Title: Masks Chapter Four
Author: Magpie and Wolfling
Email: magpie@moracle.co.uk and wolfling@sympatico.ca
Show: Buffy
Rating: PG 13 this part, NC-17 overall
Category: angst, hurt/comfort
Warnings: spoilers up to the end of Chosen
Pairings: Giles/Ethan
Summary: Giles finds an old friend

Author Notes: Many thanks to Mad Poetess and Wesleysgirl for betaing :)

The first thing Ethan noticed when he woke up was that he wasn't coughing, which was a great relief, and for a few moments he simply enjoyed that fact. The next thing he noticed was that he was quite unbearably hungry. Related to that was the third thing he noticed -- Rupert wasn't there. He could hear the low rumble of the other man's voice from elsewhere in the small house. Were there visitors?

He lay in the bed for a little while, getting increasingly impatient, curious, and fed up. He wanted to know what Rupert was up to, and who with. Wondering how much stronger he might be today, Ethan pulled back the covers and swung his legs carefully out. Using the bedside table for support, he slowly stood up. There. Look at how much better he was. Soon he stood a chance of getting himself a touch of Ripper as a reward. Smiling smugly, he took a step forward.

Only to fall flat on his face as his knees buckled under his own frail weight, bringing the bedside table crashing to the floor along with him.

Before he had a chance to get over the shock of the impact, Rupert was there, pushing the bedside table aside and checking him over with a worried eye. Ethan groaned and rolled to his side. "Bugger."

Rupert let out what sounded like a cautious sigh when he finished his quick examination. "Well you didn't break anything." He glanced at the debris. "Aside from the lamp." Turning his gaze back to Ethan, his expression went from relief to exasperation. "Just what were you trying to do?"

"You weren't here," Ethan said, and even he had to admit he sounded sulky.

"You could have tried saying something. It works wonders in letting people who are in the other room on the phone-- oh, bloody hell!" Rupert got up and practically ran from the room, returning seconds later with a cordless phone pressed to his ear. "--no, nothing serious," he was saying to whoever he was speaking to. "Just a pillock who can't stay in bed." There was a pause, then a sigh and an affectionate smile. "Yes, Buffy, that would be more or less an accurate translation."

Frowning -- well, probably more like pouting actually -- Ethan sat up painfully on the floor. Hadn't Rupert said the Slayer was dead? His memories of the conversations immediately after his rescue were growing increasingly vague.

Rupert sighed, the sound world weary. "We've already discussed this. I told you my reasons. I appreciate your concern but--" He listened for a minute, expression softening into warm affection, and Ethan felt another twist of jealousy at how much of Rupert's heart this young girl had claimed.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, I promise," Rupert said softly into the phone. A pause. "Yes, I'm sure." Pause. "No, I'm not going to get turned into a-- where did you come across that term anyway?"

Ethan sullenly considered that if his magic would just come back to him, Rupert might quickly stop sounding so confident about his own safety. Ethan leant back against the bed and started to pass the time of the phone call by imagining all the fun transmogrifications he had yet to use on Rupert, a cruel little smile on his face.

"*Dawn* told-- What has she been reading? No, wait, don't tell me, I don't want to know. My hair is going grey fast enough already." Rupert had been pacing as he spoke, but stopped dead when he listened to whatever Buffy was telling him. "No. *No.* I mean it, Buffy, it's not going to happen so don't even try." There was another pause as he listened to her reply. "I was rather put out at the time. Besides I never really thought that they'd actually be able to hold him." Pause. "*No*. Nothing of the sort. It's just... It's not *right*."

Ethan was becoming increasingly angry about the conversation he was hearing half of. He didn't want to be discussed like this with that slip of a girl -- talked of as if he were a trial and an obligation, whereas Buffy got the tender voice and soft smiles. And anyway, he was hungry and hurting, and wasn't Rupert meant to be looking after him?

He knew he couldn't rise to his feet from this position so he moved forward onto his hands and knees and began to shuffle to the door.

"Yes, I suppose I do. There's far more there than you've ever seen -- than anyone's seen. And don't even start casting aspersions unless you want me bringing up some of your relationships-- bugger!" Rupert had been facing away, but had swung around while he'd been talking to spot Ethan crawling towards the door.

The phone was tossed on the bed and then Rupert came forward, hauling Ethan into a semi-upright position. "*What* are you doing?"

Ethan contemplated a number of replies, but then said simply, "I'm hungry."

Rupert looked at him for a moment before sighing, and pulling Ethan into a position where he could help him back to the bed. "You could have just said something, you realise."

"You were on the telephone having a charming conversation with your surrogate daughter all about me," Ethan pointed out acidly, a completely false smile on his face.

"Oh for..." Rupert sounded completely exasperated. "Don't you start as well." He looked at Ethan's face, then sighed. "Too late, I see." He got Ethan settled on the bed, then picked up the phone and handed it to him. "Why don't the two of you sulk at each other while I go and warm up some food for you. See if you can have it out of your system by the time I get back."

With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Ethan sitting there holding the phone.

Well, this could be amusing at the very least, he thought, as he looked at the wretched object. Lifting it to his ear, he said, "Hello Buffy," in a pleasant tone.

"--Giles if you don't answer me this sec--" Buffy was saying, but cut herself off when Ethan spoke. "Ethan. What have you done with Giles?"

"I turned him into a jackdaw. He's currently enjoying a nice meal of roadkill. Don't worry; he's much happier this way."

"That better be your attempt at being funny," Buffy said darkly, "or I'm going to come over there and break something."

"A nail, perhaps?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a certain scrawny Englishman's neck."

Feeling perfectly safe, Ethan replied, "Now come, is that a nice way to talk about your Watcher?"

"Right. That's it. I'm heading for the airport to fly over there and kick your ass."

"I'll look forward to seeing you, Buffy. On the way, do you think you could pick up a nice cage? One of the big dome-shaped affairs they use for parrots will do nicely." This conversation was cheering Ethan up enormously.

"If I do, you'll be the one going in it. Or maybe I'll just improvise. I'm sure I can find a nice cell for you somewhere."

Ethan froze, his mind going places he really didn't want it to go to. "You really are a nasty little thing, aren't you," he said acerbically. "No wonder Rupert left you."

"Nice try," Buffy told him, "but not in the least bit resembling reality. I'm not the one Giles left."

Ethan found he didn't have an immediate answer for that, beyond the tears suddenly wanting to flow, but he wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction of those. Swallowing, he forced a response. "Do you torture the vampires before you dust them, little girl? Pulled any nice wings from flies recently?"

"Only the ones that hurt my family," Buffy replied without missing a beat. "And Giles? He's family."

"That would neatly explain the similarity between your unpleasant colonial squawk and the noise my feathered friend here is currently making."

Rupert came back in carrying a tray in time to hear the last, and took the phone back from Ethan while setting the tray across his lap. "I can see you two are playing about as nicely as I expected," he said to both of them. He paused while Buffy obviously said something. "No, I'm not a parrot," he told her patiently, rolling his eyes at Ethan.

Ethan wanted to express his displeasure at the things that had been said to him, but the bowl of hot porridge with its swirl of golden syrup looked far too good to waste in a sulk. Rupert had remembered just the way he liked it; he could even smell the cinnamon. In anticipation of ambrosia, he dipped his spoon in and raised it to his mouth.

"Yes, I'm sure," Rupert continued in the same patient tone. He sat on the bed as he continued to listen. "Of course he did. What did you expect when you accused him?"

The porridge was probably the best thing he had ever tasted, and so it was annoying that Rupert was spoiling the experience by insisting on nattering with that insufferable and vindictive child. Ethan frowned pointedly at the other man.

Rupert rolled his eyes again, but nonetheless began to make efforts to end the phone call. "You should be getting ready for class, shouldn't you?" He listened to Buffy's answer, then said, "Yes, I promise." He disconnected the phone and set it down.

"A parrot?" he asked Ethan dryly.

"A jackdaw actually. She clearly didn't pay attention. She must have been such a trial for you, Rupert; you have my sympathies." The porridge was all gone, and Ethan stared at the empty bowl with dismay.

Rupert smiled slightly. "Would you like some more?"

"Please, sir." Ethan's mouth quirked.

"Eat your toast," Rupert said, leaning over and picking up the empty bowl. "I'll be right back."

There was toast on a small plate, but Ethan didn't want it. It looked dry and hard to eat. "There's no marmalade."

"Fine, I'll bring some marmalade back as well," Rupert said as he headed to the door. He glanced back at Ethan, mouth quirked up slightly at one corner. "You *are* feeling better."

Ethan thought a little and then nodded silently at the retreating back. He was feeling quite improved today, in body at least. The little blonde bitch's words had hurt though, and Ethan lay back against the pillows and amused himself thinking up suitable forms of revenge for once his magic and strength had returned to him. He'd make her eat her words... hmm, there was an interesting image. He and Chaos could surely do something with that.

Rupert was soon back with the porridge and requested marmalade, handing it over with a flourish. He settled on the bed and watched as Ethan dug in.

"This is really very good you know," Ethan commented between mouthfuls.

"Thank you," Rupert replied, watching him with the strangest half smile on his face.

Ethan studied him. "What are you thinking?"

"That you're going to eat me out of house and home." The smile became wider. "It's good to see."

"I don't think I can manage the toast," Ethan admitted. "Your little girl has grown up into an untameable shrew I see."

"She gives as good as she gets," Rupert said, reaching for a piece of the toast and spreading marmalade on it. "Or are you going to try and tell me you were a perfect gentleman?"

Ethan's tone was cold. "She told me she was going to put me back in a cell, Rupert."

Rupert froze for a moment, and then put the toast back down, his expression growing more serious. "That's not going to happen."

Ethan wanted to believe him, he really did. He pushed the tray away and ran his hands over his head and face. The stubble of his hair was growing longer, and his scalp itched. He dug what nails he had into the thin skin there and scraped. "I feel like I should have a number tattooed on my arm."

"No tattoos as a legacy of this," Rupert said softly, his hand absently tracing the place where Eyghon's mark was still on his own arm. "No records either," he added, changing the subject a little, and sounding extremely satisfied. "The Americans will find that their computer system has picked up a virus that has wiped all information from the project, and that all hard copies of the files have disappeared as well."

"I wasn't the only one in there you know."

"I know. That's being taken care of as well."

Ethan nodded, satisfied. It wasn't that he really gave a toss about the other poor bastards being tortured and farmed in that hellhole, it was just that... well, maybe he did care a little. It was good to know an end was being put to it all. "Never again?" he asked Rupert a little ambiguously.

"Not as long as I have the power to stop it," Rupert told him fiercely.

Ethan found he was craving physical contact with Rupert, but he was strong enough today to ignore such urges. Maybe. Or maybe he could just get what he wanted indirectly. "I'm itchy, and I'm fed up with these four walls," he announced.

Rupert lifted an eyebrow. "Do I dare even ask where you're itchy?"

"Everywhere," Ethan replied, rubbing distractedly at his arm. "It's like I'm growing new skin everywhere. Even my eyeballs itch."

"Do you think you're up to a bath?" Rupert asked, eyeing him appraisingly.

"That depends precisely what you mean by 'up'," Ethan answered with a wry smirk.

"In this case I mean are you not going to end up drowning." He made a point of glancing down Ethan's body before adding, "The rest I can already see will have to wait."

Ethan frowned; that wasn't what he'd hoped for. Drowning wouldn't be a risk if Rupert was there looking after him. "Perhaps I can do without a bath for now. But please, may I see somewhere other than this room?"

Rupert chuckled. "I suppose I could use some company while I work. Just as long as there's no more wrecking of furniture."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "When I'm better, I'll buy you a nice new lamp. Will you help me downstairs then? Or I could crawl to them and roll down, I suppose."

"As entertaining as that may be, let's stick with more traditional forms of transportation." Rupert stood and moved the tray aside, then picked Ethan up.

And so Ethan got what he wanted. "I could get used to being carried everywhere," he said, to disguise his simple pleasure at being held by Rupert.

"So that's why you were trying to crawl away earlier?" Rupert asked, heading out of the room and starting down the stairs.

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked, suspicious.

"Just that resorting to such things is usually not a sign of someone willing to accept help."

"Help wasn't on offer!"

Rupert raised an eyebrow. "All you had to do was ask," he said mildly.

"You were busy." Ethan's tone was short. He didn't want to discuss that anymore. He played his fingers restlessly over Rupert's shirt, just below the man's shoulder, as they stopped by a sofa.

"That's never stopped you before," Rupert pointed out, making no move to actually put Ethan down quite yet. His voice softened, and he caught and held Ethan's gaze as he added, "It shouldn't stop you now."

"As your obnoxious young protégé so kindly pointed out, *she's* the one that matters to you now. And as I am somewhat dependent on you currently, interrupting your charming bonding session didn't seem a wise decision." Ethan was self-aware enough to realise precisely how he sounded, but the awareness served only to increase the feelings that had prompted the remarks in the first place. His fingers on Rupert's chest tightened into claws.

Rupert sighed and sat on the sofa without putting Ethan down first, so that Ethan found himself cradled in Rupert's lap. "Buffy isn't exactly... happy about my helping you. I've informed her that the decision is non-negotiable, and really none of her business anyway. That was the discussion we were having when you woke up. I'm sure she pointed out what she did because she doesn't like the fact that *you* matter to me as well."

Ethan inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and then relaxed against Rupert. The words felt very good, although he could have lived without the 'as well'. But beggars can't be choosers, and Rupert was holding him, and it felt good. It felt like things had so very long ago, when Ethan had believed they would go on forever. When he'd believed Ripper had loved and needed him as much as he loved and needed Ripper. For a few moments, to help himself feel stronger, Ethan prete nded that he believed that again.

"A lot has happened over the last year, and I find myself re-evaluating what is truly important," Rupert continued softly, as if sharing a confidence he wasn't sure of. "I've lost... more than I once thought possible." His arms tightened around Ethan, the movement seeming unconscious. "I don't want to lose anything -- or anyone -- more."

Eyes still closed, Ethan commented quietly and honestly, "I'm truly not happy that you've suffered so much, but as it prompted you to remember who you'd left behind, you'll perhaps forgive me a little ambiguity."

It was odd how they were settling back into the comparative openness they'd once shared. Both of them perhaps revealing more than they meant to; both of them being really rather too relaxed with one another, all things considered. It had to be Ethan's helplessness that was causing it, creating an artificial intimacy that took them back to pre-Eyghon days.

Ethan wondered if he really wanted to get better at all.

Rupert didn't answer immediately, and for long moments they just sat there in comfortable silence. "I'm sorry for what you've been through, truly, but as it's led to you being here with me now, you'll have to forgive me a little of that ambiguity as well," he finally said. Then in a softer murmur, barely audible, "I'm glad you're here."

And that was almost more than Ethan had dared hope to hear. He couldn't answer it verbally. He snuggled around in Rupert's embrace and looked searchingly into the other man's eyes, stroking light fingers down the side of the familiar face, so altered by time, yet still, for all that, *his* Ripper. Rupert met his gaze unflinchingly, feelings that neither of them had ever been good at putting into words reflected brightly therein. Then Rupert's mouth quirked up into a tiny half smile, and he was leaning forward to kiss him.

As lips touched lips, Ethan shuddered. It was too much, too tender, and however willing he was to believe, somehow he couldn't quite accept this. Not now and not yet. It was all too much like the fantasies that had filled his long days in the cell -- half dreams, half hallucinations that had given him the strength to go on day after day. They had given him the strength to survive.

But now, now that this was real, he was terrified. He couldn't risk taking what was offered because he couldn't risk having to lose it again. Ethan turned his head away. "Don't you have work to be getting on with?"

He heard Rupert sigh and acknowledge, "Yes. Quite a lot of it actually." A hand gently but firmly touched Ethan's cheek, forcing his face back towards Rupert. "But I'm not finished here yet." With that, Rupert slid his hand behind Ethan's head and held him in place as he kissed him again.

The forceful, possessive move, that spoke so strongly of Ripper, undid Ethan's defences, and he melted into the brief kiss, squirming weakly on Rupert's lap and making small sounds into his mouth. When the other man drew back, Ethan tried to reach forward to prolong the contact.

"Shh," Rupert murmured, giving him another even briefer kiss. "I don't want to bring on another coughing fit."

"My lungs have been very well behaved today," Ethan pointed out, although admittedly he was feeling a little breathless. "And kissing me like that is more likely to bring on something very different."

That comment brought him a wide smile from Rupert, not tinged with sarcasm or irony or any of the other things that so often twisted the expression lately. "I don't think even you can recover quite that quickly."

Ethan looked glumly down at his own crotch. "No, probably not. But the spirit is willing." He looked up again, his eyes twinkling. "Can't that be enough?" Rupert just looked at him, seeming caught in Ethan's expression.

With a grin, Ethan started to move on Rupert's lap. He didn't have the strength to make his movements either as firm or as graceful as he would have liked, but he remembered well enough what spoke to Ripper and tried his best to reproduce it. He could feel the other man responding to his movements, but then Rupert grabbed him by the waist and held him still. "No," he said quietly. "Not like this."

Ethan wasn't quite ready to give up, even though he was already feeling tired. "It could have wonderful healing properties that you're denying me," he smiled.

"You're just going to have to heal the old fashioned way," Rupert replied, kissing Ethan briefly again before lifting him off his lap to sit on the sofa beside him.

Had Ethan really been as improved as he'd been trying to pretend, he would have protested at being moved, but instead he slumped back into the soft velour and momentarily closed his eyes. "Wouldn't say no to a cuppa," he remarked, and then opened his eyes to smile at the other man as he added, "If you're making, of course."

"I don't think I'd trust you in the kitchen until you can at least walk there under your own power anyway," Rupert said easily, heading into the kitchen himself.

While Rupert was gone, Ethan took the opportunity to look around. It was a very English room, from an England of many decades ago. Small and compact, and decorated in dark, sombre colours, it was exactly what Ethan would have expected in a discreet Council of Watchers' safehouse. Tidy and sensible, free of adornment, and everything seeming to hold an imbued seriousness within it.

But there was at least one thing here that made it clear that the resident Watcher was not quite the tweed-dulled cliché one might expect. "You still have it," Ethan called out, smiling hugely. The kitchen adjoined this small living room cum study, so he knew Rupert would hear.

"Have what?" Rupert asked, appearing in the doorway.

"Your guitar," Ethan said, nodding at the item in question, which was leaning against a small bookcase.

"Ah." Rupert smiled. "Yes. Even manage to still play occasionally, though not in front of an audience for a few years."

"You have an audience now."

"You want me to play for you?" Rupert was still smiling at him.

Ethan smiled back, but didn't answer directly. "Do you remember our lazy Sunday afternoons?" He half-shut his eyes as he continued, summoning evocative memories. "Usually we were still vaguely hungover from the rituals or parties of the night before. We'd drink hair of the dog and eat cold leftovers, and then share a box of twenty B&H while you sung to me."

Rupert's expression softened with the memory. "I missed those afternoons the most," he admitted quietly. "When I-- When it all fell apart. I couldn't bear to play for years afterwards."

For a long time, Ethan had thought that it had been easy for Ripper to leave him, and that everything prior to that had been a lie, at least on Ripper's part. Ethan had nursed a grudge over decades based on 'facts' he was beginning to doubt had ever been anything of the sort. He stared uneasily at the man who in one way or another had shaped his entire life since he'd first met him as a boy. The high-pitched whistle of the kettle interrupted the moment before he could say anything else. Rupert gave him an apologetic smile and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Ethan rubbed his face through his hands, feeling more than a little shaken by the intimacy and revelations of the conversation so far. Nothing was making much sense really. Maybe he should just stop thinking about it and count his blessings... while he still had them. One thing he felt certain about was that this idyll wasn't going to last.

Rupert was back a moment later carrying two mugs, one of which he handed to Ethan. "No hair of the dog, this time."

"It could have some interesting reactions with that drug cocktail you have me on."

"Mostly those are antibiotics," Rupert said, sitting on the sofa beside him. "But yes, mixing some of the things you're on with alcohol is not advised."

Ethan inhaled the steam rising from his mug. "You know, it's the simple things that are making this all so..." He stopped, being unsure what adjective he wanted, but then settled upon, "Real."

Rupert reached over, resting a hand on his shoulder, as if reassuring him he was really there. "You never imagined tea?"

"Not so vividly as this," he said after taking a sip. "God, that's good. It should be an international crime against humanity to deprive an Englishman of his tea."

"I'll see what I can do," Rupert said dryly.

"My hands are shaking a lot less," Ethan said, feeling satisfied with the obvious progress. But then, as if fate wished to spite him, he felt the urge to cough welling up inside. With a pained frown, he held his mug out urgently to Rupert, not wishing to scald himself on top of everything else.

Rupert took the mug from him, then quickly put both mugs down on the table beside the sofa as Ethan began to cough. Like he had before, Rupert moved to support and hold him through the spasms.

As the coughing died down, Ethan leant back against Rupert wearily. "Well, that was fun." There was a hitch in his breathing, giving him an unpleasant wheeze. "Oh, smashing. That's attractive."

"Perhaps I should take you back upstairs so you can use the inhaler," Rupert said worriedly, rubbing a hand in gentle circles on Ethan's chest.

"I just want my tea," Ethan insisted. And he didn't want to be alone up there.

"I'm not sure you'd be able to hold the mug right now." Rupert's hand slid down to cover both of Ethan's, which were shaking again.

Ethan looked down at the muddle of hands and listened to his lungs whine with every inhalation. He quietly repeated, "I just want my tea."

"I just want you to be able to breathe," Rupert told him. "We can have our tea upstairs."

"Can't you bring the sodding device down here?"

Rupert stilled, and Ethan could feel the other man looking at him. "I can see what I can do," Rupert finally said with a sigh, letting go of Ethan and standing up.

The inhaler apparatus consisted of a large gas canister on a trolley and various smaller pieces of gadgetry. It wouldn't be easy for Rupert to move on his own, and Ethan knew it. He looked gratefully at the other man, but said only, "Take care on the stairs."

"Just stay put," Rupert replied a bit gruffly as he headed up the stairs. "We don't need anything else broken, whether it be lamps or bones."

Obedient for once in his life, Ethan didn't reach forward and attempt to lift the mug of tea again. He listened worriedly to the various bangs and clanks upstairs and then craned his head to watch as Rupert carefully pulled the contraption down one step at a time. It wasn't that Ethan never felt guilt, it was just that usually he had a natural skill for completely ignoring it. And yet watching Rupert, and imagining what would happen should he fall, Ethan found the feeling quite demanding.

He had no idea what to do with it.

But Rupert made it down safely and then wrestled the contraption into place beside the sofa before glancing over at Ethan, frowning at what he saw. "Are you all right?"

"Lungs hurt a little," Ethan lied. Actually the wheezing was already fading, and he was having to fabricate it so that Rupert wouldn't feel he'd dragged the damn thing down here for nothing.

"Hopefully this will help," Rupert said, handing him the mask, worry clear in his face.

Ethan held the mask to his mouth and breathed in the mixed gases. He felt his lungs clearing almost instantly and looked longingly at his tea on the table. He wondered how long he needed to pretend he still needed the mask before it made Rupert's effort of bringing the canister down here worthwhile. He wasn't used to giving a damn about such things and had no idea of the answer.

"Better?" Rupert asked, as he settled on the sofa beside Ethan again.

Ethan frowned. This was a fine time to develop a conscience when his first taste of tea in three and half years was about to become unpalatably cold. He mentally pulled the wings off Jiminy Cricket and trod on the little git. Then Ethan donned an old mask of his, while removing the more material one. "Yes," he smirked at Rupert, having used the inhalants for less than a minute. "May I have my tea now?"

Rupert stared at him for a few moments then, with an expression of disgust, wordlessly handed the mug of tea over.

Somehow the tea didn't taste quite so wonderful anymore.

Rupert was still sitting beside him, sipping from his own mug, but he remained silent, staring across the room and pointedly not looking at Ethan. The silence was painful, and Ethan found he couldn't swallow his tea. He held onto the mug and let it grow cold.

Finally, as Rupert moved to get up, presumably to be about his work, Ethan said very awkwardly, "I, um, think an apology may be in order."

Slowly, Rupert turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. He still didn't speak however.

This was agony, like pulling teeth for torture, and Ethan stared miserably at the other man. "I'm sorry, Rupert. It was ungrateful of me to upset you."

Rupert let out a slow breath, then nodded slowly. "Apology accepted." He looked down at the mug in Ethan's hands. "Would you like me to make you another cuppa?"

Ethan shook his head. "I am going to practice sitting quietly, I think."

That brought the ghost of a smile to Rupert's mouth. "Don't strain yourself." Ethan smiled up at him weakly. "You should wear the mask for a while, see if we can't prevent another attack." He reached out and took the mug from Ethan, then headed for the kitchen with both in his hands. Just before he got there, Rupert stopped, and without turning around, offered, "I suppose I can play something for you, if you still want me to."

Ethan, still awash with unaccustomed guilt, had no idea what he'd done to deserve such a reward. "I... I'd like that." Rupert nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

Obediently, Ethan replaced the mask and used the moments Rupert was away to close his eyes, sighing softly. He reviewed his situation. Being here, with Rupert, after nearly four years of imprisonment and torture, was as close to heaven as Ethan was ever likely to reach. But in this heaven, Rupert was God, and Ethan's actions could provoke another fall from grace at any time, should he piss his old lover off too much. The thought of losing all this was already panic-inducing, and was only going to get worse, the more accustomed Ethan came to being cared for by Rupert.

If he had any sense at all, he'd ask to be moved to some impersonal and professional care facility now. But after surviving on a diet of dreams for so long, dreams of what he was now being given for real, Ethan simply didn't have the strength to refuse. Yet he knew he couldn't survive the loss of Rupert again, so he had to change. Ethan had to become something new, become what Rupert wanted him to be, so that he would be allowed to stay in heaven and in God's arms.

He had to become an angel.

NEXT