By Misty Flores – mistyjox@hotmail.com
Teaser: Lorne has his hands full when three men who love three brunettes reveal three stories that meld surprisingly – and the three brunettes go missing.
Genre: Angel: The Series, Comedy/Romance/Action
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia, Gunn/Fred, Wesley/Faith
Rating: R for sexual situations
Special Thanks to: Vanessa, and her beautiful beta reading abilities.
Additional Notes on Chapters
--
Chapter Three
--
The Present – The Hyperion Hotel
"She WHAT?!"
Angel's outburst, volatile and angry, took Charles by surprise. Whipping his head around from Wesley's form to Angel's, his hands automatically clenched into fists.
The British man in the dusty tuxedo barely gave them any attention, however. Instead, his eyes were on the counter, centered on the watch he had dug out of his pocket earlier.
"Angel," he began heavily.
"You knew this and you didn't tell me?!"
"It wasn't my place to tell."
"Wasn't your place?" Lorne snapped. The poor little guy, having demons and lawyers after him. The last thing they needed was the whacked out Slayer coming after him as well.
"Naww, of course it wasn't his place," Gunn said, more irritated than he wanted to admit, as his breath hitched at the thought of the child in danger. "'Cause he was too busy shacking up -"
Wesley's hand at his throat cut off the rest of the angry sentence. The taller man was too startled to fight back when he was pulled off his chair and swung into the counter with a jolt hard enough to leave a bruise.
"Don't you dare," Wesley hissed, his words barely audible, but full of meaning. "It was never like that."
Angel grabbed the former Watcher by his elbow, swinging him around to face him. "Wesley, if Connor is in danger-"
"He's not in danger," Wesley responded, shaking off the vampire. "Has she done anything to endanger the child?"
"She -"
"HAS she?" Wesley repeated, his tone hard.
Angel swallowed, but slowly shook his head 'no'.
Shrugging off his jacket, Wesley slumped back into the stool, his expression telltale in the eyes; dark and stormy. "You don't know the whole story, Angel. Connor is in no danger. I suggest you refrain from comments, ALL OF YOU, until you hear the whole thing."
Charles took a moment to recover, straightening his jacket before looking at his best friend shakily, nodding slightly. "Yeah. I can dig that."
Lorne blew out his breath, digging fingers in his hair. "You boys are nearly giving me a heart attack. If I get gray hairs in my beautifully conditioned mane, you can bet you're footing the bill."
Charles was quiet for a moment. "This whole not taking things wrong or judging them until you get the whole story? Goes for me too, alright?" His glance was meant more for Wesley than any one else. "'Cause what's gonna come next isn't gonna make you guys like me much."
--
Monday Evening – The Hyperion Hotel
Fred was never one for secrets. She tended to babble, vent slightly and at times her rambling would result in a glazed look in Cordelia's eyes. But she said what she thought, at times before she even thought it - the sentences tumbling out as her mind worked them, hitching over words too fast for her lips.
She wasn't sure if it was the re-introduction to the world, or perhaps if it had anything to do with the very real confliction inside of her, but her mouth remained shut as she walked into the Hyperion.
Charles Gunn moved past her, not giving her another glance as he settled down at the counter and pulled out the Gameboy he was completely fascinated with.
She stood, hesitantly, foot turning on her ankle in contemplation. She watched him, knowing he knew and also understanding he needed to pretend she didn't exist right now.
What she felt was confusing and disheartening. She would have been lying if she said she had forgotten about that night at the club. The fear had nearly paralyzed her, her heart hammering a chasm in her chest as she remembered the screams, the blood.
She also remembered, cuddled in Wesley's strong, firm embrace, Gunn's face. Features near tears as his voice cracked, pleading with the angry young man holding the gun in an effort to convince him to let them go.
There was no easy way out, nothing she could say to try and understand. Because the truth was - she didn't.
There was fear and, for the first time in a long while, nervous agitation. Gunn was large and strong. She felt protected with him. She never imagined that she'd be thinking of ways to protect him from his own inner conflict.
Sounds at the top of the stairs drew her attention to Angel and Cordelia. The pair moved slowly, talking in low whispers, and Angel's hands were firmly planted on Cordelia's shoulders as she walked, looking almost as if she was having trouble with her footing.
"Guys?"
This time Gunn also looked up, joining her in waiting until Cordelia had made it to the stairs as Angel regarded them both, large eyes sad and expressive.
"Cordelia had a vision," he explained. "I'm taking her home."
"A vision?" Charles asked, his voice tight. "Anything we need to -"
"Faith took care of it," he responded shortly. "Lorne's watching the baby, so you guys are free tonight. I'll see you later."
Cordelia shot them both a tight smile, but that was all, as she moved around Fred and to the lobby entrance.
Fred tangled her fingers into nervous fists, and again her habit took form as she blurted out, "Angel?"
Charles sucked in his breath, chocolate brown eyes catching hers as the vampire turned.
She swallowed, and in a move that took her by surprise, responded with a slightly embarrassed shrug. "Nothing."
Angel was quiet, but finally just nodded back and walked out the door with Cordelia.
--
Present - Kate's apartment
"You didn't tell them?" Kate asked.
Fred blushed slightly, fingers curving through dark locks as she hesitated in her answer. "Well… like I said, everyone had their own problems. And the look on Gunn's face was… he didn't want me to tell. I've never been a tattle tale, never in my life."
"It was partly our fault," Cordelia responded. "What with Faith making her entrance and the vision and the baby – Angel tends to get a little obsessive -"
"A little?" Faith snorted, tossing her hair behind her shoulder as she readjusted herself on the couch. She put her feet up on the coffee table only to have them shoved off again by Kate. After giving Kate a mock glare, she turned back to the Seer. "It shocked the hell out of me to find out how into her he was."
"Thanks," Cordelia said grimly, eyes suddenly foggy as her mind drifted back into contemplation.
"Well… I coulda told you about the kye-"
"Fred, you use that word one more time I'll kick your ass," Faith said, her tone snappy and irritated. "She's been spouting that word every time I bring Wes into the conver-"
"Let's not forget 'moira'," Cordelia added, rolling her eyes.
"They're GREAT WORDS!" Fred insisted. "And it explains everything perfectly!"
"Hmph. If your little definition is so perfect, then why the hell did Angel turn into a skitzo?"
Kate only blinked, mouth slightly open as she directed her attention to Fred. "What the hell is 'moira'?"
Fred brightened a bit. "Well see, 'moira' is the gut -"
Both Cordelia and Faith groaned.
Suddenly Kate was on the receiving end of two very well directed pillows, both landing directly on her face.
--
Monday Night – Cordelia Chase's Apartment
There was something that should have been incredibly funny, and mildly annoying, about the fact that Angel seemed suddenly obsessed with cheering her up.
Whenever the vampire got nervous he had the tendency to ramble about things that made absolutely no sense at all. It was something that was a little new, the fidgety way he would smile at her, a crooked little smile that seemed out of place on his handsome features. It was a startling contrast to the brooding expressions she had come to know, and it was such a part of him now that Cordelia honestly could say she loved the face as he did it.
He spoke to her as they walked up the steps, hand clutched in hers, talking low and with a cheery disposition that made her finally pause, turning back to him.
"Angel."
"Hmm?"
"Stop. You're scaring me." The words were softened with a smile on her face, and he looked startled, as if caught at something, but he smiled back, digging his free hand into his pockets as they approached the door.
The silence that followed made her hesitant. Awkward silences with Angel were new, something about bittersweet anticipation. About wanting what she had no right to ask for, what he had no right to give.
"Good night."
He gave her a tight smile, mouth opening slightly and then closing, stepping back.
She had fumbled with her lock, opened the door and stepped into it, before the choked "Cordy" behind her made her pause.
Angel came forward, turning her body in his arms so she was facing him, fingers now cupping her chin tenderly, eyes full of conviction. "I trust you, okay? I trust you and I know that we're going to get through this. There was a reason I met you in that party so many years ago, a reason why you never got rid of me, a reason why you've got these visions in your head. You make me FEEL, Cordelia. And..." his voice grew hesitant, as the light dimmed slightly in his eyes. "I don't know what would happen, if -"
"Angel, what are you doing?" Cordelia's voice was tender, but there were soft tears drifting down her cheeks. "I don't want you to do this. I don't want to be part of a tragic love affair that will make you brood even more. No, listen," her hand caught his cheek as his head turned, no longer wanting to catch her eyes. "I love you, Angel. Platonic, non platonic, that doesn't matter. I've always loved you, from the moment you scooped me up in Winters' house and jumped over the landing. You've been there for me and you've hurt me, and that's okay, because in the end, we've always ended up smiling." She gave him a shaky grin, eyes shining through the tears. "Let me have that. Please, let me make you happy - okay, not TOO happy but… if this goes any further, we'll concentrate on other things… broody things and death and curses and I don't want that. I don't want to think about anything sad. I love Connor and I love you, but I don't want to be involved in Tragic Couple Number Two. Don't taint me that way. Make me be the one that made you laugh. I don't want to be the one that made you cry. I hated it when she made you cry."
But the tears were stinging in his eyes already, and he closed them, trying to blink them back desperately, body trembling with emotion.
"If it helps, I'll even hold Connor – as long as there's someone else in the room."
The short grim chuckle that came out was unexpected, but the next minute she was in his arms, and he was embracing her with an intensity that made her breathless.
When he released her, he forced a smile on his face, trailing a gentle thumb down her cheek. "Okay," he said thickly. "We'll laugh."
When she closed the door, the smile froze. Angel stumbled back, waiting until he got into the car before pounding on the steering wheel with closed fists, cursing at the world.
--
Present – The Hyperion
Angel was quiet, as Gunn gave a low whistle. "Man. Talk about giving someone a license to brood."
"She wanted to be happy," Angel said seriously. "And all I had given her was pain. Cordy was right. By loving her, I just… I didn't think it was going to turn out the same as Buffy, but she's right. It's the same thing."
"Angel, it's not the same thing," Wesley replied.
Angel said nothing.
"Is it just me, or is the brooding thing not working with the whole ensemble?"
Angel, Wesley and Gunn all gave him blank looks.
"Honey, it's a little too hard to take you seriously in all that khaki," Lorne said, waving a hand to Angel's wardrobe. "Though, I will say the little sweater? Does wonders for your complexion."
"That's it," Angel snapped, sitting up and pulling at his shirt. "I'm taking this off."
"You're not going anywhere," Lorne said. "Until we finish the story. I have to say I'm more than a little intrigued as to how you ended up with the preppy décor, not to mention the little angstfest with our pretty princess. Though, I do like the suspense."
"I like it," Charles said, grinning merrily. "It's very… white."
"Hey, at least my shirt is still in one piece," Angel said, nodding to Gunn's tatters.
"Personally, I think both are quite stunning."
"Oh, don't EVEN go there, Wesley," Charles said, casting him an angry glare. "Aren't you a little late for the prom?"
"What, he didn't make enough fun of you over getting beaten up by a girl?" Angel added.
Wesley glanced down at his tuxedo and mumbled, "I hate it when they gang up on me."
Lorne just rolled his eyes.
--
Monday Night - Santa Monica
He distinctly remembered a law passed in the state of California prohibiting smoking in a bar.
As Wesley looked over the dark, crowded room, he was elbowed accidentally by some wannabe Casanova who was attempting to squeeze in beside him to talk to the brunette sitting near. Deciding that that was enough to make him move, he grabbed his beer and slid off the stool. Holding the drink above his head, he weaved through the crowd, his grim expression never changing as he glanced again to the dancing crowd and easily spotted Faith.
Her body moved sensuously, sexily and it was deliberate. The way her hips gyrated and her eyes closed, looking the very brilliance of orgasmic pleasure as the men around her hooted and hollered, each vying for a chance to dance with her. But Faith was lost to anything but the music, and Wesley, with a lump in his throat, turned his head away. Finding himself in the corner, he faced a dartboard and nothing else.
He gripped his beer tighter, squinting at the dartboard, and found himself muttering, "three hours to make a bloody phone call," before he took a gulp and slammed it down on a nearby chair. Reaching forward, he pulled the four darts viciously from the worn out cork.
He was disgusted, disturbed, and angry.
A mere twelve hours ago he had been fine. Life wasn't perfect - it rarely was in his line of work - but it had been as close to peaceful as it had been in a long time.
The most he had to worry about was the growing attraction for Fred from Gunn.
Now…
He smiled grimly and ignored the impulse to look back and check on his Slayer - no, he corrected himself, not his Slayer. She was never HIS Slayer. That whole time in Sunnydale had been a farce. He had been a joke to them, to her. Curiously, he pondered if the alcohol was getting to him, and he lifted one arm, jerking it forward with barely a glance at the board.
Perfect bulls-eye.
Alright, so not drunk then.
Wiping at his mouth, he narrowed his eyes, fixating on the target again, and with a short breath out, let the second one fly, hitting the second circle in.
"So when you'd become the perfect marksman?"
Wesley paused, looking back to find Faith watching him, not three feet away. Faith sidled to his side, taking the remaining two darts from his hands and brushing beside him, until she was directly in front.
The back of her head smelled like rose scented shampoo. It pervaded his noise and he closed his eyes, feeling the swell of her buttocks as they came in contact with his groin. Hitching in his breath, his eyes widened, but he refused to be beaten. Keeping his ground, she pretended to ignore him, drawing her arm back and letting the dart fly.
It knocked his dart to the floor.
With pursed lips, he watched, cocking an eyebrow as she gave him a smirk, before shifting against him and using her other arm for her last dart.
"Faith."
The word was spoken close to her ear, and it did its damage. The second dart fell wide, barely managing to stay on the board.
"FUCK."
He grinned, stepping away and reclaiming his beer. "Made your phone call?"
She was quiet, her back to him. "Yeah," she said after a minute. "It's made."
"Good." Taking another drink, he caught her eye, expression passive and uncaring. "Then we should go."
"And if I don't want to? What are you going to do, Wes?"
He forced the drink down. Testing her boundaries, was she? The look on her face was smug, self-satisfied. She was expecting what, a game? Is that what this was to her?
"Then stay here. Find your own way back." That said, he moved, weaving his way through the crowd, resisting the urge to see that smug smile falter.
He was outside the bar, away from the infernal music, when he was slammed into the wall. A face that was both pissed off and confused suddenly met his.
"FUCK, Wesley! What the hell do you want from me? I'm good, you're a dick. I'm bad, you're a dick."
She had him pinned to the hard brick now, palms digging into his shoulders, eyes flashing dangerously.
"An apology?" she asked desperately. "Is that what you want? Okay. I'm sorry, okay? I'm FUCKING SORRY. Are we done? Can we get that stick out of your ass long enough for you to NOT act like I have the plague? I mean what the hell do you WANT?!"
"Faith." His voice was unerringly calm. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. I don't want anything."
He attempted to push away but she kept him pinned. "NO. You deal with this. You DEAL with ME. I'm sorry, Wesley, if you can't stand the sight of me, but I'm in your fucking life now and Angel's all I've GOT. I'm not leaving anytime soon so just shut up and DEAL. Or just…" she swallowed, and the anger faded slightly, giving way to a hidden vulnerability.
The expression melted Wesley's hard features slightly, but then her cheeks tinged red and the ice returned in her orbs.
She grinned. "Or is that just horribly inconvenient for you? Me here, reminding you of what you were? Just a great time, isn't it? Gunn, moving in on your girl? I saw the look you gave her -"
"FAITH."
"Or what, Wesley?" she asked, now beyond anger.
It was easier to see him this way. Easier to see him as he was now, strong and angry, with dark eyes that mimicked the anger and the hate that she could feel seeping through her own body. Easier to stare into those dark, cobalt colored eyes and shudder at the intensity behind them than to look down at the barely visible scratches on his arms and remember. Remember the pain and the joy as her blades and broken shards of glass had painted red lines. Remember listening to the hiss of his barely discernable gasps of pain.
She hadn't broken him that night. All that hate, and all that pain, and she hadn't broken him.
He was standing here now, with fists clenched and a flash of challenge in those mesmerizing orbs. More pain in those eyes and more insecurity in his face than she had ever seen on anyone.
Wimpy Wesley.
"I won't play this game, Faith," he said finally. "Your anger, you deal with it. Don't make this about me."
Her heart gave a dull thud and it was dangerous how those words affected her. How it made her almost panic. She forced herself to keep her eyes locked on the face instead of dragging down to where she KNEW, hidden underneath the cotton and the flannel, she must have left scars.
It took more self control than she thought she had to keep her fingers from smoothing up those bronze forearms, from tracing under the sleeves and - it would be warm and hot and she would feel it - it would be real again.
Would he let her?
Let her touch the scars she inflicted, allow her to bury herself in her pain by reminding herself of what she did... or would he turn away, disgusted and flinching away from her touch?
Would she cry if she touched them? Or would she cry if he flinched?
Her hand began to move, upward, hesitantly, but he didn't see it., Instead he kept his eyes on hers - intense, beautiful eyes - and he placed his palms deliberately on her shoulders; a strong grip before firmly, slowly, pushing away.
She let him move her, stepping away from the wall, and felt his skin brush hers as he pushed past. Her mouth let out a rush of air, tension she didn't even know was coiled inside her, and then he was a good ten feet away, raising one leg and sliding onto the motorcycle.
His knuckles were white as his palm tightened over the clutch, and the machine roared to life.
She stood completely still, but something inside her... something disturbing and - for one second, before she caught it - something that made her afraid... gave just a little bit when he spoke in a voice without anger, just placid grimness. That voice came from a part of Wesley she never knew.
"Are you coming?"
One foot stepped in front of another, and she answered by slipping in behind him. She wondered why it didn't seem the same on the way over here, why her fingers now were aware of every muscle as she slipped palms around his waist and under his jacket, resting against the fine fabric of his dark blue shirt. The post Slay haze must have been a part of it, she decided, because she was achingly aware of his broad back as she pressed closer to him when the bike kicked into motion, hands tightening for a better grip.
And he never flinched away from the grasp that had to have been a little painful coming from a Slayer who sometimes forgot her strength.
For that, she was almost grateful.
--
Present – Kate's apartment
"I think it's safe to assume the Wesley crush-age had officially begun, then," Cordelia said, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth.
Kate shuddered, forcing Fred to slap her toes lightly. "Stop moving."
"Sorry." Kate wiggled her toes, smiling down until she saw the color Fred was using. "You're painting them PINK!?"
"It's good for your skin tone," Cordelia said, grabbing another handful of popcorn.
"It's PINK! No, no, no -" Kate tried to move, but Fred kept her grip on her feet tight.
"Now, Kate, I'm doin' this fer your own good. Your toes are horribly -"
Faith, who had been strangely silent until now, suddenly sat up, eyes focused on where Cordelia's handbag lay discarded near the couch. "Cordelia," she began distractedly. "Where's my vibrator."
Cordelia paused, her handful of popcorn now stuck in mid air, inches away from her open mouth. "GOD! You're not thinking of using that NOW are you?"
"What? NO!" Faith gave a smirk, suddenly more alert. "Not even I'm that kinky."
Kate and Fred paused, looking at both of them in silent shock. "Were you guys just talking about a vibrator?"
Cordelia and Faith shrugged. "So?"
"What kind is it?"
"Benton 300."
"Oh." Kate nodded.
Faith let a slow smile grace her lips. "Familiar with that brand?"
"I plead the fifth."
"Mine was a gag gift from the girls in the pen when I got out." Faith said flippantly.
"Right, we really believe that." Cordelia rolled her eyes, and then suddenly paused. "We shouldn't do with the S-E-X talk in front of the V-I-R-G-I-N."
"CORDELIA!" Fred looked offended. "I can spell better than you! And I'm not a - well not…" by now she was blushing profusely. "Okay. TECHNICALLY."
"Damn. Has someone had a little action?" Faith asked, as suddenly all three women were riveted on the red-faced physicist.
Feeling suddenly thrust into the spotlight, a place Fred never really liked to be, she hid her face by taking a moment to brush her bangs out of her eyes.
That completed, she looked up again. They were still staring at her expectantly and Fred sighed.
"Actually, I had a little heartbreak first."
--
Late Monday Night – Downtown, Los Angeles
Charles Gunn slammed the truck door closed, never one for quiet stealth.
Moving warily toward the building, he couldn't help but look back once, a foreboding sense of nervous fear sliding through his body and making him shudder.
Why the hell did he have a feeling he was being watched?
Attributing the nervousness to anxiety, he slowly took a breath in, walking slowly to the warehouse. The dirt crunched under his feet, marking every step, and he approached, making sure his hands were right where whoever was watching up there could see them. His crew had been known for being a little trigger happy before.
Pushing all other thoughts from his mind, Gunn nevertheless felt the nagging presence of Fred, her doe eyes pleading with him not to go. Shit. What was he here for anyway?
His steps faltered, Charles wondering if even showing up was a betrayal to Angel Investigations. Wesley had told him he was fired the next time he kept something from them. His fingers slipped into his pockets, touched the cell phone.
Wesley hadn't been in the hotel, Angel had been locked up in the room with Connor – and Gunn knew better than to disturb that dude with his baby. And Fred… Fred had been in her room.
He hated when she was in her room.
Swallowing, he figured he was clear on that he couldn't tell even if he wanted to, and that Fred… well she didn't tell, and she probably would.
"Come on, man," he whispered to himself. "You got yourself a responsibility." Pulling his hands out of his pockets he stepped forward again, and again, one at a time until he was standing at the door. Raising his hands in a fist to rap at the door, he blinked when it suddenly opened, and Jerry, a young Latino with a scar on his left brow, moved to the side to let him in.
Gunn stared at him warily, jerking his chin up. "Hey. Wassup."
"What up, Gunn."
"Gunn!" Rondell came forward, clasping his hand, a genuine smile on his face. "What up dog! You showed!"
"Yeah, I showed. Dunno what for, though."
Rondell grinned, and cocked his head back, pulling Gunn forward. "We got your mission, bro."
The crowd of kids looked so damn young. Were they always this young, he wondered, with those rifles in their hands and those knives hanging at their sides? A few parted, and Gunn found himself staring at one woman, a little older than the others here, sitting on a crate wearing a motorcycle jacket and a scowl.
"This here's Justine," Rondell said, grinning. "She's our messenger."
"Messenger?" Gunn repeated, as the young woman stood and walked forward to get a better look.
"For our own white boy."
Justine paused, her eyes fiery as she inspected him. "What the…" Recognition flooded her features, and she sucked in her breath, turning away. "Get that bastard out of here."
"What?"
"He's a vampire lover!"
"Oh. That. Yeah. He's down with one vamp. Bad-ass vamp with a soul." Rondell clamped a hand on Gunn's shoulder. "But he's cool. 'Cause that's why he's here. Wants to break the vicious cycle. You know. Family Channel Special stuff."
Gunn didn't say a word. There was something very wrong with this. No girl with that much hate in her eyes should have been telling Rondell anything.
But he couldn't disagree. Not yet. He needed to know more.
Justine turned, regarding him. "So… you down with vamps, huh?" He gave her a half glare, cocking his head and keeping his shoulders back, making himself look taller.
"What's it to you?"
"I could care less," she responded. "But if you're gonna play with us then you need to learn a few ground rules. No vampire is left alive. Soul or no soul, and people who can't see the distinction? Those are the people I've got a problem with."
The stand off was clear, and Gunn felt himself almost lose patience, tell the girl he could take her bullshit and stuff it, but she just continued to talk.
"We're going on a vampire raid tomorrow. Kids stuff, really. Nest in the ghetto, 83rd. Compton. You'll meet him there. You in?"
"Meet who?"
She just regarded him, and repeated her question. "Are you in?"
He pursed his lips, and clenched his fists. "Yeah. I'm in." Rondell broke out into a smile.
"That's my dude! Just wait until you meet this guy - Holtz, he's just the coolest little -"
"HOLTZ?!" Charles looked stunned.
The gasp was audible, loud, and suddenly one of the boys leaned forward, running into the shadows of a corner and pulling back.
A young, slender girl was practically flung into the room.
He had forgotten how good she was at hiding.
"Fred," he whispered. The young woman never even noticed the crossbows and guns pointed in her direction. Instead her eyes were riveted on his, her mouth parted slightly as her lower lip trembled.
"FRED!"
She whirled, jerking away from the men and pushing through another to get to the door.
One of the boys raised a bow and immediately Gunn was there, jerking the weapon out of his hand and slamming a fist into his face.
"Don't you TOUCH her," he hissed to the fallen boy.
Rondell crossed his arms, watching with narrowed eyes. "See you tomorrow then?"
Charles didn't answer as he ran for the exit.
Panting slightly in the cold night air, Charles jerked his gaze around the deserted area, finally finding the young woman stalking to a black convertible.
"FRED!" Launching into a sprint, he tried to catch up.
"I followed you because I wanted to make sure you'd be safe," he heard mumbled as she continued to walk, her back straight and tall.
Finally close enough to grab her arm, he stumbled back when she jerked away, slipping free of his grasp. Her glasses made her eyes almost impossible to see, and Charles wanted to see them desperately. Wanted to try and gauge her face for a way to make all of this okay.
The expression was clear.
Betrayal.
"I thought you wouldn't do this," she whispered. "I thought I knew you, Gunn."
"Fred, baby, you do. You maybe more than anyone." He swallowed hard.
"Listen, Fred, you gotta listen."
"At what?" Fred spat, sliding into the car and jerking at the door.
He held it open, eyes wide and moist.
"Fred -"
"You don't believe in Angel. You're gonna leave all of us - everything we do and everything we mean to each other - just like that?"
"Fred, it's not LIKE that! These are my boys - I can't just -"
"Are you going to tell Angel?"
The interruption brought him up short. His hands faltered and she used the slack to close the door, making him jump away from it.
"Are you?'" she repeated.
Charles licked his lips, taking in a breath. "I need to figure this out. Find out where they're coming from. If I tell Angel then he'll come after them and -"
"They're working for HOLTZ! Of COURSE he'll come after them!"
"Fred." His voice was soft, almost weak. "I'm asking you to trust me."
She closed her eyes, shuddering. When they reopened, they were brilliant with tears. "I did," she answered shakily.
With that she slammed Angel's car into reverse, narrowly clipped Gunn's truck, and skidded away from the warehouse.
--
end chapter