Subtext? We don't need no stinkin' subtext!
Lost by Pet
Rated NC17
Notes: Darkness warning. Drug use too. Pre-Angel (no kidding) and semi-consensual sex. This one's for Kass, Lar and Te, who have all, in subtle and not-so ways, been encouraging me to write 'non-gooshy fic.' Here you go.
Knife to scalp. No razor, long straight blade slicking away
stubble, barest hint of soap to soften it up, until he shines again.
FLASH
Long days gone and Charles can't remember when he last saw the sun. Shining,
burning, turning him browner over the brown, running heat through dark hair
that's getting so long now, but they like it. THEY like it. It's something
to hold on to, he guesses, when he's doing his thing trying not to gag and
they're grunting and whining and grabbing his head and filling his mouth.
Mouth for money, mouth for Alonna, never his ass oh no not that until last
week when he couldn't help it and there were two of them and they didn't even
pay after. Just left him alone and not crying, though they did toss some green
to the man downstairs for the room and let him shower and that was pretty
cool. Not too many showers in the alley, and for a minute he thought about
bringing the crew here but it smelled bad, smelled like sex and when he'd
thrown up, so he figured they could skip the shower this time and he just
wouldn't tell 'em. Bad night, no tricks. No food for the sister. The shower
does feel good though, even though he'd started hating the feel of his skin
under his hands, this last year. They always like to grope, even when it's
just a blow.
And later that week when the night comes out and the corner (he could see
over everyone now, she'd had to let the seams out of his pants again because
he can't stop fuckin' growing and he's all legs and arms) is his for the taking
and the big black cars are out prowling, and some VERY pale dude takes him
back behind the warehouse and bends him over with real strong hands and shoves
right on in, Charles wonders if maybe this's the way to go. It don't hurt
THAT bad, less than before. The real rentboys make much more than he does,
tall thin sixteen 'only blow' but his ma'd always told him he had a pretty
mouth so shit, might as well use it. Maybe this guy would pay, maybe a lot,
maybe he could eat. Sometimes he thinks hungry's the only thing he'll ever
be. Nothing on his brain but hungry and Alonna and the joint he could maybe
score off his boy down the way. He sure as fuck isn't thinking about THIS,
which is probably why he only bucks a little when he feels his neck get cut.
FLASH
This is too wack even for him to deal with. Sure, street living wasn't never
easy, but they didn't have altars or freaks in robes with candles down on
the strip. What the fuck? And why's his throat bleeding? The room's long and
empty and he's standing in the middle of it, big bare feet on cold stone floor
and the chill's in his legbones, but he just woke up feels like, and these
crazy fuckers are walking around him in a circle. That pale thin white guy's
leaving out a door, and it slams shut hard behind him. Shit. His head moves
with the movement, there's no gap in the circle, just the humming sound and
the swish of red robes.
Fear has never been his thing, but this is just spooky and it's probably time
to move along. Now. He's moving fast and hard at the shortest guy, one good
push and the circle's broken, and there might be surprise on his face but
Charles doesn't look at other people anymore so he doesn't know. He's moving
at the door, shit in GEAR, and then he's facedown on that floor and getting
pulled along like meat. No WAY is he gonna be bitch for this crew, and he
gets one leg under and breaks away and this time he makes it out the door.
Maybe they're still surprised. Couldn't give a fuck. There's a long hall and
these legs are pretty good for running still, maybe track in some other world.
Or basketball. His feet freeze on the third step though, like in those Bugs
Bunny cartoons when the coyote gets stuck in glue, and he can feel his body
SNAP forward and back and somehow he's still standing. Man, this has GOT to
be a dream. No doubt. Big booming white voice all around him, probably God.
"Charles..." It sounds like it's laughing at him. Yeah yeah, laugh it up,
big guy, where were you when moms passed on?
"I must admit, I've never seen someone make it out of chambers before. In,
er, one piece." Round rich friendly voice. Scary as all shit in ways he doesn't
want to think about, so doesn't. He's got real good at that. "We're all very
impressed, Charles. We think you might just...have something. Please. Do come
in." And another door opens up, and there's a short round kinda old guy standing
there. Eyes twinkling. Charles shrugs, and steps through.
FLASH
It's not a dream, he knows that now. Nightmare. Five weeks in here and he's
ready to freak. He would freak, if there was any strength left in him after
the training sessions. They needed people, they'd said. People who could walk
in the sun and get things done for them, and they'd offered him more G's than
he'd ever even thought about before, and he'd nodded. Alonna had it now, they'd
sworn she even had a room somewhere and knew where he was. He wouldn't know,
he hadn't been let out. Sleeping in a cold hard bunk all alone, tiny room
with cold metal fixtures that burn when he touches them, food three times
a day and all he can eat, which is more than they'd expected, he thinks. And
in between eating and sleeping he kills things. Directed and taught, and covered
in blood, red, green, purple once, and he's staring into the mirror and all
he can see is the face of this one guy, older and smaller than him, and the
scream he'd made when he was stabbed. Shakes it off, looks again. Just him.
Too-pretty face and eyes too big and mouth too soft. A 'natural,' he'd been
told that first time. Hair getting long now, grandpop had been white and there's
red in it and it's wavy, not kinky. Makes him look even more like a girl,
fuckin' ho-bag bitch that he is, and he wishes suddenly for scissors. Nothing
sharp in here, though. Just out there. With the killing. If he had any tears
left in him at all, he'd be crying now.
FLASH
"Ah, Charles." Holland at his door, early in the day, with someone. He hasn't
talked to anyone but the trainers in months, so this short man with longish
hair and blue eyes and frown is a real surprise. "I'd like you to meet Lindsey
MacDonald. He's another protege of mine, though in a different department
entirely, of course. He's in legal, and he's here to tell you what NOT to
do." Smiles proudly and pats the short dude on the shoulder.
"Maaan..." Charles draws it out, fuckin' with the white folk. "No more of
this bullshit. I gotta get OUT of here for a while. Got shit to do, y'know?"
He shifts uneasily though, because the gentle smile doesn't flicker but that
Lindsey kid looks freaked.
"Charles," and it's always CHARLES, "you know better than that. We made a
deal, and I'd HATE to think you weren't living up to your end of it." That
hand moves to pat HIS arm now, and he shivers just a little. "We're taking
very good care of your sister, and everything's just fine. Now, enjoy your
study time, boys. Lindsey, I'll expect you in my office in two hours." He
nods, keeps smiling, and closes the door behind him. It's always locked, so
Charles doesn't even try.
"What kinda fucked-up name is LINDSEY?" He's pissed and not afraid to show
it, not with six inches and new muscles and a WHOLE lotta mad on. The lawyer
just stares at him, eyes narrowed and peering up at him through bangs. Seems
a little more relaxed though, even if there's not enough space in here to
really give either of them enough room.
"Same kind as Charles, I guess. The one my momma gave me." And Charles can
hear the southern slipping through. Notices for the first time that the guy's
got a big briefcase with him, when he flops it onto the cot and pops those
fancy locks open. Springs the top up, too, real nice.
"THESE..." and he gestures to the papers and notebooks inside, getting right
to business and not looking at the big scary black dude looming over him,
"...are for you. I assume you can read?" Gettin' his own back for the name
crack, and Charles almost smiles.
"Yeah. Us dirty street negroes got some AMAZIN' talents." He's not quite sure
what to do here, it's been so long since he's seen anyone, and there's someone
in his space now and it's kinda freaking him out, but the sarcasm always comes
easy. Smart-mouthed bitch, like THEY'd said...
"Good, great, I'm so proud of you. Basically...wait, do you even know the
basics here?" Lindsey looks frustrated and impatient. Probably eager to get
back to his Rolex and his Benz...
"Yeah. They train me to kill folks. What kinda law firm IS this?" He's wanted
to know since day one, and despite Holland's talk about 'special clients'
and 'extenuating circumstances,' he's still pretty much in the dark here.
So the question just slips out.
"A good one. That's all you need to know." Mouth shut tight on the words,
and Charles thinks idly that he's not the ONLY one in the room with lips that
make him a natural. No, fuck. It's just been too long since he's seen someone
talk. "I'm just here so when you finally start working, you don't screw up
so badly that we can't get you out of it."
"Great. Talk away, little lawyer man." He sprawls on the bed, kicks the briefcase
to get more room, ignores the grunt of annoyance, and smirks.
*
An hour and a half later, and now he knows everything there is to know about
alibis and gloves, bloodstains and DNA. He's pretty sure he does, anyway.
But it's ok, because at least there's someone talking to him, even if it is
a stick-up-his-ass skinny white lawyer who hates him. He can see it in the
eye-roll every time he opens his mouth to ask a question, and in the clenched
hands every time he refers to him as 'little dude.'
Lindsey peers at the last paper in his hand, shakes his head, and snaps the
briefcase shut again. Just sits there for a minute, looking at him, and Charles
doesn't LIKE it when people look at him. Puts on his most menacing frown.
Kinda loses it in surprise, though, when Lindsey takes a small notepad out
of the breast pocket of his suit, scribbles something on it, and hands it
over.
/Room bugged. Question for you./
Charles feels his eyebrows go up. Huh. He shoulda thought of that.
/what/
His own scrawl is sloppy next to that neat, sharp print.
/can make sure sister's ok if you help me/
He almost breaks through the paper with the force on the pen, all caps.
/WHAT/
/I need stuff/
Charles looks up from the pad, sees the glaze on those blue eyes for the first
time. Looks closer, notices the slight twitch in the hands, the little sniff
that Lindsey gives sometimes. Right. He's seen this before.
/what stuff. in here cant help/
The lawyer's eyes brighten.
/just connections give a name and place I'll do the rest/
Charles' turn to roll his eyes. Skinny black kid in here MUST know a dealer,
right? Only in this case...
/swear to find sister/ Firm letters.
Lindsey reads, nods, writes.
/had a sister once too. swear./ And his eyes actually look honest, Charles
thinks. What the hell. Worst case, world's short one more lawyer, no skin
off his back.
/i know a guy, name Bo. Bad hood you sure?/ Lindsey nods eagerly, grabs for
the pad when there's an address scribbled down, but Charles holds it easily
out of his reach. Stares HARD into his eyes, feeling the silence weighing
on them which is strange because when he was alone the quiet was kinda nice.
He bends to the pad once more.
/ALONNA GUNN/ And hands it over.
FLASH
Two weeks later. Charles has killed two demons, three vampires, one human.
It's getting cold in here, he can barely feel it when the blade cuts flesh,
when the screaming starts and he shoves a boot in a mouth to keep the noise
down. Can't have any witnesses noticing, can we. And hears chilly words evaluating
him, nothing more, sending him back to his room. Cold. Cold showers washing
away the blood and the stain, off skin that his hands still don't want to
touch. Without the hungry and the Alonna to think about, he wonders if there's
anything there at all. He thinks he grew another inch. He's pretty sure he's
seventeen now. Pretty sure it's sick that he gets a hard on after fighting,
though he won't do anything about it. There's a strange black place in his
mind and it's growing. Sometimes he can't remember his mom.
He tried to find the bug in his room once, but couldn't. So when Lindsey slides
in the door one evening--he thinks it's evening, he ate three times since
he woke up--he doesn't speak, but shoots him a questioning glance. Lindsey
puts one finger to his lips, looks around furtively, pulls a panel off the
wall and fiddles with something inside. Looks about fifteen years old, with
his tie undone and shirt all rumpled and shining eyes. Charles snorts, if
quietly. Fuckin' blowhead. But he stops thinking at all when the lawyer walks
over to him, digging in his pocket, and hands him a note. He grabs at it,
big hands completely enclosing Lindsey's and coming away with the little slip
of paper. Sits on the edge of the cot. Sweet familiar awkward handwriting.
/Charles Im ok. this man sais you are ok too and im glad. I got some munny
and i live in a hotel now and theres lots of food. are you ok? I love you.
Alonna./ With a little heart traced after, and he's been so worried for so
long and he sucks in a long breath, feeling his shoulders relax for the first
time in, what, months? He has no idea how long he's been here.
There's a hand in his hair, twining in the long strands that are falling around
his face now. He jerks back, looks up just about to freak out, but Lindsey's
just grinning in a pretty peaceful way and rubbing at his nose. All jacked
up, from what he can see. Probably has no idea what he's even doing. He's
almost bouncing a little, and Charles chances a whisper.
"Glad I could help you out there, little dude. This is-mmmgh." A warm hand
closes over his mouth, and he can feel his eyes getting wide. What the? Lindsey
shakes his head with a frown, checks his watch. Leaves his other hand there,
but it's almost nice to be touched by someone he's not trying to kill, so
Charles sits still. Minutes tick by. Finally, Lindsey sighs, checks the watch
one more time, removes his hand and runs it through rumpled hair.
"Should be ok now. I ran the tape in here on a loop."
"Man, this is some crazy-ass shit." Charles shakes his head, stands up, suddenly
uncomfortable with the voices. "Thanks, man. That's real. You gotta let me
know if there's somethin' I can do..." Lindsey's in his space again, all of
a sudden. Those too-bright eyes are almost scary in that pretty little-boy
face.
"Here." He's holding out a little white baggie. "Do some with me?"
Charles shakes his head, retreats back to the bed.
"Naw man, I don't do that shit. You don't look like you need more anyway."
Lindsey follows him, still looking eager.
"Oh, come on. You're never getting out of here anyway, no one EVER gets out
of here, not me, not you, not anyone. So why not? It's a fuckin' social drug,
Charles, don't leave me hanging here." He waves the baggie temptingly. And
suddenly the tiny room is closing in like it always does at night when there's
no one in his head with him, and the sink is too shiny and the man in front
of him is the only person he's spoken to in months he thinks, and he grabs
the baggie, and shakes a little out onto the back of his hand. Remembers seeing
it done SO many times. Brings it up to his nose and inhales hard, all done
so fast that Lindsey only has time for a short surprised laugh before he feels
it.
Cold, burning in his nose and down the back of his throat, numbing his tongue.
Suddenly his throat feels much too tight. He sniffs hard, wanting to get RID
of it, only pulls more down. His nose is running. He's gonna throw up, and
runs to the tiny bathroom and gags but nothing comes up. Swallows once, twice,
three times, and it's better. He can breathe again. Shush-shush-shush of the
water in the sink when he splashes some on his face, and his heart is pounding
like a jackhammer but it feels ok.
Back in his room, Lindsey's sitting on the bed, tapping one foot on the floor
in a little dance. Grinning ear to ear, and it's surprisingly nice to see.
Charles is a little dizzy and that foot thing isn't helping. He paces as best
he can, three strides up and turn and back, and Lindsey laughs at him. Bright
and a little too high.
"Hey, relax a little. You're not gonna wear it off that way." Charles has
a strange tingling in his fingers. Not too strange, he's not trippin' or anything,
but there's definitely a tingle. And hey, he wants some more.
"Linds man, hand over that baggie." Lindsey keeps grinning, hands it over,
and there's no gagging this time. They sit for a minute in companionable silence.
Lindsey turns to him and smiles, interrupting thoughts about triathlons and
pushups.
"Not much worse than doing this here. You don't even have a TV!"
"I know, I know it. No radio, nuthin'. It sucks, yo, but what can I do?" He
shrugs, long resigned but suddenly more bored than he can ever remember being.
"There is...SOMETHING we could do." And Lindsey's a little too close now,
on the cot, and there's something Charles should remember about that tone
of voice...
"Come on, Charles, I know all about you. What you were doing before you came
here. So what do you say-" his knees fanned out a little "- for old time's
sake?"
"FUCK!" He's up off the bed, with one hand around that white throat, and all
his nice new energy has a focus now.
"HEY!" Choked gasp, but he's glaring into blue eyes that are starting to bug
out, and he's bigger and stronger than this little prick will EVER be, and
he's never doin' that again-
"Kill...me...and...she...dies." Wheezed out through a tortured throat, and
he drops his hand, suddenly frozen. Alonna. The only thing in his head for
so long, no room for Charles or future or play or anything else. Maybe he's
just fucked up, but that 'she' locks him where he stands. He can barely hear
Lindsey, who's rubbing his throat and glaring.
"It ain't me, you know. They'd do it just to get you for ruining one of their
investments." The bitterness in that voice sounds familiar. Just another trapped
rat, just like him after all. "Fuckin' a, man, I didn't know you'd freak like
that. Thought you were kinda cute, is all."
Charles almost smiles. He's awful big to be cute. And that's a pretty random
thought right now. He sucks in a breath, reminded of why the little shit is
here in the first place.
"I'll do it." Lindsey snaps his head up.
"What? You almost just killed me, you fuck!"
"I'll do it...if you keep checkin' up on her." He's looking right down at
Lindsey now, noticing absently that the dark lashes are long, the skin smooth,
pretty cheekbones. Won't be the worst thing he's ever done.
"I can get blown much cheaper than that, thanks. What do you think they'll
do to me if they catch me? I'll bet you can't even imagine, but I can. No
thanks. Thanks, but no thanks." He winces as he stands, one hand still at
his neck, and Charles is suddenly a little desperate. More than a little,
he can feel that black place in his mind digging deeper in, biting at him...he's
going to be alone again...This is it, his one and only link, he CANNOT fuck
this up...
"You can do anything. Anything you want. Just...please..." He's never begged
before, not like this, but he thinks something's finally broken in his head
and he can't not know, can't be out of touch with the only thing he's ever
had, can't be alone in this body that he hates in this place that's ruining
his heart. It's the drugs, the drugs telling you this a little voice says,
but he doesn't think so.
Lindsey pauses, looks at him consideringly.
"Again, I can get laid much cheaper. Couple beers, quick sniff and I'm home
and not alone."
"Please..." And he thought before that maybe Lindsey came back because he
was lonely too, and maybe he was right, because a small, softer, pale hand
takes his own outstretched one, and pulls him over to the cot. It's too small
for this, but Charles is too numb to notice or care. Vaguely feels his shirt
being pulled off, himself getting pushed prone on the bed. Stares up at nothing
hearing rustling noises. Is brought back into himself sharply when a hand
strikes SMACK across his cheek.
"You've got to BE here for this to work, asshole." Lindsey's not smiling any
more, but his eyes are still bright, and Charles nods. Tries not to slip off
into that place in his head, but it's so hard when he feels his pants being
yanked down, smooth hands on his thighs. He shudders a little when he feels
a warm body slide down next to his own. Skin on skin. He's never felt this,
never been naked with someone. Even the girls were always outside, always
left their clothes on when he was pushing into them, trying to forget the
taste of cock in his mouth.
Lindsey's not doing anything big, though, and some part of him decides it
might be ok to pay attention. Probably the part that's still buzzing and tingling
from the blow. There's a hand on his chest, resting there, and he looks down
to see a bent blond head on his shoulder, shaggy hair sticking up, and a pale,
sleek body a shocking contrast against his own dark skin. Naked. Lindsey's
waiting for him. Full audience participation is apparently required here.
He lets a hand settle lightly on a white shoulder, seeing the freckles scattered
there. Strokes a little and it's soft, and feels a mouth against his own skin.
Hot and wet, right over his collarbone, and there are fingers tugging at one
of his nipples, and a leg hooking over one of his own to rest between his
thighs. He's not even close to hard yet, though the tongue licking him is
interesting. Kinda funky, the way he's concentrating on that one spot. And
that hand is still playing, and that knee is still rocking, and ok, he can't
help it that he's responding to friction.
There's hard hot length against his hip where Lindsey's leg is curled up,
and maybe he can get this OVER with, reaches down with his free hand and grabs.
"Uh uh uh...none of that, not yet...you said ANYTHING, Charles, and we're
gonna make this worth it, or no deal." There's a smirk somewhere in that voice
and he withdraws his hand. Hopeless, finally. It won't hurt. Too much.
Lindsey moves up and over him now, sprawling full-body on him, and at least
he's warm. Hot between his legs, but he's ignoring that now, fuckin' traitor
body that he hates, sell-out...Wet mouth on his neck, hands in his hair...
"You have GREAT hair, Charles, I loved it first time I saw you. Promise you'll
never cut it..." He shakes a little under those hands, as they pull his head
back and he's getting kissed. By a GUY. There's a tongue in his mouth, and
he knows that he has to do something here...he groans, and kisses back. Full
lips over his own, little nibbles that go straight to his groin and make him
burn against the weight there. And pushing and sliding his tongue against
the one in his mouth, letting them tangle, and tasting that bitter cocaine
tang and something else that must be Lindsey, underneath. Wonders for the
first time what HE tastes like. Pretty good, from the moans he's getting and
the little gasps into his mouth and the way the rocking picks up speed. Lindsey
won't let go of his hair, and this is way too intense, this is the worst trick
he's ever had, and Alonna Alonna Alonna and he reaches down and cups a firm
ass and brings their bodies closer. Lindsey writhes against him, jerking his
mouth away to arch his back and cry out, and that tape had better still be
on a loop because he's noisy as shit. Looks like he's running out of patience
too, because he's got a hand down between them, pushing Charles' legs apart,
and something in the black place is giggling.
There's a finger at his ass, and he tenses and relaxes so quick he barely
notices. Alonna. It's pushing at him, slick with something he thinks is pre-come,
and it's in and moving around in there and he can't decide how disgusted to
be when it feels that good THERE and THERE and he's bucking up traitor body
and he's got his teeth clamped in his lower lip and he can taste blood. His
cock is rubbing in the little hairs on Lindsey's belly, it's like he can feel
every one, he's so hard. This is wrong wrong wrong Alonna right. Linds is
smiling up at him, lips swollen even more from the kisses, and he looks...pretty.
Hot and bothered. Hand still between his legs and two fingers hurt a little
but they're slippery and it's ok. And then three and NOT ok, fuckin' OUCH,
and his whole body yanks back instinctively, but the hand follows and insists.
"Not used to this...sweet Christ you're tight...hang on just a little more..."
Lindsey's muttering at him, not looking at him any more, braced above him
one one arm while the other works away below, and Charles' head is against
the wall and he has nowhere else to go. Relaxing kinda anyway, and that sweet
spot's still pretty sweet when knuckles hit THERE and aaaahhhgggg. Hand pulling
away from him, and that sick feeling in his belly like there's worms crawling
in him goes away, but he knows there's more. Lets white hands (still shocking
on his skin) roll him up and back and open, knees almost to his chest, and
he can almost feel tears but he ran out of those a LONG time ago. Lindsey's
stroking himself now, hard red dick on sandy curls, slicking himself and Charles
is pretty grateful for that. Maybe with all this it won't hurt at all. But
when Lindsey leans into his legs, pushing him even further, he holds his breath
and shuts his eyes.
"C'mon, Charlie, stay with me here-" and his eyes shoot open because NO one
calls him Charlie. Smooth heat bumping him where he's soft and open now, and
he's staring at Lindsey because there's nothing else to look at. Feels the
first push, strange inside him but not too bad. Then another and TOO MUCH
and one more FUCK and one more oh GOD and he's in, shuddering and jerking
and Charles can feel his sac, brushing against the skin of his ass. Sits frozen,
both of them still, for just a minute, and at least he's not hard any more.
Small favors. But Lindsey's moving now, chanting his name and he hates the
sound of it, and back and IN and back and IN and there's that spot again,
and no more small favors, because he's stiffening up and there's a hand grabbing
him, sliding up and down and shooting little jolts of fire right to his brain,
and it's been a REAL long time and a few more pulls and he's yelling too,
clutching at the thin blanket with his hands and trying to pull himself into
the bed. Pulse of light, and again, and Lindsey's grinning at him and still
pushing in and then he can FEEL him coming, all that ultra-sensitive skin
picking up each little wave and each spurt of fluid. It's over, and there's
a headache starting behind his eyes. But that little giggle hasn't gone away.
FLASH
Charles isn't sleeping. Hasn't for days. Just lays there in the cot. No Alonna
in his mind. No Lindsey either. Not much of anything, but that big ol' nothing
is keeping him awake. Lindsey left the baggie after saying he wouldn't be
back, so maybe that's part of it. It's kind of fun to be fucked up alone.
But that's all gone now, and he's still awake. Is awake when they come to
take him to training. Awake when they set him against three Fyarl demons (he
knows their names now). Awake when one slips past as he gets clumsy, too slow
too tired too much a whore, and hits him on the head. Black. At least maybe
he'll sleep now.
FLASH
He finds Alonna pretty easily, after hooking up with Jay and Q-Dog on the
corner. They want to know where he's been for three months. He looks at them
like they're nuts. What the fuck? I've been right here, dawg, saw your black
ass yesterday. They shake their heads and walk away, and he starts to get
worried. Checks his pockets...wallet with nothing in it, condom in the back,
bus pass...it's all there. And a slip of paper, with some writing on it. Huh.
/Debt paid in full. You're alive, Charlie, so don't say I never did anything
for you. -Lindsey/
And who the FUCK is Lindsey? Some ho calling him Charlie, she must know he
hates that *flash* white body on his white hands in his hair don't ever cut
it sick to his stomach *flash* so it can't be anyone good. No one from the
hood, anyway. He's walking now, looking around for Alonna in all the old places,
checking in with the old crew. Makes up some story about jail so's everyone
won't think he's strung out or insane, and his mind's not wanting to think
about where he might have been and he's alive after all, so he just puts the
worry away. Finds her finally, back in the old alley, and she flings herself
at him screaming his name *flash* Charles Charles Charles fuck you're so tight
Jesus Charles *flash* and he hugs her, kisses her, makes up a story for her.
Tells her it's ok. Tells her he'll never leave her again. Tells her they're
moving underground. Asks her to call him Gunn, so everyone else will too.
And sends her out for long sharp knife.
.End
Disclaimer: The characters/concepts of Angel belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. No infringement is intended and no profit is made. All fic and essay are copyrighted to their authors.