OhJesusHChristfuckit! Bugger, it hurt.

Ethan came to back in his cell, chained to his bed while the bloody drains did their work. Literally bloody, he thought. Every time they reopened the holes, he seemed to bleed more freely than the last time.

The blistering, the wrenched muscles from the convulsions, the deep dragging ache in his sides where the implanted devices captured his magic and sucked it from him – it was all routine now. Like putting on a suit and tie and going in to the office. Only not.

He'd been having such a very pleasant dream too, before the whitecoats had woken him. Why he had to be conscious for his torture, he'd never quite worked out.

The dream had been wonderful, his best yet, long and so detailed, utterly believable. Well, it had seemed believable whilst within it, anyway, but of course, it had been a complete load of old bollocks actually. As if Rupert Giles ever would.

Some day soon, Ethan hoped he'd slip into one of his dreams and never come out again. It was his best hope for escape from here, the only other exits he could envisage being brutal death or malnutrition-related illness. He was too weak now for another attempt at suicide and had no magic to call on the various deities of Chaos and offer his soul.

Yes, a pleasant delirium and a coma was the best he could hope for, and he'd almost had it there until those bastards had forced him to wake up.

Ethan closed his eyes and tried his hardest to step sideways from the pain, seeking once more the dream which had so enveloped him. He and Rupert had been adventuring together in a, hmm, a Chaos maze, a metaphor maybe for his own psyche. Ethan chuckled darkly, but it came out sounding more like a wet gurgle and started him coughing. The pain that brought on made him cry, albeit rather half-heartedly. None of this was worth his tears, not anymore.

He was in Hell. He probably deserved to be here. There was nothing to be done about it.

The dream, the dream – think only of that. There had been a third man with them, Ian, some kind of projection of Ethan's higher consciousness, which was amusing as he would've sworn he didn't have one. They'd all been looking for... a bear? A prisoner? Or was it a keyhole? It was starting to fade now, to rip and fray.

Ethan moaned, clutching with mental fingers for the dream fragments as they fluttered away, leaving him alone, unable to move, and awash with pain he couldn't escape. It was too much. Really, it was. It had been too much for a very long time now. Anyone else would have been happily in the arms of insanity by this point, but he, for some reason, had to live through every appalling minute stone stark staring sane and sober. He craved madness like water in drought, but while despair was his constant friend, insanity did no more than flirt from a distance behind her fan.

"Trollop," Ethan muttered. "Pricktease."

***

Giles walked into his apartment, rubbing his mouth thoughtfully. They should, he thought, have a few days grace before the Sisterhood of Jhe made a serious attempt to open the Hellmouth. Having destroyed the nest, Buffy and Faith should have time enough to prepare.

It was good to have two Slayers for this apocalypse, reassuring. Of course, that was no guarantee that they would still have two at the end of the fight; Kendra's fate the year before had been a brutal reminder of that. He grimaced as the thought led to other thoughts of that battle and his time enjoying Angelus' hospitality. Angel, of course, would also be extremely useful to have on their side against the Sisterhood, but Giles was never going to feel comfortable around the vampire.

And wasn't that an understatement? He still had nightmares about the torture and about what Angelus had done to Jenny. Giles would wake gasping, the grief and anger fresh and new again, and he would allow himself the momentary luxury of hatred, his fingers aching with the need to stake Angelus. Angel. It didn't matter in those moments what name or persona the vampire wore. Giles desperately wanted him gone: for Jenny, for Buffy, for himself.

It wasn't a sentiment he let carry over into his waking hours. He was objective enough to realise that killing Angel would cause at least as many problems as it solved.

Besides, Angel had saved them all from Eyghon, from Giles' mistake. If nothing else, Giles owed him for that and paid the vampire back with a pretence of forgiveness, of acceptance, and the courtesy of leaving his fantasies of staking Angel as just that, fantasies.

After hanging up his jacket on the peg, Giles poured himself a small whisky and sat down in the chair by his bookcases. He needed to research the Sisterhood, discover if there was a specific day that they might be aiming at for Hellmouth opening. He should eat too, but later.

As he opened the glass doors to the case, the hinges squealing loudly in the silence, he was struck by how empty the apartment felt, as if someone or something important was absent, which really made no sense at all. He supposed he was still missing Jenny. Well, of course he was. It was nearly a year since her death, but sometimes it still felt like it had just happened yesterday.

Sometimes it seemed like a Watcher wasn't just destined to lose his Slayer to a premature death, but all the others close to him as well.

Now was not a good time to focus on personal losses, he told himself firmly, however much that empty place inside him was choosing to ache today. His Slayer needed him. Buffy was relying on him to provide the information that would allow her to do her job and stave off that premature death a little longer; he couldn't afford the luxury of self-pity.

Right then: the Sisterhood of Jhe, apocalypses, Hellmouths, business as usual. Giles pulled a selection of books from the shelves and sat back down to read through them.

***

This was odd. While admittedly, Ethan's sense of time was somewhat fluid and unreliable these days, it surely hadn't been a week already. Yet here were the soldiers pulling the drains from their suppurating holes as if their job were already complete.

There was rarely any point in trying to talk to the soldiers as they were not the sentimental kind of farmhand. Round here, it seemed, the men did not talk to their milk cows. Every once in a while, it was worth a try, however.

"A trifle premature, no?" Ethan asked, his voice unrecognisable to his own ears. "Surely a week hasn't passed."

He thought he was going to be ignored as usual, but then the guard Ethan thought of as Donatien, after deSade, met his eyes and smiled in a way that usually meant the exercise of some petty sadism was about to occur. "It'll be the hamburger factory for you any day now, Buttercup."

What did that mean? Was he drying up? Well, it was hardly surprising considering the state of his body. Magic required a certain level of fitness just like anything else. Maybe it would all be over soon.

The chains were undone, and Ethan was pushed unceremoniously to the floor while they changed his rather basic bedding.

"He been washed today?" the other soldier –Ethan decided to call him Igor– grunted.

"Fucked if I know," Donatien replied. He kicked Ethan, not all that hard. "Had your sponge bath today, Buttercup?"

Once a day, while he was chained down, a male nurse came to 'help him with his functions' and clean and dress the wounds in a perfunctory fashion. Lifting himself on trembling arms, Ethan managed to nod confirmation. "I had the pleasure of a shave today."

"Almost makes him look human, doesn't it?" Donatien laughed with Igor. It wasn't worth the energy to point out that he was human. Apparently, producing a valuable resource within his body somehow precluded him from the race into which he'd been born. The bed was done so Donatien did not waste the opportunity to kick Ethan again. "Get back on it now."

Ethan stared up at him. "You are joking, of course."

"Do as you're told, Buttercup, or it's the slaughterhouse for you."

Smiling, Ethan said with careful enunciation, "Bring. It. On."

Apparently exasperated, Igor lifted Ethan gracelessly and dropped him on the bed. Then they were gone, and he was alone again, but thank God, chainless.

Ethan stared at the opposite wall, too tired to cry, too sick to move, and wondering how long it would be now. What would they do with his body once he was dead? Burn it, probably, eradicating everything he was from the world. No one who mattered would ever know what had happened to him. Ripper would never know, but Rupert Giles, of course, had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in knowing.

Despite everything, tears stung Ethan's eyes, and he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in his T-shirt. They kept the heating up in here while he was chained, but obviously, they'd turned it down again already. His prison jacket was beside the small sink, but it could be the other side of Nevada for all that he was able to reach it.

His fingers felt something underneath the cloth of his sleeve, and dully curious as to what they could have done to him now, he slipped his hand under the cloth to feel directly. What he felt made him open his eyes wide and made his heart jolt worryingly in his chest. There was something in his skin, something magical, something that felt like... like Ripper's magic!

Memories flooded into him –Ripper above him, inside him, panting with passion, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead... his lined forehead. This wasn't a true memory; it couldn't be. Ripper's hand on his arm, wonderful pain and the swell of orgasm. A badger, the thing on his arm was a badger, Rupert's heartbeast.

But that hadn't been real, had it? It had been a beautiful dream and nothing more... hadn't it?

Trembling violently, Ethan ran his fingers over the magic mark and understood at an almost primal level that no, this –the cell, the pain, the despair– was the illusion, but he had no way out.

***

Giles walked briskly through the Restfield Cemetery, understanding quite clearly that coming here on his own was probably not his most sterling idea. Still, a determined stride and an attitude that you belonged in a place could help protect you from muggers and vampires both.

Research had got them nowhere; he was letting Buffy down badly, and it was that which was forcing him to take extreme steps. Calling on the spirit guides was foolhardy at best, and he'd never even consider it normally.

He laughed a little bitterly to himself as he thought about how far, since coming to Sunnydale, he'd strayed from his promise to never indulge in magic again. It seemed circumstances were determined to make a lie out of his assertion that he did not need magic to survive. It was, when he let himself think about it, greatly disturbing. But he supposed it would make Ethan happy at least.

Ethan. Now there was a tangle of emotions that Giles had long ago given up trying to unravel.

He wondered if Ethan had really left town after the enchanted chocolate incident. It must have given him quite a shock to have seen Giles filled with the reckless spirit of his youth. Ethan was the only one who would truly understand what that meant; the only one who knew because he'd seen it, what Giles has been capable of then. The incident with Joyce and the police car –and Giles felt his face heat just thinking about it– was bad enough, but dear God, he had actually held a gun to Ethan's head, hadn't he?

He was fairly certain he wouldn't have used it, or fired it at least. He might have pistol whipped Ethan into unconsciousness with it, but that would only have been a beating that Ethan had rightfully earned.

But even at his worst, he couldn't kill Ethan. There was too much... history. When Giles had thought that Eyghon, whilst inside poor Jenny, had killed Ethan, something had twisted inside of him. It had felt, now that he considered it, much like those first horrible seconds when he had discovered Jenny's body and the disbelief at what he was seeing had faded into stone cold reality.

Of course, with Ethan he should have known better; there was nothing Ethan couldn't run from, talk his way out of, or somehow wangle an escape from. Just desserts, in Ethan's world, were something he graciously gave away to charity.

Giles sometimes wondered just what had happened to the boy he had once known, had once loved. Ethan had always been wild, of course, and unrestrained, but he'd had quite a soft heart underneath the pose and sensation-seeking. Hadn't he?

Well, whether he had or hadn't, he certainly didn't indulge it now. Giles hoped Ethan had really gone this time. He just wished the dreams would go as well. His life was already too complicated to be able to fit the bundle of complications and contradictions that were Ethan back into it.

Turning his mind firmly back to business, Giles stopped in front of a large mausoleum, opened his bag, and took out the special candle he'd brought along with him. Lighting it proved difficult thanks to the breeze, but persistence paid off. Feeling like an idiot, he made the prostrations and then began to chant.

"Umbra ducens, audi me!"

***

Ethan rocked backwards and forwards on the bed, his fingers desperately tracing the brand on his upper arm. He knew this was illusion now, knew it to be a trap, but he hadn't a clue how to find his way out. He'd tried shutting his eyes and convincing himself that the pain, the smells, the hard bed beneath him, weren't real. That in all likelihood he was lying on the floorboards in one of the endless corridors of the maze that he was pretty sure they really had been exploring.

But when he'd opened his eyes again, the cell was still there.

He'd tried reaching out for Rupert, silently screaming for him in fact, but he'd heard nothing back. It was as if the mental link had never existed, but Ethan knew that it had. It had.

There had to be some way out of here. He refused, utterly refused, to die in an illusion created from his own nightmares. Rupert loved him. Rupert had rescued him. Maybe Rupert couldn't rescue him this time, but he'd rescue himself, and they'd be together again.

If only he had his pattern senses here. Maybe he did have, but there was nothing to sense as none of this was real. Although, even dreams had a pattern, didn't they? He just needed to know how to look. Maybe he shouldn't be trying to deny the illusion, but instead exploring it more deeply?

Shutting his eyes again, Ethan thought about the patterns that he did know from this place: the routines, the shape of his pain, the insignia on his prison jacket, the weave of the coarse blanket, the dripping of the drains and his single tap, the circular patterns of his daily thoughts...

All of these things and more made up the illusion. He built them together in his mind, wove them into a whole, into a discordant symphony of pattern, and let it play, watching, understanding, waiting for... what?

There! Of course, he was an idiot. The break in the pattern, the one thing that didn't belong, was the brand on his arm. That was the loose thread to pull. Concentrating hard on the badger, Ethan allowed it to grow huge in his mind, submerging awareness of the illusion's pattern. As he did this, he felt himself changing. His breath became less laboured, his wasted muscles felt stronger. He had hair again, body fat, and his pain was limited to a raging headache.

Smiling broadly at his achievement, he opened his eyes... only to find himself still in the bloody cell! For fuck's sake! He felt like smashing the place to bits, which of course he was now a little more capable of doing. His body had reverted to what it should be at least.

Standing, he strode around his small space impatiently. He was so near, so bloody close to getting out.

At that moment, something very incongruous floated down in front of his eyes, a feather. A black feather.

"Ian!" Ethan whirled around, almost expecting to see his mentor standing in the cell. He wasn't, of course, but a narrow beam of light was now shining down from a small hole in the ceiling – a rip! Oh, bless the Lord of Crows!

With everything he was, everything he had, Ethan concentrated on the beam of light, on the hole in the illusion, and willed himself to climb it like a ladder to Heaven...

***

...Gasping desperately for breath as if he'd been held under water and just released, Ethan sat bolt upright.

He was... he was back in the maze. Not a dream. An illusion, yes, but a real one, with a real friend kneeling beside him looking greatly concerned, and a real husband... draped half over him and clearly unconscious. Ethan moaned hollowly, unable to stop the tears streaming down his face. He knotted his fingers in Rupert's hair, feeling out with his pattern senses and being reassured somewhat by the healthy forms he found. But oh, he needed Rupert. He needed him.

"Take it easy for a few moments," Ian said, his hand coming to rest against Ethan's back, the touch welcome for the anchor to reality it represented. "I'm quite proud of you, m'boy, for figuring it out," he continued, but his voice was a little bit shaky.

Half-panting, half-sobbing, Ethan slumped against Ian, more grateful than he had words to express for his presence. "You... helped. The feather. Rupert... where is...?"

Ian's arm went around him, hugging him tightly. "Judging by the stories I've heard, I'd say his illusion is from when he was in California." He nodded to above and behind Ethan. "It seems far more pleasant than yours was. I expect that our enemy especially dislikes those Chaos acolytes who have won free, such as you and I, and so tailors the illusions to be what it considers an appropriate punishment."

After taking a moment to brutally twist his own patterns into a quite unnatural state of calm, Ethan wiped his eyes and turned to look where Ian indicated. The crystal ball was floating above the pedestal and filled with moving images, like pictures on a telly. Rupert... Rupert was one of the actors. He was with a red-haired girl Ethan recognised as Willow, and they were sitting in... "Oh yes, that's Sunnydale. The school library, to be exact."

"It's been mostly things like that, talking and looking earnest and worried." Ian observed the orb for a moment. "Your Rupert was wound quite tightly, wasn't he?"

Ethan stared at the picture, his hands moving restlessly over Rupert's body. "He won't find a way out of there on his own," he said fatalistically, knowing it to be true. "He never could."

"He won't have to," Ian told him. "You're going to lead him out."

"I am?" Ethan pressed back into Ian, needing the comfort of his physical presence. He could still feel the wounds in his sides, still smell the disinfectant from his cell. "I mean, yes, I am. But how?"

"The same way I helped you, only you will be able to go much further because of your connection to Rupert. I was only able to manifest a symbol in your illusion. You'll be able to fully enter Rupert's illusion and interact with it much as he does."

"How?" Ethan demanded, twisting round to look at Ian. "Tell me. Show me."

"It's rather like when you give him your pattern sight, only in reverse," Ian said, running his hand in soothing circles over Ethan's back. "Instead of allowing him to perceive the world as you do, you take on his perceptions."

Ok, that... made a lot of sense. Thank God Ian was here. "I... All right. I can do this. I... Do you have wards? Will you be...?"

"Don't worry about me; I'll be fine." Ian gave him a quick smile. "But I want you to keep a bit of your awareness focused on me so that you can find your way back out again, all right?" Which also made sense.

Ethan nodded and re-twisted his patterns, which were beginning to let unhelpful and rather desperate emotions take hold of him again. He kissed Ian roughly and then turned, concentrating all –almost all– his awareness on Rupert.

***

"I've never seen him like this." Willow's tone was understandably worried. Oz was going to break out of that cage if they weren't careful. Giles had seen animals act like this before during the build up to a big storm or a quake.

He handed her the dart gun. "It's the Hellmouth. He can sense it's going to open. Be ready just in case." Willow looked anything but ready, however, as she was staring open-mouthed over his shoulder.

"Hello Ripper," said an all too familiar voice behind him. "Is that a werewolf?"

Giles spun around, his hands turning into fists of their own accord. "Ethan. I really don't have time for your antics right now so why don't you leave before I make you?"

He was expecting the infuriating smirk, and he did get a ragged version of it, but Ethan's smile seemed uncharacteristically uncertain. Ethan looked at Giles' fists and then down at his own hands, in one of which he seemed to be holding a large black feather, or maybe a quill. He rubbed his empty hand over his face and looked back up at Giles. "I can't, I'm afraid. Not unless you come with me."

"I'm rather busy at the moment. There's the small matter of an apocalypse to deal with. I'm afraid I don't have any time for outings right now." It occurred to Giles that usually by this time, he was thrashing Ethan until he left or Giles tossed him out, but for some reason, doing so now seemed... distasteful.

"I, er..." Ethan hesitated, glancing at Willow. "Perhaps I could help you?"

Giles crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "And I would trust you, why?" It had to be the most absurd thing that Ethan had ever suggested.

Oz smashed into the cage door behind him, and he felt Willow stir nervously. Ethan, far from wearing the habitual mask of amusement, seemed quite distressed. He took a hesitant step towards Giles, but then stopped. "Ripper, Rupert, please. You must... You have to listen to me."

"I'm not sure why I have to do anything of the sort," he retorted. Still, it would be best if he could get Ethan away from Willow so whenever Ethan did whatever it was he had planned, she wouldn't be caught up in it. "Come to my office. You've two minutes."

"Giles?" Willow questioned in alarm. "What about Oz? Should I call Buffy. Or, um, Faith?"

Ethan gave her a small smile. "Urcott's Beast-tamer is what you need, sweet thing, providing you can lay your hands on some virgin blood." Willow stared at him and then turned to Giles, eyes wide.

"Call Buffy. Have her help you get Oz down into the basement." Giles gave the girl a reassuring smile. "He should be safe down there, and the added distance from the Hellmouth should calm him down a little."

Ethan shrugged. "It's a perfectly innocent little spell, Rupert. That's the whole essence of it, innocence. I wasn't trying to lead your little girl astray."

"Hey!" Willow protested as she headed for the counter, rediscovering some of her natural spunk. "Less of the little girl, mister!"

"Big, bad, scary as hell, dark magic witch, destined to try to destroy the world then, if you'd rather." Ethan shrugged and walked into Giles' office, leaving Willow staring at his back.

Giles looked at Willow, but couldn't really think of anything useful to say so just nodded and followed Ethan into his office, shutting the door behind him. "I'm waiting."

Ethan turned around to face him. "Rupert," he started, almost beseechingly, reaching out as if to touch him. Giles immediately stepped back out of reach, banging into the door behind him, and Ethan made a strange gulping noise and looked down. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know. There's no Chaos in me anymore. Reach out with your senses and see for yourself."

Deciding there was no way Ethan could manage mayhem with Giles just opening up his magic sense, he did so reluctantly. He sensed Ethan's magic, bright and strong, but as Ethan had predicted, not a bit of Chaos. Giles frowned; it couldn't be. Worshipping Chaos was everything to Ethan; he'd chosen that over staying with Giles back when they were young. He wouldn't...

"Why now?" Giles asked, his voice coming out fuller of emotion than he'd wanted.

Ethan laughed a strange little laugh. "I gave it up so that I could be with you." He tried to reach out again.

Giles couldn't move back any further as he was already pressed against the door, but he did flinch. "You're about twenty years too late, aren't you?"

"No, you don't understand." Ethan's hand reached him, trembling fingertips moved restlessly over his face. "This isn't you, Rupert."

"It isn't? Funny, I certainly feel like me."

Suddenly, alarmingly, Ethan was pressed against him, kissing feverishly at Giles' neck. "Please don't push me away. Please. Deep inside, you know I belong with you. Oh God, Rupert, you've no idea what they did to me."

Giles' first instinct was to do just that, push Ethan away, perhaps adding a punch or kick for good measure, but something held him back. There was a sadness, a desperation to the other man's actions that Giles didn't think could be faked. And Ethan was free of any Chaos taint...

"It's all right," he finally said, putting his hands on Ethan's shoulders and pushing him back just enough so that he could make eye contact. "Calm down. I'm not pushing you away, but you need to tell me what you're going on about, all right?"

Ethan swallowed and looked down. He stopped trying to get closer to Giles and nodded. "I'll try. You won't believe me, of course. Not unless you–"

There were loud bangs and snarling outside followed quickly by two shots. "Don't worry about us," called Willow's voice. "We're okay. Everything's, you know, hunky dory." That seemed to be a little bit too much reassurance, and frowning, Giles moved to open the door and see for himself.

Ethan grabbed his arm. "They're fine. Rupert, don't let them distract you. You have to listen."

"You haven't said anything yet," Giles reminded him. "Of substance at least."

Dropping his hand, Ethan gave Giles a pained look. "None of this is real, Rupert. You're trapped in an illusion."

Giles stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Ethan waved his hands about in a way that Giles could only describe as nervous. "This, all of this, is just a fabrication of Chaos. Of Vaurtain. You are trapped inside it, and I have to get you out. Ian's out there, watching our bodies. Remember Ian?" He looked hopefully at Giles. "My mentor? A crow?" Seeming to recall what he had in his hand, he thrust the black feather towards Giles.

"Your mentor is a crow?" Giles asked slowly, staring at the feather and hoping that wasn't actually Ethan's 'Ian'.

Ethan frowned and shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Sorry, no, he's not... well, only sometimes. I'm explaining this all wrong. I just... Rupert, I need you so. Don't you have any memories at all of our life together? You rescued me, remember? From Nevada? And... and you made me a Watcher and then we went to Devon. Lucy helped you, and Ian helped me. And we got married. Oh God..." Ethan jolted, staring at his left hand in what looked like horror.

Giles frowned; he didn't know how Ethan could know about the coven in Devon or Lucy, and now that he thought about it, there was an Ian with that coven as well... Could what Ethan was saying actually have some truth in it?

Ethan clenched his eyes tight shut and his breathing, which had been getting a little close to hyperventilation, calmed considerably again. He looked up and gave Giles a very ragged smile. "I seem to be handling this rather badly. I do apologise. I don't know how to prove to you that what I'm saying is the truth, you see. If you can't feel it inside you –and of course, you can't, as you're not an instinctual thinker at all, are you, dearest of dear things?– then I don't know what I can do. Doesn't your magic call out for me?" He lifted his hand, and Giles could sense that it was alive with Ethan's magic.

"I try not to use magic anymore," Giles said, but found himself raising his hand to meet Ethan's. "What you're saying... it sounds so far-fetched, and well, insane. But you said Devon, and there's no way you could know about them unless..." He couldn't actually be considering this, could he? "I don't remember what you think I should." Some impulse made him add, "I'm sorry."

Ethan grabbed Giles' hand, holding it tight, and began to push his own magic into Giles in a very alarming way. "Remember this? Listen to your body, Rupert. It hasn't forgotten, not like your bloody stupid brain."

Giles tried to pull away, but Ethan was holding onto his hand too tightly. Ethan's magic seemed to seek out every bit of that aching emptiness inside of Giles, filling it up in a way that felt... right. Familiar.

Pressing closer, Ethan spoke intensely, almost feverishly. "I know you can feel it, feel me. I bloody know it. You're mine, Rupert, and I'm yours. We're bonded. How can you deny it? It's you and me against the world, Ripper. Order and Nature, sword and shield, fox and ba– Oh, God, I'm a bloody idiot." Suddenly Ethan had let go and seemed to be attempting to strip in Giles' office. Well, he was unbuttoning his shirt, at least.

"What are you doing?" Giles asked, alarmed at this disrobing.

"I have to show you. Once you see it, once you feel it, you'll understand." While Giles' mind fretted over what 'it' was, Ethan pulled off his shirt and gripped the top of his arm, pressing fingers into it as if feeling for something. He looked at Giles and smiled, not looking, it had to be said, entirely sane. His eyes were too... intent. "Here," he said, walking far too close again. "Feel. Then you'll understand."

Giles didn't move. "Feel what?"

"My arm, here. Where you branded me."

"I never–"

"Yes, you did." Ethan reached for Giles' hand and tried to gently tug it to his arm. "Try to remember. You were inside me. My hands were held above my head by your magic, and oh yes, you were using that damned magic cock-ring on me, as well. Before we came, you burnt it into me, using both our magics. So I'd remember I was yours and that..." He laughed, or maybe it was a sob. "That you wouldn't leave me again."

That same sense of desperation that had made him listen to Ethan in the first place now made Giles let Ethan pull his hand, placing it against his arm. There was, just as Ethan had said, a magical sigil. It was in the shape of... of a badger, and it radiated, impossibly, his own magic back at him.

Giles stared at Ethan. It was real.

***

Ethan could see the moment when Rupert started to believe, could read it in his eyes and posture, but Ethan hadn't won this battle yet. He resisted, although it was very hard, the impulse to throw himself into Rupert's arms seeking the comfort for which he was half-dying.

"Rupert?" he asked gently. "You have to come back with me."

But Giles was already shaking his head. "I can't go anywhere. Buffy–"

"Isn't real. She, all of this, was real once, yes. But now it's just an illusion created from your memories. Rupert, I'm telling the truth."

What more could Ethan do to convince Rupert? The fucking bastards, putting him in a competition with Buffy. He'd never break through; Rupert would be stuck here until his body died of thirst, if the Chaos bunnies didn't get him first. Ethan's self-twisting was falling apart again as the panic rose up once more and threatened to consume him.

Oh! Oh yes. "Harriet. Harriet Giles. When you were a boy, she helped train you in magic, including a game of Tiamat and Marduk. And you had a pony called Prince. And a secret space in the attic where you hid, and there was an old nursery you secreted yourself in to smoke dope when you were older. And..." Ethan drew a much needed breath. This hopefully was the clincher. "Out in the woods is an old Gameskeeper cottage in which you last hid yourself after Randall's death. You never took anyone there, never told anyone about it, until you gave half of it to me as a valentine's gift this year."

Rupert stared at him, and Ethan could see in his eyes that he was really wavering. "I–"

From the room beyond a sudden crashing interrupted them. "Giles!" Buffy's voice called through the office door. "We've got company!"

Bugger it. Ethan grabbed Rupert by the shoulders. "Listen to me. The enemy knows I'm here. He's trying to give you distractions to take you away from me again. That isn't really Buffy, just your memory of her. You're not really in Sunnydale. Sunnydale doesn't exist anymore."

Rupert looked torn. "I'm her Watcher. I can't just leave, I–"

Ethan laughed, sort of. "Actually Rupert, you're the head of the Council of Watchers, and while you and Buffy are still close, she's not our responsibility. Her sister, on the other hand, very much is."

That only seemed to bewilder Rupert further, but before he could say anything, the door opened, and a rather strapping brunette girl stood there. She glanced between them both, taking a second to look Ethan –still half-naked– up and down. "Really Giles. Gotta admire your spirit and all, but now's not the time for getting yourself a touch of the happy and, uh, gay."

To his credit, Rupert didn't pull away from Ethan, although he didn't tell the girl to bugger off either as Ethan would have preferred. "I'll be right there, Faith," he said, then turned back to Ethan. "I have to help. We can talk after, I promise, and... well, we'll talk."

Rupert started towards the door then. Ethan felt himself fall to his knees, despair swelling up inside him. "Rupert, please. For once in your repressed, order-bound life, think with your heart and not your head." Rupert hesitated, and slightly encouraged, Ethan continued. "Please. For me, for Dawn, for the whole bloody world. You have to come back to reality. Oh God, you promised me you wouldn't leave again..."

Ethan felt his twists give way under the burgeoning flood, felt himself breaking down entirely, and turned away, curling up on the floor. He just couldn't watch Rupert walk out of the door. There was silence for a long moment, and Ethan was sure Rupert had left, that he'd lost him, perhaps for good. But then someone was kneeling beside him, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder.

Rupert.

Groaning deeply, Ethan couldn't stop himself moving, throwing himself more or less onto Rupert, clinging to him. "Come back. Please come back. I need you. I need you."

From the doorway, Buffy's voice asked, "Uh... what's going on?"

The other girl laughed. "I didn't know your Watcher liked something hard to hold onto, B. It's a real thigh dampener watching them. Little too daytime soap for my tastes though. How's the apocalypse coming along out there?"

"Go on, both of you," Rupert said in what Ethan thought of as his Watcher voice. "There's something I have to do here." There was a snort of laughter from the dark haired girl.

"Faith, go and help Angel." Buffy's bossy voice, Ethan recognised it. There was a pause, and then Buffy spoke in a very different tone. "Giles, I need you. I don't know what's going on here, but... you're my Watcher!"

"Sod off," Ethan muttered thickly. "Not real. Just memory and malicious Chaos. Leave him alone."

"I am your Watcher," Rupert said sharply. "And for once in your life, don't argue with me and just do as I say! Go help the others; I'll be there as soon as I can."

He distinctly heard Buffy sniff, but then she was gone. Ethan pressed closer still to Rupert, nuzzling his face into Rupert's neck. "Have to come back now. Have to. Ian's waiting. The feather, it's like our rope, our lifeline. It will pull us back. You have to come."

Ethan felt Rupert's hesitation, but the words when he spoke were worth the wait. "All right, but if this doesn't work, you're going out there with me to fight, and afterward we're going to have a long talk."

A sob of relief escaped Ethan before he could stop it, but then he pulled back and lifted his hand holding the feather. "Oh." His vision was somewhat watery currently, but he could clearly see it – his ring was back. "Look!" he showed his hand to Rupert, grinning rather desperately.

Rupert looked down then held up his own left hand; sure enough, the ring's mate was also back. "I..." He frowned in confusion. "I have this phrase in my mind: 'love, magic, destiny'. That means something, doesn't it?"

"Take the ring off and look inside it, dearheart." Ethan patted Rupert's leg encouragingly. He was still dangerously close to despair and breakdown, but hope was dawning bold and bright inside him.

Rupert did so, smiling as he read the inscription. "That does seem to be something I should remember..."

"The ring is real, and so am I. Everything else here is not." Ethan waited for Rupert to replace the ring and then wrapped his arms back around him. "Hold on tightly with everything you have because we're leaving here now."

Rupert willingly did so, showing even more trust by closing his eyes as he did. And just as he had in his own illusion, Ethan concentrated on Ian and dragged them both out.