Endings 21
Endings Chapter 21
“But this was after you lost your Slayer line, I’d assume. I mean, I can’t see Bringers coming to power, as you put it, any time before that.”
“Yes. And I know where you’re going with this, but they had enough data on record to recreate a Slayers energy signature, and that of a Potentials, too, for that matter.”
“You’re a smart guy. You tell me how the hell they came by that sort of data.”
He glanced at her in the rare view mirror.
“Yes, well, that’s another reason why we needed the cover story for who you are. And I’m afraid, at this stage they’re the lesser of two evils, Buffy.”
She winced at that.
“I like it about as much as you do. And I like them even less. But this entire bloody world is a choice between bad and worse, Slayer. And all that those of us that are capable of fighting can do is make those damned choices, and stick to our guns afterwards, hope and even pray that we haven’t fucked up again. And that a bad choice isn’t going to spell the end of the fucking world. You think that this, that any of this is easy? You think that I wouldn’t go back to the way that things used to be in a heartbeat, if I could? That I don’t miss the ease of only worrying about us,” he took a hand off the wheel and gestured between himself and Ethan, “and getting a little fun out of life? You didn’t ask for any of this, but nor did any of us. And this isn’t a war in which we can afford to discount a powerful ally just because don’t like a few of their past methods.”
“Newsflash, Ripper,” she put unnecessary emphasis on the old nickname, “I spent seven damn years on the frontline with the fate of the world in my hands. And I started when I was seventeen. By the time I was 23 I was calling the shots in our own fight against the First. I lead people, girls that should have still been acting like children into battle, and I watched them get killed; because of choices that I made. You’re complaining to me because your fun got cut short when you got called to the front line? At least you got a proper chance to enjoy the world before you had to start fighting to keep it.”
“You have no…”
“Oh do shut up, the pair of you. My head’s killing me,” Ethan raised his head from the seat of the car, and blinked wearily as both of the others shot synchronized glares at him, “Seriously. You may want to try for a few decibels higher and then you’ll be summoning dogs and bats as well. At least they wouldn’t let me suffer.”
Giles turned his full attention back to the road and drove in silence for a few minutes. Buffy watched as the tension slowly left his shoulders, and once they were back to the usual position that tended to hold them in, he spoke again.
“Sorry, Ethan,” he took a deep breath, almost as though steeling himself for an explosion of some form, “and my apologies to you too, Buffy. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight with you, but, but sometimes I… I suppose that, that I don’t think before I speak. Sometimes these days I tend towards over-reaction. Things seem to wear a little thin,” he glanced backwards for half a second, and raised a hopeful eyebrow, “Can’t begin to imagine why.”
It was the first time that she’d heard the Giles stammer. She’d wondered before whether this one still did it, or ever had, and now she had another answer. Ethan had closed his eyes again, and was wincing with every bump that they hit.
“Apology accepted. And I’ve done the same thing before, so not like its new territory to me.”
“Still, that was a little out of bounds.”
“Yeah, it was, I’ll give you that if you’re going to keep pressing that point. But the other night, sorry to tell you but I also tracked down your diaries. And with what the two of you have been through over the last few years I’ll give you a get out jail free card, this time too.”
“You… tracked down my diaries?”
“Yeah; I wanted to see things for myself, I suppose. So, again, sorry.”
“I’d have probably done the same thing in your place, actually. But you could have asked; I wouldn’t have denied you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know that. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about asking you for anything, considering the circumstances.”
At that Giles said something that sounded like it had the words curiosity and cat in it, and for the rest of the drive home they were both silent.
When they got back Giles pulled they keys from the ignition and handed them back to Buffy, so that he could help Ethan out of the car ignoring his grumbling about not being as bad off as he looked, and tucked a arm under his shoulders and around his back to give him something to lean on. Buffy opened the door, and put the keys down on the table where the phone was. He didn’t know why he bothered to keep it, for that matter, and landlines had long since ceased to operate.
Inside the door, he paused and Ethan leaned heavily into him, his exhaustion obvious.
“Did you want to get some sleep before anything else, or…”
“No,” he shook his head, and straightened up as much as his bone-tiredness would allow for, slipping free of Rupert’s grasp and leaning against the wall on the other side, “we’ve got to talk. Probably better if we do it now, while I still want to, too.”
“Would you rather the lounge or the study?” he could hear the seriousness in Ethan’s tone. The time for dancing around issues was passed, and if Ethan wanted to talk to him now, then now it would be. Giles wasn’t going to deny him that.
“Bedroom would be better. Better if I show you.”
“Can you manage the stairs?”
“I’ve done so in worse states.”
“Fine, then. I’ll just grab you a couple of codeine and that vodka you cracked to wash them down with.”
“Won’t hear me complaining,” Ethan pushed himself off the wall, and shook himself, before heading through to the stairs and dragging himself up to the second floor.
As Giles cut back through, the vodka in one hand, a pair of glasses in the other, and the painkillers tucked into his pocket Buffy came back out from the room that she’d been given dressed in a pair of loose fitting pants, and a sleeveless black top.
“I’m gonna hit the basement,” she offered, by way of explanation as she crossed his path.
“That’s fine,” he paused with one foot on the stairs, and glanced back, “just make sure that you leave the punching bag in one piece. There are times that I use it, too, and after the last time I let lose down there, we’re running of spares.”
“Will do, Giles,” for a few moments she looked unsure of herself, but then she spoke in a rush like she was trying to get the words out, “I’mnotsureifyour’regoingtoneeditandIreallyhopethatyoudon’tbutifyoudo…well, good luck.”
“Thanks,” he headed up the stairs as she flicked on the light and headed down. Next time, he reminded himself, he was going to show her where the switch for the heater was. He’d seen water freeze down there the last few times that he’d headed down.
He paused outside the closed door to the bedroom, and uncapped the vodka, taking a couple of swigs to steel himself before he met what Ethan had been dancing around for the last few days. Taking a deep breath, he tucked the bottle under one arm and raised his hand to the door-handle, turned it, and pushed it open.
Ethan was sitting in the chair on the far side of the room, with his shirt off and a folded piece of paper in one hand. And even as he wordlessly held out his hand to take it, he knew exactly what Ethan was going to say.
He stared at the fresh scratched rune-work around the old ink mark of the Etruscan, and winced. Earlier on it must have been had a glamour over it, but now the spell had been dropped.
“The other night, I was… frightened. It’s been a while since I last looked at this fight and saw my death, Rupert,” the man was breathing rapidly, lightly, and he wished that he hadn’t chosen such a solitary position, “but when I saw that doorway punched through our block of Swiss Cheese to the big toaster oven… I panicked; asked our old friend for a hand, so to speak. And I definitely discounted what she told me that I… her me had done to her, just after she got here.”
“Ethan,” he started, as his partner leaned forward, and placed the folded page on the center of the bed so that Rupert could pick it up.
“Didn’t realize until today, that our old friend would touch her, too. I… Christ, I forgot if it had been done right in the first place, and there’s no reason to doubt that since I’m apparently the one that did it in the first place, that the herb and blood mixture that’s meant to go into the ink would hold the natural power of it active in the blood. Or maybe it wasn’t so much that I forgot as it was that I was hoping against it. And I…I…I suppose an extra touch of power in a race that was born through demonic power in the first place probably would have gone unnoticed anyway,” he raised a single shoulder in a half-shrug, “I was doing a fire scry, checking on a few things, and it showed me exactly what I missed. I…”
He trailed off, looking puzzled. Because where he’d expected yelling, and more than likely being kicked out, if not from the house then at least down to the couch, once the fight had run its course, Rupert was laughing.
“What?” he asked softly, almost as though he’d thought Rupert had gone mad.
The man took a deep breath, and got himself back under control.
“And you thought this was something I’d kill you over?”
“Well, yes, considering everything. I mean…”
“I assume you were careful?” Rupert grabbed the folded page off the bed, and opened it up so that he could see the words and patterns on it, black on gray and marked with blood as they were, “Limited it, watched yourself?”
“My exact wording was power for strength, and their blood for sanctuary. So, yes, but…”
“If anything, it may have helped us already. Besides, which, it’s like I was saying to her earlier today, I suppose. The lesser of two evils… And I suppose we could throw in ‘better the devil you know’ this time, too.”
“But,” he started again.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not impressed, Ethan, not in the slightest. But it’s far from the worst call that you’ve ever made. And besides, you’re giving me an idea or an idea of an idea at least. If it were to be strengthened a little more, it might mask her power enough to cover over whatever it is that the Bringers see and recognize as a Slayer. And if they can only feel one around, then it may settle them…” he let the unsaid remain just as it was, although they both knew it. If they can only feel one, then maybe they would only try to kill one.
Taking the lid off the bottle again, he decided to declare the glasses a futile exercise and placed them both on the floor, before taking another couple of deep drags from the bottle and circling the bed to press it into Ethan’s hands.
“What’s done is done, Ethan. And as mush as I wish you’d think things through properly, thinking isn’t going to close the gate after the horse has bolted,” the bottle was passed back, and he sat down before throwing his head back, “so we may as well make the best of the worst. After all, that’s what’s got us through the last few years.”
“So, my life isn’t in jeopardy, then?” Ethan took the bottle back again, and grasped it between his palms.
“Oh, wouldn’t go as far as to be saying that, love.”
Ethan frowned, “But you were just saying that,”
“I know exactly what I was just saying. But I can’t guaranty your safety when you go to explain this turn of events to Buffy. I’ll do my best, but she does only just seem to be beginning to tolerate you, after all.”
Ethan paled drastically at that particular thought.
“Shit, I really am dead. Make sure they burry me somewhere nice, Rupert?”
“Come here you idiot,” he grabbed Ethan by the hand and tugged him up and across the small distance, reaching to grab the bottle back, and he settled the other man in his lap, looping a single arm around his neck.
A few minutes of silence later, and Ethan’s head dropped back as he gave in to the exhaustion that had been threatening to take over ever since he’d teleported. Giles raised the bottle and finished it off with one swig, and then being careful not to wake his armful of sleeping man, he lowered it to the ground and placed one arm firmly against the covers, as he shifted the both of them until they were lying down. Closing his own eyes his head swum and he knew that he would pay for it tomorrow, as the last of the vodka stole his last conscious thought.
It was just after ten when Buffy emerged from the training room, finally lured upstairs by the noise. Or the lack of it, as the case was. She felt better after pounding away at the bag for a while, then settling in to meditate for an hour or so. She had never particularly enjoyed the latter, but it was something that she had been told several times that she ought to do more often.
Besides, it had been too cold down there to stay for much longer. Making as little noise as possible, she circled through the house turning off the lights. When eventually, the only light she could see was coming from up the stairs, she followed it, and paused at the edge of Giles and Ethan’s room, looking through the quarter-gap that the door had been left open to.
She saw the two men, Ethan with his top off and both with shoes still on, twined together on top of the covers, and not for the first time in the last little while found herself wondering how much, if at all, the man that she’d known had missed this companionship. After all, until she had told him about finding Ethan’s body when she’d come too, they had actually been starting to get on better again. But after that, it was almost like he was trying to cut himself off from some parts of life. At first she had blamed herself for the change, and then she had started to blame him. Now, thought, she found herself thinking that maybe it was simply grief; a grief that she had never been given an insight of, until now, so far removed from it.
Reaching into the room, she flicked off the light for them, and pulled the door closed before making her way back down to her room. These two may not have been the same people that she’d known before, she thought ten minutes later as she settled into the bed, but she was prepared to give them a chance.
After all, what was the point of any of this if she wasn’t?