Chapter Text
"If you persist in trying to attain what is never attained; if you persist in making effort to obtain what effort cannot get; if you persist in reasoning about what cannot be understood, you will be destroyed by the very thing you seek."
–Chuang Tzu, pre 250 BC
Giles is sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bathroom door. He has his legs pulled up high, his arms wrapped around them. The position is protective, almost foetal. He looks down at the strong young hands that are his in this halfway house and feels younger still, like a child. Like a child left behind.
Giles doesn't know how to wake up.
He's tried everything he can think off, but nothing has worked. Not words, nor gestures, nor attempting to 'fall asleep'. That might have worked if he could actually have done it, but he is far too worried about Ethan to relax. Previously he was woken either by real world events, or by slipping through dream-sleep. He just doesn't know how to do it at will.
And just about anything could be happening to Ethan while Giles fails to get it right. And now, now he has problems of his own anyway as the apartment has started to disappear. It seems that, with its creator gone, the construction cannot last, and slowly, it's just crumbling away into nothingness.
Giles seems to have stabilised this corridor, the kitchen and bathroom too. But it takes an effort of will, which means trying to sleep is now out of the question. If only he knew what would happen if he let the whole lot vanish. Would that be deadly for him? Or would he wake up?
"Oh God, Ethan," he mutters. "I'm sorry." Giles feels the loss of his lover like a raw angry wound, still bleeding, still screaming for attention.
Having admitted to himself the entirety of what he has been feeling – his depression and desperation as well as his love, gratitude and need for Ethan – Giles now doesn't know what to do with it all. Fuel for a decision of immense personal magnitude while Ethan was here, it now all seems a trifle melodramatic. Almost teenage. Like he was taking himself rather too seriously. Ethan takes him seriously, of course. He is, it seems, 'everything that matters' to Ethan. And it's hard not to respond to that kind of relevance, hard to refuse to fulfil a need like that. Harder still to ignore his own need to be that vital to someone he loves.
Suddenly, Giles' head spins and the fragment of world around him seems to rock. He has no time to recover, before it happens again, then again. He clutches uselessly at the floor, but it crumbles under his fingers. The last bit of solid pseudo-reality disappears around him, and for a fraction of a second he is in freefall, too bewildered even to scream.
***
Giles opened his eyes to find himself looking from a very short distance at a broad and worried face. He reared away, the back of his head hitting soft furnishing, and the face, which turned out to be Xander's, moved back. Giles could see he was sitting on his own sofa, surrounded by the children. And also Spike, who was shuffling his feet and looking decidedly shifty.
"You woke me up?" Giles asked stupidly, panting a little as he tried to get his bearings.
"You could say that, Rip Van Winkle. Welcome back to Reality, basic edition." Xander had that smile he always wore when he wanted to be frowning.
"Are you okay?" Tara asked softly, handing him a glass of water that he couldn't help but imagine had been about to be thrown over him had he not woken when he did. He sipped it obligingly. He felt... relieved? Distraught? Blank? He had no idea.
"I think so." He forced his chaotic thoughts into something approaching order. Oh dear God. "I need to find Eth-" he started, rising hurriedly to his feet. The attending youngsters backed away to make space for him, and the gap between Willow and Dawn widened to reveal Bu- The Bot. The ever buoyant smile was predictably distorting its face. One hand was firmly clasped around Ethan's mouth, the other holding one of his arms up his back, forcing him to bend over painfully.
"Surprise!" said Willow. "We found the Sandman."
Ethan's eyes were shadowed and angry above the Bot's hand. "Let him go, please," Giles instructed the Bot, ignoring Willow for now.
The robot immediately did what it was told, of course, regardless of the noises of dismay from Xander and Dawn. Ethan dropped to his hands and knees. "He's a bad man," said the Bot. "He needs to have his ass kicked."
Willow was frowning. "Giles, Ethan was enchanting you from afar. He had this big ritual circle and, and, all kinds of nasty componenty things and-"
"And he was naked," Dawn added, her arms folded. "Xander and Spike had to make him get dressed." She kicked Ethan's arse, not very hard. Anya patted her on the arm in a congratulatory fashion.
"Stop that at once!" Giles glared at them both. He strode the few steps to Ethan and helped him up. God, he was so glad to see the man alive and relatively well.
Ethan twisted his mouth in a brief half-smile. "Hello, Ripper. I don't suppose this place of yours has a secret backdoor, does it?"
"You're not going anywhere," he answered gently and guided Ethan back to the sofa where they stood together.
"Whoa. What am I missing here?" Xander asked, somewhat aghast. "Where's all the Guy Ritchie violence and matching accent that this clash of British titans usually brings? What's with the protective all of a sudden?"
"He's still under the spell," Willow announced, using her scared but determined voice.
"I am not under any spell," Giles quickly asserted. "Now, I want you all to leave."
"No way." Dawn glared defiantly at him. "We're not leaving you alone with that, that..."
"Chaos mage," Anya provided helpfully. "And possibly a homosexual."
Tara and Willow turned pointed looks towards her, and she lifted her arms up defensively. "What? I never said there was anything wrong with being homosexual... gay... whatever." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Even Xander has-"
"So I think we should try getting hold of Riley Finn again," Xander interrupted hurriedly. "Not," he added, having clearly just heard himself, "that getting hold of Riley has anything to do with Anya's complete right turn at conversational Albuquerque. Just we have an escaped convict here; Riley and his men might want to hear about it."
"Absolutely not," Giles forbade, feeling himself grow increasingly angry. "I will not hand Ethan over to those... savages ever again."
"Decent of you, Ripper. Really." Ethan shifted beside him. His tone was urbane and amused as if he cared little about what was happening. That annoyed Giles too.
"I am not under a spell," he reiterated slowly with fake patience. "I am not in any danger. I want you to go now so that I can speak with Ethan. Alone." Could Ethan's spell be recreated? Did Giles want it to be?
Willow stared at him. "Giles, he was trying to trap you in dreams. You've been pretty much the invisible man for the last week or so."
"I know exactly what he was doing, Willow. I appreciate, very much, that you all care for me enough to be concerned about this. But things are not quite how you may be imagining them, or how certain individuals may have painted them." He looked pointedly at Spike, who rolled his eyes ceiling-ward and turned away.
"So how are these 'things' that we're not getting, Giles?" Xander asked, sounding more than a little pissed off.
"How they are, Xander, is my business." And Ethan's, of course.
"That's just where you're wrong, Watcher." Spike growled, turning back. "You got a mind to be killing yourself, becomes all our business, just like that."
"Aww, how sweet," Ethan said insincerely. "It's an intervention."
Getting dangerously close to losing his temper, Giles scowled at the vampire. "Thought you didn't give a toss?"
"Don't, mate." Spike shrugged insolently. "Don't give a flying monkey what you stuff your tadger in or whether you want to fall asleep and never wake up, or not. But she would've, so I do what I have to."
"Get out," Giles spat.
"Don't talk to him like that!" Dawn seemed to be almost vibrating with outrage. "Spike's a better man than you are!" As the others turned to stare at her with a mixed bag of expressions, she went on. "He doesn't want to leave me. Not like everyone else does."
Spike grimaced in obvious pain and moved forward to touch Dawn, stopping himself at the last moment. Willow and Tara did not abort their own movements, however, embracing the girl in a warm female sandwich, stroking her hair.
"Oh no, sweetie," Tara said, her voice tangy with empathy. "We're not going to leave. We promise." Tears dripped down Dawn's face, but she said nothing, her lips pursed tightly.
Spike wavered on the spot, looking at Dawn with a pained expression. Then he glared at Giles again. "Hasn't she lost enough?"
The answer was, of course, yes. More than enough. But she wasn't Giles' child, anymore than Buffy really had been. How much difference that made, however, Giles suddenly wasn't sure.
Pretending to ignore Spike, Giles addressed Dawn directly. "I'm not going anywhere in the near future, Dawn. I promise." As he said it, he saw again the dream world disintegrating, crumbling into the nothing that it truly was. Although he was neither touching nor looking at Ethan beside him, he somehow felt the man twitch.
Dawn's face screwed up. "Liar!" She tore herself from the witches' embrace and stomped over to Giles' desk, returning with the papers he had left out there. She threw them at him. They fluttered in the air like misshapen butterflies. "People who are planning to stay alive don't leave their last will and testament out for the people they're leaving behind to find."
"Have to agree with the maybe-needs-to-tone-it-Downster on this one," Xander said quietly as Tara wrapped her arms back around Dawn, who buried her face in Tara's shoulder and sobbed.
Bugger. Giles took his glasses off and rubbed hard over his eyes with his free hand.
"Thanks for the shop!" Anya said brightly. "That was very kind of you, Giles. I promise to make lots of money in your memory."
"Anya," Giles said wearily, starting to feel as if this 'reality' was a good deal less real than Ethan's fabrications, "Do I look dead to you?"
"Well, no. Not yet. But you're still planning to, you know, do it, aren't you?"
"An!" Xander pulled his girlfriend aside, and they exchanged pointed looks and gestures.
Was he going to let Ethan take him back to Eden? No, Giles hadn't lied to Dawn. He was needed here; he would stay. A heavy feeling of solidity and purpose seemed to settle in his limbs as he consciously made the decision. He would stay, but not alone.
"I am not," Giles said slowly, pedantically, "going to kill myself. Ethan is not going to kill me. I am not going anywhere in the foreseeable future. You, however, are all going to leave. Now."
Spike was the first to go. He moved across the room in huge strides and slammed open the door. He didn't close it though, and Giles could see him lighting up in the courtyard. Dawn freed herself from Tara and trotted out after him. Tara followed, looking anxiously back as she went.
Willow put her hands on her hips and glared fiercely at Giles. "Now look here, Mr this is my business British stiff upper lip person. If you think-"
"Willow," he interrupted, loading his voice with menace. "Go."
"Or he'll spank you," Ethan added pleasantly. "And he has a hard hand, let me tell you." Willow's fingers seemed to tense at her sides, and Ethan laughed, tipping his head back. "Oh, do throw magic about, yes. He'll love that."
Willow's eyes flashed with something disturbing that Giles had never seen before in the young witch, something that reminded him of himself in ways he didn't want to consider. But she turned and left without another word.
The Bot gave Giles a bright, nuance-free smile. "I hope you recover from your midlife crisis gay-romp deathwish-athon soon, Giles. Have a nice day and read some of your books. You like books." It followed Willow out.
That left just Xander and Anya, both of whom seemed uncomfortable. Giles imagined wryly that Xander's discomfort would not be entirely unconnected to the Bot's words before leaving. It did have an awkward habit of regurgitating conversation at random.
"I don't really want you to die, Giles," Anya said, her tone a little whiny. "I'd be upset if you did."
"Thank you, Anya. That is most gratifying. I'll call you both tomorrow, and now, if you wouldn't mind..."
Xander gave him a searching look, then nodded. "I won't say anything more. It's all been said. But don't you dare think we wouldn't miss you." He wrapped his arm around Anya's waist, and they walked out. As the door shut, Giles let himself sag a little, guilty relief sighing through his limbs like a shot of neat whisky.
"Sweet things, one and all," Ethan commented, his tone cancerous with sarcasm.
Giles turned to him. "They care. I can hardly begrudge them that."
"They don't care about you, Rupert. You're just part of the limited stability of their own miserable worlds. They want you around for their own sakes." Didn't Ethan understand that that was enough? It gave Giles a... a purpose. A responsibility.
He took a step closer to Ethan and touched his face with a light whisper of fingertips. The man didn't look any healthier close up than he had outside his motel. He was thin enough to disturb, and his skin was pale and sallow with the texture of worn soft leather. Once so beautiful, now the stuff of those black and white character portraits beloved of arty photographers. The ones who used clever chiaroscuro to highlight every ridge, deepen every wrinkle.
Ethan's face looked like his own deathmask.
As gently as he could, Giles asked, "What happened in Nevada? What did they do to you?"
Ethan stared at him for a long while, expressionless, then suddenly grinned jauntily. "A mug of best Ripper-brewed tea would go down a treat about now, don't you think?"
Frowning, Giles stepped closer still, intending to draw Ethan into a hug, but the other man, also frowning, took an equal step back, maintaining the distance between them. Then Ethan plastered his grinning mask back on.
"Tea?"
Sighing, Giles turned away. "Right, tea." It didn't seem such a bad idea actually. He was still a little parched. "Sit down then, Ethan. Have you eaten at all while we've been... dreaming?"
"Here and there," Ethan answered, obediently sitting on the couch.
"I'll make us some food too. Then we'll talk."
"Lovely." Ignoring the treacly sarcasm, Giles headed for the kitchen.
As he put the kettle on, he pondered how best to approach things. Well, Ethan. Communicating with him out here in the dangerous real world was clearly not going to be as simple as it had been within the safety and comfort of the dreams. Ethan was hiding behind his habitual mask of disdain and mordant wit, and he appeared so very fragile that Giles felt unwilling to push him.
Well, immediate physical needs should come first, he decided. They would, as he had said, eat and then perhaps communication would flow more easily.
He was beginning the process of pasta preparation when a lucky impulse made him turn to the hole-in-the-wall counter for some oregano. He caught the fleeting glimpse of Ethan scooting past, heading for the front door. Bloody hell!
With adrenaline-charged haste, Giles skidded from the kitchen. He caught Ethan outside in the courtyard and slammed him back against the wall. The breath was expelled from Ethan's frame with a grunt. "Where the sodding hell do you think you're going?"
Giles could visibly see Ethan puffing himself back up into a state of nonchalance. "Oh, come now, Rupert. I gave you the best time you've had in years. Decades, even. There's no call for being so crotchety."
Giles wanted to punch him. The hand not pinning Ethan to the wall clenched into a fist ready to knock some sense into the first flesh it met with. But Ethan's shoulder felt so frail and bony that Giles feared he'd break something without meaning to, so instead he shook him. "Where were you off to?"
Ethan lifted his hands in a gesture part defence, part shrug. "Somewhere. Anywhere. Away."
"Why?"
With a studied look of amused exasperation, Ethan said, "Well, I can hardly stay here, can I?"
"Here is exactly where you're staying."
"Oh, so I'm to be a prisoner of yours now, am I? Don't trust the muscular soldier boys to be able to keep me tied down again?" Ethan smirked. "Probably wise."
"You're not a prisoner."
"I'm not?" Ethan tried to slide out from under Giles' grip. "Well, in that case, I'll just be going." Giles slammed him back against the wall, wincing when Ethan's head impacted with the stucco, but resisting the urge to apologise.
"You're staying here because you belong to me."
"Oh." Ethan rubbed the back of his head, wincing. "Oh, I see. You believed that load of old twaddle, did you?"
That was it. Something cracked and fell apart inside Giles. He shoved himself violently against Ethan, bringing his knee up between the other man's legs. Ethan tensed and held his breath as pain took him for a ride someplace, and Giles felt himself grinning like a wolf.
"Twaddle?" he asked, daring Ethan to claim that again.
"Well," Ethan said, his throat sounding constricted, "I had to get my revenge somehow, didn't I, True Thomas? That Initiative cell really wasn't all that pleasant, you know."
"Bollocks!" Giles pressed his knee up harder.
"Yes," Ethan agreed, tears streaking his cheeks. "That's just what I... used to have."
"You never had balls. Look me in the eye, Ethan."
Instead, Ethan rolled his. "Oh, really, Ripper. Isn't this all a little excessive?"
"Eyes. Now."
With an exaggerated sigh, Ethan obeyed. "Yes, quite pretty. Always liked the Bowiesque asymmetry you sport. Now, is that enough? Can I go?"
"Tell me..." Giles thought for a brief moment. "Tell me you don't love me."
"But I adore you, Rupert. You know that. Heart and soul and all that Ella Fitzgerald stuff."
Giles pulled back and shoved himself bodily against Ethan again, ignoring the sexual thrill it gave him. Ignoring the fact that they were both a little hard it seemed. "Tell me you don't love me."
"Very well. I don't-" Ethan's eyes unfocused; whatever he was looking at, it clearly wasn't Giles. "-love you."
Giles punched him. Not hard, and in the soft part of the gut where there wasn't much to damage, but the blow was enough to cause Ethan to grunt and try to bend over. He couldn't of course, Giles was pressed too closely against him again. "In my eyes, Ethan. Tell me."
"This is a most peculiar game, Ripper. Truly. What, pray, are you hoping to-"
Exasperated, Giles grabbed one of Ethan's arms with his hand, twisting it around so that Ethan was forced to push his body forward, trying to ease the angle of the twist. Giles grinned hungrily at him. "Tell me, or I'll break it."
In obvious pain, Ethan met his gaze again. "I don't lo-" He faltered. Giles scowled. Ethan slumped, defeated, eyes downcast. "I can't. You win. Congratulations. May I go now?"
"I think not." Giles released his arm. "Who does your soul belong to?"
"You."
"Eyes."
Ethan raised his gaze just long enough to repeat, "You," before turning aside.
Something cold and jagged melted inside Giles, and he took a rather shuddering deep breath. "And had the children not interrupted us when they did?"
"Then we'd still be happy."
"In Never Never Land."
Still looking away, his expression decidedly moribund, Ethan snorted softly. "Arcadia was a better analogy. No loony with a hook in my pretty world, you see."
"Only the monsters we would have brought with us." Of which there would undoubtedly have been plenty. Giles thought of that old film – what was it? The Forbidden Planet? – and he shuddered. Had they had a near escape from eternal nightmare?
"You were ready to run away with me, True Thomas."
"Don't call me that. And yes, I was. Come back inside now." Giles backed off, but took Ethan's arm. "Come on."
They went inside together, and Giles locked the door firmly. "Go and sit down while I finish making tea and a snack." Still determinedly morose, Ethan walked to the sofa without comment. Giles watched him. "Don't you dare make me run after you again, Ethan."
Ethan sat down, holding his gut and wincing. "Your Ripper-punch hasn't lost any of its edge, I must say."
Giles wouldn't allow the ever-eager guilt any legroom. "That's kind of you to say," he replied dryly, heading for the kitchen.
"I try to be generous with my praise."
Giles lost count of the number of times he looked through the hole in the wall to check Ethan was still there while he cooked, but Ethan showed no signs of movement at all. He seemed to be staring fixedly straight ahead. Maybe he was asleep. Eventually Giles returned to the living room with a tray of food and drink. Ethan looked up as Giles sat down beside him on the sofa, placing the tray on the coffee table.
Giles smiled gently at him. "You'll have to give it up, of course," he said, as he handed Ethan a bowl.
"Of course," Ethan agreed. "Am I allowed to know what precisely I'm giving up?"
"Chaos," Giles answered conversationally, spooning out chilli macaroni into Ethan's bowl and sprinkling a generous handful of cheese over the top. Ethan watched, silent.
He remained silent as Giles served himself with food. Eventually, he said, "Well, that's interesting. And I'm compelled to do this unlikely thing because?"
"Because I can't have a Chaos mage as my, um, partner for life, obviously. Do eat up. You need to recover some body fat."
"Oh. Yes, obviously." Ethan raised his fork to his mouth and chewed in a rather gormless manner, his attention clearly elsewhere. Many forkfuls later, he said, "Rupert?"
"Yes, love?"
"Is this revenge?"
Giles chuckled softly. "It is, perhaps, justice."
Ethan nodded. "I see. In the sense, of course, that I don't."
Giles put his half-finished bowl down and took Ethan's from his hands as well. He drew Ethan to him. "I'm not making the same mistake again. You're staying. Here, with me, in the real world. No more dreams, no more running away for either of us. I'm afraid I'm giving you no choice about this. I own your soul, you see."
Ethan sat silently, docilely, leaning against Giles and trembling.
Giles kissed his cheek softly. "Don't you believe me?"
"I think I'd prefer another beating. The level of sadism here... well, it's more me, isn't it? It doesn't become you, Ripper."
"You don't believe me then. Okay." Giles shut his eyes, allowing clear water memories to surface before lifting his lids again and focusing on Ethan. "I, Rupert Giles, do so solemnly swear that I accept and treasure the soul of one Ethan Rayne on this day, September the-" He paused, realising he had no idea of the exact date. "This day in September, 2001. I take it and him as mine and will keep and protect both for as long as we both shall live. This I swear by..." He gave Ethan a smile of gentle irony. "By Janus, numen of doorways and choices."
The shivering in Ethan's frail frame grew far more pronounced. His face was a cracked mask, intense emotion showing through the fractures. "Rupert..."
"I'm telling the truth, Ethan."
"I... I know."
"Then what's the matter?"
"I... Chaos... It's..."
"Complicated and unpleasant, I'm sure. But between us, we'll get you out of every mess you've woven yourself into. Didn't we always excel at getting ourselves out of trouble, love?"
Ethan didn't look remotely comforted, so Giles decided a more physical approach might help. He tugged Ethan closer and kissed him softly, tasting the chilli on trembling lips. While Ethan didn't exactly respond with enthusiasm, he didn't pull back either, and Giles continued to gently move their mouths together.
Recalling how Ethan had always found skin to skin to be comforting, Giles kept one hand behind his lover's back, but moved the other to the front, where he began to undo Ethan's buttons.
Ethan caught his hand, breaking the kiss to say, "Don't."
Giles pulled back and searched Ethan's face and eyes for clues. "Why not?" Ethan didn't answer beyond shaking his head; he turned away. Giles frowned. "Have the Initiative left scars? What don't you want me to see?"
Ethan made a strange snorting noise. "Just me. I... Can't we go back into the dream? It would take a while, but with my bits and pieces from the motel I should be able to set it up again, as was."
"No more dreams," Giles told him. "The real world holds all we need."
"The 'real' world is as much an illusion as my creations, I can assure you." Ethan sounded bitter. "Mayavada, Rupert. Jagat Mithya, Nietzsche, even sub-nuclear physics, so I'm told. They all say the same thing. Life is but a dream."
"Yes, well, be that as it may, get used to living in it." Giles remembered many long conversations the pair of them had had when younger, spending whole nights until sunlight poured back into the sky discussing philosophy and religion. Giles with his pragmatic idealism. Ethan exploring foreign shores of thought that eventually led him to Chaos. Giles had enjoyed the discussions and missed them after he'd left. Although not quite as much as he'd missed, in all honesty, the bloody wonderful sex.
Suddenly, Giles understood what was wrong with Ethan. The talk of the nature of reality was sleight of hand, deliberate distraction. Ethan wanted the dream back because he was embarrassed by the condition of his body. Always vain, despite his frequent insistence that flesh was irrelevant, Ethan must hate what age and mistreatment had made of him.
Giles took Ethan into his arms and manoeuvred his more or less passive form around until Giles had one leg stretched out behind Ethan on the sofa, the other with its foot on the floor. Ethan sat between them, his side to Giles, his own legs stretched out along the sofa as well.
"This is nice," Ethan said, settling a little uncomfortably into Giles' arms.
"Yes, it is rather." Giles began to undo the other man's buttons again.
"Oh, Rupert, don't spoil things."
"Shh. Just let me do what I want to do. You know that's what works best between us." He pulled the shirt out of the waistband and unbuttoned to the bottom, pushing the two sides apart. Running his flat hand over Ethan's chest, Giles could feel every rib. He cringed inside at the suffering the half-starved body suggested, but he didn't let that show on his face. "This," he told Ethan, as he continued to caress, "is real beauty. This is who you are, Ethan. It's a mirror to your life, as much a history as, um, the Bayeux Tapestry."
"And of course, you've always had a kink for famous French embroidery," Ethan said dryly, but Giles could feel him relaxing.
"You're beautiful, love. You tell me that flesh doesn't matter, but you're wrong; it matters. It's testament and... and monument. To deny it is to deny yourself, deny reality. I love your flesh, Ethan." Giles kissed the side of his face. "And I love you."
Ethan said nothing, did nothing, just sat there.
Giles felt ever so slightly the fool, but he persevered. "Have I really silenced Ethan Rayne, word weaver and prince of lies?" he asked teasingly.
Ethan chuckled slightly. "You've disarmed me."
Encouraged, Giles ran both his hands freely over Ethan's body, touching everywhere, and laughing when he felt Ethan's cock twitch under the cloth of the cheap trousers, his own responding in kind. He nibbled at Ethan's neck before saying, "You're my favourite possession. I'm not going to allow anyone else to touch you."
The look of happy, flattered lust on Ethan's face was very familiar; it folded time, bringing together boy and man, and making Giles burn inside with love-laden desire. Grinning, panting a little as Giles paid attention to sensitive areas, Ethan asked, "Better than your guitar?"
"Yes. I love you more than my guitar," Giles answered seriously then laughed. "Now, I'm going to take you upstairs and shag you until these old bodies of ours give out for the night."
He cast his thoughts upstairs to his bedroom, wondering if he did in fact have the accoutrements of sex here, as he could hardly make them appear by will alone. He thought he did, however, if a little past their use-by dates. He pushed Ethan up to his feet then stood too.
"In the morning," he continued, "we can talk about things such as Chaos allegiances, soldiers and Sunnydale children."
"Harp and carp, Thomas," Ethan said wryly, clearly not relishing the prospect of the morning discussion.
Giles pulled him tightly to his body. "Understand this, Ethan Rayne," he said fiercely. "You are mine, and I know it now. Wherever you go, I will find you. I just need to tug on your soul to reel you back in. If you're not lying beside me in bed tomorrow morning when I wake up, you better prepare yourself for the thrashing of your life."
"I'll be there," Ethan promised, wincing a little. "Rupert, I really don't think you know what you're getting yourself into here. The pocket dimension would have been-"
"Suicidal and selfish," Giles interrupted. "I don't know, no. But I can well imagine. And tomorrow you will tell me all the disturbing details. Tonight, however, we are going to explore our own little pocket dimension between my –our– sheets."
As they walked up the stairs together, Ethan paused, looking out over the apartment. "I've grown to rather like this place, you know."
Giles pressed up behind Ethan, wrapping his arms around him. "It was lovely to come home to you," he admitted fondly. "You made me feel so welcome." Strange how he'd never felt quite that in his apartment before. Giles looked over his living room and thought for a moment that he'd left the fire on as a ruddy glow as if from a red lightbulb seemed to fill the space.
He hadn't left the fire on. The fire had never been turned on. For a few moments, Giles froze, wondering if this room around him was real at all.
Then he laughed, shook his head, and taking Ethan's hand, went up to bed.