"So Ethan really knows nothing about this?" Megan asked, keeping a tight hold on Gwydion's lead, not that the puppy needed it in Giles' opinion. He'd told Gwydion very clearly the kind of behaviour he required while they were here and expected nothing less than complete obedience from the wolfhound.

"Yes, Ethan really knows nothing about this," he replied to the Slayer's question. "Consider it payback for the way Gwydion came into our lives."

They were at Battersea Dog's Home, waiting in the office of one of the specialist staff. They were there to meet dogs and puppies who had shown a potential with magic – recognising it and being attracted or at least unbothered by it. The Rescue and Rehabilitation charity had a long held arrangement with the Council of Watchers, who selected a few dogs every year to join their canine team.

This season, Giles had decided to inspect the potential dogs himself as he had a special plan in mind.

"And he really wants a dog of his own?" Megan asked, sounding a little doubtful.

Giles nodded. "He does; he just doesn't want to want one. He had a puppy when he was a boy, and it got run over, so he's a bit gun-shy."

"Poor Ethan," Megan said sadly. "His childhood sucked. What he's told us about it, anyway. I guess he's told you more." It was a fairly obvious ploy for more information.

"A little," Giles acknowledged, without being more forthcoming. "For the main part it wasn't a happy time for him, and he doesn't like to talk about it."

Megan's free hand went to her neck and the silver owl that hung there; it had become a common mannerism for the girl. "Did you ever meet his family?"

"I met his father once." That brief, unpleasant encounter was fresher in Giles' memory than he'd like, as was the memory of the bruises that had been paternally inflicted on Ethan. It was one of the things that had helped make up Giles' mind about leaving school and moving in with Ethan; he'd wanted to make sure he was safe.

"That bad, huh?"

Before Giles could answer, the door opened and three kennel hands, each with a dog on a leash, plus Mrs Rowe, the specialist trainer, walked in. Giles looked immediately to Gwydion, but true to his orders, his dog remained stretched out on the floor, raising only his head.

The new dogs were quite distinctive from each other. There was a neatly trimmed poodle that bounced towards Giles before the kennel hand told it off and made it sit. The next was a big bruiser of a dog that was at least part rottweiller, but despite its intimidating appearance, it seemed quite nervous, requiring reassurance from its handler before it would settle. Lastly, there was a black and white puppy with long hair that was pure mongrel as far as Giles could tell. It was clearly untrained as well, judging by the way the kennel hand was having to kneel to keep the animal still.

"These are the three dogs with the most obvious potential, Mr Giles," Mrs Rowe told him. She was a pleasant woman, younger than he was, but with a serious dedication to her work. "The poodle is Fang–" She stopped at Giles' raised eyebrow and explained, "She required some dentistry when she arrived here; the name was quite suitable at the time. She showed one hundred percent recognition of the impregnated toy during testing, but was rather over-enthusiastic in her response to it. She would require firm training in my opinion."

"She does seem quite... energetic," Giles commented, watching the poodle's attention wander around the room in what looked like the canine equivalent of attention deficit disorder, which considering Ethan's own bent for bouts of hyperactivity...

No. Having to deal with Ethan and a dog with that same temperament would drive Giles stark raving bonkers in short order. Besides, he just couldn't see Ethan with a poodle.

"What about the others?" he asked, looking at the remaining two candidates.

"Snuggles here," Mrs Rowe said, cringing a little apparently in reaction to the name as she indicated the larger dog, "is in need of a lot of care after considerable early life trauma. Personally I'd say he wasn't suitable for a life as a working dog, but he certainly passed the initial testing with flying colours. The young fluffball at the end is only a few months old. Her name is Ronnie."

Since Giles' intention was to find a pet for Ethan, unsuitability for being a working dog wasn't necessarily a drawback, and if anyone could understand overcoming early life trauma it was Ethan. Snuggles was certainly a possibility, although a name change would assuredly be in order.

"Would you care to test them further now or see them out in the yard first?"

"We're here now, so we might as well get on with the testing first," Giles said. Working or not, a dog in their household would have to be comfortable with and around magic, and the testing would help him see their reactions.

Mrs Rowe nodded. "Fang first?" she suggested. The poodle had crossed-eyes, Giles suddenly noticed.

"Can we see the puppy first?" Megan piped up. "Ronnie."

Giles glanced at her, then back to the puppy. "I don't see why not...?" he asked Mrs. Rowe.

The woman took the pup's lead from the kennel hand, and all three helpers then left, taking the other two candidate dogs with them. As the door shut, Gwydion suddenly got to his feet and barked once at the small black and white dog, who tipped her head to one side and gazed intelligently at the wolfhound. It was almost as if some kind of canine psychic communication was going on.

That was certainly promising, if a bit out of the ordinary, but then again, when had anything about their household been ordinary?

Mrs Rowe observed the strange communion between the dogs without comment. "Ronnie has had no training beyond the basic, but we believe her to be very intelligent. She's good-natured and very energetic, even for a puppy. In the testing, she didn't perform at all well until she watched Fang at work. Somehow, despite the fact we keep rewards to a minimum during the procedure, she seemed to work out what we wanted. After that she found the relevant item every single test."

"Interesting." Giles looked at the puppy in a new light; that kind of intelligent reasoning was unusual in any youngster, be they human, canine, or gorthos demon. It seemed that there was more to Ronnie than met the eye at first glance. "Shall we see how she reacts to tests now?"

Mrs Rowe nodded. "I'll let her off the lead, but be warned. She's bouncy and not yet very good at obeying commands." She bent to unfasten the leash from the pup's collar.

Megan leant forward in her seat. "She has beautiful eyes."

Mrs Rowe smiled up at the Slayer before releasing her grip on Ronnie's collar. "Yes, she does rather. We think she must have some Border collie in her make up somewhere." She then let go of the puppy's collar and straightened up. Ronnie immediately propelled herself at Gwydion.

Giles half-stood, wanting to prevent the impending puppy collision, but Gwydion just let the smaller dog bounce off of him and barked again, wagging his tail.

There then followed a lot of mutual sniffing and licking. "It's as if they're old friends," Mrs Rowe said in a bemused voice. "Or family. Will your selection today be likely to be working closely with the wolfhound?"

"They'll be living in the same house, yes." It certainly seemed like someone had made their decision, but Giles still wanted to test Ronnie's reaction to the sorts of magic she'd have to live with before making his own. "Gwydion, if I may have Ronnie's attention for a moment...?"

The wolfhound stepped back and hunkered down again. When the mongrel pup seemed to want to use the opportunity to bounce all over the larger dog, Gwydion barked, just once, and Ronnie backed off, looking for all the world as if chagrined.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Giles tossed a tiny glowing will-of-the-wisp out, directing it to float in front of the puppy. It was designed to be something that most animals would not understand and therefore be nervous around. Those with the talent and temperament to be useful to the Council would be attracted to the ball of magic instead.

Ronnie, however, seemed neither scared nor attracted. She looked briefly at the ball and then back at Gwydion, yapping a couple of times. Gwydion stared at her, blinking his dark brown eyes slowly. Another yap, another blink, and then Ronnie suddenly jumped straight at the glowing ball. She ended up on Megan's lap, the magic ball between her teeth being shaken like a captured rat while the puppy growled happily.

Megan laughed and held onto Ronnie. "We really don't have to see the other two, do we?" she asked, grinning.

"It does seem like our choice has been made for us," Giles said, turning back to Mrs. Rowe. "How soon can we take her?"

"Oh, a week perhaps. Before Christmas, certainly." Mrs Rowe left the puppy with Megan for the time being and went to sit at her desk, pulling some blank forms from a drawer. "I can't vouch for her trainability, you understand, although if she's to work in partnership with your wolfhound, I doubt that will be a problem."

"I don't think we'll have any problems managing." Already Giles was beginning to wonder what sort of pattern connections Ethan was going to see around the new dog.

She passed over the forms for Giles to sign in his official capacity for the Council. Technically, the dog was not destined for Council work, but as Ethan was on the payroll and the pup was for him, Giles found he could use his position with an almost clear conscience.

Mrs Rowe then stood, coming back around the desk and taking Ronnie back from a clearly not entirely willing Megan. "We'll be in contact with your office within the next week, Mr Giles. I hope Ronnie will prove as successful as the other dogs the Council has had from us."

"I'm sure she'll be just what is needed," Giles said, smiling as he imagined Ethan's reaction.

***

Ethan was mooching. There was no other word for it. After several days of Rupert's continuous company, suddenly finding himself alone in the house without even the monstrous pit pony for company had left Ethan listless and unable to settle.

He found himself wandering from room to room, poking pointlessly at things, adjusting ornaments that didn't need adjusting and picking at the peeling wallpaper of the landing. The telly was all tedious to the extreme, and every single CD or piece of vinyl Rupert possessed was plebeian and appallingly dated and, let's face it, heterosexual. If they must live in the past, couldn't they at least have some Bowie, Velvet Underground or T-Rex?

He didn't even have any porn to read or watch that he didn't know off by heart. It was insufferable. Really.

It didn't help that Rupert had been so mysterious about where he was going that Ethan couldn't apparently go to as well. Ethan guessed it must relate to the fast approaching Christmas, and he was himself going to need time away from Rupert at some point to pick up something he was having made. But still, he'd been spoiled rotten by his husband's company since Rupert had agreed to stop fighting the bond, and it had been wonderful.

And this? This was just frustrating.

When the knock at the door came, Ethan couldn't decide if he was grateful for the distraction or annoyed at the interruption of his sulk. When he opened the door to see Buffy there on her own, he was even less certain how he felt.

"Hello," he said, trying his best at a friendly smile. "Um, he's out. I'm all on my ownsome. You're, er, welcome to come in, of course, but I... Well, your choice." He stepped to the side to give her space to come in, should she want to.

Buffy seemed to hesitate, but then her features flashed through determination before settling into a deliberately bright smile as she stepped inside. "I'll wait. It'll give us a chance to... talk."

Oh. Oh goodie. Pulling a sour expression at her back, Ethan shut the door. In the living room, before any unpleasant 'talking' had a chance to start, he quickly asked, "Drink of some sort?"

She gave a half-shrug. "If you're having one..."

Escaping to the kitchen, he looked between kettle and coffee maker and opted for the latter as, if necessary, he could make his mugful Irish. "Do feel free to switch the telly on," he called through the open door, turning as he did so. He nearly dropped the jug in his hand when he found Buffy in the doorway watching him silently. He tried his hardest not to glare at her. Truly, he did.

If he didn't fully succeed, Buffy didn't react. "So did Giles tell you about offering me a job?"

Ethan nodded. "Congratulations. Well deserved and exciting position you've got for yourself." He turned and filled the side of the coffee machine with water.

"Thanks." She didn't move; Ethan could feel her eyes still on him. "It's going to mean I'll probably be checking in here pretty regular between trips."

He shut his eyes, wincing, while his back remained to her. "Yes, I'd realised that."

"Giles really cares about you." Buffy observed, her tone suggesting that it wasn't a non sequitur to her.

He understood that she was trying to create a peace between them, however uneasy; he did appreciate that. After spooning the coffee in and switching the machine on, he turned back to her. "He loves you too, Buffy, albeit in a different way. I daresay we can learn to tolerate each other for his sake." He looked down briefly. "I'm not sure if you'll accept my apology for the tattoo, but if you will..." He forced his gaze back up. "I'm sorry."

She inclined her head and simply said, "Thank you."

He gave her a twisted up smile and turned back to the counter, busying himself finding mugs and a tray. "I understand yours will be a jetsetting life from now on."

"Yeah, pretty much. Have destiny, will travel. I go, I slay, then maybe get a bit of sightseeing in." Buffy paused and then continued, "And you're working on being all settled and domestic."

It was odd how that thought still simultaneously pleased and embarrassed him. He went with the pleased; it felt nicer. "Yes. I'm even trying to learn how to cook without accidentally provoking a world war. Will you be with us for Christmas?"

Buffy tilted her head to the side, regarding him. "Would I be welcome?"

He answered honestly. "I think it would make him very happy were you to join us all on Christmas day. And whatever makes Rupert happy... Well, I want it. Yes, you'd be welcome."

Surprisingly, Buffy smiled at him. It wasn't a big smile, but it was real. "You've changed, Ethan."

He snorted quietly. "Quite a lot, actually." He frowned as he added, "Although as you rather embarrassingly witnessed the other day, I'm still quite capable of bad decisions. Sorry about that."

"You were standing up for your Slayer." Buffy shrugged. "Might not have been the best of methods, but I can't argue with your intentions."

Feeling a sense of mild disbelief that Buffy of all people seemed to understand at least the whys of his cursing of the callous Jade, Ethan smiled at her before reaching up for one of the Christmas biscuit tins from the overhead cupboard. The two of them being almost friendly seemed a good enough excuse to break some open. "Continental assortment or M&S luxury chocolate?" he asked, undecided himself.

"Save the chocolate for when Xander and Dawn are here." Buffy grinned a bit conspiratorially. "They're the chocoholics."

He grinned back at her. "Continental it is. We're having goose for Christmas, by the way. Megan's choice." He giggled as he turned to pour the coffee. "You may want to pack sandwiches, just in case. But rest assured, I won't be allowed in the kitchen."

"Don't feel too bad about it. They won't let me in the kitchen on holidays anymore either. Of course," Buffy continued, "that's more because I turn into super control-freak than because of my cooking. The one Thanksgiving I did cook, the food turned out great. We just had to fight Native American spirits before we could eat."

"I've heard a lot about that," Ethan admitted. "Including the, um, mystical syphilis."

"Yeah, Xander kinda fixates on that part," Buffy agreed. "It was a rough holiday, but the turkey was moist and delicious."

It was obvious which part Buffy fixated upon. "Perhaps they should allow you into the kitchen. Know anything about geese?" He picked up the tray and walked towards her.

Buffy backed out of the doorway, giving Ethan room to manoeuvre. "They honk," she answered after a moment. "And some come from Canada."

"Vicious bastards, actually," he told her as he put the tray down on the coffee table. "They attack en masse, all white feathers and clacking bills. The more dead geese I see, the better."

"Talking from personal experience?" Buffy asked as she sat on the sofa and reached for one of the mugs.

He smirked; he couldn't help it. "There's something about me they don't care for."

"Aha. Birds of discernment." Buffy's tone made it clear she was just teasing though.

He gave her a look of mock challenge and opened the seal around the biscuit tin. "I can assure you I had nothing to do with the manufacture of these comestibles," he said as he offered the tin to her. "Take as many as you want. Only not the puffy ones with the raspberry jam because they come with a rare curse."

"Giles tried that once to keep us away from the jelly doughnuts."

He giggled. "Well, you note we don't say what rare curse." There were, he was finding, actually quite a lot of things he'd like to talk to Buffy about, now that they actually were conversing civilly, but all involved subjects that were potentially difficult. Perhaps he needed a different approach. "Is there anything you'd like to know? About Rupert and me, or just yours truly? You can ask, confidentiality and lack of offence-taking assured."

Buffy sipped at her coffee as she seemed to mull that over. "Really," she finally said, "the only thing that matters to me is that Giles is safe and happy. Or as safe as any of us are in this line of business. At least he hasn't gotten hit on the head recently. That he's told me – he hasn't, has he?"

"Only by a Christmas bauble." Ethan gestured at the tree. "That was being aimed at me by my ever so respectful Slayer."

"I suppose that Christmas ornaments can be excused. Was it glass or plastic?" Buffy shook her head. "I'm getting off-topic. My point is that all I want is to see Giles happy. And that's what I am seeing. He's happy with you, consistently happier than I've ever seen him before."

Ethan smiled softly, remembering the awed joy on Rupert's face when he'd allowed him to see the patterns of the bond between them. "I do my humble best."

"I've seen that," she acknowledged, "and I believe you do." She took a deep breath and looked up from her mug to meet his eyes. "So please realise that what I'm about to say isn't an accusation or anything, and that I'd say the same to anyone who got involved with my... family."

Ethan closed his eyes. "I know. I know what you'd do if I hurt him because I'd do the same or worse to anyone that did. Please, Buffy..." He opened his eyes again. "That man is my husband, but he's more even than that. We're... has he told you about the bond?"

She shook her head slowly.

He rubbed at his face. "It's probably not my place to tell you, but it's a bit late not to now, eh?" He gave her a half-smile. "Do you at least know about the prophecy?"

"The big mysterious thing you and Giles are destined to do that a whole bunch of nasty Chaos mages don't want you to?" Buffy nodded. "Giles mentioned it. Gotta say, it's refreshing to have a prophecy that doesn't come with my name engraved on it."

Ethan very particularly didn't mention his suspicion that her sister was involved. "We don't know everything yet, but it seems we are to be guardians of some sort. For many many generations, pairs of mages have been born, one whose talent was wild magic, the other who instinctively followed order. These mages, working as a bonded pair, are meant to stop whatever it is that some force of Chaos, maybe, wants to bring about. It's all a little hazy really." He frowned.

Buffy shrugged. "These things usually are, at least in the beginning. Take it from one Chosen to another."

"Most–" He grimaced. "Make that all of the bonded pairs before now haven't made it. They have been found and destroyed in one way or another by the malign Chaos followers before they had a chance to bond properly and become the force of strength that they were meant to be. Rupert and I... Well, hopefully we'll be the ones who make it."

"You will." Buffy looked directly at him and there was nothing but total belief in her eyes. "None of those other pairs had what you have."

He was almost scared to ask. "And what's that?"

"A whole bunch of Slayers and Slayer friends who have your back." She smiled, eyes glinting, and Ethan was struck by the power and confidence that seemed to fill her slight frame. He was even more struck when it finally hit home that he and Buffy were now on the same side. Indeed, that he had a side at all. He'd been pretty much nagging Rupert to acknowledge the importance of the prophecy and their bond, and yet somehow it was only now that Ethan truly realised that he was not only on the side of the heroes suddenly, but a major player.

"That's good to know," he said, smiling and trying his hardest not to let his fear show.

"One thing I've learned is to never listen when prophecies or traditions or bad guys or whatever insist that you have to do... whatever it is you're supposed to do alone. The prophecies never mention asking for help; doesn't mean you can't."

Ethan nodded. "One thing about this particular prophecy, it's absolutely vital neither of us tries to go it alone. That's got to be better than being a Slayer was. Less isolating, I mean." He loaded his tone with sympathy, which was actually surprisingly genuine.

Buffy smiled and reached for another biscuit. "Then you're already ahead of the curve. Just remember that you've got more than just the two of you, and I'm telling you this because Giles is as bad at asking for help as I am. I'm hoping you're going to be less stubborn about it."

"Oh, you can rely on me to selfishly drag others into danger to save my own skin and his." He raised his mug to her in an ironic toast and finished his coffee.

"Good. Because I like Giles' skin right where it is."

"So do I rather."

"Then I expect to hear when things are going all... portenty, so I can come back and help."

He looked at her seriously. "You better make sure I have a way of contacting you then as Rupert's not going to volunteer it, I don't think."

"I'll give you my cell phone number." She frowned. "Guess I should look into getting a new plan if I'm going to be all jet set Slayer now."

He smiled. "I promise I'll call if things get even a little Old Testament around here. Now, in the spirit of this new alliance, I don't suppose you know where he's taken Megan today, do you?"

Buffy lifted an eyebrow. "I'm sure if Giles wanted you to know, he would have told you."

He lifted an eyebrow in turn. "I'm sure if Rupert would want you to know about dangerous events occurring while you're away then he'd tell you himself."

"I'm sure there's less danger Christmas shopping than dealing with prophecies." She frowned. "Though I guess that could depend on how crowded the mall is... or if the prophecy was about a, um, demonic mall... or the enemy was a big blue people-dissolving demon who I could only blow up with a rocket launcher."

Ethan brightened, ignoring most of the incomprehensible babble and focusing on the salient point. "So they are Christmas shopping then?"

Buffy held up a hand. "I am neither confirming nor denying."

Ethan sighed. "How am I meant to know if what I'm getting him is suitable or enough if I don't know what he's getting me?" He decided to try and play on her sympathies. "This is all quite new to me, you know, a proper Christmas."

"Guess that whole worshipping Chaos thing would cut down on holiday celebrations, huh?" she asked, not seeming particularly sympathetic; then she changed the subject slightly. "What have you thought about getting Giles?"

Chaos had had its own feast days, all but one of them moveable as was the nature of the beast. but that wasn't the point. "I'm having something made for him, but I'm not sure it's enough."

"He can be hard to buy for," Buffy commiserated. "I mean, what do you get the Watcher who's got and done everything? Except be a grocer or a fighter pilot, though I guess running a magic shop is sort of like being a grocer. Just with really exotic ingredients."

He stared at her. "That seemed a particularly surreal tangent, even for one of you lot. Is there something that you're referring to that I don't know about?"

"It's just something Giles told me years ago. Before he found out he had to grow up to be a Watcher, he'd wanted to be a fighter pilot or a grocer."

That was... interesting. Ethan filed the fact away for later contemplation.

"What did you want to be when you were a kid?" Buffy asked curiously after a moment.

What did any child want? To be loved and approved of? Safe and warm? Reliably fed and nurtured? As he thought those things he remembered the dream he had shared with Rupert that had ending in an attic with a chest full of costumes. He saw grey-green eyes in a little boy's face, reddened with recent tears, under a mop of blond hair.

Not really focusing on Buffy at all, although he smiled in her general direction, Ethan said, "I think what I wanted most was a friend who would stay."

***

The study door opened and Ethan stuck his head through. "Am I allowed in here currently?" he asked amiably.

"Of course," Giles said, pleased that it was automatic. He turned in his chair toward the door and held a hand out to Ethan with a smile.

Ethan smiled back and came in, shutting the door behind him. He bent to kiss Giles when he reached him. "The house started to feel very quiet with you shut away in here and Megan and the monster out."

"I'm sorry," Giles apologised, gesturing at his desk. "You know how I get when I'm involved in something. I'll try to not get so lost in the work."

"Enthralling stuff, is it?" Ethan asked, casting a curious glance at the desktop.

Giles instinctively moved to cover up his notes, but stopped himself. There was more than one way to pull away after all, and he wasn't supposed to be doing any of them. "Yes, it is rather," he said, and taking a deep breath, handed his notebook to Ethan.

He watched as a crease formed between Ethan's eyebrows. As pages were turned increasingly rapidly, Ethan's body tensed and he drew back from Giles. "Rupert, what...?"

"Know thy enemy. I realised that I knew very little about Chaos groups and beliefs. I've been trying to rectify that lack." He spoke quietly, matter-of-factly, studying Ethan as he did so.

"Ah. Thought you might have been checking up on my past," Ethan said with studied casualness. "Glad I'm wrong." He handed the book back to Giles.

"If I had been doing that, I would've been ignoring my greatest source of information," Giles said bluntly. "You."

Ethan still seemed a little stiff and withdrawn. "You're rather doing that anyway, aren't you? Surely if you're researching Chaos, asking someone who worshipped it for decades would be a good place to start."

"You've said that you felt uncomfortable talking about... those days," Giles replied. "That there were secrets."

"No more secrets," Ethan said quietly, reaching out a hand to cup Giles' face. "Remember?"

Giles closed his eyes and leant into the touch; it really was amazing how good even a light caress felt. Why had he been resisting this deepening of their bond if it made him feel like this? "I remember," he said softly.

He felt the weight on his legs as Ethan settled down on his lap. "Ask then. I'm not claiming this will be easy to talk about, but I made you a promise. Ask."

The first question Giles heard coming from his mouth before he'd even consciously decided to ask it was, "Why? What was the attraction?"

"Initially?" Ethan shrugged. "It gave me a way of protecting myself at home and with other kids, or at least getting revenge afterwards. It gave me that feeling of control that was, as you know, somewhat lacking in my childhood. But I suppose you mean the more formal worship, don't you?" He inhaled deeply, exhaling through his nose.

"Yes." And if Giles was being honest with himself, he wanted to know not only in order to understand their enemies, but to understand Ethan better. This was a part of Ethan he never had a claim on, the very thing that had drawn Ethan away from him when they were young.

"That didn't really start until after you left. A year or so on, I suppose. While you were there I was merely playing with it, like any other brat with a craze to follow. Afterwards? Well, it was something to do, something I was good at... something that wanted me." Ethan shrugged again. "I'm back to it gave me a feeling of control, I suppose." He wasn't exactly making it sound attractive.

"It never seemed to be about control to me." Giles spoke slowly, remembering his own brushes with it back when they were young and still together. Remembering the way that Ethan had kept searching for more and more dangerous things for them to do, more intense sensations, until it had inevitably blown up in their faces. "It seemed more like... a self-destructive hunger."

Ethan pulled back and gave him a sharply reproachful look.

Giles made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat. "Help me understand then. Help me understand why I wasn't enough – you kept us taking greater and greater chances, needed greater and greater highs. If it wasn't self-destructive hunger, what was it?"

Ethan's gaze dropped, and he looked rather wretched. After a pause he mumbled, "I just wanted things to feel real."

"And I wasn't enough to do that?" Giles asked softly, a bit of bewildered hurt creeping into his own voice despite his best efforts.

"Sometimes. Sometimes you were." Ethan attempted to snuggle closer, but Giles' study chair, while roomy, was not really designed for the position the two of them were in. "Sometimes you were too good to be real. So much of me is... was... dead inside. Numb. Anaethetised. I... Rupert, please."

Giles shifted them both so that he could pull Ethan close against him. "And now?"

Ethan pressed his face against Giles' hair. "You're real. You're the realest thing I've ever known."

"Do you feel... awake now? Alive?"

"When I'm with you."

Giles wanted to ask why he was enough now when he hadn't been back then, but he wasn't sure if it would serve any purpose. Or if there would be an answer he wanted to hear.

Ethan shifted restlessly. "What aren't you saying, dearheart?"

There were drawbacks, Giles thought, to complete openness, but still he voiced his question despite his reluctance. "What's changed? Why am I enough now when before I–"

"Because there's no dark Chaos in me now, of course," Ethan replied as if it were obvious, and perhaps it was. "There's nothing getting in the way of... us."

Giles shook his head. "I wish I'd known back then that I was fighting such a... rival. I didn't even know I was in a fight until it was too late, and Chaos had won you."

"Chaos never won me," Ethan denied. "I was the grudgingly accepted cast off." It wasn't good to still hear so much bitterness in Ethan's voice even now.

"You ran." Without thinking about it, Giles tightened his embrace as he spoke. "I couldn't continue playing with Chaos and taking those kinds of chances, and you ran. From where I stood that was a pretty definitive statement that Chaos meant more than I did."

"Yes, I ran," Ethan agreed, not fighting the embrace, but tense in Giles' arms. "But only after you told me that it was over, that you were leaving. Did you really expect me to hang around in that miserable graveyard and let you break my heart further? You blamed me for what had happened. And... and you were right to." The admission seemed to cost him, even now.

"I blamed us for what had happened, not just you, and yes, the way things had been, that had to be over. I couldn't continue on that way, taking those chances. but that was the lifestyle, what we were doing, the risks we were taking. It wasn't you. You ran though. As soon as I said I couldn't continue playing with fire." Giles sighed, feeling an echo of the sadness and devastation he'd felt back then. "You didn't stay long enough for me to ask you to come with me."

Ethan's body had gone rigid. "No," he said, very tightly. "It wasn't like that. You told me that we couldn't go on. That you were going. You wouldn't even come back to the flat."

"I told you we couldn't go on the way we had been. I wouldn't go back to the flat and just pretend we could. I needed us to make decisions before we did. Promises. Resolutions." He closed his eyes, remembering how hard it had been to find the words to broach the subject. Obviously he'd done a terrible job.

Ethan spoke slowly, visibly working it out for himself as he went. "I thought you were ending it with me and started screaming inside... and you thought when I ran that meant I... that I was choosing Chaos over you. Oh, sodding hell, Rupert. What a farce." He started to struggle to his feet. "It's a bloody farce. Come on."

Giles allowed Ethan to pull him to his feet. "Where are we going?"

"Finchley." East Finchley, Giles remembered, was the location of the cemetery Randall was buried in.

"Why?" he asked, even though he knew how Ethan's mind worked well enough that he could probably come up with the answer, but that wasn't a place he could feel comfortable. It had been years after Randall's funeral before he'd been able to bring himself to go back at all.

"Because we need to," Ethan answered simply, meeting Giles' gaze with an earnest expression.

He was right, Giles knew, no matter how much he hated that place. "All right."

In silence, more or less, they dressed for the damp winter's afternoon outside. An afternoon not at all unlike the morning of Randall's funeral, which Giles realised with a small shock had had its anniversary a few days ago. Perhaps that was the subconscious reason why their conversation had gone in the direction that it had.

Giles stood by the lobby door, watching Ethan write a note for Megan. Then Ethan rose, and without either one of them seeming to initiate the momentum, they ended up in each other's arms for a quick, tight hug.

"We could just go upstairs and shag," Giles suggested, although not seriously. Well, not totally seriously.

"Isn't that my line?" Ethan asked with a soft chuckle. "Come on. We can do this. I'll drive if you like."

"That might be a good idea," Giles said, handing over the keys. That way he wouldn't be able to back out. Ethan took them and a kiss before heading out of the house, Giles following close behind.

It was early afternoon so the traffic was quite reasonable, and Finchley was at least on the same side of London as where they lived these days. Back in their youth, it had been a lot harder to get to, but Randall's parents had wanted him buried close to where he had grown up.

Every once in a while as he drove, Ethan would flick a concerned glance at Giles, but he said nothing. The silence between them was companionable and not at all uncomfortable, but it did have a touch of funereal solemnity about it that Giles could have done without. There had been too much cause for that in his life. He supposed at least that he should be glad it wasn't raining this time.

His mind, quite naturally, kept going back to that day years ago and the complete mess at communication that they'd apparently made back then. He didn't think they could have misunderstood each other more if they'd resorted to charades instead of words.

As they drew close to Finchley, if not quite to the Cemetery, Ethan murmured, "My thoughts seem stuck on a rather monotonous merry-go-round."

"Yours too?" Giles replied dryly.

"I just keep thinking about all that time. Wasted." Ethan's voice was, if anything, even quieter than his last comment. Giles had to strain to hear over the engine noise. "But then I remember what we've been told, that one or both of us would have died or been irrevocably corrupted had we stayed together." He flicked a small sad smile at Giles. "As I said. Circles."

Giles wasn't so sure of that inevitability, but kept silent about his doubts. Really, what would be the point of dwelling on what might have been? Not that he was having much luck stopping himself doing just that. "It's not a pleasant thought that we spent all those years at odds because of a misunderstanding."

Giles noticed Ethan's hands tense on the wheel then relax again. "Probably best not to," he said. "Think about it, I mean. Or perhaps... Perhaps that's why I'm taking us here, so that we can mourn? Twenty-five years, Rupert. God..." His hands once more tensed.

"I know." Reaching over, Giles pulled one of Ethan's hands off the wheel and into his grip. "Do you feel as much of a stupid berk as I do?"

"I'm angry," Ethan replied, not sounding it, but Giles accepted it as fact all the same. "So very angry with both of us. Christ, I..." He squeezed Giles' hand and took his own back to operate the gearstick as they turned onto the road that led down to the cemetery. "Let's wait until I'm not in charge of a moving vehicle for this."

"Wise precaution," Giles agreed, thinking the only thing more stupid than wasting twenty-five years would be dying in a car crash because they were discussing wasting twenty-five years.

So they remained quiet until Ethan pulled into a parking spot and stopped the BMW. The engine now still, the silence continued a few moments longer as they both stared out of the windscreen at the prospect of fields of gravestones and tombs and the long straight avenues dividing them. Eventually Ethan sighed and undid his seatbelt.

Giles did the same and then looked over to meet Ethan's gaze. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Then Ethan reached out his hand to Giles' face, his fingertips soft against Giles' cheek. "Come on. Let's do this. Salute the past and then celebrate the now."

"Yes," Giles said quietly, turning his head enough to kiss Ethan's fingers. Then he pulled back and opened the door to get out.

They walked side by side to the cemetery gate, coat collars high and scarves wrapped tight. Ethan suddenly gave a small laugh. "Um, can you remember roughly where...?"

"Uhh..." Giles looked around for a brief moment, getting his bearings. "This way, I think," he finally said, leading them along the path to the right.

The graves to start with were all very old, the stones weatherworn and lichen-covered, but as they walked, they entered a newer area spreading down a gentle slope. "Ah," Ethan said quietly. "Now I know where I am."

"Hasn't changed much, considering how much time has passed," Giles observed.

There were a few people about, tending graves or just walking, but people normally kept to themselves in places such as this, lost in their own thoughts, and Giles and Ethan were no exception. Still, when Giles felt Ethan's hand slip into his, he felt grateful.

"Let's make this different from the start," Ethan said.

"It already is," Giles replied, knowing there was no way that Ethan would let him push him away so easily, any more than he would let Ethan run.

Ethan nodded and squeezed Giles' hand. "Should we have brought flowers?"

"There should be flowers there already," Giles said. "I made arrangements years ago to have a bouquet sent every year on the anniversary of... you know."

Ethan snorted quietly, ruefully, staring at his feet as they walked. "More than I did. Rupert..." It was clearly the start to a question.

"What, love?"

Ethan's head raised, but only to watch a stone angel on a tomb as they passed it by. "I murdered them all in a way, didn't I?"

"Don't take on more guilt than is your share. The idea may have been yours, but we all agreed to do it." They walked for a bit in silence before Giles added, "Eyghon didn't kill Thom either – he had a heart attack."

"Oh." Ethan sounded a bit lost. "I never kept in touch. I didn't know."

"Neither did I," Giles said, feeling his own twinges of guilt at that. "I only found out when I tried to track everyone down after Philip ended up dead in the Sunnydale morgue."

"I don't know what I'm meant to feel about all this," Ethan admitted hollowly.

"You feel what you feel. There's no right or wrong to that." It had taken Giles years to accept that.

"But I don't know what I feel."

They had reached the grave. It showed evidence of being well attended to. There were almost fresh flowers in the metal vase and a couple of bouquets balanced against the headstone. Giles imagined Randall's parents or sister must have been here for the anniversary of his death.

"There are too many friends in too many graves," Giles murmured, staring at the tombstone. Too many people he cared about dead and in the ground.

Ethan said nothing. He stood with Giles awhile, but soon began to fidget in a way that took Giles back twenty-five years to when they'd last stood there together. He squeezed Ethan's hand, reminding them both that things were very, very different now.

"Whatever we do, we do together," he said quietly, affirming now what he should've back then.

"I feel odd," Ethan admitted. "Empty and... detached."

"I think," Giles said slowly, feeling his way as he spoke, "that we both came to terms with Eyghon and what happened to Randall years ago. We had to."

Ethan nodded. "It's not Randall that we've come here to mourn."

"No, it's not."

Ethan took a deep breath and turned to Giles. "Ask me to come with you."

"Come with me," Giles said, the words emerging with more intensity than he'd planned. Reaching out, he took hold of Ethan's free hand so that he had both of them. "I can't stay here, living this life. I have to leave, but I want you to come with me."

Far from feeling empty now it seemed, Ethan had to clench his eyes shut for a few moments, mastering something strong. Then his dark gaze met Giles', and he started simply with, "Yes. Yes, I'll go with you. Anywhere, to do anything. Wherever you go, I'll follow. Don't lea–" He shook his head, dismissing what he'd started to say. "Take me with you."

Giles tugged lightly on Ethan's hands, pulling him forward so he could wrap his arms around Ethan. "Always," he murmured, before emotion closed his throat up too much to speak.

Ethan hugged him tightly through the heavy coats they both wore. "Love, magic, destiny... always." He whispered it like a prayer.

[Note: the story now continues in Five Gold Rings before returning for chapter 18 of Charades]