// Morale
Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer and Angel are not mine and belong to Warner Brothers, Twentieth Century Fox, Mutant Enemy. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Feedback is incredibly welcome.
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Angel S3 "Birthday" AU for Mumblemutter. How Gunn and Wesley keep on going. PG-13.
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Wesley forgot about his missing arm. Gunn didn't. He watched the ex-Watcher pacing back and forth, back and forth, outside the room that held Angel. "Hey, man," Gunn said. "Put your gear down." Watching Wesley carry heavy burdens for any length of time became painful.
Proper and improper, hats off in buildings and handkerchiefs for ladies--these had all gone by the wayside. Nevertheless, Wesley glanced at him, muttered an apology, and set down sword, stake, bag, the tools of demon-slaying and the detritus of his life.
They didn't have much of a couch, but it was a couch, and sitting at opposite ends meant a comfortable but not isolating distance between them. Gunn put his feet up. The ottoman wasn't much of an ottoman, either. Wesley said, "I'll shower first."
Gunn waved his permission at Wesley's back. The man was still fastidious in that raised-all-proper way. Living in a makeshift fortress didn't give you that kind of luxury. They'd done what they could: one week someone would bring in the groceries, another week someone's uncle would let you spend a weekend in a decent apartment, and Lord knew Gunn's team, before they were slaughtered by vampires hunting an exception among their kind, had known better than to trash any place that offered help-yourself-to-the-fridge and hot running water.
Gunn thought about Wesley's calluses, skin interrupted by the remnants of old burns. Gunn had a lot of those, too. This was what happened when you were trapped under a vampire doused in holy water. All that for a raving ensouled vampire.
Wesley returned from the shower. "Yours," he said curtly.
Gunn shook his head. Someone had to provide the cheer around here. Wesley might lead the two of them, but Gunn knew how people worked. And Wesley, Wesley wasn't; without some purpose to make himself keep waking and fighting and walking, Wesley would spiral down, and down, and down. He knew the type.
Maybe Gunn was spiraling down, and down, and down, with these people. He didn't think so. He knew people. And he didn't forget.
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