__Do Not Go Gentle__
By B'cat



“Sorry about that bit of melodrama mate, sometimes forget how fragile the physical is.  What, not going to invite me in?”  Ethan smiled.  Or sneered.  Buffy could never tell.  It never seemed to confuse her Watcher though; he definitely came down on the side of sneer.

In the blink of an eye Giles had dropped the lamp and was across the room, taking Ethan by the throat.  Buffy didn’t follow him like she wanted to.  She suddenly couldn’t move.  Not even a finger.  Something dark and primal had been woken with his lunge and was shifting deep inside.  She felt paralysed by it.  So instead she stared.  Eyes locked on the muscles bunching and shifting as her Watcher’s shirt pulled tight across his back.  An abstract of shadow and form.  An erotic study in fury.  She could see it pushing at its prison of skin and cloth, trying to escape, to wreak its havoc on the world.  She could smell it too.  Feel it.  Hear it crackling in the static of the room.  Its velvet black, blood red savagery set her senses on fire and a feral smile suddenly pushed at her lips.  Hurt him.  Do it.  Do it.

“Rupert no!”  The dark haired English woman with the phone dropped the receiver and lunged after Giles.  She grabbed at his forearm and tugged.  “Stop it.”  Her voice cut the air like a blade.  As urgent, commanding and fierce as her Watcher could be, but Giles did not let go and Buffy’s smile grew sharp and cold and alive with anticipation.

“You heard the lady.”  Ethan was croaking.  “Now be a good chap and - ”

“Rupert, please.”  The woman appealed again. And then Giles was moving.  He stepped back from the doorway and dragged the other man inside with a single convulsive movement.  He pushed him up against the wall instead.

“What the hell are you doing here Ethan?”  Her Watcher’s voice was like ice and Buffy shivered.  “Think very carefully before you answer.”  Ethan made a choking sound, and motioned at his throat with one hand.  Giles relaxed his grip.  “Don’t try anything.  Nothing.  I warn you: nothing.”

“Fine fine fine.”  Ethan said and rolled his eyes.  They rolled toward the woman and suddenly widened in recognition.  “Anita!  How lovely to see you looking so well.”  Giles slammed his head against the wall.  It made a dull, thick thud.  Earthy.  Fleshy.  Nice, Buffy thought, feeling a small wave of heat roll through her guts.  A spark ignited and reflexively she loosed her spidey senses into the room searching, searching, searching, for something...  Someone. But he wasn’t there - NO, CRAP!  She took a sharp breath, held it.  Dammit.  Dammit.  Dammit.  What the hell is the matter with me?

Break the cycle, break the cycle...

“Do you have a death wish or what?  What are you doing here?  How did you get away from the Initiative?”  She marched over to the English trio, hands clenched into fists.

“And the Slayer.  Well isn’t this just very special: a welcoming party.”  Ethan grinned despite himself.  Giles squeezed.  Ethan choked.  “Alright, Ripper, alright.  Bloody hell.  I’m here on Council business.”

“Liar.”  Buffy snapped.

“What she said.”  Giles seconded.  “What are you doing here?  Last chance.”  Buffy could virtually smell her Watcher’s invitation to his captive: give me an excuse, any excuse....  She understood that.  She had lived that (taken special delight in, and drawn strength from that), but to see it in her gentle Watcher was to put up in blazing lights just how wrong it was: how false, how twisted and evil; how she, how they, must never give into it.

The Slayer swallowed the lump in her throat and pursed her lips.  She just had to find out what was wrong with her.  Natural attraction to Hell be damned, this wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right.   How could the Slayer fight Hell, how could her Watcher help her, if the first time she encountered it face-to-face all she wanted to do was roll in it?  Like a dog.  Like some kind of freaking rabid animal.

“I am on bloody Council business.”  Ethan was protesting.  “Look at me Rupert - am I lying?”  Buffy followed Ethan’s suddenly piercing stare, and saw her Watcher frown.  Squint.  Then blink and cock his head the same way he did when he was searching his bookshelves.  Weird.  And then he was frowning again.  “Right.”  Ethan nodded, a tight humourless smile touching his lips. “See.  I told you.”  Huh?

“Giles what-?”  She started.

“Ask them.”  Giles ignored her, and barked harshly over his shoulder to Anita.  His gaze never left Ethan’s face.  The woman, however, had other ideas and did not immediately let go of his arm. Buffy saw her fingers flex, applying pressure.  A warning?  A caution?  Whatever it was her Slayer senses registered the tiny relaxation in the arm and hand pinning Ethan to the wall.  “Ask them.  Please.”  Calm, controlled voice once again.  Anita released him.

“Well, isn’t that a relief.”  Ethan said.  “Three cheers for you Anita.  Now, if you would just move in and marry the git - ergh!”  Giles squeezed.  Ethan shut up.  Then they waited, frozen in place and listened to Anita’s voice.  And wondered at the silences.

“Its true.”  Anita suddenly addressed them again.  “Its true.  He’s working for the Council.  They say he’s one of them; they say he’s a part of your team.”

* * * * *

Ethan stared at Rupert, waiting for the man to do him some serious injury.  He was more than capable, and more than motivated.  It wouldn’t be the first time either, but his friend was not moving.  Instead he was slowly going that whiter shade of pale that Ethan remembered so vividly from so long ago.  That he recalled with an hysterical kind of fear, actually, though he would never admit as such.  Especially not to Ripper himself.

Unlike most people about to really erupt Rupert Giles did not go red, or even pink.  He did not shake or rage about like some rabid gorilla.  He didn’t yell or scream.  He went ashen and quiet. Expressionless.  Like ice.  Ethan had seen him beat a Haunsa demon to death with a face as calm as sleep, and discounting the completely pathetic hand wringing breakdown afterwards, Ethan had been mightily impressed.  And afraid.

A combination that he was presently re-experiencing.

“Well, colour me stunned.”  Buffy said from behind her Watcher.  Sarcasm dripped from every syllable.  “And here I was thinking how cool and so totally not-insane the Council are.  Please don’t tell me that he’s going to be hanging around.”

“No, he isn’t.”  Giles suddenly snapped out of his building rage.  He released his death grip on Ethan’s throat and stepped back a fraction.  “Watch him.  If he moves - break his legs.”

“Only his legs?”  The Slayer asked.  She folded her arms and looked up at Giles.  Ethan looked at the young woman and pursed his lips - she wasn’t being as entirely facetious as she sounded.   Which wasn’t very much to start with really.

“I’ll leave that to your discretion.”  Neither was her Watcher.

This had better be worth the bloody trouble...

Rupert backed up and collected the phone from Anita.  His other hand surreptitiously sought out one of Anita’s, protectively pulling her close to him.  Ethan rolled his eyes.  Oh for the love of Mike, it had been over 20 years!   When would the man realise that Annie was not in any danger from him; that Annie had never ever been in any peril at the hands of one Ethan Rayne. If anything it was just the opposite.   Rupert was never going to pull his head out from his arse and realise though.  Too busy playing Tarzan to his Jane.  Too busy with his testosterone high and getting his belly scratched.

Lucky dog.

“So, how’s this slaying-gig working out for you then?”  Ethan asked Buffy as Rupert pushed the phone to his ear.

“Keep on making noise and you’ll find out.”

“Just trying to make conversation!  It’s been an age since we caught up.”

“Yeah I remember, it took me my whole allowance to get rid of the evidence.  A whole summer without serious mall-time.  That kind of stress can leave a girl with scars.  Oh wait a minute - it did.”

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU ARROGANT CRETONOUS SONS OF BITCHES BEEN SMOKING?”  Ripper suddenly bellowed.  Buffy jumped as if she’d been tazered and whipped around to stare.  “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MINDS?   No...   No, I really couldn’t give a flying fuck about .....   Well then the deal is off.  Yes, you heard me correctly....  Well you can just....  just kiss my arse Knightly....  I...”  Well that was going well!  Ethan shook his head, a small, amused smile curling the edges of his mouth.

His gaze slid around the room, gauging, calculating, unashamedly sticky-beaking.  Is that Whisky?  Ooh, it is!  Taking advantage of the fuss he slipped deeper into the lounge room and went for the bottle sitting on the overflowing desk.  It was half full and a very good brand. Ethan grinned as he unscrewed the cap and poured himself a generous shot using Ripper’s glass.  If nothing else, being raised in the top societal ranks certainly gave one the dosh to afford the finer things in life.  He sniffed at the glass’ contents.  Nice, very nice.  Ooh, and what was this?  Tilea.  Soarevale.  Oh, excellent.  He sat down at the desk and pulled the ancient text closer.  In the background Ripper was still giving what-for to the idiots at HQ.  Good going old boy, he thought absently, just you let them know whose boss and leave us grownups to read in peace...

Ooh!

I knew it - I was right, I knew it-

“Get away from that!”  It was Ripper.  The book was slammed shut.  “And put that glass down.  I am not going to be your personal bar as well as your bloody keeper.”

“Let me guess: you lost the debate?”  Ethan said, looking up.  Giles’ expression was as dark as night and he did not reply immediately, so Ethan decided to go with the moment.  “I assume they told you why I am here?”

“You tell me.”

“Very untrusting of you old man!  I like it.”  He grinned: fast and sharp and fleeting, but Ripper’s expression only darkened further so he hurried on.  “Alright, Reader’s Digest version, and its all very simple really: the Council is the only thing standing between me and a very unpleasant return to the bosom of that very improbably named Initiative.

“The Council want these blood pools investigated.  They want you and the Slayer to do it, but they need something to make their little nightmare a reality.  Chaos magicks.  The darkest of arts. That’s where I come in.  I help you do what needs to be done and in return they give me a running start on our little weekend warriors.”

“How did you get away from them in the first place?  Riley - ” The Slayer asked.

“Ah, your soldier boy.  Well, fortunately for yours truly not all of them are quite so dedicated.  Not quite so - stubborn, shall we say.”

“Mind control.”  Giles’ said.  It wasn’t a question and didn’t need an answer.  Standing beside Ripper Annie pursed her lips in disgust.  Some things never changed...  How hypocritical. He smiled a knowing, indulgent smile at his fellow English.  “Did you kill any of them?”

“Ripper.”  Ethan admonished, using his best, most sincere voice and hoping its tenor transferred to his aura.  Giles closed his eyes briefly.  Oops...

“Wait a minute.  Giles?”  The Slayer spoke up, eyes wide and dark.  “Blood pools.  The...  The Council want us to go find the blood pools?  After what happened with the tiny itty bit of hell blood they want us to go find the whole pool?  When did they tell you that?  When were you going to tell me?  Why are you taking orders from them again?”

Giles looked down at his charge, opened his mouth, closed it and then looked at Ethan.  He pointed a finger in his face.  “You will sit here and not move, not so much as a finger, until I get back.  The Council may trust you but I do not and I will not hesitate to do what I should have done a long time ago if you persist in pissing me off.”  Ethan just nodded - he knew when to stop.  He did.  Usually.  Mostly.  Sometimes.  O.K. hardly ever, but this time he was on target.

Ethan watched in silence as Giles ushered Buffy out of sight into the kitchen. Murmuring, muttering voices floated back into the lounge room: a high, urgent staccato melody against a deeper calmer bass.  Ethan looked up at Anita.

“Well now love.”  He said with smile.  “What brings you to our lovely Sunnydale then?”

“What are you really doing Ethan?”  Anita ignored his question.  “Really.  What are you up to?”

“I told you, the Council have got me by the balls.  I help Ripper and they let me go.”

“You are going to help Rip- Rupert?”  She corrected herself with a wince and Ethan grinned.

“Its alright to call him that you know.  Ripper I mean.  Its who he really is after all.”

“It is not.  Why do you persist in calling him that after all these years?”

“Because that is who he is.  Come on Anita, you were there.  You saw what he was, what he did.  Who he did.  No one could just let all that go.  Ripper is Ripper, he’s just chosen to ignore it for a while.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“You are and you had better stop goading him, or-”

“Or what?  He’ll lose control? He’ll stop hiding from who he is, and the world will become a much more interesting place to live in once again?”

“Or you will have to deal with me.”

“Really?  Is that a promise?”

* * * * *

Giles re-emerged from the kitchen leading his very subdued charge.  His explanation had gone over like the proverbial lead balloon, which was understandable, but the scale of Buffy’s reaction was very odd.  They had set off to face their share of danger numerous times, but never once had he seen his Slayer react the way she had tonight.  Anger, yelling, or even a flat out refusal to co-operate he expected, but not this, this disturbing lack of ferocity of feeling.  There was something serious troubling her.  Something she would not put into words.  It was radiating out in distressed waves that rippled and frayed the edges of her aura, and once or twice he thought he glimpsed the faint black/red that had stained it after she had tasted the Hell God Blood.  It might have been his darkened mood though.  Just the knowledge that bloody Ethan was in the next room was seriously distracting him with his own darkness, his own misgivings.

When he re-entered the room he was relieved to see Annie unharmed.  Only radiating deep frustration.  He pursed his lips.  The sooner they got this over with the sooner they, he, could be rid of Ethan.

“Right.”  He announced, and everyone looked at him.  “The other Council representative will be here very shortly I am told.  He should be on his way from the airport now.  That gives us more than enough time to ready ourselves.  Let’s get started.”

“Now?”  Ethan asked, looking surprised.

“Yes, now.  The Council may have forced this little collaboration but that doesn’t mean it has to last any longer than absolutely necessary.  Buffy-” he looked the Slayer “can you be ready in an hour?”

“Sure,” she nodded.  Tight little movements that looked almost painful.  It hurt to look at too, and once again Giles found himself wishing that she would say what was wrong.  “I’ll grab some stuff from home and be back here ASAP.  I’ll leave a note for Mom.  And don’t look at me like that, you know I won’t tell her what we’re really doing.”  And she was striding away.  Giles watched her go.  A very large part of him was still hoping she might turn back and - but it looked like she was going to take her own sweet time.  Once again.  He exhaled heavily through his nose, pursing his lips.  “Small arms only.”  He called after her.  “Nothing too heavy.”

“Got it.”  She called over her shoulder and was gone.  He turned to Ethan.

“I’m going up stairs for a moment.  Stay here, and don’t touch anything.  You know I’ll know it if you do.  Anita?”  He motioned to her and they both climbed up to the upper floor.  Once they had reached his bedroom he shut the door behind them.  “I’m so sorry Annie.”

“About what?”

“About all,” he gestured helplessly “this.  This hopeless bloody mess.  I really wanted to spend some time with-”

“Wanted Rupert?”  Annie moved closer.  “I travelled a million bloody miles to see you and if you think I am going to get back on the plane now, you can just think again.”  Giles blinked at her and a rush of happiness burned his insides.  Immediately he tried to squash it before she saw. It wasn’t right.  She mustn’t come with them.  She mustn’t, no matter how much he wanted it.  If anything happened to her...

“Annie, you - ” He began, and saw her smile.  Dammit, busted.  He felt the last of his resolve melt in to a puddle at his feet.  It was wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.

“Shut up.”  She reached up and rested her forearms on his shoulders.  Her thumbs tickled the hair at the base of his skull.  “Now, you told your Slayer to be back in an hour.  From my calculations that gives us at least ten minutes preparation time.”

“Ten?  What about the other fift-  Oh.”  He started, surprised when he knew he shouldn’t be.  He smiled.  “What about Ethan?”

“What about him?”

“He’ll hear us.”

“Yes, he will won’t he.”

“He won’t be happy.”

“Pity about that.”

“It would be cruel.”

“Inhuman even.”

“I love you, you know.”

“I’m counting on it.”

* * * * *

Dawn was too pissed off to sleep.  Lying, rigid with said pissed-offedness, in her bed she listened to the night sounds and sulked flagrantly, without remorse.  Buffy was such a bitch.  Just because she was the big sister, the big stupid Slayer, it did not give her the right to treat her younger sister like a baby.  Like some stupid child that needed constant checking on.  She was nearly 15, for gods sake, and she didn’t need a baby sitter.  She was old enough to know what she wanted and it sure as hell was not that.  Spike understood.  He knew that she was no baby, and he had shown her that tonight.  And how...

Spike.

He was soooooo hot. All lean and dangerous and gorgeous like that cheetah she had watched pace its cage at the zoo last summer.  Get too close and he would pounce.  All claws and fangs and hottness.  Dawn shivered suddenly, thrilled with the picture that was forming in her mind, and wondered if he would have pounced tonight if Buffy hadn’t shown up?  Bet he would have.

Man, it had been so much fun until Buffy.

Dawn, rolled on to her side and drew her knees up to form an angry pretzel on her bed.  And that was when she heard it: the soft click of Buffy’s bedroom door.   The Slayer was back from patrol, and back from beating up Spike she just bet.  If possible her anger only deepened.  As if Spike (as sexy as he was) was responsible for her late night wanderings!  As if anyone was but her.  Dawn scowled into the darkness - if Buffy wanted to beat anyone up for that it should be her, Dawn!

She shot up from the bed, stormed out of the door and marched down the corridor to Buffy’s room. Without knocking she pushed the door open.  Buffy was still dressed and rummaging around in her weapons bag with jerky, strained movements.

“What do you want Dawn?  You should be in bed.”  The Slayer spoke tersely without looking up.  She tossed aside a crossbow, considered it for a moment and then pushed her hand into the bag again.

“I can go to bed when I want.”  Dawn folded her arms.  “Where have you been?  Did you beat up Spike?”

“Spike?  What?  No.  Look, Dawn I don’t have time for this.  Go to bed.”  Some huge nailed thing was tossed on to the bed.  A length of rope.  A sword.

Buffy paused then, and stared down at this last weapon.  Then, with a decisive motion she scooped it up, slipped the blade into a neat little leather scabbard and heaved it over one shoulder.  A second later it was secured in place with a belt across her chest.  The pommel poked up above her right shoulder.

“What are you doing?”  Dawn demanded.  No answer.  More weaponry was piled on the bed.  “Its something big isn’t it?  Tell me.”  Buffy was still ignoring her, shrugging into a bulky black parka now.  A huge torch, a thrice-blessed silver cross (a gift from Angel that was so potent it had burned through the two inch thick bottom on the wooden box he had been carrying it in, giving the vampire third degree burns on both hands) and Mr Pointy disappeared in to the large zip pockets.  Buffy continued to ignore her and Dawn pursed her lips.  Time to break out the big guns.  “I’ll tell Mom.”  She threatened.  That got a reaction.

“No you won’t Dawn.”  Buffy stepped up close, moving so quietly Dawn didn’t even hear it.  “Go.  To.  Bed.  Now!”   Uh oh.   She meant it and Dawn flinched despite her best efforts.  She didn’t quite have the guts to stand in her way as Buffy pushed passed and went down the corridor.  Buffy rarely really threatened her, even by inference, so when she did Dawn noticed, and collapsed like a tower of cards.  Like she just had then.  Wait a minute....  Damn it.  Buffy hadn’t dared sit on her or get all cat-fighty since she had gotten her super strength.  Mom would kill her.  Dawn charged back into the fray.

“Where are you going?”  She demanded, finding her sister in the kitchen scrawling a note.  “Why won’t you ever tell me anything?  I’m not a child-”

“Yes Dawn, you are.”  Buffy said.  “And you should be glad for it.  Now go to bed, and don’t you dare tell Mom any stories.”  Buffy put the paper and pen in the centre of the bench.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you would tell me what you were doing!”  Dawn did block Buffy’s exit this time, and folded her arms.  Buffy stopped, an inch from her nose.  Dawn held her ground.

“Its Slayer stuff Dawn.  You know, running around in the sewers, chasing around in the dark and staking vamps.  Slayer stuff.”

“You’re lying.”

Buffy sighed explosively.  Then she was pushing past, nudging her sister out of the way and disappearing out the front door.  “Go to bed.”  The door clicked shut behind her and Dawn was left in the hallway so angry she was nearly shaking.  A second later she had snagged her coat from the hall rack and was out the front door herself.  Out into the cold and running after the Slayer.

* * * * *

Spike was in a devilishly good mood.  Sitting atop his crypt and chain smoking and drinking cheap scotch, he was working on getting arse kickingly drunk.  Cheerful drunk tonight though.  He swigged at the bottle and thought happy thoughts.  Nasty, happy little thoughts.

Buffy wanted him.  She wanted him.  In all the most nasty, sweaty and debauched ways anyone could want anyone, Buffy wanted him.  No, wait a minute, even better: The Slayer wanted him.  The Slayer wanted a vampire, and not the poofy souled kind either, to do the nasty with.  To fuck.  He bit his lower lip to keep from laughing, from snarling, from howling at the bloody moon.

Oh it was so sweet on so many levels.

He had known since he had first met her that Buffy got turned on doing her Slayer song and dance, particularly when the odds were against her.  That was only natural though.  He hadn’t faced a Slayer that didn’t.  Hadn’t really faced a vampire that didn’t either - on some level at least.  (Memories of Dru and he bloodying each other whilst going for it down numerous back alleys suddenly flooded molten lava through his veins).  And even that Watcher bloke got his rocks off.  But this was far above the norm.  This was unusual.  This was new, and it was hilarious in bad, evil and nasty ways.  He laughed out loud suddenly.

Bloody hell, the look on her face!

Smoking and laughing to himself, Spike’s mind raced.  If his heart had been functioning he was sure it would have been hammering away in his chest.  Bloody hell....   For the first time since he had been chipped he felt something like his normal self.  He felt powerful.  Strong.  Once again full of the spirit of the beast.  He sucked the fag dead in one powerful inhalation.

The Slayer wanted him and she was terrified of it.  He had made the Slayer afraid.  Even neutered like this he had made her shake and lose her nerve; made her tremble before him like a daisy in the wind.  He sucked down more booze.  All sorts of delicious possibilities flooded through his mind.  So many plans.  So much mischief that just begged for expression.  Maybe he would find Dru first and invite her to bear witness to his personal rebirth into the realms of Bad.  Then she would leave that fucking Fungus demon and come back to her naughty, evil boy.

Oh yeah, the Slayer was going to get hers.

He looked down on the cemetery, his own private kingdom, and sniffed the air.  Dead things were abroad.  Hunting.  Rambling around and feasting under the lamplight moon.  He smelled the blood being spilled and drained; sensed it spurting out from ragged wounds.  It was rich and hot and very, very human.  He licked his lips.  Oh for a bite.  Just one.  Just a little nibble.  He smiled suddenly.  Maybe he could? The way he was feeling tonight he just might be able to.  Slipping down from the roof, flicking the fag and tossing the bottle, he vamped out and slipped away, melting into the blackness.  And very softly, almost too quiet even for his own ears, he growled.

* * * * *

The bloody cheek!  The bloody nerve of the pair of them!  Going at it like rabbits right above his head whilst he was forced to sit and listen.  Ethan pursed his lips and raised dagger eyes to the ceiling.  Bastard.

Both of them.

“You’re doing that deliberately Ripper.  Anita.  Don’t think I don’t know what you are up to up there!” No reply.  Was that a giggle?  He scowled.

Well now, two can play at that game...

With a flourish he knew Ripper would feel, he poured himself another glass of booze and went back to Tilea’s writings.  His Romanian was rusty, but he could read enough to make do.  Hmmm....  He sipped at the whisky, bared his teeth at the sting and read the text.  It really was too bad that the poor bastard had not made it back to the Council; it made the work all the harder now.   More exhausting too.  He sighed.  Ever since escaping from the Initiative he had been on the run, a lot of the time quite literally, and he was beginning to feel it.  Not as young as he used to be (and not as young as Ripper seemed to think he was with all that activity upstairs - going to feel that in the morning mate).

It was the growing fatigue, and the failed Hell Blood experiment, that had finally turned him towards the Council.  He had needed a place to lie low and the closeted, tight knit, desperate little bunch had seemed like the perfect cover.  And once he had convinced them that they might once again have an open channel to the renegade Watcher, and by association: the Slayer, they had rolled out the red carpet.  His connection to Ripper had been the icing on a very hastily baked cake.

He hadn’t slept so well in months.

Then to discover that Ripper had contacted the Council about the blood pools, and that they were considering sending both he and the Slayer into the Sunnydale Hellmouth...  Well, it had just been too bloody perfect for words.  It hadn’t taken any magicks or other trickery to push the little generals into allowing him on the team either.  Only one lecture and one tediously longwinded threat in the event of any misbehaviour and they had virtually wet themselves with smug pride as they put his name down underneath Ripper’s.  Proficiency in Chaos magicks was rare and they knew how valuable he could be for their little tea party.  Such a happy little accident that he was in their grasp just at the right time.

Not even old Travers’ could threaten some sense into them.  Thank the Powers.

For the next few days he had been paraded around like a captured rook one move from checkmate. Every little arse kisser, every ambitious climber of the greasy pole, wanted a piece of the action. And for a while he was content to indulge their little fantasy, drink their expensive sherry, sleep safely in their plush little hidey hole and try his luck with the women, but there was only so much bureaucratic buggery one could take and he had felt obligated to remind the self satisfied little silver tails just who it was they thought they had under their control.  So, this morning, he had just walked away.  Simply up and strolled out.

Just to put the wind up them.

And Ripper.  He did not want them warning his old friend ahead of time.  No telling what he might have been walking into if the Watcher had known anything in advance.  He looked up at the ceiling and listened for a moment.  Still at it.  He was jealous.  Hey, he was man enough to acknowledge it, to himself at least.

Anita.  Such a remarkable woman.  It was still a source of amazement to him that she had left Ripper when he had returned to the Council fold.  After all, it was she who had encouraged his transformation back into that stuffed shirt: Rupert Giles, Watcher in training.  She had weathered something very close to hell to do it too.  And Why?  He had asked her that one night, after she and his old mate had had a blazing row that had lit up the old building like it actually had the electric on.

Bloody hell that had been a thing to witness.  Ripper, so red in the face that Ethan had thought he was having a stroke, screaming bloody murder like to wake the dead, and Annie, red as a beet giving as good as she got.  Electrifying.  Ethan had watched, feeling the power as it grew like a static charge in the air.  The magic laced fury had blasted across his senses like dynamite.  There was such power in it.  Such potential.  If only Ripper had realised it at the time.

Ethan clearly remembered being nearly beside himself with excitement.  Watching from the fireside, eyes wide, as the two lovers tore stips off each other.  So fucking amazing.  The scent of magicks hung heavy in the air, sulphurous and thick.  He remembered Annie screaming something about Ripper doing the ‘Walk of Death’ incantation on himself over her dead body (which was kind of an amusing pun really), and then Ripper becoming alarmingly pale and silent.  He had lunged across the room, in a moment of pure rage and caught Annie off guard, slamming her back into the wall.  Chunks of plaster had avalanched down onto the pair.  A white flurry.  He remembered thinking, absurdly, that it looked like they had been caught out in the snow.  A millisecond later Ripper scuttled back from her like she was a hot coal and was out the door and gone.  He didn’t come back for three days.

Why was she doing this?  Ethan had asked her.  Didn’t she realise just what Ripper was capable of, just who he was?  Why did she want to return him to that stifled existence he had fled from?  She had looked at him and said something so vomitously pitiful that for the longest time Ethan just could not fathom the logic.  It was twisted and bizarre and stupid for someone of her calibre.  What the hell could she be thinking trying to force Ripper back into his straight jacket?  He was just coming into his own and it was bloody brilliant.  She couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy it.  She couldn’t say that he wasn’t a natural; that he wasn’t born for the dark arts.  And she sure as shit could not say that it was not a bloody fantastic higher than high, fucking trip the light fucking fantastic, ride of all of their lives.  Hell, he had seen her getting into it.  More than once too.  So it was the most ridiculous, dangerous, incomprehensible, soppy pile of mush worthy of Barbara bloody Cartland when she just looked at him, (with a strange haunted, hunted look that made him burn all the brighter with curiosity, just as he suddenly regretted this confrontation) and said - “I love him.”

Gaaah!

Bloody women!  Why couldn’t she just love him the way he was?

Well, Ripper had never been quite the same after that night, and no amount of persuading, pleading, or fighting could get his friend back.  He started spending more and more time with Anita and away from the rest of them.  He started to fight with everyone too, and the atmosphere in their dark little commune started to go sour.  It was the Yoko factor at work in their own bloody backyard.

It didn’t last though and, very soon, some light began to shine at the end of the tunnel.  In the first weeks of summer Ripper made an utterly disastrous parental visit, (Anita’s idea, he was sure of it) and had returned early, steamingly mad and carrying an ancient tome he had stolen from his father’s library.  Eyghon, Ripper had said as he tossed the book into Ethan’s lap.  He had not bothered to explain at the time, being more intent on drinking their entire cache of cheap wine and trying to coerce Annie into bed, but all was soon made clear.  Ethan smiled.  Without a doubt, those next weeks had been the best of his whole life.  Not even Anita’s reservations could put a dampener on it.  Ripper, hell all of them, had been magnificent.

Then people started to get hurt.  And then someone died.  Which, to be realistic, is bound to happen when you are just starting out and getting in too deep.  Shit happens.  They had all known that and accepted it.  Everyone except Ripper it seemed...  And Anita was there to take advantage. Hell, all that was really needed was a little nudge to get back on the dark horse, and the Powers knew Ethan had tried to give him the leg up he needed, but it had come to nothing.  They had been tight once, but Ethan knew he could not compete with Anita for Ripper’s attention anymore.  Ever since that ballistic argument, when he had come so close to hurting her, his old mate had developed an emotional fuse.  It blew with monotonous regularity whenever he argued with his lover, which was hardly ever anymore.  So Ethan was forced to take the passenger seat and watch as, within weeks of the unfortunate death, Ripper gave way to Rupert and they lost him to the Council.

Ethan drained his glass and poured another, giving the ceiling the evil eye.  He had vowed to himself that he would never let anything like that happen to him.  There was a bright future for Ethan Rayne, full of fun and fireworks, and no one was going to stop him from getting there.  No one.  Not even Anita.

“Er, excuse me?”  A small, wavery voice suddenly interrupted his brooding and he looked up.  There was a thin blond young man with earnest looking eyes, standing awkwardly in the doorway.  He had a bulky black bag in one hand and a suitcase in the other.  He couldn’t have been more than 19 or 20, Ethan noted, and also could not be anyone but Council.  No one could wear an ill-fitting suit like a Council trainee.  No one else would be caught dead in a tweed get up with a red stripy tie.  No one else could be such a walking stereotype.  Ethan cocked his head, amused and disgusted.

The Council had said that they were flying someone out from England, especially for this picnic. This had to be him: green and skinny and probably a Mummy’s boy despite the mandatory Watcher training.  For the millionth time Ethan wondered just what the bloody hell Ripper had been attracted to in such a bleeding crèche.  There had been a time that the both of them had laughed at the very thought of it.

“My name’s Frost, Edward Frost.”

“Well, how very nice for you Mr Frost.”  Ethan said, rasing his glass in a mock toast.

“Oh- Er-...”  Mr Frost blushed red as he stuttered away like a ninny.  “Uh, and you are -  Mr Giles?”

“No.  I’m afraid not.”

“We- Well, uh, where-” The boy’s face crinkled in confusion.  He looked down at a dirty, crumpled scrap of paper wedged into the fingers holding the bag.  He squinted at it, cocked his head and nearly dropped his luggage.  Ethan cocked his head, watching as the uncoordinated fool struggled and fumbled and mumbled apologies.  This was the Council’s man?  A small splinter of worry suddenly pricked his mind.  If this was their choice then what did it say about the mission....?

“Oh, you’ve got the right house mate.  Its just that Mr Giles is a little busy at the moment.”

“Oh.”  Edward said, managing to look confused, startled and stupid all at once.

“Yes, he’s upstairs.”

“Oh.”

“Fucking.”

“Oh!”  He dropped the luggage.

* * *