Title: The Unusual Suspect

Author: ForeverWes

Genre: Action

Disclaimer: The characters here ain't mine. Don't sue me.

Setting: Right after WITW, but before Groo arrives.

Spoilers: Through WITW.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Gunn is shot. The main suspect: Wesley! This one's still in development. It's my first attempt at AtS fanfic Let me know what y'all think.



It was nights like this that made her never want to leave her boyfriend's side. Winifred Burkle had spent all night with Gunn. Talking, kissing…. just being with him (her favorite part). They usually met in the morning for breakfast, but their all-nighter had reneged that routine. Gunn had expressed a need for a shower and clean clothes so he was resolute to returning to his apartment before beginning the day at Angel Investigations. That was the plan, at least. For the past couple hours, he had been attempting to execute it. Finally, he could delay no longer. Fred gave him one last kiss and he walked out the door.

Fred watched him from the window she always did as he walked to his car with his machismo swagger, but Fred could see through it. She saw Gunn stop as he saw someone in the parking lot. It was Wesley. He was here pretty early, but it was nice to see him arriving at the hotel instead of seeing him waking up, locked in his office, with his nose buried in a book.

"So did you enjoy your night off, English? One more night seeing you wake up in the office and I was gonna buy you a hooker for a night," Gunn said with a chuckle.

"Uh….yes. It was quite relaxing."

"I would think so. I'm surprised to see you in so early, don't you ever sleep in?"

"What's that you Americans say, 'early bird gets the worm'?"

"Yeah, but you're taking it to the extreme."

There was something off about Wesley. Maybe it was just that he wasn't sleep- deprived and scruffy, but there was something else. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his instincts were tugging at him.

"So any new revelations on this prophecy thing?"

"No, just same-old, same-old."

"So what do we know so far?"

Wesley paused for a second. "I'll give the whole group a full briefing when everyone gets in."

Now his instincts were screaming at him. He just stared at Wes still trying to figure out what was up. There was something….Wes just stared at him with his brown— it wasn't Wes. Wes had blue eyes. He wasn't wearing contacts, because he still had his glasses on. Gunn started to back away. He had to get Angel. Just a few more steps to the hotel and…he heard the shot and briefly saw the flash, but before he could process anything blackness enveloped him.

Fred couldn't believe her eyes. Perhaps if this was a cartoon, she would have rubbed her eyes in disbelief. Her mind frozen, she didn't even realize her feet were taking her down the stairs of the Hyperion and when she did, she lost her rhythm and fell the last couple of steps. It was painful, but the adrenaline rushing through her didn't allow it to slow her down. She grabbed the cordless at the front desk without even thinking and ran out to the parking lot where Gunn was lying motionless. She didn't look for Wes, as caution warranted, but he was gone anyway. She nearly vomited at the sight of her Charles in this state. His head was bloody, but there was no gray matter visible so there was a chance. She dialed 911 and checked for a pulse simultaneously. It was there, barely.

The ambulance took an excruciatingly long 5 minutes. She stepped back in shock as the paramedics went to work. She could probably understand most of what they were talking about. She had taken a couple human physiology classes as electives in achieving her physics major, but she didn't want to hear or understand. It might as well have been gibberish the way her mind was functioning. Out of the din of medical jargon, one of the paramedics asked a poignant question.

"Who shot him? Did you see it?"

"I can't believe it, I just can't," Fred managed to say in low whisper.

"Ma'am?"

"It was Wesley. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," she said with more conviction.

"You knew the shooter?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where he—?"

"Yes." Fred was in utter disbelief as she told the paramedic where her friend lived so they could arrest him.

Wesley woke up dry-mouthed in his bed. Despite his hangover from his alcoholic exploits the night before, it was a beautiful morning and for a couple seconds he forgot about all the troubles that loomed on the horizon and were yet to appear.

But that was the nature of the beast. Wesley was the boss and with responsibility, inevitably came problems and worries. Wesley began his morning ritual—shower, shave, breakfast, brushing his teeth, etc. The rigid structure of his schooling in England had enforced developing such a ritual. Of course, spending many nights at the Hyperion researching had excused him from it, but being home he couldn't fall out of the habit.

A rough knock at the door interrupted his shaving. He wiped the remaining shaving cream from his face and went to the door. He looked in the peephole. Police? Before he could process what police would be doing at his door, the door slammed open and he was on the ground being handcuffed.

"What is going on?", the ex-watcher protested.

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce you are under arrest for attempted murder of Charles Gunn—"

"What?!"

Wesley's mind raced. This was not happening. It must a dream or something. It didn't make any sense. Someone had tried to kill Gunn and the police seemed sure that he was the culprit. At least Gunn was alive, thank god for that small favor. He had drunk quite a lot by American standards last night, but he was English, so he hadn't really had enough for a blackout. No, it wasn't possible.

The bulky policeman was telling him his rights, but Wesley couldn't comprehend anything. The other policemen were searching his apartment. Briefly, he mused at what they would think of some of the books they would find. Of course, that was last on the list of his problems.

Angel hadn't heard the shot, Connor had been crying so he figured later that that must have drowned out the sound. He did hear the ambulance. Rather unremarkable to hear in any major U.S. city, but as the sound grew closer, he grew more interested. Angel started to step outside to the parking lot, but it was daylight so he could only look from the hotel with the door open. Fred was there, crying—he saw why. Gunn was on the ground. Angel could smell the blood from where he was standing. The paramedics were hovering over Gunn, he couldn't see where the street fighter was hit.

Angel felt helpless, which was not a feeling he was used to nor particularly liked. He was reduced to calling out to Fred to try and get some answers.

"Fred, what happened?" Angel said loud enough for the paramedics to turn their heads.

"Wesley. It was Wesley. Still can't believe it myself." Fred said in a weak voice, walking over to Angel.

"Wesley? What about Wesley?"

"He shot Charles in the head."

"Gunn is he—?"

Fred shook her head. "The paramedics say they'll know more when they get to the hospital."

"Wesley did this? Fred, are you sure?"

"I have to go. They're taking him," Fred said as she turned back to see the paramedics lifting him up on the stretcher.

"Go. I'll meet you there."

Angel ran back inside. He saw Lorne looking outside at the ambulance.

"What's going on?"

"It's Gunn. Wes shot him. I'm meeting Fred at the hospital. Take care of Connor and call Cordelia."

"Wesley did what?" Lorne said in disbelief, but Angel was already out the door heading through the tunnels.

Wesley had, of course, been arrested before, but he had never been processed. It was a rather humiliating ritual. Fingerprints, picture, emptying of his pockets, asinine questions. After his "booking", Wesley was seated in an interrogation room, while he continued to wait. That was worst part Wesley had decided. The waiting. By the time, a detective had finally shown, Wesley was almost ready to confess, just so he wouldn't have to wait anymore.

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, how are we today?", the pale red-haired detective asked in a rather nondescript manner while reading what Wesley assumed was the case file.

"Well, I'm sitting here, arrested on suspicion of murder, how the bloody hell do you think I'm doing?"

"Suspicion is too light of a term I'd say, we have a pretty credible witness saying you shot Charles Gunn, this morning at approximately 6:35."

"Whatever witness you have must be mistaken. I spent the whole morning at home."

"So, it says here you are the head of Angel Investigations, a private detective agency. Charles Gunn was your employee. Did Charles show up late to work too many times?"

"Gunn, everyone calls him Gunn. Only Fred called him Charles", Wesley said in a more sober tone. This was intolerable. He needed to be at the hospital like Gunn had done for him.

"Fred?" The detective said looking down at his file. "Winifred Burkle. The two were an item?"

Wesley shook his head in affirmation. This was getting old already. He wondered if he was making a mistake talking to this detective. On the TV shows, they always had a lawyer with them. But Wesley was sure of his innocence so what would he have to hide?

This wasn't like before. He was clear-headed this time, but he still didn't know what to do. There was one thing he was sure he had to do. Call Angel.