Endings Ch 13
Wordcount: 1,150
Sorry, realitively short Chapter. Ethan-muse is diging his heels in. We'll have a chat and I'll er... whip him into shape for the next. ;)
13
It had been a long time, but still it was there, ready and waiting, as though it had never been abandoned like a toy that a child had tired of. He darkened this line and that, and emphasised the pattern around it, before scratching at the wound that his knife had left earlier, to agitate it again. The chant went neglected, entirely on purpose.
He wasn’t stupid, after all.
And throughout it all he knew that Ripper probably wouldn’t be getting in line to thank him, if he found out.
But there was the key sentence. If he found out…
And Ethan crossed his fingers and sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t.
It would be nice to sleep, unbroken again.
ARR! ARR! ARR! ARR
For the eighth time inside of ten minutes, Giles glanced at the clock and tried to shake off the feeling of unease that was hovering over him. And for the fifth time in the last ten minutes Buffy noticed his action.
No matter how pissed off with him Ethan was, he should have come downstairs by now. He, of all people ought to have known how important is was that they find a way to close that damned portal before it was the focal point for more damage than they could put to rights.
“You should head up.”
It was the third time that Buffy had told him that in the last fifteen minutes.
“But I,”
“Don’t argue,” she met his gaze unflinching, and for the first time since they’d called her he saw the true resolve of a Slayer behind her expression, “I’ll bookmark the books, and turn out the lights, and do those funny little things. My Watcher told me once that if I wasn’t concentration on the work in front of me then I was more likely to miss the obvious. And I’m more then happy to be saying the same thing to you. I’m not entirely sure you even brought your brain back downstairs with you in the first place.”
And, truth be told that really wasn’t an expression which he was keen to argue with.
He nodded at her, and put his book down, open, on the table, trusting her at her word, as he headed upstairs.
The door was closed, but he could see a tiny chink of light shining under it. Bracing himself for the start of the cold war that usually accompanied Ethan’s more serious moon-swings, he opened the door and was surprised to find the man lying on top of the covers, on his side with his head ducked under the pillows. Rupert paused, and looked at his chest, noting that his breathing was deep and even.
He was soundly asleep.
As quietly as possible he closed the door and crossed over to the bed, sitting on the side and turning so that he could look squarely at the man, and sighed. For all of his concern, he was asleep.
Ethan’s hand twitched and he made a small murmur, drawing Rupert’s gaze upwards. He frowned, eyeing the smear of red on the man’s palm. That ought to have been well and truly dried by now. And he still couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on his back, something peering over his shoulder.
Looking at Ethan, sleeping peacefully for what had to be the first time in months at the very least, he tried to tell himself that it was just his imagination being overactive. He was on edge from the day, from the portal discovered and the fight beforehand.
That was all.
ARR! ARR! ARR! ARR
After she marked where they had gotten up to in the books, and put the rest of the volumes that Giles had pulled out back into their own separate pile she went hunting. Not for the demons or vampires that she knew would be out there, in a world turned upside down, though.
She was hunting for something much closer to home.
And she found said items of interest tucked away in the third drawer of the desk that stood in the entrance.
Giles’ diaries.
She couldn’t picture any version of him being without one. When it came down to it, she could even imagine the young rebel that he’d once been breaking down spells and analysing them for future use and modification, if nothing else. Giles and journals went hand in hand.
And she wanted facts straight from the horses’ mouth. Or the Watcher’s pen, as the case may be.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, in spite of the fact that her initial instinct had been to run, screaming for the hills and only come out when there was something that needed a serious killing. She was simply being initially precautious, making sure that he hadn’t glossed anything over.
The calendar had informed her of what the date was. If it was on the right page, for that matter - she figured that the two men had better things to do then change the calendar after all.
But the diaries only went up to the end of last year. She guessed that the most current one was probably tucked away somewhere in the bedroom, but she wasn’t prepared to try and creep upstairs to confirm her suspicions.
The books read like a three part horror story, the first part being the first chaotic ‘bleed’ which had synched with Doc’s cutting of Dawn, and the second part the destruction of the council and the synchronised destruction of the Slayer line. Around that time the writing was extremely fragmented, some spots with entire weeks were missing, others simply reading as a list of the dead.
‘Wednesday September 11, 2006
Travers, Quinton - Dead.
Marcus, Steve - Dead
Giles, Adrian Richards - Dead.
Winston, Michael - Hospitalised (A)
McLeod-Davis, Sarah - Critical
Initial reports of at least ten others dead, remains unidentifiable.’
The third act, starting in the following year, was the one that was still continuing today. The ‘bleed’ which had started in synch with Willow’s activation of the entire Slayer line.
She felt sick as she tucked the books back away, as it was going onto one in the morning, and crept back into the bedroom that Giles had given her. He really had glossed over some of his information. But on reading it, she could see why.
He’d given here everything that she’d needed, keeping it as clinical and efficient as possible.
She wondered how he’d managed. By no stretch of imagination would it have been easy.
Maybe Ethan was worth more than she gave him credit for, here.
She changed quickly, and stretched out under the blankets, wincing as she rolled her head from side to side and a flash of pain shot up her neck. Too many hours spent hunched over paper; it just wasn’t natural.
Giving in to exhaustion she closed her eyes, and fell into a sound sleep.