Fic: Geometry of Chance (5/7) {BtVS}
Title: Geometry of Chance (5/7)
Fandom: Buffy
Author: Rummi (sharelle)
Pairings / Characters: Gen / Giles, Ethan Rayne, Willow, OC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violent content (Trigger warning for violence involving children)
Word Count: 3,760
Summary: After escaping from the Initiative, Ethan Rayne goes to the Cleveland Hellmouth for a new start and a chance at real power. What he finds is a lot more than he bargained for. (Set a few weeks post-Chosen.)
Complete work can be found here: LJ Memories / FFN / AO3 / DW
Author’s Notes: This chapter was originally twice as long, but the pacing of the two halves seemed to require a break. (Plus, you know, cliffhangers are fun.) Which means there will be one additional segment than initially intended - 7 chapters instead of the original 6.
Also, this is the first of the sections that went unpublished back in 2005. I always had a solid idea of how this story would go, but I honestly think that the passage of time caused me to make a few different choices than I probably would have back then. Regardless of the slight differences in my plotline, I’m pleased with the outcome overall.
Hope you enjoy!
V.
Frankie hadn't gotten very far before she had stopped and perched herself on a swing at the edge of the park. She stared miserably at the toes of her boots as they traced deep lines in the dirt beneath her. She had no idea what she was even doing. She wanted to help Ethan, but wasn't sure how anymore. He was the one who had found her when she had felt the most alone. He had taken her in when everybody else had looked at her like she was a freak. He made her feel like she could actually do this whole Slayer thing. But when push came to shove, it turned out he didn’t believe in her as much as he had said. It left her with an empty feeling inside.
With the confidence he had given her suddenly taken away, she had no idea what to do. She wanted to prove him wrong, but even if she could remember the exact network of alleys to bring her back to Carter's place, it wasn't like she had any kind of plan.
And it wasn't like she had ever actually slain a vampire before. Ethan had needed to do that for her last night. If she couldn't handle one, how could she expect to take on three? Or even more. Maybe Ethan was right.
But Ethan was going back to Carter's place on his own, of that much Frankie was certain. She couldn't keep from thinking that, even if Ethan didn't want her help, he was still probably going to need it - especially if his plan was to go in by himself. If he only gave her a chance, she knew she could help him the way he needed her to.
All she had to do was convince him to let her try.
Frankie hopped off the swing and started making her way back toward Ethan's apartment. That was where he had been headed, so, with any luck, she would meet up with him somewhere in between.
Ethan had often heard about that place beyond pain. That place where the human body settled when it couldn't take any more. That place where all the hurt, no matter how great, hit come kind of ceiling and leveled off into a steady, agonizing stream without actually growing any more intense.
Clearly, Ethan had not yet found that place.
Oddly, he remembered something he had once said to Rupert's Slayer when he'd attempted to brand her with the Mark of Eyghon: “This may sting a little just at first. But don't worry, that'll go away once the searing pain kicks in.”
Searing pain.
Now, that was a concept with which he'd grown quite familiar during the last few minutes. Karma certainly was a bitch.
Ethan landed on his back as, with one swift kick, the M’fashnik sent him rolling across the grass. The sharp scales that riddled the creature's body must have sliced him open somewhere along his middle, because he began to feel a moist warmth spreading over the skin of his abdomen. The blood cooled as the fabric of his shirt soaked it up. It clung, sticky, to his torso. His body shivered with a bone-deep chill.
The M’fashnik came to stand over him, grinning predatorily.
"Oh, for bloody Pete's sake," Ethan groaned. "If you're going to kill me, just get on with it, would you? I'm not sure how much more of the giddy sadism I can stomach."
The M’fashnik sneered. "I haven't quite finished toying with you yet, little man. Killing you quickly would only rob me of my real fun."
Ethan struggled to raise himself. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" he said dryly.
The demon bent down to his level again. "You only need to tell me where to find the Slayer," it said, in a voice as close to coaxing as an M’fashnik could probably get. "Then I'll kill you quickly."
Ethan pushed himself up on his arms to face the demon with as much strength as he could muster. "Tempting," he drawled. "But I told you. There is no-"
All at once, the M’fashnik jolted, shooting to its feet like a cork from a bottle. Then it sailed abruptly off to the right. It tumbled heavily across the lawn and slammed into a lamppost by the sidewalk. Ethan's wide eyes swung from where the demon had landed to the pint-sized figure that was suddenly standing where the creature had been.
For a moment, she didn't look at Ethan. She glared at the prone form of the demon, which she had apparently tossed across the yard like a sandbag of dead weight. Her jaw was tight and tense, and her shoulders rose and fell in quick, anxious pants. Unabashed fury was radiating off her small body in waves. Her thin limbs were trembling.
"The Slayer is right here," Frankie spat.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Ethan croaked out. “Frankie-”
The girl finally turned her head to him, flinching visibly as their eyes met. Her hands were clenched into determined, quivering fists, but her eyes betrayed the very real, very palpable panic she was so clearly feeling.
Judging by the expression on her face, Ethan guessed that he must look bloody awful.
He wrapped one arm around his middle and began pulling himself to a kneeling position. Frankie dashed forward to help him. Ethan’s aching body protested every movement, especially with the young Slayer’s undisciplined strength hauling him upright like a rag doll, but he managed to get his haunches under him without keeling over again.
“Frankie,” he repeated. His voice was low and urgent in the space between them, and with more strength than he’d managed before. “Sweets, you’ve got to get out of here.”
Frankie turned her head downward to look him in the face. Her eyes were wide and frightened, her composure breaking. However, she still shook her head resolutely. “No way,” she asserted, but there was an obvious tremor in her voice. “I’m not gonna let that thing hurt you.”
Ethan met her eyes and, for a moment, time seemed to stop.
Ethan Rayne had never been the self-sacrificing type. And he’d never understood those who were. The potential for gaining the power he had always wanted was the only thing that had ever really mattered to him, and if some collateral damage was necessary to keep himself in the game, then that was fine. He’d even said as much to Buffy years ago when he’d attempted to hide himself from Eyghon by using her as an unwitting substitute.
It was nothing personal, he had casually told her: “I actually kinda like you. It's just that I like myself a whole lot more.”
Never mind that Buffy Summers had only been a few years older than Frankie at the time.
Given the chance, Ethan Rayne always cut his losses. Given the choice, Ethan Rayne always saved himself.
Always.
The sudden realization that Frankie was not going to do that - she wasn’t going to leave him - struck Ethan like another physical blow.
His next thought, however, was even worse:
“She’s not a toy and you're going to get her killed if you treat her like one.”
Having Rupert Giles’ voice in his head at a time like this was bad enough.
Realizing just how accurate those words probably were at this juncture was bloody terrifying.
Because Ethan wasn’t going to be able to convince Frankie to leave him behind. She might be a Slayer, but she was a critically untrained one. She was just a bloody 12-year-old child. She was petrified, that much was obvious, and yet she was still willing to stand her ground against an M’fashnik, one of the most violent mercenaries of the demon underworld, for him.
To save him.
To save Ethan-bloody-Rayne, who had once thought nothing of branding another young girl with a volatile tattoo, just to save his own skin.
Ethan clenched his jaw until it throbbed. Time seemed to reawaken itself.
If there was one thing Ethan-bloody-Rayne believed at this moment, it was that his own skin was highly overrated.
Ethan reached out and gripped Frankie by the arm, using her to leverage himself to his feet. His bloodied grip left a twist of crimson on the sleeve of her white sweater. His battered ribs lanced pain through his body as he stood, but he managed to pull himself upright.
“I need you to do what I tell you now, sweetheart,” Ethan said. He settled both hands upon Frankie’s shoulders, pressing insistent dents into her skin with his fingertips as he looked her full in the face. “I need you to run.”
Predictably, the girl refused. She shook her head resolutely. “It’ll hurt you,” she argued.
At her (clearly misguided) loyalty, Ethan felt an unconscious, humorless smile curl a corner of his lips. He forced it down again and hardened his expression. “The bastard didn’t come here for me,” he said. “I need you to go. Now.”
Frankie shook her head again, setting her jaw stubbornly to match Ethan’s. She opened her mouth to protest when a low growl sounded across the grass.
Ethan looked up. It was too late to argue anymore.
The M’fashnik was back on its feet.
Ethan used his grip on Frankie’s shoulders to his advantage and turned them both so he was between the girl and the M’fashnik. He then put his back to her and faced the demon.
The M’fashnik looked surprised for a moment. It must have expected a bit more from the Hellmouth’s Slayer than the skinny urchin who had suddenly appeared in the park. The demon recovered quickly, however. It displayed a wide shark-toothed smile as it sneered predatorily.
“Slayer.”
Ethan stuck one arm out to the side, as though that would effectively shield the girl behind him from view. He kept his eyes on the M’fashnik as he spoke to Frankie. “Don’t argue with me about this one, sweets,” he said. “Go on.”
Frankie held her ground and drew a stake.
The sudden rush of inexplicable affection Ethan felt in that moment was almost painful. But her actions only served to validate just how unprepared the young Slayer was for something like this.
“It’s not a vampire, love,” he said with more urgency. “Only one guaranteed way to survive a fight with an M’fashnik demon.”
“Yeah?” Frankie asked. Her voice quivered as she continued to hold the stake aloft.
“Yeah,” Ethan confirmed with a wan half-smile over his shoulder. “Run.” He faced the M’fashnik again, who was grinning wolfishly at them. “I’ll take care of it,” he added.
Frankie let out a breathy, mirthless laugh. A small amount of her tension seemed to evaporate. “Oh, yeah,” she retorted. "`Cause you were doing so well before I showed up." However, her glib comeback was still suffused with obvious fear.
“A warm-up, kid,” Ethan said reassuringly. “He just caught me off-guard, that’s all.” He tilted his head to insinuate himself into the demon’s line of sight. “Besides,” he added, this time speaking directly to the creature in front of them, “I speak his language. Isn’t that right, mate? Your kinds’ loyalty goes to the highest bidder. So what’s say we deal, you and I?”
The M’fashnick didn’t seem amused. “I will tear your arms off for your insolence, little man,” it snarled.
Ethan managed a painful shrug. “Hey now, we’re all slaves to the wage,” he said casually. “Not your fault. But if it’s money you want, I’ve got plenty.” He pulled his cash pouch out from where he had secured it inside his jacket. “You rethink your little rampage here, and everything I had acquired for Mr. Carter is all yours.”
Frankie shifted behind Ethan and he matched her movement to remain in front of her. He angled his head slightly downward and directed his voice quietly and urgently back at her. “I noticed you’re not running yet.”
Frankie scowled at him indignantly. “I know you don’t want my help but-”
“I don’t want you hurt!” Ethan hissed sharply between clenched teeth.
Frankie recoiled and was silent.
Ethan straightened and faced the demon again, drawing his suave composure back around him like a cape. “So,” he drawled, “we have a deal?”
The M’fashnik growled. “You cannot buy my mercy with paper, sorcerer,” it retorted. “Mr. Carter offers more than that for my services. For instance-” The creature shifted its eyes past Ethan, its lips curling ravenously over jagged teeth as it grinned at Frankie. “The opportunity to wet my hands with the blood of a Slayer.”
Ethan retaliated with a snarl of his own. “You want this Slayer, mate, you’re going to have to take it up with her Watcher first.”
The demon seemed amused as it regarded him.
“Agreed,” it said. And charged.
Ethan felt Frankie surge behind him and he shifted backward to intercept her before she could dash past him. He knew she wasn’t rushing into this fight with the skills and instinct of a trained Slayer. And the combination of fear, emotion, and untested raw power wasn’t going to be enough to keep her alive against an M’fashnik for long. Ethan felt the wind jolt from his lungs as Frankie plowed into him from behind. He struggled to stay upright and keep his body between her and the encroaching demon as he raised his hand to quickly formulate a spell.
“Vinci-”
Ethan’s chant abruptly halted as the demon reached them more quickly than he had calculated. It backhanded him out of the way and Frankie’s terrified cry rang in his ears as he reeled unendingly across the damp grass. When his body finally came to an abrupt halt, his head still felt as though it was spinning away from him.
A sudden, bellowing roar from the M’fashnik forced Ethan to raise his head. He shoved through the wall of nausea that hit him as he did so, and managed to focus his swirling vision on where the massive creature stood with Frankie’s wooden stake buried nearly to the hilt in its forearm.
Frankie’s eyes were huge as she stared at what she had done, her now-empty hands clenching into nervous fists. The M’fashnik snarled rabidly down at her and took a vicious swing with the arm that had been impaled by the stake. Frankie let out a small scream and hit the grass as the demon’s arm swept over her. She rolled and scrambled out of range in a tangle of gangly arms and legs. Scuttling awkwardly to her feet again, this time behind the M’fashnik, she dug into the pocket of her cargo pants and came up with another stake.
Ethan’s arms quivered beneath him as he struggled to push himself off the ground again. His vision swam, but he managed to keep his eyes on Frankie. The girl’s small size gave her a slight advantage when it came to eluding the hulking demon, but she had virtually no fighting style. She certainly didn’t have the fluidity or the strategic foresight that even a natural fighter like a Slayer only earned through experience. And it was going to take much more than preternatural strength and lucky shots against a large battle-tested demon like an M’fashnik.
Ethan needed to do something.
As the demon tore the first stake from its arm and tossed it away, Frankie slashed her second stake at it with a furious cry. This time, the M’fashnik seemed to be ready. When Frankie launched herself at it, the creature grinned and heedlessly batted her strike to the side, using her own strength against her and propelling her headlong into the grass at its feet. The M’fashnik’s chest rumbled with what must have been a sardonic laugh.
The monster was only toying with her.
Ethan pushed himself into a kneeling position, fighting through a tempest of vertigo to get his bearings. He watched as Frankie shot to her feet again, practically snarling with indignation at the demon through her teeth. She slashed out at the M’fashnik in a blind rage, and Ethan suddenly felt a sick, lurching sensation in his chest.
“Frankie!” he called out to her. “Don’t-”
The warning came too late. The M’fashnik caught the girl’s flailing wrist in a brutal hold and dragged her squirming, protesting body forward and upward until Frankie dangled off the ground in front of its face.
The demon’s lips peeled back into a slow, deliberate grin.
Frankie grunted and swung out wildly. The M’fashnik compensated by grabbing her other wrist as well and holding them both high above her head. The demon must have misjudged the length of the girl’s long, coltish legs, however, because a second later, one of Frankie’s oversized boots connected viciously with the creature’s unprotected kneecap.
The M’fashnik emitted a surprised howl of pain. Its smug smile vanished.
Enraged, the demon tightened its grip on Frankie’s wrists until she cried out. She squirmed ineffectually and kicked outward again, but the M’fashnik now held her at arm’s length. Suddenly it yanked Frankie closer toward it with a bestial snarl, then it tossed her savagely across the lawn.
Ethan watched in helpless horror as the girl slammed into one of the park’s picnic tables. The force of the blow cracked the wooden bench in half and Frankie’s body ricocheted off and rolled bonelessly to the ground. She didn’t move.
The M’fashnik began advancing on her prone form. A predatory smirk once again stretched across its face. Ethan pulled himself fully to his feet, fighting a wave of dizziness as he stretched out his hand.
“Vincire!”
The demon suddenly rebounded from the surface of an invisible wall that had instantly sprung up to separate it from the motionless Slayer. The barrier rippled like liquid and the M’fashnik snarled viciously. The demon took a savage swing at the invisible obstruction, smashing its fists against the transparent wall over and over and causing explosions of green light igniting across its surface. The invisible barricade remained, separating the M’fashnik from its prey, and the creature emitted a wild roar of frustration.
Then it rounded ferociously on Ethan.
“Oh, bollocks.”
Ethan started with genuine alarm as the demon bore down on him with wide menacing strides. He retreated back for a few shaky steps before tumbling clumsily through a wave of pain backwards onto the grass with a jarring grunt.
“Oh, yes, Ethan,” he groaned sardonically. “Ruddy brilliant! Just trap yourself on the same side of a retaining wall with a rampaging beast!”
Ethan knew that if the demon managed to get hold of him again, he didn’t have much strength left to fight back. He crab-walked frantically along the ground, but it didn’t take the M’fashnik long to close the gap between them.
Ethan braced himself.
A bright red flash exploded between him and the M’fashnik. The force of the blast sent the demon flying back several feet. It landed heavily in the grass and lay there, stunned.
For a moment, Ethan just sat frozen in place, gawking in disbelief at where the motionless demon was now lying. Then his brain registered the sensation of a new presence just behind him. He twisted his neck to glance over his shoulder at the man who was now standing there.
“Rupert,” he breathed.
Giles stood at the edge of the grass grasping a small, red stone tightly in his hand. He seemed to be breathing heavily as he kept his attention focused on the fallen demon for at least another beat. Then he risked a glance down at Ethan, pocketed the stone, and hurried forward the remaining yards to where Ethan was attempting to straighten himself up.
When Giles reached him, Ethan’s entire body reflexively sagged with complete, bone-melting relief. “Oh, are you a sight for sore eyes, mate,” he sighed heavily. Giles immediately crouched down and gripped Ethan tightly by the arms to haul him indelicately upward.
Ethan’s body protested the jarring movement. “Ow! Watch it, Ripper!” he groused petulantly, hissing with the pain of being lugged bodily to a standing position. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit bruised here!”
“I knew you’d get yourself into a situation you couldn’t handle,” Giles muttered reproachfully. He offered a grudging shoulder of support when Ethan swayed involuntarily on his feet. “Where’s the girl?”
“Oh, I’m hurt, Ripper,” Ethan mused with a drunk-sounding chuckle. The blood loss was probably making him giddy. “No interest in your old friend’s well-being? The white knight just has to come charging in to-”
“Save it,” Giles snapped, hastily cutting him off. “We’ll have time for your nonsensical banter later. That demon won’t stay down for long.” He shoved his hand back into his pocket and produced the small red stone again to show Ethan.
Ethan stared down at the stone. It was round and faceted and about the size of a golf ball. When Ethan recognized it, he raised wide owlish eyes back to Giles.
“Are you mad?” he gasped, hints of panic creeping back into the edges of his voice. “You brought an altak crystal? To use against an M’fashnik? Why not just try knocking it over with strong language!”
Giles cast Ethan a withering sidelong look as he shifted his shoulders beneath Ethan’s arm to offer more support. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered dryly. “I brought the crystal to use against you.”
The M’fashnik growled and stirred. It planted both hands on either side of its body to raise itself.
Giles and Ethan looked at the creature, then back at each other.
“The girl,” Giles urged again.
“Over there,” Ethan conceded, this time without delay. “I’ve got her behind a retaining wall.”
Giles surged forward, struggling to heave Ethan’s limping body alongside him. Ethan, admittedly, wasn’t being much help as they shambled along. But, honestly, it wasn’t as if he was trying to be difficult. This time.
They hurried past the groggy M’fashnik in a wide arc and headed for where Frankie was still lying in the grass near the picnic tables. The demon attempted to swipe at them as they passed, but it staggered from the lingering aftereffects of the crystal’s dizzying magic, and collapsed back onto the ground, dazed.
However, it wouldn’t stay down for much longer.
Ethan’s retaining wall whispered out of existence the moment he touched it and the two men hurried to Frankie’s side. Giles released his tight grip on Ethan, who slid into a graceless heap beside the girl. Frankie was stirring as they reached her.
Ethan risked a look back at the M’fashnik. “Remind me,” he said. “How long does it take for one of those crystals to recharge once you’ve used it?”
Giles set his jaw. “Longer than we have,” he replied grimly. “Best we move quickly.” He rushed around to Frankie’s other side. The girl groaned softly.
As Frankie raised her head, Ethan felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted. A strangling tension inside him - one he hadn’t fully realized was even there - finally released its grip on him. He very nearly groaned with relief as he knelt beside her in the grass. The girl blinked her glassy, dazed eyes and seemed to stare vaguely at nothing for a moment at first.
“You all right, love?” Ethan asked, with a hand on her shoulder and a hint of urgency in his voice. They didn’t have much time to waste, after all.
Frankie nodded absently in reply as she got her legs under her and pulled herself to her knees. She glanced at Ethan first, then leveled a slightly suspicious glare toward Giles on her other side. When she turned back to Ethan her face crumpled in obvious misery. Her eyes began to gloss over with the beginnings of tears. She bit her bottom lip and her chin trembled.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she murmured miserably. “You were right.” She sagged forward slightly, bracing herself on her hands as her hunched shoulders began to quiver with the beginnings of remorseful sobs. “I couldn’t handle it.”
Ethan rolled his eyes long-sufferingly toward the heavens. But it was only a halfhearted gesture. So when the girl surged toward him in shame and misery he pulled her tightly the rest of the way against his chest, allowing her to bury her face in his shirt as she cried.
“C’mon, now. That’s bollocks,” he muttered as he wrapped his arms around Frankie’s trembling body. The girl sniffled loudly into his shirt. Her grip was likely going to crush his already bruised sternum, but strangely Ethan couldn’t bring himself to care.
With danger still looming, however, they didn’t have much time for this. A moment later, Ethan peeled the girl off him and held her at arm’s length to look directly at her. “You did just fine, sweetheart,” he said pointedly, smoothing her tangled hair out of her tearstained face with both hands before placing them firmly back on her shoulders. “M’fashniks aren’t lightweights. Most Slayers wouldn’t face one without a good bit of experience under their belts. Isn’t that right, Rupert?”
“If ever,” Giles affirmed.
Ethan grinned wryly at the atypical support from Giles. “There, you see?” he pointed out. “Even the Watcher agrees.”
Frankie broke through Ethan’s grip and put her arms around him again. “You’re my Watcher,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
Ethan caught the odd, questioning expression on Giles’ face and he grimaced in response. “Oh, shut up, Rupert,” he grumbled. He pulled Frankie away from him again. “Less talking, I think,” he added with an urgent glance behind them. “More running for our lives.”
Frankie crawled dutifully beneath Ethan’s arm, and Giles gripped his other side as he struggled to get back to his feet. The two supported him lopsidedly between them as all three of them dashed for the edge of the park - and the public streets beyond.
A small sprout of hope began to bloom in the pit of Ethan’s stomach. If they made it to the main road leading to his flat, it was possible that they could find some sanctuary in the bustle of the downtown Cleveland crowds. Hellmouth or not, it wasn’t likely that Bartholomew Carter would want his minions making a chaotic spectacle of themselves on the public streets. That would be bad for business. The M’fashnik probably wouldn’t follow them. Not overtly, at least. It could buy them some time.
Ethan felt a swell of relief as the heavy traffic of the main street beyond the park loomed into view. He allowed his head to droop forward gratefully. His chin jostled against his chest as the three of them hurried along. An instant later, however, Ethan’s body stiffened in alarm.
An iron-fisted grip had clamped like a vice around the scruff of his neck.
Ethan only had enough time to mutter a quick, sardonic curse as the M’fashnik’s massive paw wrenched him backward, out of the others’ grasp, and tossed him unceremoniously back across the lawn.
Continued in Part 6.
Fandom: Buffy
Author: Rummi (sharelle)
Pairings / Characters: Gen / Giles, Ethan Rayne, Willow, OC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violent content (Trigger warning for violence involving children)
Word Count: 3,760
Summary: After escaping from the Initiative, Ethan Rayne goes to the Cleveland Hellmouth for a new start and a chance at real power. What he finds is a lot more than he bargained for. (Set a few weeks post-Chosen.)
Complete work can be found here: LJ Memories / FFN / AO3 / DW
Author’s Notes: This chapter was originally twice as long, but the pacing of the two halves seemed to require a break. (Plus, you know, cliffhangers are fun.) Which means there will be one additional segment than initially intended - 7 chapters instead of the original 6.
Also, this is the first of the sections that went unpublished back in 2005. I always had a solid idea of how this story would go, but I honestly think that the passage of time caused me to make a few different choices than I probably would have back then. Regardless of the slight differences in my plotline, I’m pleased with the outcome overall.
Hope you enjoy!
V.
Frankie hadn't gotten very far before she had stopped and perched herself on a swing at the edge of the park. She stared miserably at the toes of her boots as they traced deep lines in the dirt beneath her. She had no idea what she was even doing. She wanted to help Ethan, but wasn't sure how anymore. He was the one who had found her when she had felt the most alone. He had taken her in when everybody else had looked at her like she was a freak. He made her feel like she could actually do this whole Slayer thing. But when push came to shove, it turned out he didn’t believe in her as much as he had said. It left her with an empty feeling inside.
With the confidence he had given her suddenly taken away, she had no idea what to do. She wanted to prove him wrong, but even if she could remember the exact network of alleys to bring her back to Carter's place, it wasn't like she had any kind of plan.
And it wasn't like she had ever actually slain a vampire before. Ethan had needed to do that for her last night. If she couldn't handle one, how could she expect to take on three? Or even more. Maybe Ethan was right.
But Ethan was going back to Carter's place on his own, of that much Frankie was certain. She couldn't keep from thinking that, even if Ethan didn't want her help, he was still probably going to need it - especially if his plan was to go in by himself. If he only gave her a chance, she knew she could help him the way he needed her to.
All she had to do was convince him to let her try.
Frankie hopped off the swing and started making her way back toward Ethan's apartment. That was where he had been headed, so, with any luck, she would meet up with him somewhere in between.
Ethan had often heard about that place beyond pain. That place where the human body settled when it couldn't take any more. That place where all the hurt, no matter how great, hit come kind of ceiling and leveled off into a steady, agonizing stream without actually growing any more intense.
Clearly, Ethan had not yet found that place.
Oddly, he remembered something he had once said to Rupert's Slayer when he'd attempted to brand her with the Mark of Eyghon: “This may sting a little just at first. But don't worry, that'll go away once the searing pain kicks in.”
Searing pain.
Now, that was a concept with which he'd grown quite familiar during the last few minutes. Karma certainly was a bitch.
Ethan landed on his back as, with one swift kick, the M’fashnik sent him rolling across the grass. The sharp scales that riddled the creature's body must have sliced him open somewhere along his middle, because he began to feel a moist warmth spreading over the skin of his abdomen. The blood cooled as the fabric of his shirt soaked it up. It clung, sticky, to his torso. His body shivered with a bone-deep chill.
The M’fashnik came to stand over him, grinning predatorily.
"Oh, for bloody Pete's sake," Ethan groaned. "If you're going to kill me, just get on with it, would you? I'm not sure how much more of the giddy sadism I can stomach."
The M’fashnik sneered. "I haven't quite finished toying with you yet, little man. Killing you quickly would only rob me of my real fun."
Ethan struggled to raise himself. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" he said dryly.
The demon bent down to his level again. "You only need to tell me where to find the Slayer," it said, in a voice as close to coaxing as an M’fashnik could probably get. "Then I'll kill you quickly."
Ethan pushed himself up on his arms to face the demon with as much strength as he could muster. "Tempting," he drawled. "But I told you. There is no-"
All at once, the M’fashnik jolted, shooting to its feet like a cork from a bottle. Then it sailed abruptly off to the right. It tumbled heavily across the lawn and slammed into a lamppost by the sidewalk. Ethan's wide eyes swung from where the demon had landed to the pint-sized figure that was suddenly standing where the creature had been.
For a moment, she didn't look at Ethan. She glared at the prone form of the demon, which she had apparently tossed across the yard like a sandbag of dead weight. Her jaw was tight and tense, and her shoulders rose and fell in quick, anxious pants. Unabashed fury was radiating off her small body in waves. Her thin limbs were trembling.
"The Slayer is right here," Frankie spat.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Ethan croaked out. “Frankie-”
The girl finally turned her head to him, flinching visibly as their eyes met. Her hands were clenched into determined, quivering fists, but her eyes betrayed the very real, very palpable panic she was so clearly feeling.
Judging by the expression on her face, Ethan guessed that he must look bloody awful.
He wrapped one arm around his middle and began pulling himself to a kneeling position. Frankie dashed forward to help him. Ethan’s aching body protested every movement, especially with the young Slayer’s undisciplined strength hauling him upright like a rag doll, but he managed to get his haunches under him without keeling over again.
“Frankie,” he repeated. His voice was low and urgent in the space between them, and with more strength than he’d managed before. “Sweets, you’ve got to get out of here.”
Frankie turned her head downward to look him in the face. Her eyes were wide and frightened, her composure breaking. However, she still shook her head resolutely. “No way,” she asserted, but there was an obvious tremor in her voice. “I’m not gonna let that thing hurt you.”
Ethan met her eyes and, for a moment, time seemed to stop.
Ethan Rayne had never been the self-sacrificing type. And he’d never understood those who were. The potential for gaining the power he had always wanted was the only thing that had ever really mattered to him, and if some collateral damage was necessary to keep himself in the game, then that was fine. He’d even said as much to Buffy years ago when he’d attempted to hide himself from Eyghon by using her as an unwitting substitute.
It was nothing personal, he had casually told her: “I actually kinda like you. It's just that I like myself a whole lot more.”
Never mind that Buffy Summers had only been a few years older than Frankie at the time.
Given the chance, Ethan Rayne always cut his losses. Given the choice, Ethan Rayne always saved himself.
Always.
The sudden realization that Frankie was not going to do that - she wasn’t going to leave him - struck Ethan like another physical blow.
His next thought, however, was even worse:
“She’s not a toy and you're going to get her killed if you treat her like one.”
Having Rupert Giles’ voice in his head at a time like this was bad enough.
Realizing just how accurate those words probably were at this juncture was bloody terrifying.
Because Ethan wasn’t going to be able to convince Frankie to leave him behind. She might be a Slayer, but she was a critically untrained one. She was just a bloody 12-year-old child. She was petrified, that much was obvious, and yet she was still willing to stand her ground against an M’fashnik, one of the most violent mercenaries of the demon underworld, for him.
To save him.
To save Ethan-bloody-Rayne, who had once thought nothing of branding another young girl with a volatile tattoo, just to save his own skin.
Ethan clenched his jaw until it throbbed. Time seemed to reawaken itself.
If there was one thing Ethan-bloody-Rayne believed at this moment, it was that his own skin was highly overrated.
Ethan reached out and gripped Frankie by the arm, using her to leverage himself to his feet. His bloodied grip left a twist of crimson on the sleeve of her white sweater. His battered ribs lanced pain through his body as he stood, but he managed to pull himself upright.
“I need you to do what I tell you now, sweetheart,” Ethan said. He settled both hands upon Frankie’s shoulders, pressing insistent dents into her skin with his fingertips as he looked her full in the face. “I need you to run.”
Predictably, the girl refused. She shook her head resolutely. “It’ll hurt you,” she argued.
At her (clearly misguided) loyalty, Ethan felt an unconscious, humorless smile curl a corner of his lips. He forced it down again and hardened his expression. “The bastard didn’t come here for me,” he said. “I need you to go. Now.”
Frankie shook her head again, setting her jaw stubbornly to match Ethan’s. She opened her mouth to protest when a low growl sounded across the grass.
Ethan looked up. It was too late to argue anymore.
The M’fashnik was back on its feet.
Ethan used his grip on Frankie’s shoulders to his advantage and turned them both so he was between the girl and the M’fashnik. He then put his back to her and faced the demon.
The M’fashnik looked surprised for a moment. It must have expected a bit more from the Hellmouth’s Slayer than the skinny urchin who had suddenly appeared in the park. The demon recovered quickly, however. It displayed a wide shark-toothed smile as it sneered predatorily.
“Slayer.”
Ethan stuck one arm out to the side, as though that would effectively shield the girl behind him from view. He kept his eyes on the M’fashnik as he spoke to Frankie. “Don’t argue with me about this one, sweets,” he said. “Go on.”
Frankie held her ground and drew a stake.
The sudden rush of inexplicable affection Ethan felt in that moment was almost painful. But her actions only served to validate just how unprepared the young Slayer was for something like this.
“It’s not a vampire, love,” he said with more urgency. “Only one guaranteed way to survive a fight with an M’fashnik demon.”
“Yeah?” Frankie asked. Her voice quivered as she continued to hold the stake aloft.
“Yeah,” Ethan confirmed with a wan half-smile over his shoulder. “Run.” He faced the M’fashnik again, who was grinning wolfishly at them. “I’ll take care of it,” he added.
Frankie let out a breathy, mirthless laugh. A small amount of her tension seemed to evaporate. “Oh, yeah,” she retorted. "`Cause you were doing so well before I showed up." However, her glib comeback was still suffused with obvious fear.
“A warm-up, kid,” Ethan said reassuringly. “He just caught me off-guard, that’s all.” He tilted his head to insinuate himself into the demon’s line of sight. “Besides,” he added, this time speaking directly to the creature in front of them, “I speak his language. Isn’t that right, mate? Your kinds’ loyalty goes to the highest bidder. So what’s say we deal, you and I?”
The M’fashnick didn’t seem amused. “I will tear your arms off for your insolence, little man,” it snarled.
Ethan managed a painful shrug. “Hey now, we’re all slaves to the wage,” he said casually. “Not your fault. But if it’s money you want, I’ve got plenty.” He pulled his cash pouch out from where he had secured it inside his jacket. “You rethink your little rampage here, and everything I had acquired for Mr. Carter is all yours.”
Frankie shifted behind Ethan and he matched her movement to remain in front of her. He angled his head slightly downward and directed his voice quietly and urgently back at her. “I noticed you’re not running yet.”
Frankie scowled at him indignantly. “I know you don’t want my help but-”
“I don’t want you hurt!” Ethan hissed sharply between clenched teeth.
Frankie recoiled and was silent.
Ethan straightened and faced the demon again, drawing his suave composure back around him like a cape. “So,” he drawled, “we have a deal?”
The M’fashnik growled. “You cannot buy my mercy with paper, sorcerer,” it retorted. “Mr. Carter offers more than that for my services. For instance-” The creature shifted its eyes past Ethan, its lips curling ravenously over jagged teeth as it grinned at Frankie. “The opportunity to wet my hands with the blood of a Slayer.”
Ethan retaliated with a snarl of his own. “You want this Slayer, mate, you’re going to have to take it up with her Watcher first.”
The demon seemed amused as it regarded him.
“Agreed,” it said. And charged.
Ethan felt Frankie surge behind him and he shifted backward to intercept her before she could dash past him. He knew she wasn’t rushing into this fight with the skills and instinct of a trained Slayer. And the combination of fear, emotion, and untested raw power wasn’t going to be enough to keep her alive against an M’fashnik for long. Ethan felt the wind jolt from his lungs as Frankie plowed into him from behind. He struggled to stay upright and keep his body between her and the encroaching demon as he raised his hand to quickly formulate a spell.
“Vinci-”
Ethan’s chant abruptly halted as the demon reached them more quickly than he had calculated. It backhanded him out of the way and Frankie’s terrified cry rang in his ears as he reeled unendingly across the damp grass. When his body finally came to an abrupt halt, his head still felt as though it was spinning away from him.
A sudden, bellowing roar from the M’fashnik forced Ethan to raise his head. He shoved through the wall of nausea that hit him as he did so, and managed to focus his swirling vision on where the massive creature stood with Frankie’s wooden stake buried nearly to the hilt in its forearm.
Frankie’s eyes were huge as she stared at what she had done, her now-empty hands clenching into nervous fists. The M’fashnik snarled rabidly down at her and took a vicious swing with the arm that had been impaled by the stake. Frankie let out a small scream and hit the grass as the demon’s arm swept over her. She rolled and scrambled out of range in a tangle of gangly arms and legs. Scuttling awkwardly to her feet again, this time behind the M’fashnik, she dug into the pocket of her cargo pants and came up with another stake.
Ethan’s arms quivered beneath him as he struggled to push himself off the ground again. His vision swam, but he managed to keep his eyes on Frankie. The girl’s small size gave her a slight advantage when it came to eluding the hulking demon, but she had virtually no fighting style. She certainly didn’t have the fluidity or the strategic foresight that even a natural fighter like a Slayer only earned through experience. And it was going to take much more than preternatural strength and lucky shots against a large battle-tested demon like an M’fashnik.
Ethan needed to do something.
As the demon tore the first stake from its arm and tossed it away, Frankie slashed her second stake at it with a furious cry. This time, the M’fashnik seemed to be ready. When Frankie launched herself at it, the creature grinned and heedlessly batted her strike to the side, using her own strength against her and propelling her headlong into the grass at its feet. The M’fashnik’s chest rumbled with what must have been a sardonic laugh.
The monster was only toying with her.
Ethan pushed himself into a kneeling position, fighting through a tempest of vertigo to get his bearings. He watched as Frankie shot to her feet again, practically snarling with indignation at the demon through her teeth. She slashed out at the M’fashnik in a blind rage, and Ethan suddenly felt a sick, lurching sensation in his chest.
“Frankie!” he called out to her. “Don’t-”
The warning came too late. The M’fashnik caught the girl’s flailing wrist in a brutal hold and dragged her squirming, protesting body forward and upward until Frankie dangled off the ground in front of its face.
The demon’s lips peeled back into a slow, deliberate grin.
Frankie grunted and swung out wildly. The M’fashnik compensated by grabbing her other wrist as well and holding them both high above her head. The demon must have misjudged the length of the girl’s long, coltish legs, however, because a second later, one of Frankie’s oversized boots connected viciously with the creature’s unprotected kneecap.
The M’fashnik emitted a surprised howl of pain. Its smug smile vanished.
Enraged, the demon tightened its grip on Frankie’s wrists until she cried out. She squirmed ineffectually and kicked outward again, but the M’fashnik now held her at arm’s length. Suddenly it yanked Frankie closer toward it with a bestial snarl, then it tossed her savagely across the lawn.
Ethan watched in helpless horror as the girl slammed into one of the park’s picnic tables. The force of the blow cracked the wooden bench in half and Frankie’s body ricocheted off and rolled bonelessly to the ground. She didn’t move.
The M’fashnik began advancing on her prone form. A predatory smirk once again stretched across its face. Ethan pulled himself fully to his feet, fighting a wave of dizziness as he stretched out his hand.
“Vincire!”
The demon suddenly rebounded from the surface of an invisible wall that had instantly sprung up to separate it from the motionless Slayer. The barrier rippled like liquid and the M’fashnik snarled viciously. The demon took a savage swing at the invisible obstruction, smashing its fists against the transparent wall over and over and causing explosions of green light igniting across its surface. The invisible barricade remained, separating the M’fashnik from its prey, and the creature emitted a wild roar of frustration.
Then it rounded ferociously on Ethan.
“Oh, bollocks.”
Ethan started with genuine alarm as the demon bore down on him with wide menacing strides. He retreated back for a few shaky steps before tumbling clumsily through a wave of pain backwards onto the grass with a jarring grunt.
“Oh, yes, Ethan,” he groaned sardonically. “Ruddy brilliant! Just trap yourself on the same side of a retaining wall with a rampaging beast!”
Ethan knew that if the demon managed to get hold of him again, he didn’t have much strength left to fight back. He crab-walked frantically along the ground, but it didn’t take the M’fashnik long to close the gap between them.
Ethan braced himself.
A bright red flash exploded between him and the M’fashnik. The force of the blast sent the demon flying back several feet. It landed heavily in the grass and lay there, stunned.
For a moment, Ethan just sat frozen in place, gawking in disbelief at where the motionless demon was now lying. Then his brain registered the sensation of a new presence just behind him. He twisted his neck to glance over his shoulder at the man who was now standing there.
“Rupert,” he breathed.
Giles stood at the edge of the grass grasping a small, red stone tightly in his hand. He seemed to be breathing heavily as he kept his attention focused on the fallen demon for at least another beat. Then he risked a glance down at Ethan, pocketed the stone, and hurried forward the remaining yards to where Ethan was attempting to straighten himself up.
When Giles reached him, Ethan’s entire body reflexively sagged with complete, bone-melting relief. “Oh, are you a sight for sore eyes, mate,” he sighed heavily. Giles immediately crouched down and gripped Ethan tightly by the arms to haul him indelicately upward.
Ethan’s body protested the jarring movement. “Ow! Watch it, Ripper!” he groused petulantly, hissing with the pain of being lugged bodily to a standing position. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit bruised here!”
“I knew you’d get yourself into a situation you couldn’t handle,” Giles muttered reproachfully. He offered a grudging shoulder of support when Ethan swayed involuntarily on his feet. “Where’s the girl?”
“Oh, I’m hurt, Ripper,” Ethan mused with a drunk-sounding chuckle. The blood loss was probably making him giddy. “No interest in your old friend’s well-being? The white knight just has to come charging in to-”
“Save it,” Giles snapped, hastily cutting him off. “We’ll have time for your nonsensical banter later. That demon won’t stay down for long.” He shoved his hand back into his pocket and produced the small red stone again to show Ethan.
Ethan stared down at the stone. It was round and faceted and about the size of a golf ball. When Ethan recognized it, he raised wide owlish eyes back to Giles.
“Are you mad?” he gasped, hints of panic creeping back into the edges of his voice. “You brought an altak crystal? To use against an M’fashnik? Why not just try knocking it over with strong language!”
Giles cast Ethan a withering sidelong look as he shifted his shoulders beneath Ethan’s arm to offer more support. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered dryly. “I brought the crystal to use against you.”
The M’fashnik growled and stirred. It planted both hands on either side of its body to raise itself.
Giles and Ethan looked at the creature, then back at each other.
“The girl,” Giles urged again.
“Over there,” Ethan conceded, this time without delay. “I’ve got her behind a retaining wall.”
Giles surged forward, struggling to heave Ethan’s limping body alongside him. Ethan, admittedly, wasn’t being much help as they shambled along. But, honestly, it wasn’t as if he was trying to be difficult. This time.
They hurried past the groggy M’fashnik in a wide arc and headed for where Frankie was still lying in the grass near the picnic tables. The demon attempted to swipe at them as they passed, but it staggered from the lingering aftereffects of the crystal’s dizzying magic, and collapsed back onto the ground, dazed.
However, it wouldn’t stay down for much longer.
Ethan’s retaining wall whispered out of existence the moment he touched it and the two men hurried to Frankie’s side. Giles released his tight grip on Ethan, who slid into a graceless heap beside the girl. Frankie was stirring as they reached her.
Ethan risked a look back at the M’fashnik. “Remind me,” he said. “How long does it take for one of those crystals to recharge once you’ve used it?”
Giles set his jaw. “Longer than we have,” he replied grimly. “Best we move quickly.” He rushed around to Frankie’s other side. The girl groaned softly.
As Frankie raised her head, Ethan felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted. A strangling tension inside him - one he hadn’t fully realized was even there - finally released its grip on him. He very nearly groaned with relief as he knelt beside her in the grass. The girl blinked her glassy, dazed eyes and seemed to stare vaguely at nothing for a moment at first.
“You all right, love?” Ethan asked, with a hand on her shoulder and a hint of urgency in his voice. They didn’t have much time to waste, after all.
Frankie nodded absently in reply as she got her legs under her and pulled herself to her knees. She glanced at Ethan first, then leveled a slightly suspicious glare toward Giles on her other side. When she turned back to Ethan her face crumpled in obvious misery. Her eyes began to gloss over with the beginnings of tears. She bit her bottom lip and her chin trembled.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she murmured miserably. “You were right.” She sagged forward slightly, bracing herself on her hands as her hunched shoulders began to quiver with the beginnings of remorseful sobs. “I couldn’t handle it.”
Ethan rolled his eyes long-sufferingly toward the heavens. But it was only a halfhearted gesture. So when the girl surged toward him in shame and misery he pulled her tightly the rest of the way against his chest, allowing her to bury her face in his shirt as she cried.
“C’mon, now. That’s bollocks,” he muttered as he wrapped his arms around Frankie’s trembling body. The girl sniffled loudly into his shirt. Her grip was likely going to crush his already bruised sternum, but strangely Ethan couldn’t bring himself to care.
With danger still looming, however, they didn’t have much time for this. A moment later, Ethan peeled the girl off him and held her at arm’s length to look directly at her. “You did just fine, sweetheart,” he said pointedly, smoothing her tangled hair out of her tearstained face with both hands before placing them firmly back on her shoulders. “M’fashniks aren’t lightweights. Most Slayers wouldn’t face one without a good bit of experience under their belts. Isn’t that right, Rupert?”
“If ever,” Giles affirmed.
Ethan grinned wryly at the atypical support from Giles. “There, you see?” he pointed out. “Even the Watcher agrees.”
Frankie broke through Ethan’s grip and put her arms around him again. “You’re my Watcher,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
Ethan caught the odd, questioning expression on Giles’ face and he grimaced in response. “Oh, shut up, Rupert,” he grumbled. He pulled Frankie away from him again. “Less talking, I think,” he added with an urgent glance behind them. “More running for our lives.”
Frankie crawled dutifully beneath Ethan’s arm, and Giles gripped his other side as he struggled to get back to his feet. The two supported him lopsidedly between them as all three of them dashed for the edge of the park - and the public streets beyond.
A small sprout of hope began to bloom in the pit of Ethan’s stomach. If they made it to the main road leading to his flat, it was possible that they could find some sanctuary in the bustle of the downtown Cleveland crowds. Hellmouth or not, it wasn’t likely that Bartholomew Carter would want his minions making a chaotic spectacle of themselves on the public streets. That would be bad for business. The M’fashnik probably wouldn’t follow them. Not overtly, at least. It could buy them some time.
Ethan felt a swell of relief as the heavy traffic of the main street beyond the park loomed into view. He allowed his head to droop forward gratefully. His chin jostled against his chest as the three of them hurried along. An instant later, however, Ethan’s body stiffened in alarm.
An iron-fisted grip had clamped like a vice around the scruff of his neck.
Ethan only had enough time to mutter a quick, sardonic curse as the M’fashnik’s massive paw wrenched him backward, out of the others’ grasp, and tossed him unceremoniously back across the lawn.
Continued in Part 6.