"Giles," Dawn whispered, her eyes wide in the light of the heavy torch. "This place is beyond wigsome."

Giles looked around them at the old brick and mortar of the walls of the subterranean tunnel they were walking through. "It's not that bad," he countered.

"Yes, it is!" she insisted, her whisper a sharp hiss. "It's all Jack the Ripper and the Phantom of the Opera. Just around the corner there'll be a guy in a iron mask holding a huge rusty hatchet."

"'Phantom of the Opera' and 'The Man in the Iron Mask' were both set in France, not England."

"Same difference. It's all European and gothic and stuff. I wish Buffy was here." Buffy was, in fact, with Xander being a tourist elsewhere in the capital, while Giles and Dawn concentrated on research. It was possible, admittedly, that no one else bar Giles considered traversing London's subterranean tunnels looking for ancient vaults under the purview of 'research'.

"You could've gone with her and Xander," he pointed out.

"You said we were going to do research!" Dawn protested. Giles was certain, however, that the girl was enjoying every moment of this adventure, which in fact involved very little risk. He would never have taken her if it had. These particular tunnels were private and very well protected by magic as well as the locked grills and gates.

"And so we shall," he assured her. "There's something I want to show you, but we have to get to where it's kept first."

"What kind of something?"

"Something magical and potentially quite dangerous." He let his voice drop down to more confidential tones, knowing the implied secrecy would make Dawn all the more interested.

"Coool. So is it like a big secret?" She stood patiently as Giles unlocked another iron gate.

"Moderately big." He gestured her through the gate before following and locking it again behind them.

"Neat. My lips are henceforth sealed. Is it something that's stored down here? Or something that, um, lives here?" Dawn's whisper had long since increased in volume to happy chatter.

"It's stored here, but only because here is where I put it." He smiled at her. "You'll see."

There was a very brief silence, then, "You went to Oxford, didn't you? Is Cambridge the same at all?"

"They are quite similar, in the way that Yale and Harvard are similar." He smiled faintly. "They also have the same type of rivalry."

"I'm excited," she said in the manner of true confession. "Terrified, but so, so excited. Will we be rivals when I'm there? Should I buy a Cambridge scarf or something?"

Giles winced at the thought of someone under his care wearing Cambridge colours and then chuckled at himself; some reactions seemed more ingrained than he would have predicted. "You can buy and wear whatever colours you want," he finally said.

"There's this boat race, isn't there? Ethan told me about it. And Oxford always wins. So I'll have to learn a helpful spell or two to help my side. Ethan told me he used to know a perfect one, but he refused to tell me how to do it 'cause he said you'd spank him. Um... would you really?"

"I'm not sure you're old enough for me to answer that."

"I know about spanking!" she declared. "Anya told me that she and Xander–"

"Yes, I'm sure she did," Giles said, cutting off Dawn before she could finish that sentence. Although he had to hand it to Anya, she still was trying to embarrass him even from beyond the grave.

They had reached their destination, a thick oaken door barring their way. Carved into it at roughly head height was a rectangular grid, each square of the grid containing a different symbol.

"Oh," Dawn said, obviously fascinated, and she reached out to touch the carving.

Giles caught her wrist before she made contact. "There's a certain pattern that has to be utilised," he said.

"Oops," she said, stepping back. "What happens if you get it wrong?"

"I'm not sure." He smiled wryly. "But do we really want to take the chance?"

She stepped closer again, studying the symbols carefully but not touching. "They're like something from an IQ test."

Giles nodded his head approvingly. "Can you figure it out?" he asked. "Just point, don't touch."

"Well... that mark there is the Babylonian glyph for 'beginning' so I guess that's where we start, at the square it points to. From there, we could either go to this one or that one–" She pointed to two of the three adjoining squares. "Only this one leads to a dead end up here where nothing continues the pattern, so we have to go the other way..." She continued through the maze of symbols, adeptly spotting and avoiding dead ends, and eventually finding her way to the symbol pointed to by the glyph for 'end'.

"Very good indeed," Giles praised, reaching out and touching the pattern in the same order that Dawn had pointed out. Then he stood back as the door slowly swung open.

Inside was a large brick-lined construction with a rounded ceiling and many shelves and crates, including some behind yet another locked steel grill. In atmosphere, Giles had often felt it was similar to his family's old wine cellar beneath the manor house. Of course, the wine cellar didn't have enchanted light that flickered into existence from nowhere as they walked inside.

"Wow," Dawn said, almost reverently.

"Indeed. That was very much my reaction the first time I came here."

"How did you– I mean, is this Council property?" She was following his lead as they entered the space and not going off to explore.

"No. I found a reference to it in some old texts when I was a museum curator. Went on a bit of a scavenger hunt and found this place." Giles looked around fondly; from the start this vault had always felt like his in a way that very little else had ever felt until recently. He wasn't sure if he understood it, much less could explain it, he just knew what he felt.

"Wow," she said again. "So what is all this stuff? Is it all yours?"

"Some of it," he replied. "A lot of it was here when I found the place."

"What is it all?" she asked again, obviously dying to take a look around.

"A little bit of everything: texts, artefacts, weapons..." He nodded at the far wall where various swords, axes and other weapons hung. "Some of the things are undoubtedly little more than scrap, but there's also some valuable and unique pieces."

"Can I... look at things?"

"Go ahead," Giles told her with a smile. "Just try not to trigger anything."

She moved around the chamber, looking intently at everything she encountered and glancing at Giles for permission before each time she touched something. "Guess it had to seem like Christmas when you first found all this."

"There may have been some chortling," Giles admitted.

"Wow," Dawn said yet again. "It's like a stockpile or something. Like a bomb shelter, only instead of food, it's our sort of stuff – magic books and weapons. Who do you think put them down here? The stuff that isn't yours, I mean."

"I'm not entirely sure. I was never able to find anything more than veiled references." Giles walked over to the area that was behind the locked grill, touching the key with a finger and clicking the tumblers over with a touch of magic. "Reclude!" He used to just pick the lock, but magic made it much easier.

Dawn walked over to stand beside him. "What you want to show me, it's in there?"

"Yes." He slid inside and picked the Mallon's Chest off the shelf where he'd put it. "Ethan and Xander liberated this from Francesca Travers' safe. I suspect she got it from the investigation of what was left of the mage who attacked Ethan and me."

"Oh." Dawn's eyes were wide. "I get the dangerous now."

"Very." Giles brought the chest out and set it down in the centre of the mystical circle that was inlayed in slate and quartz on the surface of a wooden table in the centre of the vault. He murmured softly in Latin, creating magic shields around the chest, and only once he was satisfied that they were firm, did he open it.

Dawn had kept very quiet during the warding, but now leant cautiously forward and looked inside at the black cloth bag. "What is it?" she asked, whispering as if in an old fashioned library or a church.

"As far as we've been able to tell, it's pure chaos. A sort of anti-reality." Even with the shields, Giles could feel the power contained within the pouch pulsing away; it made him feel like ants were crawling just under his skin. Worse, it made his leg throb like it still wasn't healed.

"It feels... strange," Dawn said, reaching a little way towards it, but stopping herself. "Like something I've felt before somewhere."

Giles looked sharply at her. "Can you remember when?"

She shook her head. "No. In a dream maybe? It just feels all deja-vu-y. Do you think it's important?"

"I don't know." He tilted his head, looking from Dawn back to the bag. "Perhaps."

She was still staring into the chest. "It's got a mark on it, a glyph. Is there a safe way to touch it so we can see better?"

Frowning in concentration, Giles added more layers of shields around the pouch as well as around his fingers. Then, gritting his teeth, he reached into the chest and pulled the pouch out.

"Wow. Uber-deja vu. I've seen that somewhere, Giles. I know it." Dawn scrabbled in her satchel bag and pulled out a jotter and pen.

"I'd appreciate all due haste," Giles said, hearing the strain in his own voice. He wasn't sure how long he could hold onto the pouch; each second he did brought back phantom memories of being wounded on the train, things that his mind had blurred or blocked out entirely since.

She drew only a very basic sketch, her pen moving fast over the paper. "Done!"

Giles all but threw the pouch back in the chest and slammed the lid closed.

"That bad, huh?" Dawn put a concerned hand on his arm. "Do you need to sit down?"

"I'm all right," he assured her, straightening and pushing himself away from the table where the chest lay. Absently, he rubbed his hand on his sweater as he took a few deep breaths.

Dawn was quiet. When he'd recovered enough to look back, he saw she was filling in the details of her sketch. That made Giles smile; Dawn really was born to do this sort of work, no matter the method of her birth. When she was done, she returned her jotter to her bag and smiled at Giles. "To the library?"

He laughed. "Indeed. Just as soon as I put the chest back where I took it from."

***

Giles walked up his front path after seeing Dawn, Buffy and Xander off for an evening of more tourist fun. He wished them a good time, but for himself, all he wanted was a long hot shower and an early night. He felt more exhausted than he had in a long time, and his muscles ached from being so tense all afternoon since visiting his underground vault.

Frowning, he stopped halfway to the door and glared down at his leg. His limp was back. Squaring his shoulders and gritting his teeth in determination, Giles finished the walk, moving normally. He absently rubbed his hand on the front of his coat and reached for the doorknob.

Ethan opened the door before he could, a phenomenon that was becoming common as their bond developed. He smiled warmly at Giles and reached out for his case. "You look tired, dearheart."

Giles gratefully let him take it. "I feel tired."

Ethan stepped to the side to let Giles through and shut the door after him. "Megan's out with Giddy," he said, "and there's some kind of strange chicken casserole in the oven." Once they were into the living room, Ethan put Giles' case down and helped him take his coat off.

"Thank you," Giles said, heartfelt, turning and pulling Ethan close. He sighed as the embrace seemed to ease some of the body ache he had been feeling.

"Are you brewing up some bug?" Ethan asked, concerned. He pressed his lips against Giles' in a soft kiss, but then froze, before drawing back in a hurry and looking thoroughly alarmed. "Rupert, where the... what happened?"

"Happened?"

Giles could feel Ethan's magic passing through him as urgent hands moved over his body. Ethan's eyes were unfocused as his attention was concentrated elsewhere. "Something must have... Were you attacked?"

"No, of course not. Dawn and I were following new avenues of research. There was a sigil on the pouch you'd found and we–"

"The pouch. Christ. You've been bloody touching it, you stupid git." Ethan seemed to be doing his very best to undress Giles now.

"I shielded," Giles protested, even as he let Ethan have his way with his clothes.

"Stupid, stupid man," Ethan muttered. He stopped mid-strip and started pulling Giles towards the stairs. "I can taste it on you."

"The pouch?"

"The Chaos." They were halfway up the stairs when Ethan stopped to glare at Giles and asked in tones of outrage, "Are you limping?"

Bugger. "My leg's been bothering me since..."

"Bloody brilliant," Ethan declared, strongly sarcastic. "Well done. Top notch performance." He dragged Giles towards the bathroom.

"It was necessary," Giles said mildly, letting Ethan manhandle him. It was easier than protesting, and the bathroom and its shower were where he wanted to go anyway. "We have to find out exactly what the pouch is and what it's for."

"Not by touching it!" Having steered Giles into the bathroom, Ethan returned to stripping him, undoing his belt buckle with bad temper. "So it's in some Council vault then?"

"No. I wouldn't leave something that dangerous where others, no matter how apparently trustworthy, could get at it." Giles hesitated, realising he hadn't told Ethan about the secret vault. "I've got my own hiding place."

"Sit down," Ethan instructed, and while Giles perched on the lid of the loo, Ethan removed his shoes, socks, trousers and underwear. "So where is this hiding place? Or is that a secret allowed only to you and the two Summers' girls?"

"It's underground, in some of the old subterranean tunnels. And Buffy doesn't know about it. I only took Dawn there because..." He sighed heavily, taking his glasses off and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. I just... I had a feeling, and I wasn't about to take that pouch out of the vault, so..."

Ethan stared at him and then took Giles' glasses away, putting them on the cistern. "Get in the shower," he said, and his voice was somewhere between withdrawn and cold. He began to undress himself.

Giles meekly obeyed, wondering if he owed Ethan an apology. He didn't think so, but he was willing to admit he was exhausted enough that his thought processes might be suspect.

By the time Ethan stepped in, Giles had the shower running at a good temperature. Ethan took soap and a sponge and began to wash Giles – gently, not letting his anger show in his movements, but Giles knew it was there nonetheless. Each stroke of the sponge also came with a throb of Ethan's magic for a deeper cleansing. He didn't speak at all.

Closing his eyes, Giles stood acquiescent under his lover's touch. Ethan's magic was soothing away some of the bitter ache that had settled in his bones since he'd touched the pouch, but that was only making him aware of how deep it had reached. "It feels like I can't get clean," he confessed haltingly.

Admitting a weakness wasn't easy for Giles, even when it was to Ethan, but he was beginning to realise that this wasn't the kind of thing he could fix himself.

Ethan looked up and what he seemed to see in Giles' expression transformed his own, his closed off frown becoming an open look of loving concern. "Oh, Rupert. What have you done to yourself?"

Ethan dropped what he was holding, the soap falling to the shower floor with a loud clunk. He moved his hands up to cup Giles' face, leaning in to kiss him. As Ethan's lips met his, Giles felt himself start to fill with Ethan's magic, like an empty vessel held under a tap.

Under that influence, the ache, the bitter taint that the pouch seemed to have left all over his soul seemed to gradually wash off, like dirt or blood streaking his body and going down the drain in a dark stream. This was what he'd done for Ethan after that terrible day on the Heath, and now Ethan was doing it for him.

Ethan kept kissing him, kept stroking and soothing, kept pulsing his magic into Giles for long after Giles felt clean. Finally, Giles pulled back with a sigh and rested his head against Ethan's shoulder, letting Ethan be the one in control for a moment longer. "Thank you," he murmured.

"How are you feeling now?" Ethan asked between soft kisses to the side of Giles' head. "Do you want to lie down?"

He did, but... "There's dinner. I shouldn't miss–"

"We can eat in bed." Giles felt Ethan's smile against the side of his face. "Would hardly be the first time."

"No," he admitted. "It wouldn't." He sighed again. "It sounds wonderful, but..." Ethan pulled back enough to give him a questioning look. "It feels... irresponsible." Even as he said it, Giles realised how idiotic it sounded.

Ethan's lips twisted in amusement. "Eating a chicken casserole in bed is irresponsible."

"Well, yes." Still, Giles couldn't keep his lips from twitching up at the corners.

"Because, of course, eating in bed is right up there with playing on railway lines and driving under the influence." Ethan's attempt to remain deadpan was failing rapidly.

"I probably should just give in gracefully now before I make more of a fool of myself, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, dearheart," Ethan said with a chuckle. "You really should." He kissed Giles on the lips. "Come on, let's get you out and dried."

Meekly, Giles stepped out and stood still, letting Ethan dry him. He felt... torn. Part of him soaked up the attention and care, but another part of him was insisting that he should be taking care of himself and his responsibilities.

As Ethan wrapped a towel around Giles' waist, he looked up at Giles and murmured, "Thank you," smiling gently.

"For what?"

"For, just this once, letting me look after you without complaint. It's rather nice." Ethan smile grew broader, warmer still. "Thank you."

That smile went a long way to silencing the dissenting voice. "It's... nice to have someone to look after me," Giles admitted softly.

Ethan wrapped his arms around Giles, holding him close. "I'm sorry I was upset to start with. It's just fear as I'm sure you know. I know you wouldn't have handled the pouch had you had any idea what would happen."

"I would've taken more precautions at least," Giles said ruefully.

Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again, literally biting his lip before putting a hand on the small on Giles' back. "Come on, dear. Bed and warming winter grub await."

Giles let Ethan steer him towards their bedroom. "Was that what it felt like for you?" he asked, suddenly curious.

"When the Chaos was in me after the attack?" Ethan checked. Giles nodded, and Ethan pulled a face. "I was filled with doom. It went far beyond pessimism. Self-hate too. I don't remember any physical effects though; perhaps my body is inured to it?"

"Perhaps. Or maybe the previous attack has made me more physically susceptible," Giles mused, thinking of the flashbacks to the attack that had plagued him while touching the pouch. "I... remembered. What happened in the train."

He felt a violent shudder go through Ethan. who stopped by the bed and pulled Giles close in a reaction that seemed more instinctive than anything else. "Christ."

Giles wrapped his arms tightly around Ethan in turn. "It's over," he murmured, not sure which of them he was trying to comfort the most.

"It's not really, though, is it?" Ethan said very quietly against Giles' ear.

"That attack is. They took their best shot and hurt us, but we survived. I think we may even be stronger now as a result."

"Together." He felt Ethan nod. "I think together and working instinctively we are a force to rival most. Separate however, we may be weaker than ever before." It was clear Ethan had been thinking about this.

"Maybe," Giles acknowledged, bringing a hand up to slide his fingers through Ethan's hair as they talked. "But it's a trade-off I'm more than willing to make if it means I get to keep you."

Ethan smiled a little sadly and kissed him before pulling back. "Right. Into bed. I want you off that leg. Put your robe on too so you don't get cold." He began to quickly pull some clothes on.

"Yes, dear," Giles replied, trying to sound sincere and not teasing.

Ethan patted him on the arse. "Get warm and comfy, and I'll fetch the food." He waggled his finger at Giles, grinning. "Don't brood while I'm gone."

"I don't brood," Giles protested as he got into bed.

"Whatever you call it when you're silent and frowning then." Ethan bent over to kiss Giles on the forehead before leaving the room.

"So I'm supposed to keep talking when you're not here?" Giles called after him.

"Try singing," Ethan called back. "Something oppressively jolly. Christmas carols would be ideal!" Giles could hear Ethan chuckling as he trotted downstairs.

"He just likes making me feel like a complete wally," Giles muttered under his breath, but nonetheless began half-heartedly humming Good King Wenceslas. It wouldn't hurt him to humour Ethan a little, especially after the scare Giles must've given him coming home covered in Dark Chaos.

Even if this did make him feel like a prat.

It wasn't long before Ethan reappeared, but by that point Giles' faint humming was something a lot closer to fully-fledged singing. Ethan stood in the doorway, carrying a loaded tray and grinning at him.

"What?" Giles said defensively.

Ethan made his way over to the bed. "Your singing always warms me. It really doesn't matter what you stretch your tonsils around." He put the tray over Giles' lap. There was a large and deep dish, full of a rich and savoury stew with dumplings, and a side plate of crusty bread. There were two 'sporks', so clearly they were going to be sharing.

"Some songs are more embarrassing than others, and some audiences." He picked up one of the sporks and tried some of the stew. It tasted every bit as good as it smelled. "Is Megan back?"

Ethan snuggled into bed beside him and immediately stabbed into a dumpling. "She's working out in the study. Apparently chasing Giddy up hill and down dale was not exercise enough."

"Ah, the energy of a Slayer. I have to say, it's easier on old Watcher bones to have more than one so you can have them work out with each other."

Ethan looked askance at him. "You used to work out with Buffy?"

"Yes." Giles didn't think it was that unbelievable. "As have every Watcher and Slayer before us."

"Well, that tradition came to a crashing halt with me, I can assure you." Ethan broke up some bread and dipped it into the bowl, catching the drips with his other hand as he then drew it back to his mouth.

"There was a lot of padding involved usually," Giles continued absently, watching Ethan lick the drips of the stew's gravy off his hand. "Although granted, there were a lot of bruises as well."

Ethan paused as he seemed to realise he was being watched. He grinned cheekily. "Want me to feed you?"

Giles considered; it wasn't the type of thing he usually indulged in, at least not when he was the one being fed. but the part of him that had relished Ethan taking care of him in the bathroom was still being quite loud. Besides, this wouldn't be so much an invalid thing as something closer to a seduction, and Ethan seducing him he had no qualms about at all. Decision made, he handed the spork over with a smile.

Clearly surprised, but equally obviously delighted, Ethan took the implement and shuffled around a little to be in a better position for it. "Open wide, dear," he said with a chuckle as he spooned up some meat and broth.

"You mention anything about either an airplane or a choo-choo, and we're ending this," Giles warned before complying with the request.

That made Ethan giggle so much he had to pause with his hand over the tray until he could calm down. Then he carefully fed Giles the spork-ful. "Mmm, delicious," he said helpfully, and leant in to lick at the corner of Giles' mouth. "Little messy there," he explained.

Giles chewed and swallowed, darting his tongue out to lick at the spot Ethan had licked. "Can't have that."

Ethan kept up a steady supply of casserole, and in between each mouthful, Giles received a kiss or a lick or some other pleasant morsel of affection. Ethan didn't forget to feed himself, of course; that would have been totally out of character, but he was clearly more interested in looking after Giles' needs. After a while, he said, "I think I may be developing a wonderful new perversion."

"Feeding me?" Giles asked, and Ethan nodded, breaking up some bread to start mopping up the last of the stew. Giles snorted. "Well, as long as you don't try to do it in front of people I need to be Head of the Council for, I think we might be able to work your newest perversion into our lives."

Ethan's happy grin was almost reward enough. He kissed Giles again, for a longer moment, and then held the gravy soaked bread by Giles' mouth. "I owe Mr Tescos a debt of gratitude, I think."

Giles chuckled and reached with his mouth for the piece of bread. "You could write him a letter."

"Dear Mr Tescos... or Mrs as I wouldn't want to be sexist. I would like to thank you and the staff at the Kensington branch of your fine store for the delicious chicken and wild mushroom casserole I purchased today. It has set me on a path to a new form of deviancy, which reaches a quite delightful level of potential perversion. Yours appreciatively. E. Rayne, esquire."

"I'm sure they'll want to make you the basis of a new ad campaign," Giles teased.

The meal was finished. Ethan looked at the empty bowl sadly. "Cup of tea?"

Giles shook his head and set the tray aside. "Cup of you, maybe."

Ethan obligingly snuggled closer and began to kiss him. Giles soaked up the affection, but his body seemed slower to respond than it usually did to Ethan's attentions. Ethan pulled back. "Are you still feeling bad, dearheart?"

"Not bad, just not..." Giles trailed off, feeling slightly embarrassed, "interested."

Ethan seemed to twitch a little at that. "Should I be worried?"

Giles kissed him. "The spirit is willing, love. The flesh seems to be still recovering from my Chaos exposure."

Ethan's slightly insecure expression dissolved into concern. "Are you in pain?" Giles felt a hand moving questioningly across his body, Ethan's magic gently probing inside.

"No pain," Giles softly assured him, covering Ethan's hand with his own. "You took care of all that earlier."

Nodding, Ethan settled back down. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not much to talk about really." He shifted to pull Ethan tight against his side, yearning for the closeness even if it wasn't any more than that. "There's a sigil on the pouch; we couldn't see it when the pouch was in the chest. I pulled it out, and Dawn copied down the sign."

"Hmm. How did Dawn cope in the presence of raw Chaos?" Ethan sounded more curious than concerned.

"Better than I did," Giles said wryly. "She said it felt... familiar."

"Did she touch it?" Ethan asked, a little sharply.

"No, of course not. But you've been in the same room with it; you can feel it even without touching it."

"Having her touch it might be a very bad idea, and not just for her."

Giles tilted his head to look at Ethan questioningly.

He got an ever so slightly sour look in return. "You're not going to get stroppy with me the way Xander did when I spoke about Dawn in terms of what she is when she's not being a young girl, are you?"

"No more than I would if you talked about Buffy in terms of being the Slayer," Giles replied. "Being the Key is part of what Dawn is."

"Xander nearly entered catatonic avoidance every time I said the word, 'Key'," Ethan grumbled. "Nonetheless, I think Dawn's significance both in general, and perhaps to us, shouldn't be underestimated."

"To us?" Giles asked. "Do you think that when Keri said 'Nothing is the key,' she was talking about Dawn?" The possible connection to Dawn had passed through Giles' mind at the time, but 'key' was such a common word in prophecies and riddles that he had dismissed it.

Ethan's tone was a little strained when he elaborated, and he stared at his hands. "There was a time, you know, when I studied matters of Chaos and Order almost as thoroughly as you involved yourself in your Watcher training. We Chaos mages had our own theory of the Big Bang. If the theory has any basis in reality, Dawn or something very much like her Key-form, was there. She was, if you like, the Logos. The word of God which introduced Chaos into perfect sterile Order and so introduced matter to the universe, and eventually, life."

Giles considered that, trying to look at it without thinking of the young woman he knew and cared for. What he knew the Key could do, what he'd seen her do, it wasn't incompatible with what Ethan was saying now. "It's... possible," he admitted, although a large part of him wanted to deny it. Dawn had been through enough.

Ethan traced the simple pattern on the duvet cover with his fingertip. "Well, this Key, or Word, or whatever you'd like to call it, was the tool used to open the door to Chaos originally. Both Chaos and Order in their pure forms are, of course, utterly antithetical to life. The Key allowed a successful mixing to be made, a balance found... Well, that's the legend anyway." Ethan sighed. "It feels very strange talking to you about it."

"Why?" Giles asked. "I haven't discouraged–"

"It's not something one discusses with..." Ethan winced, very obviously, and finished quietly with, "the uninitiated."

"Ah." Giles nodded, trying not to feel hurt by that. "So I'm an outsider then."

"We both are now," Ethan pointed out, glancing at him uneasily. "It isn't so much that I'm revealing the tricks of the trade; it's just that... Well, I've never spoken about those times with you, have I?"

"No, you haven't." And Giles hadn't asked, partly out of respect for Ethan's privacy and partly because he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Ethan pulled his legs up, forming a more protected posture. "For over twenty years of my life, I actively worshiped Chaos, Rupert... and sometimes, often in fact, it feels like those years never existed. As if we went straight from our youth together, to now, with little bar some unpleasantness with the American military in between."

"Is that a good or bad thing?" Giles asked softly. For him, too much had happened in the time that they were apart for him to feel the same way, especially the last ten years.

"I've no idea," Ethan answered bleakly. "I did a lot that... that may come back to haunt me. Well, us."

"I've never been under any illusions that you were being an angel during those decades."

"There was no you. It didn't matter what I did. I was numb and trying to feel." Ethan turned on the bed and gazed unhappily at Giles. "I hurt a lot of people."

This was why he had never asked; Giles didn't know if he should feel horrified at Ethan's actions during that time, or guilty because his presence could have stopped it. Mostly he ended up just feeling uncomfortable, but if Ethan needed to talk about it, Giles would swallow his discomfort and listen. Wordlessly he reached out and brushed the back of his hand against Ethan's cheek, a gesture of reassurance that he was there and not leaving.

Ethan looked down. "I don't even know if I should feel guilty or not," he admitted.

"I don't think that's something you decide. You either do or you don't." Giles dropped his hands down to close over Ethan's and gently tugged him closer so he could wrap his arms around him. If they were going to have this conversation, this was the way he wanted to have it.

Ethan let himself be manoeuvred and leant heavily against Giles. "I don't think I do feel guilty as those things... those memories... " He ran a nervous hand over Giles' chest. "They don't feel real."

"Perhaps," Giles said slowly, speaking as he thought, "that has something to do with you being free of Chaos' influence now?"

Ethan snorted, the sound somehow disparaging. "I think it has more to do with how I feel when I'm not with you." And that made Giles feel uncomfortable for an entirely different reason.

He loved and needed Ethan, certainly, but he sometimes thought that Ethan needed him more. After all, Giles had had other people in his life who'd cared about him –had even had another love– and had managed to cope and function without Ethan, even if there had been part of himself that he'd locked down and cut off. All Ethan had ever had was him, his Ripper. Giles worried sometimes that he wouldn't be able to fulfil that much need for him.

Ethan was silent for a while, but Giles could feel a growing tension in his lover's body. "You're with me now," he said softly, trying to put his worry aside and soothe Ethan.

"Well, anyway," Ethan said suddenly, his voice brittle, "I think Dawn's important to this destiny of ours, and I don't think it's coincidence that she's here in England right now."

Giles accepted that, trusting Ethan's instincts. "We weren't able to find much information about the Key when we were looking for it a few years ago, but I'll let you see what we did find."

"Thank you. Do I get to see your secret hidey-hole too?"

"If you want."

"Hidden deep somewhere in London's tunnels that you walked through presumably with no protection." Ethan's tone was barbed.

A flicker of annoyance went through Giles at that. "The whole definition of secret is no one knowing where it is."

"So your promise to keep yourself safe only lasts until it's inconvenient to keep it."

"I took care that I wasn't followed, and the fact that it is secret would mean no one could anticipate where I was going." He tried to keep his voice even and calm, but it wasn't easy.

"No one not, say, using magic, I do agree. Which makes it a shame really that our enemies are Chaos mages." The tone was now closer to vicious.

"I'm perfectly capable of shielding and covering my tracks. Are you really so concerned about this, or are you just trying to push me away?"

Ethan pulled himself out of Giles' arms, wriggling around to face him, an angry retort very obviously on the way from brain to mouth, but something stopped him talking. He looked down, and Giles could feel Ethan's body sag back against him.

Giles pulled Ethan close against him again, wrapping his arms tightly around him. "You can't, you know," he said conversationally. "Push me away."

"You don't know that," Ethan said, almost whispering. "You don't know what I've done."

"It doesn't matter."

There was a brief, dark and humourless laugh. "You've changed, Rupert."

"So have you." He pressed a kiss to Ethan's temple. "I watched you put yourself through a lot of pain and misery to change. That means a lot."

Ethan didn't answer. Eventually he said, "You should rest."

"I won't let you pull away, either, love," Giles said softly, affectionately.

That won him a more genuine sounding chuckle. "Nonetheless, you should rest."

"I'm lying in bed, lounging with my lover. There's not much that's more restful than that."

"Sleep?" Ethan suggested, and Giles felt him smile against his shoulder.

"What if I said I wasn't tired?" Giles asked, hiding a smile of his own.

"Does that mean I can kiss you now?" Ethan's hand on Giles chest released a tiny spark of magic; just enough to make the muscle underneath twitch slightly.

Turning and moving close enough that he could feel Ethan's breath, Giles said, "If I haven't made it clear before, let me do so now; you never have to ask me that as you always have permission to kiss me."

Ethan grinned. "I'll remember that next time you're in a big Council meeting, shall I?" he teased, before closing the short distance to kiss Giles.