He was no longer in the Initiative labs.

Instead, he was in the scene of another far more recent nightmare. The mangled tube train carriage where the Chaos mage had attacked them. The carriage was dark and empty, presumably dumped in a salvage yard somewhere, but Ethan could still taste the Chaos here; it seemed to have been absorbed like radiation into all the metal and furnishings around him.

He got to his feet, thankful to find that he was stronger now the Initiative portion of the dream was over – and dream this most certainly was, he now knew. The carriage was indeed empty and the doors shut. The two possible routes out being the mangled carriage walls at the far end, and the hole he'd pushed the mage through in front of him.

Ethan didn't consider himself particularly squeamish, but using the same exit as the one he'd used to kill the mage was a bit much even for him, which left the far end. But of course, to get to it, he had to move past the hole in the floor... and the place where Rupert had almost died.

Grimacing, Ethan gingerly began picking his way across, trying to ignore the dried bloodstains on the floor where Rupert had lain.

He was just skirting the edge of the hole when a skeletal hand reached up and clamped around his ankle.

"You're not real," Ethan said, wishing the hand away even as he struggled, his heartbeats loud and fast in his ears. Unfortunately the dream did not seem to be completely lucid, and he had no control over things. He fell as the hand pulled, landing in the rusty shadow of Rupert's injuries.

He started to sit up, and his hand slipped in something slick and wet. Looking down, he saw the puddle of blood he was sprawled in was now fresh, and it seemed to be growing with each passing second.

"Maybe big fry ups just before bed aren't such a good idea, after all," he mused out loud, trying to keep calm amongst all the highly disturbing imagery. It wasn't working. He kicked at the skeletal arm holding his other leg. "You can stop now. I got the symbolism five minutes ago."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" asked a very familiar voice from the shadows. Ethan looked over to the corner from where the words had come to see... himself.

It was Ethan, but it wasn't. Dressed in the red ceremonial robes of a Chaos mage, eyes burning with the magic's dark power in a face where the flesh had been pulled tight over the bones – it was him as he would have become if he hadn't burnt the Chaos out of him.

"Oh nasty. That's it, no more eggs before bed." The hand seemed to have let go of his ankle so Ethan stood up and studied his shadow-self. "Well, giving up the bad stuff has certainly done wonders for my skin tone," he remarked, refusing to let show how disturbed he was.

"Do you think you're fooling anyone?" his doppelganger asked, coming closer, circling around Ethan. He... it... felt disturbing. There was the same attraction/repulsion Ethan had felt for dark Chaos during the mage's attack. It made the hairs on his arms stand up.

He folded his arms. "Spit it out then, oh dissolute one. Reveal whatever cryptic message my subconscious has cooked up this time, and then we can both go back to our day jobs."

"You don't belong in the day." The dark Ethan continued to circle him as he spoke. "The sun is not for you. Your place is in the shadows, the night. Try as you might, it is in you and always will be. Your touch darkens, corrupts... Try and stand in the light as you might, you will always find yourself back in the dark."

Ethan rubbed at his face and tried harder to wish the dream into something more pleasant. His shadow-self sounded a little too plausible. He couldn't stop himself remembering what he had pushed Rupert into doing in the Tavern just before the attack. If they hadn't done that they would never have left the club early and wouldn't have been on the train for the mage to find them. "Yes, I'm the arch-corrupter," he said peevishly. "Next?"

The doppelganger chuckled, the sound sending shivers down Ethan's back, all the more because it was his own voice. "More so than you know. You almost pulled our dear Rupert into the shadows before. This time when you fall –and nake no mistake, you will fall– your hooks are so embedded in his essence that you can't help but drag him with you. A veritable coup, that."

And there it was, the single horrible truth that Ethan felt sure this whole dream was about. Rupert and he had been quite deliberately bonding to the point that they would no longer be able to consider any form of meaningful separation, and rather than this allowing Ethan to rise to Rupert's level, Ethan was going to destroy his husband. He'd already started.

"No," he stated, but his voice was cracking. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" His shadow-self smirked at him, moving closer and still circling. "How long can you resist the call of Chaos? Even now you hear it calling to you. Soon that call will drown out everything else, and when you embrace it again, you'll bring Rupert with you. Chaos' loyal son, indeed."

Ethan's arms were now wrapped tightly around himself. While he refused to turn physically with his taunter, Ethan's awareness was dragged around in circles as the doppelganger moved. "I will not hurt him," he insisted. "Nothing you can say will make me hurt him." But he already had hurt Rupert, and he knew it.

"Ah, but my dear...me, you hurt him just by being with him. You have already made him a target for forces that, but for you, would never have given him a second look. You let him take the attack that was meant for you." The doppelganger stopped, standing directly in front of Ethan, meeting and holding his eyes. "You've already sealed his fate, my dear. One way or the other, Chaos will have him."

"No." Ethan said, angry and very scared. "No, I won't let that happen." He felt his fists bunching, and he thrust himself forward towards his shadow-self, intending to hurt and maim. but his hands closed on thin air, his shadow-self having vanished. The only thing that remained was his laughing voice, which seemed to come from everywhere.

"It already has, Ethan. It already has."

The scream echoed in his ears as he woke up, heart pounding, soaked in sweat, alone in his and Rupert's bed. He struggled to sit, his hand over his mouth and breath coming in gasps. "Oh God," he whimpered. "God, Rupert..."

"Ethan?" He looked up to see Megan hovering in the doorway, the hall light bright behind her form. "Are you... I heard... screaming?"

No, she couldn't see him like this. He turned away. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "Just my past resurfacing. Go back to bed."

But she didn't leave; in fact he heard her take a few steps into the room. "You don't sound very fine."

"I said go back to bed, Megan." His voice was sharp.

"But–"

"Megan, now!" He was still turned away from her, hoping she couldn't see in the dim light how much he was shaking.

She hesitated for a moment, but then with a very soft and meek, "Okay," did as he bid.

Ethan waited for the door to shut, then for the smaller sound of the spare room door shutting, and then was out of bed, turning the light on and diving for the trousers he had removed before collapsing into exhausted sleep.

They were still splattered with blood, both Rupert's and the Chaos mage's. Ethan tried not to see it.

Feeling in the back pocket, he found the number of the private phone Rupert had insisted his hospital room be fitted with. It was a direct line, no switchboard. Ethan sat back on the bed, and with shaking hands, pressed the numbers.

He listened to the line ring, once, twice. On the third ring, it picked up. "Giles," Rupert said.

Suddenly, Ethan couldn't speak. The words of his shadow-self echoed in his mind. He was going to destroy this man whom he loved more than life.

"Hello?" Rupert said, then when the silence continued, "Ethan?"

He was unable to stop the small gasping sob that shook him. He knew he should just put the phone down, but the comfort of Rupert's voice was too much to refuse. "Yes," he admitted very quietly.

He could feel Rupert's concern like a physical touch. "What's wrong, love?"

God, he had to get control of himself. "Just a dream," he said tightly. He wished he'd thought to make the call downstairs where the whisky was.

"From the sounds of you, I'd say it was more of a nightmare than a dream," Rupert said sympathetically. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." That was too brief and too frightened an answer so he made himself lie. "Just one of my old Initiative dreams."

"I get the feeling there's more to it than that, but I won't push. We can talk about something else."

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice sounding hollow. "I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rupert told him with gruff affection. "Who else are you supposed to disturb? If you need me, love, you most certainly should disturb me."

'Need' was a considerable understatement; Ethan was desperate for Rupert. He felt like he was drowning without him, but the dream had caught him tight and wouldn't let him ask for what he craved. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm beginning to go a bit stircrazy actually," Rupert admitted wryly. "I've never been good at just lying still and letting myself get poked and prodded." Speaking in a softer voice, he added, "I miss you."

"I... erm..." With force of will, Ethan shoved the dream down into his subconscious, refusing to listen to it anymore. "I could get a taxi over to you," he offered. "I could be there in less than an hour." He was still far too drained to drive himself safely.

"I would rather be able to come there to you." But Rupert didn't tell him not to come back to the hospital.

Feverishly, Ethan started pulling clothes from the wardrobe and getting dressed, while clasping the phone between his ear and shoulder. "I'll come. Now. I'll leave a note for Megan. It was just a dream. It'll be all right."

"Now you're just stealing my lines," Rupert teased then added more seriously, "I love you. And it is going to be all right."

"Tell me that again when I get there?" Ethan asked, knowing he had to hang up to call the taxi, but not wanting to. "God, I need to be with you."

"I'll tell you that whenever and as many times as you need me to."

More or less dressed, Ethan sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly dizzy from his efforts. He placed a finger over the button that would cut off the call, but didn't press it. "Rupert?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, love?"

"I'm so very sorry." He pressed the button before Rupert could answer, stood up and went downstairs.

***

Giles sat up in his hospital bed, cursing the injuries that not only kept him from being home where he was so obviously needed, but also kept him from being able to pace while he fretted and waited for Ethan to get there.

Ethan had sounded so... lost on the phone. It had been a tone of voice that Giles had hoped he'd never hear from Ethan again.

He glanced up at the clock for the tenth time in the last five minutes, calculating in his head yet again how long it should take a cab to get to the hospital from their house. By the figures he came up with, Ethan should be there any moment.

It couldn't be soon enough.

In the end, Giles had looked another fifteen times at the clock before the door opened, and Ethan slipped quietly in, looking grey-faced and ill, yet smiling broadly as soon as his eyes met Giles'.

"The taxi driver is very fortunate not to be a duck-billed platypus from now on," Ethan commented dryly, after he'd shut the door behind him. "I'm sorry I took longer than I said I would." While Ethan sounded much better than he had over the phone, he was still standing over by the door, which seemed odd.

"You're here now," Giles told him, wishing he could go to Ethan, but having to settle for holding a hand out to him.

Ethan seemed to hesitate, but then he walked over, sitting on the edge on the bed and leaning over to kiss Giles' forehead tenderly.

Giles wrapped his arms around him, holding Ethan against his body. "I love you," he said, repeating the words he'd said on the phone. "It's going to be all right." It was quite alarming to feel Ethan tense in his arms, resisting the embrace. It was only for a few seconds and then Ethan relaxed, but Giles knew what he had felt.

"I love you too," Ethan said. "I couldn't sleep without you."

"I know the feeling." Giles slid one hand up to stroke his fingers through Ethan's hair, trying to soothe some of the tension that seemed to fill his form. "The only reason I managed to get any is the drugs in my system. But I've been thinking, if we're both very careful and still, you can join me on this bed."

Ethan drew back suddenly, and the look he gave Giles was almost desperate. "I don't want to hurt you."

"That's where the being careful and still bit comes in," Giles said, putting some humour in his voice, although his worry about Ethan was growing. "You're not going to hurt me."

Ethan made a strange little sound. "I already have."

Giles frowned, stilling his hands. "What are you talking about, love?"

"Nothing." Ethan sat up and started to take his shoes off. "Best ignore me currently. I'm somewhat drained of sense as well as everything else."

There was something going on with Ethan, that much Giles was definite about. He just wasn't sure how to get it out of him, or even if he should. Deciding to let it go for now, at least until they had both had some sleep, all Giles said was, "I'd rather, as they say, snuggle with you than ignore you."

Standing briefly, Ethan lifted the covers carefully and slipped in beside Rupert. "Um, how do you want me? What will hu– what will be uncomfortable for you?"

"Thanks to Jonah and Mary's attentions –and your earlier efforts– most of the injuries are healed enough that they're not going to bother me whatever you do. As long as you don't jostle my leg," He nodded down at the heavily bandaged limb in question. "That's going to take a bit more time."

Ethan carefully arranged himself at Giles' side, with his bent leg over Giles' relatively undamaged one, but not touching the other. He made sure he was lower down in the bed than Giles so that Giles' arm could be wrapped around him, and he laid his head on Giles' shoulder. It was one of their common sleeping positions, albeit assumed with much greater care than normal.

Giles felt as much as heard Ethan inhale deeply then let it go with a sigh. "I don't believe there's a word for how tired I am. Exhausted doesn't even begin to cover it."

"It's no wonder," Giles said, turning his head enough to nuzzle Ethan. "You drained yourself for me."

There was no immediate reply. Ethan's fingers moved restlessly on Giles' chest. Finally he said, "I haven't changed, you know."

Giles frowned, able to sense the depression that seemed to lie over Ethan like a thick blanket, but not its cause. "Haven't changed in what way, love?"

"I'm still a fundamentally selfish creature."

"Everyone has selfish tendencies at the core," Giles said softly. "But your actions, especially in these last few days, prove that's not all there is to you."

Ethan chuckled, but the sound was devoid of warmth. "Yes, it's a convincing act, isn't it?"

Giles was becoming more and more concerned with each comment he heard. "Tell me what's wrong, love."

"I'm just tired. Everything will be all right in the morning."

Giles seriously doubted that, but it was quite likely that whatever was bothering Ethan was being made worse by how drained he was. "Get some rest then, love," he finally said, vowing to take up the conversation again in the morning if things didn't look better.

He felt Ethan nod and nothing more was said. Slowly, Ethan's breathing slowed, and Giles began to feel the twitches Ethan's body always made as it adjusted to sleep.

Despite his lingering worry, Giles' body relaxed with Ethan's. They were so attuned to each other; it was no wonder that they'd both had problems getting to sleep alone, but it was a small disadvantage compared to the growing bond between them, which Giles saw as nothing but beneficial. Almost despite himself, Giles fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

Giles leant back in the passenger seat and gingerly stretched his legs out, grimacing a little at the sharp twinge of pain from the still healing left one. But despite this ongoing source of discomfort, Giles was in a good mood; he always felt like he'd just been sprung from prison whenever he got discharged from hospital.

"Should I have moved your seat back further?" Ethan asked. He was in full-blown nervous mother hen mode and had been since he'd arrived back at the hospital with clean clothes for Giles to travel home in.

Since the disturbing night they had spent initially apart, Ethan had spent every available moment at the hospital, eating and sleeping there and only returning home to get clean and check the mail. Giles hadn't pushed, accepting that trying to send Ethan home that first night had been a mistake, no matter how well-intentioned.

And being honest with himself, he had to admit that having Ethan there with him made the whole thing just a tiny bit more bearable.

"It's fine," Giles answered, reaching over to pat Ethan's hand on the steering wheel.

There was a deep groove between Ethan's eyebrows, and he was driving with excessive and pedantic care. "There's clean sheets on the bed, and the girls have been tidying."

Giles smiled, well imagining the cleaning frenzy that probably had taken place. "It'll be good to be home."

"You'll no doubt be glad to know that I warded the second drawer down in the bedroom." There was genuine humour in Ethan's tone, which was nice to hear. Since the attack, Ethan had been all too often depressed or otherwise not himself, although Giles had not managed to get him to talk about how he was feeling. Giles had tried repeatedly, to the point that Ethan had snapped at him, uncharacteristically harsh in his retorts.

"Ecstatic," Giles replied dryly, encouraging the humour. "Explaining your birthday porn to the girls was difficult enough. And I shudder to think what Xander's reaction would have been to that drawer's contents." He paused. "Although it would have been amusing to watch, no doubt."

Ethan chuckled. "The lad certainly does give good mortal terror. Um... you may want to prepare yourself a little."

"For mortal terror?"

Giles was watching Ethan as they spoke, and so he saw Ethan's face twitch, apparently in reaction to the words. But Ethan answered easily enough when he said, "I gained the definite impression that the girls were up to something, and I definitely saw a bag of balloons on the side."

"Ah. I suppose I should have expected that," he said, thinking about the way the girls had been acting over the last few days since his release date had been set. "Did they get a cake?"

Ethan paused before answering, carefully negotiating a busy junction. "Hmm. Now that I think about it, that seems eminently possible. There was a conversation about favourite foods. I believe I may have been an unwitting informant."

"So you're not a part of any party conspiracy at all then?"

"No," Ethan answered shortly, but then he added quietly, "I've been with you most of the time, and when they have caught me alone, I probably haven't been all that approachable."

Reaching over, Giles rested his hand on Ethan's leg, squeezing reassuringly. "It's been a rough time for everyone," he said gently.

"I don't cope very well with this sort of thing," Ethan admitted, showing more candour with that one line than he had done for quite a while. "Megan getting hurt was bad enough, but you..." He bit off any further words and stared fixedly at the road ahead, closing up again.

"I know." Giles knew he'd have a hard time if their positions were reversed, but for Ethan, who was still adjusting to actually caring for people, it had to be worse. "It's over now though. I'm going to be fine."

Ethan's mouth was pursed tightly, and he gave a sharp nod in reply, but didn't speak. They drove in silence for a while, and Giles' eyelids may have started to droop, when suddenly, they were skidding to a halt.

"You bloody idiot!" Ethan yelled through the windscreen where, Giles could now see, a car had driven straight out of a side street in front of them. Ethan started fiddling with his door handle.

"Where are you going?" Giles asked, grabbing onto Ethan's arm to hold him in the car.

Ethan turned to Giles and there was something wrong with his eyes, although in the heat of the moment, Giles couldn't have said what. Ethan tried to yank his arm free. "Didn't you see what that git just did?"

The git in question was already driving off, and the car behind started to hoot.

"He cut you off. I'm more interested at this moment at what you were planning on doing." Giles kept his voice calm, although his worry about Ethan had just jumped several levels.

Ethan scowled furiously at Giles. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child, Rupert," he sneered. "I'm not one of your precious little Slayers." And then as suddenly as the anger had come, it seemed to fade from Ethan's face, and he looked down. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice.

Giles stared at Ethan, feeling like he'd glimpsed a ghost from the past for a moment. "What's really bothering you, love? It's not like you to lose it over some idiot in traffic."

The car behind nearly caused an accident by trying to overtake, so Giles let Ethan's arm go, and he drove on down the road, slowly and over-cautiously. Ethan's voice was clearly upset when he spoke. "You could have been hurt again. Because of that... idiot. Because of..." He didn't finish.

Giles reached over again, needing to touch Ethan. "We're going to have a long talk when we get home. After the party."

Ethan's knuckles were whitening as he gripped the steering wheel. "I really am sorry. I'm just so very... tired. I'm still tired." Giles had the distinct impression that Ethan had initially intended another word than 'tired'.

"It's all right, love. It's going to be all right." He kept saying that, although he wasn't quite sure how to make it true. Not when he still wasn't certain what was wrong in the first place. "We'll get through the girls' welcoming me home and then we'll deal with it. Whatever it is."

"Yes," Ethan agreed, nodding vigorously like a religious zealot hearing the Word. "Yes. Everything's going to be all right."