of wanting to be torn out of his own skin.

"Fuck you man. Just fuck you!" Gunn ducked his head, waited for the fury to pass. It didn't take Ron long to get himself under control. He was that type of guy. "It's that pussy white boy ain't it?" The suddenness of the question, seemingly out of nowhere, was like a slap and Gunn stumbled on his own feet. His work boots made clumsy sounds against the cement.

"What?" Then, "He's not a pussy." Ron gave a smile that was more a baring of teeth. He went over to one of the boarded up windows for a moment, staring at the nails. Slowly, he began removing the boards - as if he couldn't breath in his own home.

"So the truth comes out." He muttered. There were lines around his mouth that Gunn had never seen before. He seemed older, heart broken and even a little lost.

"Ron.." When Gunn would have stepped forward, laid a hand on his ex/lover/friend, whatever the hell he was, shoulder - Ron turned, face blank.

"You got no business jonsing for a white boy, and you know it. Shit like that never works out."

"You don't know that." Gunn figured it was time to change the topic of conversation. This was a little bit too much for his heart. He didn't like seeing Ron bleeding over something that couldn't be helped. "I came here for a reason, man."

"Yeah?" Ron smiled ruefully. "Ain't me. So what is it?"

"End of the world, Ron. What else?"

* * *

Wednesday, 7:46 PM

"Where have you BEEN?" Wesley asked the minute Gunn walked into the Hyperion. Gunn stopped short, hands still on the door. He thought of Ron's kiss and shook the memory from his mind.

"Getting back up." Like it's any of your business where I've been, he added silently. Like you even give a damn. Gunn let the door slam closed and strode past Wesley, who turned to walk with him into the offices. "Ya know. Just in case we need it." The words hurt his throat though, and Gunn realized it was closing up, swelling. Ron's words were coming back to haunt him.

'Shit like that never works out.'

"Are they willing to help?" 'Leave me alone!' Gunn wanted to turn and yell to the nosy fuckers face, but couldn't. After all, he'd, oh god dammit, he'd fallen flat on his ass in love. And he hated it. Hated that this pretty little white boy had the power to make him ache.

"They set." Gunn answered, but said nothing more.

Wesley felt out of place all of a sudden, like a stranger in the room. Gunn wasn't looking at him or even facing him. The back of his jean jacket seemed imposing. Wesley left the room, unsure how to approach a man who suddenly seemed very alone. Like his best friend had just died.

Or a sister. Maybe a sister.

* * *

9:38 PM

Wesley's hand shook when he held it up in front of his face. Willing the caffeine headache away, he wondered what his father might say.

"Stupid boy," He'd mutter. "Always falling down and crying over a bloody knee." Wes stood up from his desk, and walked near the window. "You'll never amount to anything, you realize. You got your brains from your mother."

Slowly, he shook his head from side to side. NO. "All you'll ever been is Mum's little boy, picking flowers. Are you a sissy, child? Speak up. You bloody better answer me."

The sigh split his chest and the sunlight creaked through the blinds as he tugged them down. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than for the world to not exist. For a second, he could understand the why the earth mourned.

Something was always dying.

A body. A soul. A heart. A dream. A wish.

Hope.

* * *

Thursday, 2:23 AM

She slid her fangs along his neck and he did not flinch.

She ripped out his heart, and held it in his palm. He stared at her.

She was a stranger.

The earth rose up, breaking and bleeding blood so red it burned his eyes.

But he did not move.

It swallowed her. Took her down, the sound of sobbing as loud as any earth quake could imagine being.

She was gone. And the earth lay in tears.

He screamed.

"ALANNA!" Gunn bolted up in bed, the sheets falling to his waist. His chest gleamed with sweat, vibrated with the force of his heart beats. "Alanna." He said again, quieter. Not even he could hear it, he could only feel it vibrate in his throat. "Alanna."

Shaky, he scooted over to the side of the bed, reaching for his cell phone. Dialed.

"Hello?" A scratchy English voice answered after five rings. Gunn opened his mouth, but couldn't speak. The wind whipped hard against the walls. It had begun to rain, like a torrent of weeping, the storm wailed. "Hello?!" The voice became disgruntled. Having spoken no words, Gunn pressed END on the phone and tossed it onto the night stand. Laying back, he turned toward the window, staring out at it. Rain ran down it, a sheet of water.

Nightmares were not unfamiliar to him. But this one was.

* * *

6:12 AM

"You're up early." Gunn noted as he trudged down the steps, a hand on the back of his neck.

"It's not ideal to sleep with the world on your shoulders." Wesley stated soberly, sliding his jacket off and laying it onto the lobby counter.

"I see you that, and raise you a 'let's change the subject.'"

"Point taken." Wesley shifted. "So, yes - how about those Knocks?" Gunn looked at him, a slow smile stretching his cheeks. The first real smile in a long time.

"The Knicks, Wes dude, the KNICKS."

"That's what I said." Wesley sputtered, threading his fingers together. "The Knicks, of course."

*****