TITLE: 4 February, 2004 (Gunn) 1/1 AU
SERIES:  Cordyverse
AUTHOR: Don Bentley
E-MAIL: dbentley@albedo.net
SUMMARY: Gunn fights a demon on 4 February, 2004.
RATING: none
TIMELINE: Season 5 Angel.  Only not really, since it is AU.  See the note.
DISTRIBUTION: Just ask first.
My archive site is at www.oocities.org/mycatpangurban
SPOILERS: None, its AU.  The note, though, is spoiler for Angel season 5 episode 'You're Welcome'.
DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations of "Buffy: The Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon, et al.  This is non-profit fun.

NOTE: at the end, 'cause 'a spoilers an' all.

Thanks to Dave for the beta read.

*****

Ginger Beares was something of a rarity among the retail sector workers along Los Angeles's Rodeo Drive.  She wasn't an aspiring actor impatiently awaiting her big break.  Not that she didn't want a lot more out of life than senior sales associate at one of the lesser jewellery stores on LA's altar to conspicuous consumption, but she knew better than to try and find it through the pages of Variety, or the casting director's couch.

It was an early, mid-week morning, and the store was characteristically quiet-- business didn't normally pick up until the afternoon.  The latest of a long line of college catalogues, and, in response to an impulse that she couldn't really explain, a Navy recruiting brochure, lay neglected on the counter before her.  Ginger was frankly daydreaming about nothing very important, when her attention was drawn from never-never land to the door chimes.  Their soft 'pings' alerting her to a new customer.  
               
He was black, tall, and very handsome with a nicely shaped shaved head, and he stood still just inside the door, looking around warily.  Ginger paused for a moment, waiting for him to move further into the store, her foot within inches of the floor mounted alarm button.  She didn't think of herself as particularly racist, and would have vigorously defended herself from such a charge, but she always waited a moment or two to try and read a male customer's body language.  That the moment was slightly longer when it was a black man-- a young black man-- than with whites or older men, was something that she didn't dwell on.  That type of introspection made her uncomfortable.

After a moment, he seemed to relax a little, and moved deeper into the store, scanning the displays as if looking for something, without wanting to look like he was looking for something.  A not uncommon behaviour among men, especially the 'virgins', as Ginger thought of them.  These were the men who have never entered a jewellery store on their own in their lives, and usually did so for one reason, making the experience all the more unnerving for them.

Reassured, and after hastily shoving the catalogues out of sight, Ginger moved out from behind the counter to approach the man, thankful that Tiffani-- no really!-- was out back on one of her many illicit smoke breaks.  A stereotypical aspiring actress, Tiffani was mad woman when it came to trawling for sales commissions, and phone numbers.  

He had stopped his examination of the sales displays to stare at a small separate display case set up by the till.

"Ugly, isn't it?" Ginger asked as she approached him.

An expert eye tagged his dark stylish suit as off the rack, but well fitted to his large muscular frame.  Her instinctive inspection took in a pair of highly polished dress shoes, the matching silk tie and shirt, and the absence of a wedding band.

"Sorry?" he said, turning to look at her.

Damn.  He had the kind of dark eyes for which Ginger had a special weakness.  Ever since her eighth grade science teacher, Mr Gregory.  Unlike some of the other associates though, Ginger didn't usually troll for phone numbers.  Usually... but she was a woman, after all, and exceptions to the rule, while rare, were not unknown.

Her smile came easily enough, then, as she nodded at the display and the large glass globe within.  Manny, the store's fashion challenged manager had brought it in about a month ago, and stationed it beside the till.  It was for luck, he had said, explaining that it would keep robbers away.

'And customers,' Tiffani had whispered to her when it was unveiled.  

For it was an especially ugly glass globe.  It was misshapen, out of true by just enough to be perceptible, without being immediately obvious.  The observer, until they figured out its real shape, was left feeling uneasy, that the globe was *wrong*.  An impression that was reinforced by a nauseating oily milky-white colouring, and a dark reddish patch near the centre that made it look like an eye.

Still it had worked... sort of.  There had been no robberies since Manny had installed it, though it had been more than a year since the last robbery attempt, a primitive and poorly thought out 'smash and grab', for which the perps were still doing time.  The staff placed more faith in the modern alarm and surveillance system, and the very visible police presence on Rodeo Drive, than in Manny's mumbo-jumbo.      

"We call it the Heart of Darkness," she explained, pointing at the globe.  "Our boss has less fashion sense than Joan Rivers."

"Don't know," he said.  "Seen worse."

"In one of those scary magic shops, maybe," Ginger said as she leaned in conspiratorially and lightly touched his arm.  Giving a male customer the impression that he had your undivided attention was one of the most successful sales strategies for women.  At least for those women built like Ginger, anyway.  "Some people say that you can see the devil if you look real close.  Emily-- one of the other clerks-- she won't go near it, except to work the till.

"Anyway, hi.  I'm Ginger," she said, holding her hand out.  "Are you looking for anything special today?"

"Ahh... no.  Not really- yes," he glanced about nervously as he shook her hand before stealing a quick glance at his watch.  "You got any... uh, any rings?"

"Yes, of course," Ginger slipped her arm around his and lead him towards a row of displays.  "We have a lovely selection of men's rings.  A nice signet ring would look--"

"Diamonds," he blurted, looking as if he was about to bolt out of the store.  "You have any diamond rings.  You know, for women."

Figures, thought Ginger, though her smile didn't slip a bit as she gestured at a display.

"Well, we have a large selection of women's diamond rings.  There are some nice solitaires over here.  Now, are you looking for-"  

Tiffani had returned from her smoke break, and had shot Ginger an evil glare while simultaneously performing her own assessment on the customer.  Ignoring her, Ginger turned her attention back to the customer, as Tiffani as walked up to a counter.  

"-anything special?  An engag--"

From behind her, the sound of smashing glass and screaming interrupted any further conversation-- not that the customer was in a position to listen to Ginger any longer.

Pushing her out of the way, he was moving past her, towards Tiffani.  Later, Ginger would realize that he started moving a split second before the noise erupted.  That he had been watching Tiffani out of the corner of his eye since she returned to the store.  Later she would be able to process everything that had happened, but that was much later.  At that moment, though, all she caught were flashes of action.  Snap shots of the chaos that followed.

Her handsome client charging across the store, pulling something out from under his jacket as he moved against--

Whatever the hell it was, it was huge!  And... furry?  It was a huge furry... thing!--

That bellowed loudly, the noise hammering at Ginger's ears, almost beating her down to the floor as she sought escape--

A terrified Tiffani, screaming at the thing, trying to hide behind the counter--

A counter that was swept away with a swipe of a huge paw--

Her handsome customer diving at the... the monster--

A bright flash as he hacked at it with a sword--

Only to be backhanded into a standing display of bracelets--

Tiffani scrambling across the floor, backing away from the monster on her hands and feet as the monster turned on her--

The handsome customer scrambling to his feet--

Ginger's escape, the front door, almost in reach, then blocked as a dark form pushed it's way into the store--

The cheery, mocking, chimes of the door--

A glass globe, bouncing across the floor--

A new voice, shouting loudly over the cacophony.  "Gaistigh scaith.  GAISTIGH SCAITH!"

A painfully bright flash of light--

Then, silence....

*****

Gunn halted his attack in mid-stride, his target gone; safely entombed in the glass globe now rolling slowly across the floor.

"Took you long enough, man," he bitched, though not seriously, as he slipped his short sword back underneath his suit jacket.  He noticed the cut fabric on his sleeve, and was once again thankful that he bought off the rack.

"Yes, sorry about that," Wes said, bending over to retrieve the demon's new prison.  "The first two stores were out.  I had to go across town to Leon's.  He insisted that we haggle."

"You didn't," Gunn asked, incredulously.  "Did you?"

"Of course not," Wes insisted as he put the globe into a small gym bag, gingerly setting it down on the floor at his feet.  "But I fear that I am persona non grata at Leon's for the next little while."

"At least until his bruises heal?"

"Something like that, yes.  This the young woman?" Wes asked, pointing to a slim blonde curled up in a ball beyond a smashed counter.

"Yeah, fits Lorne's description, and the..." Gunn gestured at the gym bag and it's cargo.

"Scaith demon."

"Yeah, him.  He popped outta the crystal ball at her just as soon as she opened the counter.  Just like the vision."

"What the hell is going on?" the first sales clerk-- Ginger-- demanded.  

She was slowly, unsteadily, climbing to her feet, her face ashen, her voice shaky.  Gunn reached out to help her to her feet, but she waved him away, fixing the two men with a suspicious glare, before looking around quizzically, in what under any other circumstances would be a humorous expression, as she registered the demon's absence.

"Where is it?" then she noticed her co-worker, still curled up in a ball, eyes screwed shut against the tears that streaked her face.  "Tiffani?"

Ignoring the two men for the moment, Ginger moved to her co-worker's side, helping her to her feet, only to have Tiffani double over and throw up... all over Ginger's shoes.

"Gawddamnit, Tiffani!" she cursed, stamping her one foot against the floor before helping the unresisting Tiffani into a chair.

"I've hit the silent alarm," Ginger declared, turning her attention back to Gunn and Wes, and pointing to the switch beside the puddle of vomit.  "The cops'll be here any minute."

If she expected them to run for it, she was disappointed.

"We know," Gunn said, producing his own cell phone for emphasis.  "I called them myself, just before coming in.  They usually wait though-- until everything's calmed down-- to see if we get ourselves killed first, before doing their thing."

He barked a short bitter laugh.  "'To serve and protect', my ass."

"We have a liaison, an associate of ours, who works quite closely with elements of the LAPD," Wes said.  He had moved to Tiffani's side and was examining her for obvious wounds as he continued to explain.  "Those elements prepared to believe her, that is.

"She's in shock," Wes said, as he looked around for....

A handbag, lying on the floor amidst the debris.

"The paramedics will take her to the ER to be on the safe side," he said as he picked up the handbag and carried it over to an undamaged counter.  "But she was not injured by the demon."

"Hey!  That's Tiffani's!  You can't- Demon?" it was all getting to be too much for Ginger.  "Did you say 'demon'?"

"A Scaith demon, to be exact-"

"And he usually is," Gunn interrupted with a grin.

"A Scaith demon," Wes repeated.  He dumped the handbag's contents out on the counter and sifted through them.  "Will protect its master's property, violently so, and is usually kept encased in a crystal, itself enchanted to release the demon should the property be disturbed."

He held up a small diamond encrusted broach.

"And as any small business owner will tell you, employee theft is their largest single loss."

"So, Tiffani tried to steal the broach, and the demon--" Ginger paused for a moment, her expression slipping from quizzical to angry, very angry.  "Manny put a demon in the store.  A demon!  To spy on us.  To attack...  I'll kill him!"

"Let us worry about Manny," Gunn said.  "Wes here'll be visiting him later tonight to talk at him for a bit.  Looking forward to it, aren't ya, Wes?"

"Indeed, the highlight of my day," Wes said dryly.  "Still, it should allow Angel the opportunity to work out an issue or two."

"I'll be thinking of you at dinner, man."

"I rather doubt that," Wes said, with a smile.

Further conversation was cut short as the police and paramedics arrived.  It seemed to Ginger that the cops were way too casual to be responding to a '211 silent', an armed robbery call.  It seemed that her handsome customer, he later introduced himself as Gunn, that Gunn had been right about the cops' attitude.  It made her wonder just how common demons were in LA.  

In a surprisingly short time, Tiffani had been taken away to the hospital, and the cops, having done little more than wander about and whisper back and forth about the prices of some of the pieces, were gone, leaving Ginger to clean up.

Actually, Ginger had pretty much decided to just lock up and take a mental health day.  Let Manny worry about cleaning up tomorrow, she thought.   

That's when she noticed that Gunn was still in the store.  

"Hey, I thought that you had left," she said, pulling on her jacket and waving her keys at him.  "I'm about to lock up.  Manny can worry about all this tomorrow."

"Yeah... look, I know that you've, uh, you've had a bad day and all...."  He looked so adorable standing there all nervous and schoolboy-like, quite the contrast to the fierce demon hunter from earlier in the day.  "But, I kinda need some help."  

Ginger smiled and pulled off her jacket, before leading Gunn to a counter.

"These are our best rings.  I'll give you the owner's discount.  I'm sure Manny will mind.  Now, what kind of jewellery does she usually wear?"

*****

The waiter deftly removed the bowl of broken bread sticks, replacing it with a new bowl for Gunn to maul as he waited at the small, out of the way table, far from the rest of the restaurant clientele.

Reflexively, Gunn pulled a bread stick out of the bowl, snapping it in two, then three, then four, all the while alternating his attention between the restaurant's entrance and his wrist watch.  

"Excuse me, sir, but would you like to examine the wine list now?" the sommelier asked, seeming appearing from nowhere, blocking Gunn's view of the entrance, and offering him the leather bound wine list.  "Before madame arrives."

"Huh... what?  Uh, sure," Gunn blurted out, distracted as the waiter again replaced the bowl of bread sticks, pausing to delicately sweep some offending crumbs off of the table, and after the barest hesitation, from the front of Gunn's suit jacket, and his lap.  He handed the wine list unopened back to the sommelier.  "Hey, look, you're the expert.  She... uh, she likes... red wine.  A merlin?"

"A merlot, sir," the sommelier nodded in approval.  "An excellent choice, especially with Chef's filet mignon.  May I suggest the '98 Santa Alicia?  A lovely Chilean merlot, even by the already fine Chilean standards.  Or perhaps--"

The sommelier abruptly stopped talking, nodding slightly to someone off to one side, before bowing politely and moving off. Gunn automatically looked over in the direction of the sommelier's nod, to find a waiter smiling politely at him, his expression professionally neutral.

"Hey," he turned, hoping to confirm his wine order--

To see the maitre'd approach his table, and beside him....

It never failed.  The tightness in his throat, his damp palms and dry mouth, the forgetting to breathe-- it happened every time she walked into a room and looked at him.  Every time Cordelia Chase walked into a room and looked only at him.

For a guy who didn't ever figure he'd live past twenty, Charles Gunn was the poster boy for 'lucky bastard.'

She was radiant.  Beautiful in a scarlet, form fitting dress that he had not seen on her before, her now light brown hair brushing over bare shoulders, and her smile for him alone as he stood.  That a great many heads throughout the restaurant were turned in admiration as she walked through was lost on him, though not on a great many dinner companions.

"Sorry, I'm late," Cordelia apologised after exchanging a hug and kiss.  "God, I'm glad I'm not a cop.  The paperwork they wanted just for a Scaith."

"Uh, yeah," Gunn said automatically, not really listening to her, as the maitre'd held Cordelia's chair out, before retaking his own seat.

The maitre'd himself handed over the menus before withdrawing, leaving the two in private.

"I could really get used to this," she whispered.  "Wes said it went well, this morning."

"No, not at all," Gunn said, slowly working his way through their conversation, very slowly through their conversation.

"What?" Cordelia asked, suddenly worried.

"You're not late at all," Gunn blurted, desperate to reassure her, even as he misinterpreted her response. "It's fine.  You're right on time."

Cordelia smiled at him.  In the past, her being more than thirty-five minutes late usually resulted in a snide comment about her needing a new watch.  "Uh huh....  So, this is all nice and romantic.  What's the occasion?"

"'Occasion'?  There's no 'occasion'!" Gunn rambled on in auto defence mode.  "I can't treat my lady to a nice dinner out every now and again?  I need an 'occasion'?"

He stopped, desperate to control himself before he spiralled out of control.  More out of control, anyway.  "Oh, God..."

"Gunn, is anything wrong?" Cordelia asked.

"The timetable," he sighed in defeat.

"The timetable is wrong?"

"No, no, the timetable was just fine.  It was perfect.  I had everything planned out.  Except that now... now I don't have a timetable, not any more.  I had a timetable, and now I don't..." he stopped and shook his head helplessly.  It took all his will power not to wipe his hands on the tablecloth.  "God, this was supposed to go a lot better than this.  I was going to be all sophisticated and everything.  Just like Roger Moore, you know...."

"You're doing just fine," she said.  Cordelia reached across the table and took Gunn's hand in hers, squeezing softly for emphasis.

"I mean, I wrote it all down," he reached into his jacket, producing a much abused sheet of paper.  "See.  It was going to be perfect.  You deserve perfect."

"I do," she agreed, matter-of-factly.

"Then, 'bang', nothing.  It's all gone.  First, I couldn't find the right-" he looked up in alarm, afraid that he may have given too much away.  "Never mind.  Then... then you walk into the room and....  God, it was going to be perfect."

"Gunn," Cordelia said, whispering as she leaned across the table.  "It will be perfect.  Just give me the damn'd ring."

"I mean, sure, it sounded like a good idea in my head.  Looked like a good idea on paper," he said, not really hearing her.  "Candle lit supper, out of the way table, I wait for dessert, and say....  Say what?"

"I said, give me the damn'd ring," she smiled.  "Give me a chance to say 'yes', before you blow it."

His eyes narrowed.  "Did Wes say anything to you?"

"You know Wesley better than that," she said, in defence of their friend.  "He didn't say anything.  Angel didn't say anything.  Lorne and Fred didn't say anything.  Connor didn't say anything... well he said 'truck' earlier this morning-- at least I hope it was 'truck'-- any way I don't need any of them to tell me squat about you.  Now, ask me.  Please... just ask me."

And with that Gunn found himself back in control.  The dry mouth, sweaty palms, the forgetting to breath, all that vanished in the face of Cordelia's loving smile.  Smiling back, Gunn stood, fastidiously straightening his suit jacket, and moved around the table to kneel down on one knee at Cordelia's side.  

"Cordelia," he said, taking her hands in his, and holding up the diamond engagement ring-- their diamond engagement ring.  "I love you.  I am so very much in love with you, and there is nothing-- nothing-- that would give me more pleasure than the privilege of spending the rest of my life with you, as your husband.  Cordelia, will you please marry me?"

Cordelia pulled her hand away from Gunn's long enough to wipe away at some tears before pushing it back into his grasp, and extending her left hand.

"Oh, oh... yes, yes, oh, of course, I'll marry you, Gunn," she stammered out between sobs.  "I love you, too.  I love you, too."

Gunn slipped the ring onto his fiancee's ring finger, and kissed her hand, before leaning in to kiss her.  She threw her arms around him, and returned the kiss with passion, her tears staining his face as the world contracted to just the two of them.  They were oblivious to the patter of applause that rippled through the restaurant clientele and staff, lost in each other's arms, in their own world.

In a perfect world, their lives together would be long and sweet.

In a perfect world....

End


Note:  This is why I have a love-hate thing going on with Joss Whedon.  I should thank my lucky stars that Firefly got cancelled before he could kill off Kaylee, but, my G-d, Tara, Anya, *and* Cordelia!  Three of my all time favourite characters, all dead!  Still, this is why we have fanfic (okay, we have fanfic because some Star Trek fans wanted to have Kirk and Spock get it on, but you know what I mean).  I hadn't meant to do 'flashbacks' in my Cordyverse series, with one possible exception, and this ain't it, but I had to respond to "You're Welcome", and this is it.  Thus, instead of dying on 4 Feb '04, Cordy becomes engaged to Gunn.  At least in my world.

As I said, that's why we have fanfic.



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