Title: Looking Straight Ahead

Author: Settiai

Disclaimer: "Angel" and other related characters are all properties of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other related corporations. No infringement is intended. This story, such as it is, was written as a sign of respect and love for the characters, the show, and their creator. I claim no ownership of the aforementioned show and characters.

Rating: PG-13

Explanation: This is my story for the 'Escape from L.A.' Ficathon on LiveJournal, and it was written for mireille719.

Summary: When Wesley left Los Angeles, he planned on never looking back. Too bad he was being followed.

Feedback: Comments and helpful criticisms are always appreciated.

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Looking back, Wesley realized that telling Harmony not to let Angel know he was leaving town probably wasn't the brightest move he could have made. It's not like he had much choice in the matter, what with her walking in on him packing up the few personal belongings he had in his office… but still, he should have had some sort of story planned out.

Of course, she did exactly what he told her. She didn't let Angel know about his plans until he had packed his bags, found his old motorcycle in the underground parking garage, and made his way halfway across Nevada.

It wasn't her fault that he had never actually told her not to let anyone else know, instead choosing to assume she'd have enough sense to realize that -- if he didn't want Angel finding out -- he wouldn't want the others finding out either.

He should have known better to assume.

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"For the last time," Wesley said, his voice a low growl, "what the hell are you doing here?"

A grim smile appeared on Gunn's face. "Waiting for you," he said, gesturing toward the empty chair across from him. "There aren't that many bars along this stretch of highway. I figured that you'd show up today or tomorrow, depending on what kind of time you made."

Wesley shot him a dark look, but he seemed to realize that there wasn't really any point in arguing the matter. Instead, he let out a sigh and dropped down in the chair beside Gunn. "Harmony told you?"

"Nope," Gunn replied as he made a gesture, catching the barman's attention. Within seconds, a bottle of Jack Daniel's and two shot glasses were being laid on the table in front of them. When Wesley raised an eyebrow, the other man shrugged. "I didn't see any harm in being prepared."

Shaking his head, Wesley poured himself a shot of whiskey. "If she didn't tell you, then how did you know I'd be here?" he asked before downing the shot.

"She told Spike."

Only years of experience allowed Gunn to move out of the way before he could be sprayed with the now airborne whiskey. "Hey, you're the one who asked," he said with a helpless shrug as Wesley coughed a few times and then glared at him.

Wesley kept glaring for a few more seconds, but it slowly faded into a half-hearted smile. "I suppose that I did."

He reached out and poured himself another shot of whiskey, this time downing it before saying anything else. "I told Harmony that I was leaving, but I never mentioned where I was going." He shot Gunn a suspicious look. "How did you know I would be here?"

Gunn gave him a sheepish grin. "I went through the trash your apartment," he admitted. "Called quite a few phone numbers before I found someone who knew where you were going. That Giles guy says 'hi,' by the way."

Wesley rolled his eyes as he poured another shot of whiskey. "And how did you manage to get here before me?

"Private jet," he replied with a shrug. "Got the pilot to drop me off near a truck stop fifteen miles back and hitched a ride here."

"Why on earth didn't you just have the pilot drop you off here, if you knew this is where I'd stop?" Wesley asked, downing his drink.

"You're trying to get away from Wolfram & Hart," Gunn replied with a shrug. "I figured that I wouldn't tell them exactly where you were."

"Then I guess I should be thanking you," Wesley said dryly. Then he sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Why are you here, Charles?"

Gunn didn't seem surprised by the question, but he didn't answer for a moment. Instead, he poured himself a shot of whiskey and slowly downed it. Then he shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, I really don't know. When I first heard the rumor, it didn't surprise me… and it didn't really bother me as much as I thought it would. I don't think it really sunk in until your office caught on fire…"

"Wait a moment… until my office caught on what?"

"It involved Spike, Illyria, and purple flames," Gunn said with a shrug. "That's about the extent of my knowledge. But anyway… I'm here. You're here." He paused for a moment. "Want to tell me why exactly we're here and not back in LA?"

Wesley didn't answer for a few seconds. Then he sighed. "I started thinking about the past," he said softly, his hand coming up to unconsciously rub his throat. "I guess you could say that… things became a lot clearer for me."

"Uh-huh," Gunn said, a skeptical look on his face. "And how exactly did thinks become clearer for you?"

For a minute, Wesley looked as if he wanted nothing more than to answer Gunn's question. He quickly shook his head though. "It's nothing," he replied. "I just realized that Los Angeles wasn't the place for me."

The suspicious expression on Gunn's face didn't fade, but he merely gestured toward the near-empty bottle in front of them. "More whiskey?"

Wesley nodded. "God yes."

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"You know that the world's in a sad state when it actually seems odd to see Charles Gunn wearing street clothes," Wesley said, sighing as he downed another shot of Jack Daniel's.

Gunn glanced down at the loose denim jeans and oversized T-shirt that he was wearing. "What can I say?" he said with a shrug. "I didn't think the suit and tie would fit in with this crowd."

"Probably a smart move," Wesley agreed.

Gunn chuckled as he poured himself another shot. "Remember how you used to help pay the bills, back when Darla first showed up and Angel fired us?" he asked, a slight twinkle in his eyes.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Begging money from Virginia?"

"Actually, I was thinking about how you used to hustle rich kids with more money than brains at darts," Gunn said, pointedly gesturing toward a nearby dartboard with several men gathered around it.

Wesley followed his gaze. "You have to be kidding me," he said dryly.

"Come on, Wes," Gunn said, grinning. "For old times' sake?"

"No," Wesley shot back. "We've just gone through two bottles of whiskey, and there's not a chance in the world that I'll play darts while I'm drunk."

Gunn let out a snort of laughter. "The hell you are. I've seen you drink more than this without even batting an eye."

Wesley shot him a dirty look, and then he reached out to pour himself another shot glass of whiskey. Before he had a chance, though, Gunn reached out and grabbed the bottle.

Rolling his eyes, he moved the bottle to his side of the table. "How much money do you have?" he asked. "And I'm not talking about credit cards, since you can't use them unless you want to Wolfram & Hart to track you down."

Wesley stared at him for a moment before sighing. "Fine," he muttered. "For old times' sake."

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"That's a helluva lot of money," Gunn said with a whistle. "I'm surprised those bikers let us keep it after they decided you were cheating."

Wesley nodded, but his attention was focused more on the darkening bruise around his eye than the wad of cash Gunn was counting. "It took you long enough to decide to break a chair over the large one's head," he muttered, distracted, before glancing up. "Are you certain that I won't have a black eye?"

Gunn glanced over at the other man's face, his gaze focusing on Wesley's quickly-appearing black eye. "Nope," he replied.

"Good," Wesley said with a relieved sigh. Then he frowned. "Just to clarify, do you mean 'no, Wesley, you won't have a black eye' or 'no, Wes, I'm not certain that you don't have a black eye?'"

Gunn quickly held up the money he was holding. "Did I mention that this is a helluva lot of money?"

"The latter then," Wesley said dryly, though the barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Gunn shrugged unapologetically. "Maybe. You can let the doctors take a look at it when we get back."

Wesley tensed, the smile playing on his face disappearing in an instant.

"I'm not going back, Charles," he said angrily. "If that's why you're here, to talk me into going back… it's not going to happen."

Gunn glanced upward. "Would it kill you to make him a little more cooperative?" he asked, his eyes not moving from the dark sky.

"I doubt that he'll answer," Wesley shot back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I better be going."

Rolling his eyes, Gunn brought his gaze back downward. "Tell me on thing… Is it about Fred?"

Wesley didn't say anything for several seconds. "I miss her," he finally admitted, softly. "More than anything else in the world. But that's not what this is about."

"Then what the hell is it about?" Gunn asked, exasperated.

"It's about Connor."

Gunn blinked. "Who?" he asked tentatively.

"Exactly," Wesley said. He let out a sigh as he leaned against the outside wall of the bar. "You just made my point."

"Uh-huh," Gunn said. "Of course I did. What point did I make?"

Wesley sighed.

"Things were… simpler… before Pylea," he said softly. "When we got back, there was Buffy's death, Darla, Holtz, Fred… I mean… That is to say…"

"You're not going to get struck by lightning just for admitting that she's the reason things started changing between us," Gunn said softly. Unfortunately, a roll of thunder decided at that very moment to rumble across the night sky.

The two men shared a glance.

"Think that motel down the road has a roof that will keep the rain out?" Gunn asked.

A thoughtful look appeared on Wesley's face before he finally shook his head. "I'd say that the odds are against it."

A streak of lightning flashed across the sky.

Wesley bit his lip. "It should at least have some type of roof that will at least attempt to keep the rain out," he conceded.

"What about a bed?" Gunn asked. "We might need one of those if we're planning on finding me a bike tomorrow morning." He paused for a second. "Actually, we might need two if we plan on getting anything done in the morning."

"We're planning on finding you a bike tomorrow?" Wesley asked, the rest of Gunn's words not even registering. "Why are we planning on finding you a bike tomorrow?"

Gunn shook his head. "How else would we get to…" He trailed off for a moment. "Exactly where are we headed?"

"We?"

Grinning at the dumbfounded expression on Wesley's face, Gunn shook his head before reaching out to squeeze the other man's shoulder. "Exactly how long have I known you?"

Wesley stared at him. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked uncertainly.

"Let me rephrase that," Gunn said. "Since we've met, how many times have I managed to change your mind about anything?"

Wesley didn't say anything for a second. "I see your point," he finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Gunn nodded. "Exactly. Let's go check out that motel, Wes."

"Of course," Wesley said distractedly, an hesitant expression still on his face. "We should go check out…" He paused. "Was I hearing things, or did you say something about beds a few minutes ago?"