ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Reconfiguration: Interlude
by Lar and ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE
Distribution: List archives, people who ask.
Disclaimer: We don't own Wes or Gunn, the Watcher's Council or anything in here but the lack of a plot.
Rating: R (maybe)
Spoilers: To Shanshu in L.A., Blood Money
Notes: This is an interlude in the greater fic known as 'Reconfiguration'. It's set apart because of the lack of the appearance of the central characters in Reconfig. You can NOT skip this part. Don't do it, baser.
Dedication: To Rabbit, Katie and Donna who read this monster over.

== == == == ==

Gunn is bored. He looks over to see if Wesley has budged from his spot, crouched over the desktop and face hovering over the pages of some big-ass book. No, still there, forehead all wrinkled with concentration. Gunn sighs, considers the alternatives to laying here with his feet hanging off the end of Wesley's couch and decides there's not much out there better. Bored and comfortable kicks battling demons in the ass every time.

He clears his throat, settles into the cushions a bit more and breaks the silence. "Whatcha got your nose stuck in, English?"

"The Veller Codex." Wesley's voice is quiet but sharp. He's glad of the company, likes to have Gunn around more than either of them will admit to outloud, but tonight he can't afford the luxury of idle talk or any of the other admittedly enticing activities they always end up engaging in.

Gunn snorts in disgust. "That's all the info I get? When you're short like that, it usually means a dragon attack or some shit." He lifts his head up again, waits to see if there's a reaction to the dragon remark, a reaction to him actually talking here instead of falling asleep waiting for Wes to get a clue and drop the books, take advantage of their downtime.

But Wes just turns a few of the thin, old pages, fingers gentle with the vellum, respectful of the volume and what lies within it. "I'm cross-referencing something I read in another text."

"Because you need to make sure the bad shit is really bad?" That gets him a look, Wesley's slim torso half turned in the wooden chair, light flashing on the rim of his glasses.

Slight exasperation in his voice when he says, "No, Gunn, I'm confused because the prophecies don't align, and I'm attempting to find out which ones contain what information." And he's not angry with Gunn, not in the least. It's himself that's the object of ire, for not knowing precisely where to look. And while he's on the subject, he finds himself rather pissed at the Watchers who assembled the Veller Codex, their haphazard methodology somehow eluding him, forcing him to page back and forth over and over. Locating the salient prophecies is difficult enough, the edges of his worry getting wider as he finds far too many references for his own good.

"Don't align? You mean they say different things?" Gunn sits up, swings his legs and plants his bare feet firmly on the floor.

"Precisely what I'm saying." Wesley reaches down and plucks another dusty leather-bound text from the pile beside him, looks at the spine to verify the title before cracking it open and flipping rapidly towards the end of the pages.

Gunn rubs his hand across his scalp, feels the beginnings of regrowth prickle his palm. Wonders what's got into Wes' shorts to set him off into research overdrive like this. Nothing good, that's for damn sure. "Is that regular? Sounds like a fucked up system if it is."

"Regular? It's common, I suppose, yes. Some texts become obsolete because the central prophecy they contain, or perhaps several core prophecies in some, don't come to pass for whatever reason." His voice is faint, he's speaking and reading at the same time, detailing his thoughts while some other section of his brain compiles more information on the whatever the hell has got him so riled up. Gunn won't admit that it impresses the hell out of him whenever he sees Wes do this kind of thing.

"Because the prophet inserted some fake lines in there as a joke?" Grins big and wide, tries to break Wesley's concentration, get that crease out of his forehead and possibly get him all worked up into an argument that will end up someplace other than where they are now, him on the couch alone and Wes burning out his eyeballs on faded ink and wrinkled yellowed paper.

"I hope to god not, usually some event is averted, some central figure is killed, there are so many possibilities. There must be any number of situations that would cause any single prophecy to not occur." Explanation notwithstanding. Wesley knows what that remark was all about, wants to be able to say to hell with this and leave the books. Angel has his solace, his partner, why should Wesley deny himself the same satisfaction? Thinks back to the sound of Angel's voice in the kitchen, tone muffled but not enough to let Wes pretend there wasn't more there. //Every minute of every day// He keeps to the books.

Gunn considers the information. "You mean it's not set in stone? There aren't some cosmic guard-rails to keep the world clicking along like the folks upstairs want?" It seems pretty damn fucked-up to have the Powers That Be sending down mixed signals, all the way back to the time when those books were brand new, and the people were writing with quills and ink instead of Bics and highlighters.

That earns him a closed book and a full turn in the chair.

Wes leans forward, hands open on his knees, earnestness in his voice. "Dear lord, of course not. Why do you think there are *so many* prophets? They see different possible paths for the world; they see different things, but in many cases several point to the same events, and even more rarely, there are those prophets that have yet to be wrong-up 'til now that is."

Gunn mimics his posture, lets his hands dangle between spread legs. "What's got you riled up? One of those books that ain't ever been wrong yet?"

Huge sigh, equal parts frustration and exhaustion. "Unfortunately, yes."

"We all gonna die again?"

"It's about Xander."

"Junior? He's in your books? Huh, I guess that explains the vision." Gunn sits up, cocks his head to the side and shoots Wes a broad smile. Xander's becomin' one of his boys Even though he's a vamp, they're down, and imagining Xander as some tool for the PTBs is just too sweet.

"I hadn't even thought of that." Wes straightens as well, his face flattens into a stunned expression, and he removes his glasses.

And Gunn doesn't like this one bit. Doesn't like thinking of things that didn't occur to Wes ten times over, and if it wasn't the vision, then something even worse must be happening. "No? Then what set you off?"

Wes replaces his glasses on his face and picks up the first book he had in his hand when Gunn engaged him, grabs another and sticks it under his arm. Walks over to the couch with the tome. "Listen to this: 'When these other visions have come to pass, there will be a time of tribulation and woe for the innocent of the world. Hope will come from many sources, but three will be of great import. The Woman of Conviction, the Penitent, and the Struggler. One human, two not, but all with souls. Warriors all, death will walk with them, and many will fall in their wake. Each may choose a path of destruction, turn aside from the way, but we will seek them out when the time approaches to right what the Otherside wreaks.'"

"What the fuck is all that noise?" Leans over to look at the text when Wes sits down next to him.

"Gavin Lyons' prophecies, he was a Watcher. This is a translation, his actual prophecies were given in Sanskrit for some unknown reason." Closes the book, sets it on the table and starts flipping through the other.

Gunn knows that when more than one book comes out to play his night is fucked, figures he might as well pay attention to what's going on. "I guess one of the more accurate ones. When did he live?"

"In the sixteenth century."

"Ain't been wrong? Hm, could be Angel and Junior, who knows. Paths of destruction, sounds like Angel alright, but Junior?" Thinks about the prophecy, can see it as being about his friends, but also knows that he heard a couple Nostrodamus quatrains he thought was about his cousin Ty too.

Wes doesn't look at him, finds the page he was searching for and holds his hand up to silence Gunn. "Could be, I am leaning towards thinking it is, listen to this one: 'And a Warrior shall arise who was foreseen by the Lrtral and the Pythoness, and his arising foreshadows an apocalypse. When his days are still few, Hell shall reign amongst the breathers of air and eaters of meat, and this Warrior, the drinker of air-breathers who is yet alike unto them, will gain his final reward for sacrificing his needs for the needs of others'"

He's not an expert on all this seein' the future business, but that verse was as clear as day to him. "That's about Angel."

Wesley closes the book and looks him in the eye. "I don't think so."

"The Warrior, that's Angel." Gunn's fingers start to tingle, like he's inhaled too much ozone, he's getting wired and freaked.

"In the scrolls of Aberjian, yes. That's not what this is." Wes sees the fear on Gunn, knows the man doesn't like the overtly arcane parts of this job, that he thinks the future's God's territory, and they shouldn't be messing around with it. Reaches his left hand out and rests it on Gunn's knee.

Gunn tries to keep his voice even, shoots for flippant, comes out peevish. "It says final reward."

"Indeed it does." Wesley sighs, squeezes Gunn's thigh and for the thousandth time wishes Charles' life had been different, less complex, that he could have been safe from prophecies with obtuse meanings that could mean the demise of them and everyone they love. Rakes a hand through his hair.

"Why do you think that's not about Angel?" Gunn laughs at the cockatiel effect on the top of Wes's head, pats it down himself and gets a quirked smile for his effort.

"There was no apocalypse around the time of Angel's birth or his turning. I don't really know what to do. It could be that one prophecy is about Angel, another about Xander, they weren't too specific with pronouns or references. I have no idea what pertains to whom." Exasperated and scared, Wes clutches harder on Gunn's thigh, turns his body to face his friend, hopes there might be a spark of brilliance from the other, some insight he's missed. "I mean, I have no idea why some volumes talk about the vampire with a soul in a singular manner and others in the plural."

"Oh shit. So, you sayin' that Junior's a player in some of these books and in others he's not? These books have him, and in others he's missing?" No insight there, just a full body tense and a collapse back on the sofa. Wes follows, resting his head next to Gunn's and sighing in unison with him.

"Precisely." Gunn's arm finds a home behind Wes' head, and their sides connect.

"Do you think that means somethin'?" Fingers stroking the side of his neck, and a breath on the other side.

"Most definitely." Lips following the breath, and Wes bends to the side to accommodate them, wraps a hand on the back of Gunn's slick scalp.

"What?" Wes pops his eyes open and sees the hopeful look on Gunn's face. He wants answers and then a ceasing of the talking for the night.

"If I knew that, I would be over at the Hyperion right now telling Angel and Xander." He's slightly annoyed, wants to drop into oblivion with his favorite partner, but his mind won't shut off like that. Not tonight, not ever really.

Gunn feels the tension, wants to ease it, always wants to ease it. "You wouldn't tell me first?"

"If you asked nicely and seemed at all interested." A grin and swift lick at the full bottom lip so close to his own. Gunn draws back suddenly though, slouches against the couch, because he can't go further than that until he knows what's the what here, one kiss always means clothes ripped off and sweat and writhing, and he can resist for the home team.

"How much more interested can I be? What's up with vision? You think the PTBs were trying to tell us something?"

"That's what I'm frightened of, yes." Wes slides to his feet, walks back to the desk and the stacks of books.

"You scared? Nah. Is it bad enough I need to get scared?" Laughs at the idea of Wesley scared, really scared, but cuts it off abruptly when he imagines something *actually* terrible enough for that.

"Possibly. I have no idea what the PTBs were on about in that vision, if Xander was supposed to be saved or not saved, but I am certain that if *I* have gleaned his existence and nonexistence in various prophecies, then our chums at Wolfram and Hart know about these discrepancies as well."

"You mean they knew about Xander before he died?" And isn't that a kick in the ass, a whole new set of wrinkles to their lives?

"I think that's a distinct possibility."

"English, could you commit to something?" Temper kicking in from the idea of those goddamned lawyers setting this all in motion, and it might only be a maybe, but it makes him mad enough that he regrets never killing one of them.

"I wasn't aware that we were having that conversation..." Doesn't turn around, knows Gunn's about to have a slight tantrum and does his best to stop it before it's fully born.

"Don't make me get my lazy ass up and come over to smack you up-side the head." Irritation there but fading, much to Wesley's relief, enough stress without having to add an unnecessary spat to the list of things that are bothering him.

"I wish you would get your lazy ass up and get me a cup of tea." Closes all the books that are open across the expanse of the desk, stacks them up needlessly while he tries to hide the smile that wants to come over his mouth.

"Ass pansy." That comment intoned directly into his ear, accompanied by a puff of warm breath.

Wes doesn't turn around yet. Says, "Girlie runner," in his most arrogant tone and then ruins the effect by facing Gunn with a grin that shows most of his teeth. Hasn't smiled in so long that the muscles ache from disuse, and that's as sad as anything he can think of at the moment.

Gunn echoes back the smile, then sighs and turns grim. Puts his hand over Wes's where it lies on the stack of books, fingers twining together. "So, is Junior comin' straight out of hell or what?"

"I don't *know*, Charles, that's what I'm attempting to tell you." Wesley allows Gunn to turn him, tugging their clasped hands and leading Wes away from the desk, towards the hallway.

"What about the Shanshuing business?" Gunn walking backwards as he talks, familiar with the path, eight steps down the hall to the creaky floorboard, three more beyond that lies the doorway to the bedroom.

"Well, how lovely you brought that up, that's another issue I am concerned about..." Wesley uses his free hand to remove his glasses, lets them dangle from his fingers, lets the background go soft-focus so he can concentrate on nothing more than the liquid eyes and full mouth right in front of him.

"I'll be god damned. You fucked that one up, huh?" Even in the dim room, Gunn's smile is bright. It disappears as he drops their joined hands and strips off his t-shirt, drops to the bed.

"I'd like to see you translate two thousand year old dead languages." Wes grumbles as he sets the glasses on the dresser, pushes the buttons on his shirt out of their holes.

"I didn't go to college for twenty years, but if I did, I woulda gotten it right the first time. Cordelia told me about the dying thing." Gunn gets impatient, decides to hurry things along by popping the snap on his jeans, pulling down the zipper just enough to show some extra skin, catch Wesley's attention a little tighter so that he'll stop worrying at the mess he's found and allow them both to forget for an hour or so.

"I'm sure she relished the opportunity." Shirt finally off, and Gunn tugs him down to the bed, lets him lie back for a few minutes. He wants to put it all aside, but his anxiety is just too high, and it's written all over his posture, his expression.

Gunn stops his full-on press, rolls to his side and props his head in his hand. "She did seem to be showin' a lot of teeth."

Wes can picture it, too, that smile of Cordelia's wide enough to wrap all the way around, meet in the back and let the top half of her head tumble off. "Like a barracuda."

"But, he isn't in the Scroll, right? Junior isn't in there, is he?" Not really asking to hear any answer other than a resounding 'no', so when Wes hesitates, Gunn sits straight up on the bed.

"Uh..." Wesley looks sheepish, sits up beside him and sighs.

Gunn puts a hand on the back of his neck, pushes him to his feet. "Get the book. Read it to me."

Book unnecessary, Wesley's notes contain the full translation of the prophecies he's discovered in his latest frenzy of cross-referencing. He grabs the sheaf of papers from the desk and trots back down the hall to the bedroom. Takes up his glasses as he walks past the dresser, motions to Gunn for him to flip on the bedside lamp. Begins reading as the light throws a shadow across Gunn's eyes.

"'And the Other shall arise who will be either the gateway to shanshu or the path to his nature. This one shall be touched by the Forces and of one substance with the warrior. The One who is touched shall presage the coming apocalypse, and he shall be the saviour when it dawns. He will be both doom and hope, and his path will be the path of the Many, as well as the One. '"

"Sounds like that other one." Said almost under his breath, and sometimes Wes wishes Gunn wasn't quite so quick.

"I noticed that myself." Wesley looks up as he shuffles the notes, pulls another paper to the top of the pile and tries to read Gunn's expression. Can't because of the position he's taken, and so he waits to see if this is going to end here or if they're going back to the discussion.

Gunn is silent for a few moments, puzzling out what he can before he asks, "What's 'the Many and the One' business?"

Wesley sits beside him again as he answers. "I'm not sure exactly what it means, but 'the many' usually refers to humanity, it's poetic, and as for 'the One', it's set out, like capitols in English, I would assume if the Warrior is Xander, the One is probably Angel, and I don't want to tell you exactly how troublesome that is."

"You don't have to." Gunn takes the papers from Wes's hands, leans over the edge of the bed and deposits them on the floor. Sits back up and raises an eyebrow.

"Right." Wes falls back on the bed, slips his fingers up beneath the glasses and rubs his eyes. Gunn reaches out and plucks the wire rims from his face deftly, gently folds the arms and deposits them on top of the yellow lined paper covered with the black ink, scrawlings of doom and destruction.

"Right," he says, as he rolls over to cover Wes's torso with his own, long fingers carding through silky dark hair. Lets his mouth brush over the one below him once, twice, then pauses and pulls back. "You gonna tell him?"

"You wouldn't want to do it for me?" A little breathlessness in that question, a small buck of his hips that he can't quite help making, and Wes picks his head up to lick at Gunn's bottom lip.

"Hell no, I ain't even gonna be the one to tell Angel that the warrior who shanshus might be Xander and not him, but I could tell Xander about the apocalypse diversion he might do." Response murmured against Wesley's mouth, and the discussion is forgotten for the time being as more urgent matters are at hand.



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