Title: Sleight of Hand 7/14
Author: Magpie and Wolfling
Email: magpie@moracle.co.uk and wolfling@sympatico.ca
Show: Buffy
Rating: NC-17
Category: angst, hurt/comfort
Warnings: spoilers up to the end of Chosen
Pairings: Giles/Ethan
Series: Of Old Mystics, sequel to Smoke and Mirrors
Summary: It's behind the scenes where things get complicated.

Author Notes: Many thanks to Mad Poetess for betaing :) Feel better, Wesleysgirl! This is the third story in the Of Old Mystics series; previous stories in the series can be found http://www.myarseisnotpansy.co.uk/piedm/mystics.html.

Ethan was feeling guilty.

About any number of things actually, but most immediately about the Slayers. He'd been cross and dismissive with the girls far too much recently, when they'd really been doing nothing but showing concern for him and Rupert. And now they had thrown this wonderfully touching welcome home party for Rupert, with balloons and a banner and cake, and it was all very sweet and American...

And Ethan just wished they, and Xander and Pamela, would bugger off home.

Rupert was taking it all in his stride, ensconced on the sofa with his bad leg propped up on a pillow set on top of the coffee table. He let the girls fuss over him, plying him with food and questions, which he took with equal cheerfulness. Ethan thought that only he caught the sideways glances Rupert kept sending him, full of concern and worry.

So of course, Ethan then had to also feel guilty about spoiling this pleasant experience for his husband.

It was about a week since the attack on the train, and every day of it had been another level of Hell for Ethan. The voice of his nightmare seemed to live with him all the time now, commenting on everything that was said and done. Forcing Ethan to see the inherent selfishness of his every action; making him see how he was damaging his lover by existing.

It didn't take much for Ethan to believe his shadow; it was after all a part of himself, dragging up repressed fear and shame that all had a basis in reality. Ethan knew what he had been, what he still probably was at heart. How could anything good possibly come out of him?

But he couldn't leave. He needed his husband almost more than he needed air, and so self-serving, mercenary creature that he was, Ethan stayed, pretended everything was all right, and waited for the doom he knew he was going to pull Rupert down into.

Shivering, he went over to the small cabinet near the stairs and poured himself a large glass of Glenfiddich. When he looked around, Xander was watching him, and he gestured with the bottle, offering to pour the young man a drink of his own.

Xander nodded and moved over to join Ethan at the cabinet. "Bet you just wish you could throw us all out, huh?" he said, as he took the proffered glass.

"Would you like that answer neat or watered down?" Ethan asked, with the best attempt he could muster currently at a friendly smile.

"Hard to have a meaningful conversation if you water everything down," Xander replied, leaning back against the stair railing behind him.

"Yes, I'd rather like the house to be ours again," Ethan said, honestly enough albeit understating. "How are you, Xander? Recovered now, do you think?"

"Yeah, I'm just fine." Xander grinned. "Chocked full of Xandery life-energy goodness." He grew more serious again. "Thank you for letting me help."

"Don't let Rupert tell you off for it. What you did was... admirable."

Xander's grin was back. "I'm kinda looking forward to it. It's been a while since I had an honest to goodness Giles lecture. He hasn't polished his glasses at me since he asked me to be a Watcher."

Despite himself, Ethan laughed, and raised his glass in a toast to Xander. "Here's to the polishing of spectacles." After they had both sipped from the superior whisky, Ethan nodded at Pamela who was sitting uncomfortably in one of the two easy chairs. "So," he began quietly, leaning closer to Xander to be heard. "Do you want to take a bet on how much longer she can last without talking about work?"

Xander turned and regarded Pamela as well. "If she lasts another ten minutes I'll be gobsmacked." He said the last word in a truly appalling approximation of an English accent.

Again Ethan laughed, and he patted Xander on the back. "I must teach you some rhyming slang while you're over here. For instance, the word 'berk'. You may have heard it used?"

"I seem to recall it coming out of Giles' mouth once or twice." He frowned, obviously going through his memory. "Don't think Spike ever used that one."

"Most English people consider it a very mild insult, having no idea that it comes from the rhyming slang term 'Berkshire Hunt'. I'll leave you to work out what that rhymes with, shall I?"

"And Giles used it in front of impressionable young teenagers!" Xander sounded positively delighted.

"And there, you thought he was so upright and respectable." Ethan grinned at Xander. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rupert looking his way and could see his lover relaxing as he saw that Ethan was smiling.

"Yeah, who knew what was hiding behind all that tweed?"

"Well, *I *did," Ethan pointed out with a smirk.

Xander held up a hand. "Okay, still not ready to go there. It's not you, and it's not that Giles isn't... Okay not going there either. But he's *Giles*."

"It's like walking in on your parents having sex, isn't it?" Ethan teased happily. "Respectable father figures aren't meant to regularly bugger degenerate English queens. Let alone enjoy it so much that they--"

There was a sharp knock on the front door.

"Saved by the bell," Xander said, relieved. "Or, more accurately, the knock, but the important part is I'm saved."

Frowning, Ethan put down his empty glass and went though the adjourning door into their tiny lobby. Looking through the peepholes he saw a motorcycle delivery boy on the other side. Vital work papers for Rupert, no doubt. Ethan sighed heavily and opened the door, glaring.

A few moments later, he returned to the main room with a large hand-written manila envelope, which clearly contained something not paper. "Pamela, perhaps you can explain to me," he started crossly, as he walked to the sofa, "why my husband needs to be in receipt of urgent work on his first day back home after grievous injury?"

"He shouldn't be. I cleared his desk myself and dealt with all the priority files." Pamela frowned and got up, coming over to take a closer look at the package. "That's not from my office."

"It's Council stationery." Ethan indicated the embossed seal on the back of the envelope. With a small smile at Kat, he gestured a request for her to move from the sofa. When she obliged, Ethan sat down next to Rupert and handed over the packet. "Happy homecoming, dearheart," he congratulated sourly.

"Try to take it as a sign that things are truly getting back to normal, love," Rupert told him, as he opened the packet. He seemed to be taking this in his stride and with good grace -- at least until he slid the packet contents out into his hand.

There was a video tape, a letter, and some photos that Ethan didn't get a good look at, but the way Rupert's expression changed told him he probably wasn't going to like them.

Not giving a damn about propriety, Ethan reached over and took a handful of the stuff from Rupert's grasp, his husband clearly too stunned to stop him. Ethan ended up with the letter and several photos. A quick flick through the images was enough to chill him to his marrow, but it was the letter that sealed his sense of doom fulfilled.

13th October 2003

>From the office of Francesca V. Travers, Watcher

Mr Giles,

I seem to find myself in a rather unfortunate position. I regret to inform you that today some rather disturbing material came into my hands. Material which, were it to arrive in less discreet hands than mine, would undoubtedly be highly damaging for your career and quite disastrous for poor Mr Rayne, who would face lengthy investigations at the very least and quite possibly imprisonment.

Fortunately, I have managed to intercept the videotape before it could reach either the Media or the mundane authorities, and I enclose a copy for your perusal. I thought it best that I keep the original; I'm sure you can see the wisdom in that. Rest assured, I have it in a very safe place. I also enclose some stills taken from the tape, in case you can't quite force yourself to view it, which I would completely understand.

Do prepare yourself for some fairly horrific viewing. Some malign individual, no doubt using the latest computer technology, seems to have forged footage of you and Mr Rayne apparently indulging in -- forgive me, there simply is no nice way of putting this -- an act of gross indecency within a public place.

It is quite diabolically clever of them really. Can you imagine the Board's reaction to seeing these images? Your long and admirable career with the Council would be in considerable jeopardy, especially if the pictures made the tabloids. I shudder to think of it really.

And things are worse even than that, I am afraid. There is also footage that quite clearly shows Mr Rayne in the act of murder.

Whoever is behind this forgery really is frighteningly clever as he or she has somehow obtained what is clearly genuine film of the unfortunate encounter that resulted in your injuries. However, the video shows Mr Rayne deliberately causing the death of an ailing and helpless old man, and in quite a bloodthirsty and unpleasant manner as well. It is rather shockingly convincing actually, even though I am sure it is quite false.

Poor Mr Rayne would have a devil of a time with the police were this to become public.

Fortunately, as I say, I have it all safe under lock and key.

Anyway, I do hope you are well on your way to recovery. I'm sure your convalescence has given you a chance to think about many things, and I do hope one of those things was the advisability of your current Council policy. I can only hope that you are now starting to realise why, while your remodelling and revisions seemed admirable in theory, their practice has proven that reassessment is urgently required.

I look forward to a new era of agreement between us.

Yours in good faith

Francesca Victoria Travers.

"NO."

He was aware that everyone was staring at him, and at Rupert, with worried expressions, but the awareness was distant. Everything seemed so very removed at that moment. Even Rupert pressed close beside him, his body tensed and furious as he read the letter in Ethan's shaking hands, seemed far away.

All that filled Ethan's head was the echo of his dream.

The voice of his Shadow seemed deafening -- You can't help but drag him down with you. You hurt him just by being with him. You've already sealed his fate. You will fall, and so shall he. You will destroy him, Ethan. You will destroy him because he loves you.

Rupert's career meant everything to him, and now, because of Ethan, he would be forced to throw it all away, to kow-tow to that bitch, in order to save Ethan from the threat of further imprisonment. It wasn't that Ethan wouldn't willingly subject himself to a cell again for Rupert, however much the idea threatened his sanity, but he knew full well that Rupert would never allow it. He knew that his husband would sacrifice himself before allowing Ethan to go through that again.

His Shadow was right. Rupert would be ruined, and it would be Ethan's fault. He stood abruptly and made to take the rest of the packet's contents from Rupert. Rupert let him take them, although he belatedly made a move as if to take them back. "Ethan--"

Ethan ignored him and pushed with force through the concerned Slayers, taking all Francesca's blackmail material to the kitchen and grabbing the wok from the cupboard under the hob. He was aware that the others were crowding in the kitchen doorway, watching him, but he didn't pay them any attention.

Had Ethan the emotional energy to care, it would have been disturbing how easily the words of the Chaos-based spell fell from his lips, each syllable a black tarry word of betrayal. "Aetates dege! Ruina consume!"

The items he'd put in the wok crumbled to a pile of fine black ash.

"Dispose of it carefully," he said in general to the room, as he pushed back through the small crowd again to return to the main room. Only to find himself face to face with Rupert, who had made it to his feet and across the room, leaning heavily on his cane. He was looking at Ethan with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

The expression hurt like the acid Ethan had once used to burn Eyghon's mark from his skin.

"Sit back down, you bloody fool," he muttered, turning away from his husband... Husband no longer. It was obvious what he had to do. Oh God, he couldn't breathe.

Going to the table by the door, he grabbed Rupert's car keys and opened the door to the lobby. He hesitated briefly, then removed the ring from his left hand, placing it where the keys had been. It felt like he was cutting out his own heart.

For Rupert's sake, Ethan had to disappear.

He heard Rupert calling his name urgently, but he didn't look back. He ran out to the car, started it up and was gone, driving with no care or attention to road safety whatsoever.

***

Giles cursed under his breath as he drove Pamela's car through London. It felt like he'd been driving for hours now.

He cursed his leg, which insisted on aching interminably and not doing what he asked of it. He cursed at length and in several languages Francesca bloody Travers of whom he wanted nothing more than the chance to take her apart piece by bloody piece, then feed her that damned video tape until she choked on it. He cursed Ethan for turning tail and running, and he cursed himself for letting him.

He cursed and held onto his anger with everything that was in him. It was the only thing that was keeping the fear and despair at bay.

Ethan had left.

*Ethan* had *left*.

Giles had been afraid of that, half-expecting it since the beginning. Ethan had always left before when things got too close. But since Devon that fear had faded. Giles had finally, in the deepest parts of his soul, believed that Ethan wasn't going to go away.

And that, of course, was when the bloody-minded contrary git had run.

Oh, Giles knew why. Knew it was out of fear, and not a deliberate attempt to hurt him. But that didn't stop the wound from being inflicted. It didn't stop his own fear from growing that he'd never see Ethan again.

It didn't stop the despair that forever had turned out to be measured in weeks, and he was once again alone.

The only things keeping him from diving into a bottle and not crawling back out were the anger he held onto with all of his strength, and the ghostly, barely perceptible sense of Ethan. Of where his lover had gone.

So he cursed and drove, following the trail that he wasn't even entirely sure wasn't all in his mind.

There wasn't anything else he could do.

It suddenly hit home to him that he knew where he was. This was Camden, and he was heading, apparently, for Hampstead. Had Ethan gone to the Heath? The sense of his lover grew a little stronger as he got closer, and he found himself pulling into the carpark near the foot of Parliament Hill.

Where he could see his own car parked haphazardly across two spaces, but no immediate sign of Ethan.

But he had the scent now and wasn't going to give up. Closing his eyes, Giles felt for that tenuous connection, that strange awareness of Ethan's location. He turned until he faced the direction from which it was the strongest, then opened his eyes. His path lay before him.

Grimacing and leaning heavily on his cane, Giles started after his missing lover.

The hill was far from being an easy trek even when fit, and by the time Giles reached the top, he was covered in a film of sweat despite the coolness of the autumn day. His perception of Ethan was even stronger, however, and that made it easy to ignore the pain. He was now quite certain his lover was within the woods and scrubland of the East Heath.

As Giles made his way painfully up and down lesser inclines and along the meandering paths that led to his destination, he became aware of strange not-quite-thoughts within his mind -- thoughts that didn't come from his own brain.

The thoughts weren't quite... human, but for all of that, they did seem familiar. 'Ethan?' he sent in the direction the thoughts seemed to be coming from.

'denial... fear... need... run... no, stay...'

There. That way. Giles slowly made his way towards where the mental voice had come from. It was definitely Ethan, although it sounded more like a sleeping mind than his lover's usual lightning quick thoughts. 'Where are you?' Giles sent, trying to keep him talking so he could track him down.

'go away... bite you... run... no, stay... husband...'

The trees and undergrowth were thicker here, and it was hard going at the best of times. As Giles continued to head toward the strange, disturbed thoughts of his lover, he found himself facing an impenetrable layer of bushes and tall weeds.

"Always have to make things difficult, don't you, love?" Giles murmured aloud. Shifting his weight to his good leg, he pulled the covering off the swordstick he was using as a cane and cut a path through the plant life.

'hear him... run... run... must run... no, husband, stay... need...'

'Yes, stay,' Giles sent back, phrasing his thoughts in the same simple way that Ethan's seemed to be. 'Stay, Ethan. I need you.'

'hurt him... can't hurt him... must run... no, stay... will hurt him... fear... fear... fear... oh God, Rupert, help me...'

That last had sounded more like Ethan's regular thought patterns, although it was far more desperate than Giles liked to hear. "I'm right here, Ethan," he said, both aloud and with his thoughts. "Just come to me, I'll help you. We'll help each other. That's the way it's supposed to be."

'no... you must go... going to hurt you... Chaos in me... going to pull you down... he said. He said that... keep away. Go home... love you... oh god, I'm drowning...'

Giles broke through the last of the undergrowth to find himself in a tiny clearing. In front of him, backing up slowly, was a very sick looking fox. Its eyes were dull and coat staring, and it seemed to be trying to pant and snarl simultaneously.

"Dear lord..." Giles murmured, staring. He didn't doubt for a second that he was looking at his lover.

For a long moment that was all he could do -- stare. But when Ethan-fox turned and looked as if he were about to bolt, Giles threw out a hand toward him and begged, "Don't go. Please, Ethan."

The fox paused, its head hung low. 'so lost... want to be lost... want to forget... what I am... but can't forget you, can I?... hurting...'

Taking a great chance, knowing that once he was down, he wouldn't be able to get up again fast enough to catch Ethan if he did bolt, Giles awkwardly lowered himself to the ground, grunting a little as his bad leg protested.

But it put him closer to eye level with Ethan, and made him much less a threatening presence.

"Don't go," he said again, and then as Ethan took another hesitant step away, added in a voice that cracked despite his best efforts, "You promised you wouldn't leave!"

He heard a wail of pure pain in his head at that, but Ethan-fox turned back to face him and even walked a few slow steps forward. 'no... don't hurt... you mustn't hurt... trying to protect you...'

"You can't protect me if you're not here," Giles said, meeting the alien eyes that still somehow seemed familiar. "You leaving would hurt me more than anything else would." He was aware as he said them that his words were an inexact echo of what Ethan had said to him in the hospital after he'd woken up the first time.

The fox shook its head as if trying to dislodge a flea. 'No -- he said. Said I'd drag you down. That I'd destroy you. Only way to protect is to not be me anymore.' Ethan's thoughts seemed to be becoming more coherent.

Giles shook his head. "You're a part of me. Losing you would be like losing a limb. Worse."

Ethan-fox came closer still; he was in touching distance now, were Giles to stretch out his hand. 'Need you. Hurt.'

Slowly, carefully, not taking his eyes away from Ethan's, Giles reached out his hand to touch him.

A shudder rippled out across the red fur from where Giles' fingers touched, but Ethan-fox stood his ground. The voice in Giles' head was quite distraught however. 'Wrong. This is wrong. I should go. So selfish. So bloody selfish. Love you so much. Can't leave. Going to destroy you.'

"You're not going to destroy me, love." He stroked his fingers lightly over the soft fur. "Having you with me makes me stronger than I'd be alone."

A few more steps forward were taken. Ethan-fox was now beside Giles, who could feel the quickly panting chest touching his arm. 'But he said...?'

"Who said, love?"

'Shadow'

Giles wasn't sure exactly what Ethan was referring to, but understood enough to try and argue the point. "You shouldn't listen to shadows -- they're not real. And they disappear in the light." He let a bit of his magic gather around his fingers in Ethan's fur, channelling the energy into the visible spectrum so they were both surrounded in a soft glow.

A whining noise came from Ethan-fox's throat, and he leant against Giles, apparently seeking more magic. 'Need.'

Giles obliged, channelling more energy through them both. Anything to keep Ethan with him.

The fox-face was lifted up very close to Giles own, and a wet tongue flicked out and licked at his cheek. 'So good. So pure. Everything I'm not. Rupert, don't let me drag you down. Promise me.'

Closing his eyes, Giles relished the kiss, even delivered in this form. "You won't drag me down, love. I promise. You'd have to fall to drag me down, and I'm not going to let you do that."

With carefully placed feet, Ethan-fox moved up onto Giles' lap. 'So scared. So very scared.'

"It's all right, love," Giles said, wrapping his arms around the comforting weight in his lap. He leaned over and rested his cheek on the fox's head. "I've got you. We're going to fix everything. It's going to be all right."

Ethan didn't ask for an explanation of *how* everything was going to be fixed, which was possibly a good thing. He just sat his hindquarters down and leant his body against Giles. 'I want to come back now.'

A wave of relief went through Giles at that. "Thank you."

Giles heard a nervous laugh that was decidedly Ethan in his mind. 'Don't thank me yet. I think I've forgotten how.'

"I haven't." Of course shape-changing was not the way his magic lay, but he knew the theory and had heard the lessons that Ian had given Ethan on the subject. "I can help you."

'I tried so hard to lose myself; I'm not sure I remember my own pattern. Yours, of course, I could recall perfectly, even if you weren't here.' It was good to hear such clear and Ethanish thoughts, as well as the mental chuckle that followed them. 'Throw me a rope, dearheart?'

"Always." Giles closed his eyes and let his thoughts and magic twine with his lover's, consciously thinking about how Ethan felt to him. He couldn't perceive the patterns like Ethan could, but he hoped it would be enough.

So he thought about his physical perceptions of his lover -- how Ethan walked into a room, what he looked like when he danced, how he felt when they held each other tight. Giles thought of Ethan's scent and the texture of his skin, the feel of his hair slipping between fingers, and the taste of his lips and of his cock. Giles thought about Ethan's voice and his laughter, how he shook when he wept, and how his head tipped back when he came, the tendons of his neck in sharp relief.

With these thoughts and a thousand more like them, Giles built a four-dimensional pattern of his lover and fed it to Ethan through their link.

'Oh, my husband, my mirror... How could I ever have believed I could leave you, even without my memories?' The fox's body began to undulate and spasm alarmingly beneath Giles' arms, barks and whimpers of pain emerging from its drooping head.

Then Giles' arms were pushed outward suddenly, and there was the far greater weight on his legs of a naked, shivering, and fully human Ethan.

"Welcome back," Giles murmured, hugging him tightly, the relief at having his lover in his arms and human again almost making him shake.

Ethan moaned heavily and turned in the embrace so that he could return it, desperately clutching at Giles and weeping uncontrollably. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "I thought... I was so scared, and he was so convincing... so easy to believe him... then she... Oh Rupert, please forgive me."

"Always." He rubbed his hands lightly down Ethan's back, soothingly. "Next time talk to me before it gets to this point?"

"I got so lost..." Ethan seemed to be trying to curl up his long body, to make it smaller. He nuzzled his wet face into the crook of Giles' neck. "It's so easy to believe that I'm... that I'm bad. Intrinsically so. That I can't help but to hurt you, to drag you down. All my life I've been told I was wrong - obscene, evil, disgusting... you know the words. My Mum once... no." He took a gasping breath, but the words kept tumbling out. "It was just so easy to believe him. My shadow. Not like I haven't tried to live down to the accusations enough in my murky past, is it?"

Giles slid a hand under Ethan's chin, tilting his face up to meet his eyes. "You are the very best thing that's ever happened to me. You're not wrong, or bad, or evil -- although occasionally you may be obscene, but only in the best sort of way."

Ethan's tear-filled eyes stared at Giles. He was still shivering, which was hardly surprising as it was a cloudy day in mid-October and he was naked, and he was breathing through his mouth in audible shuddery gasps. "I don't trust myself," he said simply. "I feel wrong. Always have. It's been so much worse since the dream though..."

"You've spent so much time working with dark Chaos, it's no wonder you felt wrong all the time in the past." Giles frowned, turning over what he'd just said and what was happening with Ethan and coming up with a theory. "When did you start feeling wrong again?"

"Since the dream... the night after you were hurt when you sent me home. My subconscious decided to grant me a meeting with my shadow-self. He... wasn't very encouraging." Ethan looked down, as if ashamed.

That would hold with his theory, Giles thought. "Let me..." he began, reaching out and 'tasting' Ethan with his magic sense.

As he had far too many times recently, Ethan seemed to have to stop himself moving back from the touch, his body jolting slightly as he resisted the impulse. The reason why was instantly evident; Ethan's bright essence seemed dimmed, covered in a dark bitter slime that had a familiar taste to it.

"Wh... what is it?" Ethan could clearly sense Giles' unease at the discovery.

"Chaos magic," Giles said bluntly. "That bastard may have attacked me physically, but he tagged you just as strongly."

"Oh..." Ethan's eyes unfocused as he obviously looked inside himself. "Bugger it. I'm so stupid. I'm so bloody stupid, Ripper. Why didn't I feel it? Why didn't I realise?" He started to move on Giles' lap, apparently struggling to stand up.

Unthinkingly, Giles tightened his grip, keeping Ethan in place. "You had other things on your mind; you were drained and dealing with strong emotions."

Ethan continued to struggle. "Let me up, dearheart. I need to... I need to cleanse. I shouldn't touch you when I'm like this."

"You touched me before," Giles pointed out mildly, but obediently let go of Ethan.

"I'll infect you," he said distractedly, as he got to his feet and then looked around the clearing seeming lost. "Oh."

"What is it, love?"

"No ocean. No wind. No storm."

Ah. So Ethan couldn't use the same source of power to cleanse himself as he had the first time. But if it was only a clean source of power that Ethan needed... "There's me," Giles said.

"No." Ethan clearly hadn't even considered it before refusing.

"Why not?" Giles asked, forcing that consideration.

"Too risky." The jerky way Ethan's head moved as he continued to look around the clearing was still a little foxy, Giles realised.

"My risk to take." He wanted to get to his feet and go to Ethan, but the pain he knew that his bad leg would cause with such a move wouldn't help his argument so he stayed where he was, looking up at his lover.

"No, you don't understand. I'm not talking about the risk of taking too much. It's the risk of passing on to you what's in me. Infecting you. Dragging you down with me when I fall..." He trailed off, staring down at the ground. "When I fall..."

"Love, you've poured pretty much all of your energy into me when we were right in the middle of this. If you didn't 'infect' me then..."

"No, you're cleansed. I cleansed every bloody cell. Repeatedly." Ethan scuttled back to Giles' side, falling to his knees beside him. Giles felt his lover's magic probing gently inside him. "You're clean."

"That's my point. You're not going to infect me. And even if you do, you can cleanse me again." Giles laid a hand against Ethan's cheek. "Let me help, love."

Ethan paused and then laughed slightly. "If they've got a camera on us now, we must make a pretty pathetic sight. You are, of course, quite right. And one day I might actually learn my lesson and remember to listen. I give up control to you all the time, yet when it really matters, I stupidly take it back again. You know what I need far better than I do. I need to remember that."

"You value yourself far too poorly," Giles told him, sliding his hand down to entwine his fingers with Ethan's. He couldn't help but notice that his lover's skin was covered in goosebumps. "Case in point -- you're freezing. We should go home and do the cleansing there."

"I'm not completely sure where we are," Ethan admitted sheepishly. "Although I know my clothes are in the car."

"I was going to ask you about that. Much as I love you naked, this isn't really the weather for it."

Ethan twisted his lips. "I'm more worried about your leg. Sitting in this damp won't be doing it any good at all. If I've caused you to--" He swallowed and changed course, standing up and offering a hand. "Come on, let's go home."

Giles took the proffered hand and let Ethan pull him to his feet, doing his best to hide the grimace of pain. "Home."

NEXT