Inchoate
By Byrne
Sequel to By My Hand
For Wolfling, on her birthday and a her prize for the ‘How well do you know me?’ contest.  Thank you to WesleyGirl for the mighty fast beta.
Ethan/Giles
PG


“Stop that!” Ethan snapped as the little flicker of light he’d managed to create on the candlewick was neatly smothered by a lavender puff of... something.  He was quickly growing to loath the color lavender; all too frequently it was tamping down whatever small energy he’d raised.   Honestly, it was like he had a keeper, and that didn’t sit well at all.  He stared at the dismal candlewick as its near smolder was extinguished, the small trail of smoke rising from it looking suspiciously pink.

He turned his glare on Willow, who glared right back at him from the hotel room’s door.  “Must you keep doing that?” he asked icily.  He was sitting on the floor of his prison, the latest room in a string of hotels across western Europe.  It didn’t look like a prison, part of his mind pointed out dryly, but at that moment it certainly felt like one.

Willow smiled at him, and he gathered he was supposed to find that reassuring.  He didn’t.  “Giles said—”

“I don’t care!  I can do this,” he insisted, snatching up the candle and getting to his feet.

She shook her head.  “You’re not ready, and I’m not about to watch you fry your mind just so you can light a candle.  Giles would kill us both.”

“I would indeed.”

Oh lovely.  Rupert was standing next to Willow in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and looking displeased, to put it mildly.  Really, this was just too much.  “Ripper—”

“Ethan, you have to heal.” Rupert had on his impassive face, the one which irritated Ethan like no other.  “To heal you need to rest.  Rest means no magic.  Do you really want to return to the state you were in when we found you?”

He almost said yes, just to change the predictable course of the conversation.  He almost said yes, just to annoy Rupert and to make the witch roll her eyes and leave him alone.  He almost said yes so that he could justify the sulk he wanted to have.  But when he opened his mouth, he was simply too tired to bother.   Ethan settled for a sigh and turned his back to the door, carefully putting the candle back on the bedside table.  “Go away, Rupert,” he said softly.  “And take the chaperone with you, please.”

He stared at the wall until he heard the door close softly, and then he sighed again.  Sometimes, times like this, he wished he could just follow directions without pushing boundaries, but he didn’t seem to have it in him.  Sitting on the bed, he forced himself to still his mind and resigned himself to resist the urge to test his power for another day.

“I know it’s hard for you.”

Ethan jumped, cursing himself for assuming himself alone, for supposing that Rupert would leave him when asked.  “Do you?” he asked, turning his head to watch as Rupert crossed the room toward him.

“Of course.”  Rupert seemed relaxed enough, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed.  “It’s only been just over a month, Ethan.  You must give it time.  When you’re ready—”

“When you decide I’m ready,” Ethan interjected sourly.

“When you’re ready, we can begin testing your strength, and enhancing it.  Right now we have to concentrate on making sure you don’t burn out again.”  Rupert slid an arm over Ethan’s shoulders, his free hand resting on Ethan’s knee.

Ethan scowled; he knew he was scowling, he could feel his brow screw up and his lips curl down.  He suspected he looked like a sullen twelve year old with aged skin, but he did it anyway.  It wasn’t that he disliked Rupert taking care of him—if he were completely honest with himself, he actually got off on it.  Rupert taking charge of the mess that was Ethan’s life, the way he told Ethan precisely what to do, the way he was so utterly domineering when Ethan wanted him to be… it was the stuff that his secret dreams had been made of.  No, what Ethan hated was that while he loved to be told what to do, he loathed being told what he couldn’t do.  The two went hand in hand, but where one was lovely and made him ache pleasantly, the other set his teeth on edge and made his anger flare.

“Fine, whatever you say, Master,” he ground out.  He did not remove Rupert’s arm, nor his hand.  There was a fine line between acting out and being ridiculous.  “Do I get a treat if I’m a good little puppy?”

Rupert laughed, and suddenly Ethan found himself flat on the bed with Ripper looming over him.  “You’ll get a treat if you stop being a brat.  Better than a biscuit.”

Ethan considered his options for a period of time somewhat less than a second.  “Certainly.  I’ll be very, very good.  I promise.”

His Ripper smiled at him, his eyes dark and laughing.  Christ, this sort of thing made Ethan feel like he could put off testing his power for weeks, if needed.  Well, until the next time he got bored, or curious, or annoyed at the witch.  But it was still wonderful to see how much Rupert Giles would indulge him like this; a salve to ease the interminable pain.  Not a cure, but close enough for a while.

“I’m sure you will,” Ripper said, settling over his body like a solid wall of restraint.  “And after, once you’re back in a decent mood, we’ll see to our things.”

Ethan was pleased he caught that last part, what with his brains slowly melting into a pool around his groin.  This, he’d discovered, was a very naughty habit of Rupert’s—distract him with sex, and make Ethan promise all sorts of unlikely things.  I promise I won’t poison Willow.  I promise I’ll stay on the train when you have to make a phone call.  I promise I won’t steal the only copy of Ritcher’s Cross Index Report.

I promise I’ll never leave you.

“Our things?” he asked carefully, trying not to be too obvious as he fought with Rupert’s shirt buttons.

“We’re going to Spain.”  Oh.  Well, Spain could be nice.  “We’re all meeting.  It’s time to have a proper planning session.”

Ethan’s fingers stilled, though it hardly mattered.  “All?” he asked faintly.

Rupert nodded.  “All.  In three days.”

Ethan was never sure really why he didn’t panic and run right then.  It might have been Rupert laying on him like a weight, or it might have been the hand on his cock.  He suspected, however, that it was the hope in Rupert’s eyes.

“All right,” Ethan whispered.  “Spain.  You, me, and the rest.  It’ll be fun, I’m sure.”

~*~*~

It was not fun.  The trip itself was not fun, the way Willow insisted on wearing a lavender skirt was not fun, the way Rupert gripped Ethan’s arm was not fun.  The taxi from the hotel was not fun, and the inane chatter of Willow and Rupert was not fun.

He wished he were deaf.  He did not want to hear about Slayers, new or old.  He did not want to hear about whatever was going on with Angel—he couldn’t have cared less if Angel had been dusted, let alone gone bad.  He didn’t want to hear about Spike turning up, although it was amusing to watch the others reacting to that.  Andrew seemed a little disturbed by how disturbed a certain Mr. Harris was.  It was… illuminating.

He sat in a chair against the far wall and watched as Rupert moved from person to person, asking a few questions, holding a hand, nodding here and there.  Rupert made time for everyone as they waited for the last few people to arrive, and the entire time Rupert never once let Ethan feel ignored.

It was unnatural, and therefore fitting.  Ethan didn’t look at his feelings too hard, unsure if his tentative grasp on this momentary security would hold up to scrutiny.  He merely contented himself with ignoring everyone but Rupert, although he was aware of puzzled glances and hostile eyes.

“Buffy’s here,” someone announced from the window.  “Just came in.”

“Ah, good,” Rupert said, sounding relieved.  He walked to Ethan and knelt beside him.  “This shouldn’t take too long, and we can go for an early meal.  I expect tomorrow will be longer.”

Ethan shrugged.  It didn’t matter to him, one way or the other.  He only knew that he would go where Rupert did, and if it meant ten hours in this room, well that’s what it meant.  He couldn’t get into too much trouble just sitting there, he was sure.  

“Something amuses you?” Rupert asked when Ethan began to laugh.

“Oh nothing, dear.”  Ethan smiled to himself and wondered how on earth he was going to get through the next few days without making Rupert very cross with him.

There was the general rush and confusion as everyone present tried to greet Buffy when she came in.  Ethan looked out the window until the sounds had died down, finally returning his attention to the room when he heard his name.

“Yes?” he asked, turning to face Rupert, who pointed to his left, where Buffy stood.  Next to her was a slender girl, a little younger than everyone else in the room.  Far prettier too, Ethan thought, but he didn’t say it out loud.  Buffy, he remembered, had a vanity to match his own.  Or perhaps she simply didn’t like him.  In either case, it was probably wise not to push Rupert’s tolerance so early in the trip.

“Buffy,” he said as politely as he could.  “You’re looking well.”

She nodded, looking somewhat resigned to his presence.  “You’re looking well behaved.”

“Judicious application of puppy treats,” he said smoothly.  “And this is…?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and shot Rupert a hard look.  “This is Dawn.  My sister.”

It was instinct.  Self preservation.

He had no warning, no inkling as to what was happening to him.  One moment he was standing in a room full of people, not pleased to be there but not in any real danger, and the next he was fighting pressure in his brain, in his mind, in his soul.  There were a thousand tiny fragments of nothingness trying to slot into him, trying to remold some hidden part of him, and he would not allow it.

Frantically, he threw out an arm toward Rupert, screaming from the pain and needing an anchor, but he touched nothing where support should have stood.  He fell back into himself, desperately throwing up walls and shields wherever he could and in places he’d never had to defend before.  His past flew from him, memories began to reorder, new shapes took place within him.  He was in a room, the costume shop, and Buffy was there looking at a dress, a version of this young girl there with her.

“No!”  He could hear himself, knew his voice was working, but it didn’t matter.  He would never allow anything into his mind again, never let anyone but Rupert touch him so deeply.  Certainly not this little girl.  She would not insert herself into his past, would not add anything, would not take anything away.

It was all he had, and distantly he realized it was all he had to protect.

Another shield went up, the words and phrases pulled from memories as clear as mist.  Green, and green and green, he filtered power from around him, drawing it out of the walls, the floor, through the window.  It all went in, lured by his call, and he made it his own, fueling his will to keep her out.

He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see.  There were arms around him, he could feel the strength of Rupert behind him, the steel touch of the witch’s hand on his face.  “Go away!” he cried out, pushing them away.  “Let me.  It is mine.”

And it was.  He stood, arms out, and drew his power around him, fanning what had been a tiny flicker into a flame.  He wrapped his shields tighter around himself, a cloak of his own design, blocked the slippery filaments trying to infest his mind, and watched them as they slid away, dropping into nothing when they couldn’t leech their way into his mind.  They were tiny little things, really, harmless looking as they faded away to ashes and dust.  One by one by one they slipped and slid and lost any hold, scattering themselves when they couldn’t get in.

There was silence.

Awareness crept back as the last of the threads faded, and Ethan looked at the shocked faces around him, searching for the only eyes he needed.  “Ripper?” he whispered.

“Here.  Right here.  I have you.”

Another fragment of his being awoke and Ethan realized he was sitting on the floor, Rupert’s arms around him.  

“What was that?” Ethan asked, his voice hoarse.  His throat hurt.

There was a long silence and Ethan looked around to see everyone backing away a little, looking concerned.  Comforting the child, whose eyes were wide and frightened.

“I didn’t do anything,” she whispered.  “I didn’t—”

“No, you didn’t.”  Rupert sounded calm and sure, his arms tightening around Ethan a little, his hands heavy and warm as they rubbed Ethan’s skin.  “Ethan did.”

“What?” she asked.

“I did not.”  The denial was also reflex, although not as ingrained as the overwhelming and unstoppable need to protect himself.

“You did,” Rupert stated.  “You protected yourself.  You used your magic and you made sure that you retained your reality as you know it.  Dawn did nothing, and is without a part in this; it goes to what she was, not what she is.”

Ethan turned his head and stared.  “I beg your pardon?”

“What?”  Dawn asked.

Buffy had an arm around Dawn’s shoulders.  “The memories,” she said.  “The ones we got to give her a past.”

Rupert nodded and Ethan moved slightly, not wanting to be so weak in front of these people.  To his relief, Rupert didn’t let him go.

“When memories tried to form for Ethan, he fought back,” Rupert said, and Ethan’s heart leapt at the note of pride in his voice.

“And he did it alone,” Willow said softly, appearing beside him with a cold washcloth.  She handed it to him and smiled, possibly the first genuine smile Ethan had seen from her.  “You didn’t draw power from me.  You didn’t draw from Giles.  What you took was free to use, and you did it for yourself.  Your magic, your shields.”

Ethan closed his eyes and wished himself away from there, anywhere where he could sleep and lie in Rupert’s arms.  He was suddenly more tired than he could remember being.  Somewhere deep inside him a green fire flared up, full of self satisfaction. It was a small flame, dimmer than it had been, or would be, but it was a flame.

“You knew,” he said as Willow moved away.  “You bastard.”

Behind him Rupert laughed.  “You have such a suspicious mind.”

“You knew.  You knew what would happen, and you knew I’d have to fight it.  You were waiting to see what would happen.”

“I thought you’d fight it—I hoped you would,” Rupert agreed.  “Willow and I were both ready to throw you power if you needed it.  There was no way I’d let you sink, love.”

“Please.  You wouldn’t even let me light a bloody candle.”  The thought of trying to light a candle now seemed so small and petty.  Once he found the strength to stand, he might very well light a bonfire with a snap of his fingers.

“I wouldn’t let you waste yourself on candles,” Rupert corrected him.  “Plus, you had to do something without thinking, without fear of failing lingering in the background.  You had to strike, Ethan.  Full force, with everything you had, without worry.”

“Worry?  I wasn’t worried.  I was bloody well terrified.”  He had been, but there seemed little point in not milking the terror for a little longer in Rupert’s arms.  After all, how long would Rupert keep him around now that he was on his way to better?

“I know, love.”  Rupert held him tighter and Ethan suddenly realized they were alone.  “I’m sorry.”

Ethan nodded.  “Rupert?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Rupert was utterly still for a moment, and then the arms around him tightened again, and he felt Rupert nuzzle his hair, felt a splash of wet on his neck.  “You’re welcome.”


~end