Gunn had been crashing at Anne's ever since he had found himself alive, in a grave, under six feet worth of earth. After digging himself out and finding someplace to wash all the soil off, he had gone and robbed an outlet store in one of those shopping malls that was really only a bunch of stores connected together in a long chain.
With new threads and a relatively clean smell to him, he had visited Fred and Veronica at the Hyperion. Had made Fred cry, and had attacked the tiny blonde one before retreating out of the hotel.
To Anne. Her doors were always open, especially to friends like Angel and Gunn. She had no idea that the man sleeping in one of her rooms was no longer the same as he had been the day of the final battle. Charles Gunn, street fighter, vampire hunter, lawyer? All that had gone away. He was Charles Gunn, undead, now.
All the commotion brought him down the stairs slowly, boots stomping and echoing loud on the steps. "What the hell's happening here?" Scanning over the faces of those he knew not to be staying in the shelter, Gunn recognized only one. The man that had sent him to his death in the first place. Angel. The vampire that thought he was so much better because he had a soul. How'd the ol' Champion of the Weak and Hopeless feel when he found out he had turned one of his coworkers -- nay, friends, one of his friends -- into the same monster he had been for the last two hundred years? That thought only was enough to make Gunn snarl.