Fading To Black
By walutahanga
Disclaimer: So very not mine.
Warnings: Spoilers for everything up to and including IDW's The Crown Prince Syndrome. Some speculation about the future of the Buffyverse, so may be jossed very soon. Did I mention how much I hate having a year's lag time between Dark Horse and IDW continuities?
Summary: Between the IDW series issue 38 and 39, Gunn voices his misgivings about Angel's decision to leave. Angel isn't listening.
"This is a bad idea," Gunn says.
Angel doesn't look up from packing the boot of his car. He's trying to work out how to fit his battle axe in next to his esky of blood. It takes all of his concentration. It's a complicated problem.
"What's so bad about it?" He says. "I'm not actually leaving LA. I'll still be around to help. I just won't be around every single moment. It will be good for Conner."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Gunn is leaning against the side of the car, pretending it's laziness not exhaustion making him slouch. He's not looking great – Eddie Hope has a lot to answer for – but at least he no longer looks like the walking dead he had when he discharged himself against medical advice to help rescue Conner. "I'm talking about what happens every single time you go off on your own."
"What happens when I go off alone?" Maybe if Angel wriggles the axe handle he can just fit it behind the esky.
"You go dark, man. You go all broody and woe-is-me and you lose perspective. We both know how dangerous that is."
"I think you're pushing the parallel a little far." Angel gives the axe a push. It gets stuck. "I'm not fighting with you guys. I'm not being taunted by my resurrected sire, and I don't have a firm of evil lawyers breathing down my neck. Now is the perfect time to take a break. I probably won't get another chance like this for a hundred years."
"Champions don't get breaks. I'm quoting you here, bear in mind."
"Well, 'break' is perhaps a misnomer. I'll still be helping you guys by chasing down clues on James. I just won't be around twenty-four seven. Seriously, Gunn. I'm fine."
"Seriously?" Gunn pushes off the car and comes over to stand next to him. "So James is out there doing god knows what, Dez is dead, and you're fine."
The axe isn't going to fit, Angel realises. He glares at it, thereby avoiding Gunn's unwavering gaze. After a minute of this stand-off he realises that Gunn is not going to leave him alone. Not until he gets an answer.
"I'm not fine," Angel admits finally, aloud to the cool night air. "I'm a long way from fine."
Gunn doesn't say anything. It's Angel who speaks next, tentatively.
"I thought… with Kate and Dez and James and Laura, we could make it work. Like a family again."
"I don't know. Seemed to work out pretty much the same as usual."
"That's not it." Angel takes the axe out and pushes the boot down until he hears the 'click'. "It wasn't the same. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't feel the same way. I was trying to get closer and I just seemed to drift further away. I just couldn't seem to…" To connect. To care. All he'd known was that it was exhausting being around them, like being muffled in tissue paper when it should be as clear as a bell. He would find himself watching, vaguely amazed at the energy and enthusiasm in which they sorted out their roles and mission. And Conner in the thick of it, Conner with his hope and determination and focus. Watching him, Angel realized what he'd denied his son by locking him away inside memories of a human life, even if it had been to save him. A fish is born to swim, and an eagle is born to fly. This is what Conner is born to do. This is his art, his canvas.
"Angel, what we all had before, that was a once in a lifetime shot, even for you." Gunn's expression is not unsympathetic, but not overly tolerant either. "We're not just going to stumble into another dream team again. It doesn't work like that."
"I know, I know." Angel puts the axe in the backseat. "It's why I'm leaving."
"Because you didn't get what you want?"
"Because Conner might." Those words have a surprisingly bitter taste. And here he was thinking he was past being jealous of his son. "Laura is brilliant. She could be his Wesley, if I got out of the way. The talking library doesn't hurt. And if he could bring himself to actually talk to Gwen, he could have a really functional team."
Gunn studies him for a long moment. Then he shrugs.
"Okay."
"You're not going to argue?" Angel says, slightly taken aback. This is not how the conversation is supposed to go. Wesley would logic him into agreement or Cordy would badger him relentless until he gave in. Easy acquiesce is not a tactic he's accustomed to.
"That sounds like a pretty good reason to me. So where are we going?"
"We? As in, us?"
"Yep. You do know there's no way I'm letting you go off alone, right? Cordy would fry my ass with a lightening bolt." Gunn makes a vague gesture upward, as if an incorporeal Higher Being is looking down on them, arms crossed, foot tapping in that meaningful way. Maybe she is. Angel doesn't know anymore. After Hell, he'd really thought… but then James came with his illusions and his poisonous little lies, and ripped apart Angel's last shred of real belief. If the Cordy in the church wasn't real – with her smile, and her big deep eyes, and her biting humour, close enough to touch, except he never got to touch, did he – then it's that much more difficult to believe in the Cordy who'd come to him on the verge of death. For that alone, he'll kill James. For Dez, he'll make it slow.
"Gunn, I need you here."
"Yeah, here. At your side." Gunn makes it sound simple, matter of fact, like one plus one equals two. Angel had always known where he stood with Wesley and Spike. But Gunn has never needed Angel's approval or apology. Wanted them, occasionally, but not needed them. It makes it hard to out-manoeuvre him. Angel tries again.
"I need someone to look out for Connor."
"The boy has superpowers, an ex-cop, an ex-Watcher, and a talking library. He'll be fine."
"Laura and Polyphemus aren't fighters and we both know Dez's death really shook Kate up. She isn't going to stick around much longer. I need someone to watch Conner's back." He sees Gunn frown, as if an unpleasant thought had occurred to him, and pushes his advantage. "He's my son." He knows what Gunn is thinking , can see the thoughts un-spooling behind his eyes as clearly as if he were Betta George. Gunn's thinking of the flaming sword he drove through Connor's gut in the Hell-moment. It's not easy what Angel is asking. It's a lot harder than tagging around after Angel, looking for clues on James. At least with Angel, Gunn won't have to look his own guilt in the eye every day.
"Spike and Illyria will still be around," he says half-heartedly, and Angel can taste victory.
"Spike wants to do his own thing and god only knows what going through Illyria's mind."
Angel doesn't say that Gunn owes Connor this. He certainly would never say that he owes Angel this. Because he doesn't, not really.
Finally Gunn gives a curt nod.
"Just be careful out there." Gunn's shoulders are hunched, his fingers curled into fists inside his pockets. He looks older somehow, as if this surrender has aged him. "When you're alone, it's easy to lose sight of other people."
"I'll be careful," Angel promises. He holds out his hand and when Gunn goes to shake it, pulls him into a hug, careful of his bruised side. "You be careful too. There aren't enough of us left." Gunn's smile is fixed as he steps back.
"Weren't that many of us to begin with."
Later, while Angel is driving away, he will watch Gunn growing smaller in the rear vision mirror until he is swallowed up by distance and darkness.
It will be the last Angel sees of his friends for a long, long time.