"I can't do this any more." The words slipped out without conscious volition. Staring at Randall's grave, the emotion had welled up until Ripper couldn't keep it contained any longer.

Ethan shrugged beside him. The boy had been fidgeting impatiently for a while, probably not liking the damp chill in the air. As usual, he didn't have enough clothes on. "Let's go home then."

Ripper didn't move; he felt glued to the spot, lingering horror, grief, and exhaustion holding him there. "I can't."

Ethan's hand appeared on Ripper's shoulder. "Yes, you can," he said encouragingly. "The mud's not so deep we're stuck in it." He chuckled softly. "I'll drive if you like. Come on, we can curl up in front of the fire and drown our sorrows in booze and magic."

The very thought of playing with magic made his stomach churn. "No."

He felt Ethan's hand drop. "What's going on here, Ripper?" Ethan's voice was becoming guarded.

"What's going on?" Ripper laughed, the sound holding absolutely no humour, being more than half-hysterical. "Randall's dead, Ethan. We killed him. That's what going on."

"Really." The single word dripped with sarcasm.

Ripper turned and looked disbelievingly at Ethan. "Don't you feel anything?"

Ethan's eyes flickered with some emotion quickly hidden. He wrapped his arms around himself, the wet material of his shirt clinging to his slender frame. His make up –which he'd insisted on applying regardless of Ripper's wishes, making them late for the service– was smudged and running, giving Ethan the look of a waxworks figure stored too close to the radiator.

Unlike everything else around the cemetery, Ethan's tone was dry when he spoke. "What I feel is confused. Confused about why you've decided to play Catholic martyr about the poor bugger's death. We all knew the risks. I'm sorry he's dead, really I am. I'll miss him. Time to move on and learn from his... weakness."

"His weakness?" There came that laugh again, sounding ever more hysterical to Ripper's own ears. "All of our weakness, you mean. God, we've been so... foolhardy. Playing with things we can't hope to control. If we hadn't stopped Randall, it would have been more than just us who would've paid. We almost released Eyghon onto the world. Aren't there enough demons out there already without our... hubris adding to it?" He knew he wasn't talking in a linear, sane fashion anymore, but he couldn't stop himself, the thoughts tumbling from him as soon as they ran through his mind.

"Eyghon's gone. Dealt with. You're overwrought and overreacting. Let's go home before we sink so far into the mud that we really can't get out." The peevish was starting to overwhelm the sardonic in Ethan's voice.

"Yes, have to get out before it's too late. If it's not already." Ripper ran his hands through his hair in distress. "Feel like I'm going down for the third time; don't know if I can find the surface again."

There was an exasperated sigh from Ethan, but then the hand was back, this time on Ripper's arm, tugging gently. "Come on. Something's clearly addled your brains, my dear. I'm taking you home now."

Ripper shook his head, pulling his arm from Ethan's grasp. "No. Can't go back, can't do this anymore. Have to stop." He took a deep shaky breath. "Have to atone, have to..." He looked at Ethan. "The rules are necessary. We were wrong to ignore them. I shouldn't have broke–"

He could see the moment his meaning finally hit Ethan. Both the boy's composure and his body were jolted by the knowledge. Ethan took a step back and almost slipped over in the mud. His staring gaze was fixed to Ripper's. "You can't be serious."

Ripper met Ethan's eyes sadly. "I can't do this anymore," he said again, couldn't seem to stop saying it. "I can't go on like we were, waiting for the next time it all goes wrong, wondering if it's going to be Deirdre or Philip or you I'll be mourning next. This has to stop."

"It wasn't my fault," Ethan said defensively, clearly upset, his arms folded about himself again. "Don't punish me for this."

"This isn't about punishment. It's about survival. This can't continue, Ethan."

Ethan shook his head frantically, taking further steps back. "Stop it. Don't do this. I can't..."

"Can't what?" Ripper demanded. "Can't give up Chaos? Are you going to sacrifice us all on its altar?"

Ethan's face contorted with emotion. "It wasn't my bloody fault, Ripper! He knew what he was getting into. All I did... All I did was... Don't... You can't..."

"I can't do this anymore!" Ripper yelled, all his pain and guilt making his voice sharp. "It has to stop with this, with Randall. It can't –we can't– continue to–"

"Liar!" Ethan all but screamed over the top of him. "You lied to me! Just fuck off then. Fuck off and see if I care. Me and Chaos, we'll do alright. She'll look after me." He whirled around, falling onto his hands and knees in the mud, and then scrambled up and ran.

"Ethan!" Ripper called after him, but it was no use.

Ethan was gone.

***

"We've got an hour before we have to leave," Ethan said, his eyes glinting with that wickedness Giles knew so well. "Whatever can we do in that time?" He prowled over to where Giles was sitting on the couch, going through some papers.

The paperwork was by far the part of the job that Giles liked the least, so he was quite happy to let Ethan distract him from it. "Sounds to me like you have something in mind."

"I have someone in mind," Ethan corrected, pushing Giles gently back into the sofa with a hand on his shoulder. Ethan paused, apparently to check Giles' reaction, then smiled, bending over to kiss him.

Giles quickly moved his papers aside then reached up and slid his arms around Ethan's body, pulling him down onto his lap as they continued kissing. Ethan's mouth was soft and yielding. One of his hands was in Giles hair, holding him gently; the other busied itself removing Giles' glasses.

This wasn't unusual behaviour for Ethan these days, particularly since the talk a few weeks ago concerning Ethan's fear of failure and letting people down. He'd been attentive and affectionate not only to Giles, but to their two Slayer charges as well – although in totally different ways, of course. The talk had changed Giles' attitude too, making him more aware of Ethan's insecurities. He'd done his best since then to counteract them, with words, touches, whatever he could do.

Ethan pulled back a fraction, to lick and nibble at Giles' lips. He paused to chuckle and say, "You taste of those awful Council custard creams," then deepened the kiss again.

"Keep kissing me like that and all I'm going to taste like is you," Giles murmured with a smile when Ethan next pulled back. The thought appealed, and he leant in to kiss Ethan again. The kiss, almost by itself, intensified and hardened. Giles' face was held between two warm hands as Ethan's tongue flirted with his own, inviting it to venture into the Ethan's mouth.

Giles took the invitation, deepening the kiss further and exploring Ethan's mouth with his tongue. He was struck by the similarity of their position to the one in which they'd found themselves on that first day Ethan had been strong enough in his convalescence to get out of bed.

Ethan was certainly very different now: back to his normal weight, his hair restored and carefully tended, and the look of chronic pain gone almost entirely from his dark eyes.

Moving on Giles' lap, Ethan twisted and shifted one leg across, until he was straddling Giles. He squirmed about with that graceful, dance-like movement that had always been a part of who he was, and he was very obviously aroused. Sucking gently on Giles' tongue, Ethan dropped his hands down, and Giles felt deft fingers start to pluck at his nipples through the cotton of his shirt.

Giles made a sound of pleasure, sliding his hands down Ethan's back to cup his buttocks and pull him closer. He wanted to feel Ethan move against him, wanted to feel all that graceful energy and know that he was being allowed to contain it. "More," he murmured encouragingly against Ethan's lips.

Moaning quietly into the kiss, Ethan struggled to lift Giles' shirt. "Less," he murmured, and Giles could feel Ethan's lips smile against his.

"Always have to be bloody contrary," Giles teased fondly, smiling as he pulled back enough for Ethan to remove his shirt.

"Sometimes less is more," Ethan insisted, dropping the shirt to the floor and then stroking Giles' chest with firm, flat hands.

Giles wrapped a hand around the back of Ethan's neck and pulled him in for another passionate kiss. "You've always been far too good at this," he muttered into Ethan's mouth.

"Is this really something one can be too good at?" Ethan asked, pulling back and raising an eyebrow. One by one, with maddening slowness, he undid the buttons of his shirt while Giles watched.

"Perhaps not," Giles admitted, never taking his eyes off Ethan. "You do realise that we only have an hour?"

"More like forty-five minutes now." Ethan grinned. He pulled the shirt from his arms and let it drop to the floor. "Would you care for a faster pace then?"

"Unless you want to explain to the girls why we're late."

Still grinning, Ethan wriggled back then lowered himself off the couch to kneel between it and the coffee table. With a hand on each of Giles' knees, he parted them and moved between, meeting Giles' gaze and licking his lips. "I believe I can oblige."

A surge of arousal went through Giles at the sight of Ethan kneeling there. He reached down to run fingers through Ethan's hair. "Then do," he said with a challenging smile.

Eyes closing, Ethan bent and pressed his lips to the tented fabric of Giles' jeans, donned ready for patrolling with the girls tonight. The action had the manner of religious devotion, and when Ethan looked up again, his expression was solemn. His hands deftly undid the jeans, slipped inside, and gently tugged Giles' cock out. With thumb and forefinger, he pushed down the foreskin. Again, his eyes closed, Ethan bent to kiss the taut head as if making obeisance to a sacred icon.

It took Giles' breath away, as much for the reverence shown as the actual touch. To get a glimpse of how much Ethan valued him, it was... overwhelming. "I love you," he blurted, needing to say the words.

Ethan's eyes flashed up to meet his, and he nodded, almost imperceptibly, before licking the head of Giles' cock with a long, wet tongue, then taking it inside his mouth.

Oh, this was bliss. Ethan had always been amazing at this, but the added emotion behind it, knowing what they'd had and lost and were discovering again, were beginning to trust in again, it created an extra depth that even memories from the best of the old days couldn't match.

Ethan's head dipped and rose as marvellous sensations filled Giles, tugging at his groin and hardening his cock further. A firm tongue pushed his length first up into the unyielding hard palate, and then back into the soft heat of Ethan's throat. Giles' hands gripped the sofa's material, straining to continue to hold still, to keep himself from grabbing Ethan's head to hold him still while Giles fucked his lover's mouth.

Long fingers curled around Giles' balls, kneading gently, and the movements of Ethan's head sped up, the suction making the tug of his lips around Giles' cock just the right side of too much. Then there was a very deliberate if careful scrape of teeth going down his entire length. It pulled a wordless cry from Giles, and he bucked up in reaction. That one touch was almost enough to send him over.

Chuckling around his mouthful, Ethan paused, halfway down, apparently waiting for Giles' eyes to meet his. For when they did, he began his movements again with renewed intensity, keeping their gazes locked. His expression, as much as it could under the circumstances, held a hint of wicked challenge as he began to hum, and Giles recognised the opening notes of Born to be Wild.

It was a singular experience to be laughing uncontrollably at the same time that one was coming. Trust Ethan to give him that experience.

Sitting back on his heels and licking his lips, Ethan grinned at Giles. "Feeling nicely obliged now?"

"I think you blew the top of my head off," Giles replied dryly as he slumped against the backrest of the sofa and looked down at Ethan.

With his hands braced on Giles' legs, Ethan rose to his feet, wincing as his knees cracked. "Never used to do that," he said wryly, and then settled on the sofa beside Giles.

"Blow my head off or crack your knees?" Giles reached out and pulled him closer.

"The latter," Ethan replied, snuggling up. "We're old men, my dear. When did that happen?"

"We're not old. We're just... experienced." Ethan's fingers were dancing over Giles, playing with his chest hair. Giles, in turn, let his fingers wander lightly over Ethan's back, tracing up and down his spine lazily.

This kind of moment, this kind of contentment, was new. Something that they'd only discovered since they had found each other again. In the bad old days, there had been a certain undertow of restlessness to even their quietest moments – Ethan always looking ahead to the next challenge, the next sensation, and Giles himself not far behind. Now, they could just be with each other like this, content that being together was enough, without their minds always running to get away from such closeness.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Oh, no need for thanks," Ethan chuckled, his breath warm against the side of Giles' face. "I'm letting you build up a nice juicy level of debt, which I intend to call in, with substantial interest, later tonight."

"At least you're giving me time to prepare." Giles turned his head to meet Ethan's gaze, brushing the back of one hand against his cheek. "And I wasn't just thanking you for the blowjob," he said softly. Ethan's eyebrows raised questioningly before he moved closer and peppered very soft kisses onto Giles' lips. Giles smiled under the attention. "This," he murmured between kisses. "This is what I'm thanking you for. You being here, giving us a chance for... well, this kind of moment."

Ethan pulled back enough to meet Giles' eyes again. "Where else would I be, Rupert? Given a choice, I mean."

"I don't take it for granted. I don't take anything for granted."

Frowning a little, Ethan cupped Giles' cheek with his hand, running the edge of his thumb over Giles' lips. "I promise I'm not going anywhere... well, apart from on patrol with you and the girls very shortly." He grinned.

Giles hadn't been asking for reassurance, just expressing wonder and gratitude for what they did have, but Ethan's promise warmed him all the same. He kissed Ethan, long and lingeringly. It wasn't long before he could feel Ethan start to respond with heat they regrettably didn't have time for. Pulling back, he gave an apologetic smile. "When we get back," he promised, brushing a finger along Ethan's lips.

With obvious reluctance, Ethan detached himself from Giles and picked their shirts up from the floor. After handing Giles his, Ethan donned his own again and began to button it up. "Where are we going to take them tonight?"

"There've been reports of disappearances down around Canary Wharf," Giles said as he pulled his top back on.

Ethan stood and tucked his shirt back into his trousers. "There's a place that's changed a great deal from the days London was our playground. The South Bank is pretty unrecognisable too. I felt like a tourist when I took Megan there."

Giles knew the feeling, had experienced it himself more than once since he'd come back. "Almost makes it more startling to find something that hasn't changed."

"Such as?" Ethan asked, as he fetched their coats from the rack.

"Dimitri's, for one," Giles said, heading over to his chest of weapons and pulling out the ones they'd be carrying on the patrol that night.

"He's still there? Oh God, Ripper." Ethan was clearly taking a promenade down memory lane.

"It's run by old Dimitri's son now, but the shop's in the same place," Giles confirmed. "Food still tastes the same too." He smiled a little remembering that first night with Ethan. "Still has that Turkish coffee you like as well."

Ethan was giving him a very strange look, but eventually he turned for the door. There was something a little husky about his voice when he said, "I'm claiming payment in full when we get back, Rupert. Fair warning."

Doing his best to ignore how his body reacted to those words, Giles followed Ethan out. "So you don't want to stop for coffee first?"

***

The pyramid-topped Canary Wharf tower dominated their surroundings. It was, apparently, the tallest building in Britain, and Ethan wasn't going to argue with that claim. The whole of the wharf was rather like a trimmed down version of the Island of Manhattan, all reflective glass and sheer high-tech surfaces. The sun was just setting this fine August evening, and the reddening light glinted all about the buildings.

"This was one of the key locations in a huge millennium plot, you know," he said casually. "Of the Illuminated Ones. It failed, of course. Chao ab Ordo." He deliberately mutilated the Masonic motto.

Kat snorted. "You sound like someone off the X-Files when you start talking like that."

"Oh, well, I do have a few things in common with the dashing Mr Mulder." He winked at Megan, knowing she'd understand the vulpine reference, and indeed, she giggled. "That would make you, what was her name? -- Scully, Rupert." He grinned cheekily over at his lover.

"So you're casting me in the role of the skeptic?" Giles asked dryly.

"The obedient minion of order led astray by the chaotic Fox? I didn't see many episodes before... well, there wasn't much television where I was for a few years. I confess I'm guessing a little here."

His years in the cell were fading from his conscious memory now as if his synapses couldn't wait to lose the trauma. But he knew it was all still there underneath. Even now, occasionally, he still dreamt of it. It really hadn't been that long since his rescue, actually. Not in terms of days spent at liberty. It just seemed like he was a different person in a different world now.

And in a way, he was.

A hand touched his arm, tugging him from his reverie, and he was a little surprised to see Megan rather than Rupert providing the gesture of comfort. He smiled reassuringly at her and patted her hand. The girls had never been told about his incarceration and rescue, at least not by Ethan, but that didn't mean the enterprising little minxes couldn't have found out by themselves. There was sympathy in her eyes, and it touched him.

Swallowing back the embarrassing sentimentality that an old cynic such as himself simply was not meant to feel, Ethan addressed both the Slayers. "So, girls. I believe it's my turn to make the inspiring pre-patrol speech. Hmm... If you see a vampire, stake it." He grinned at the pair.

"There have been increasing reports of people being attacked or going missing from this area," Rupert put in. "The attacks seem to be consistent with vampires, but don't get complacent."

Ethan nodded, his expression now more serious. "And stay close."

They started walking across a wide plaza towards hopefully quieter areas of the Wharf. It was early, and plenty of financial types were milling about the place still. But it had been this time of day, dusk, when the attacks had happened previously, which was why they were here now.

The Slayers walked ahead, their postures alert and ready. Although their weapons were by necessity hidden, Ethan felt confident, having seen them train, that this wouldn't prove too much of a problem should trouble raise its ugly head.

Walking alongside Rupert, but with his gaze on the girls, he commented quietly, "On the theme of television, am I the only one feeling a trifle Addams family about the four of us?"

Rupert glanced sideways at him. "You can be Morticia."

"I could never walk in those dresses of hers," Ethan giggled. "But if you want to kiss my arm and court me with romance languages, go ahead."

They strolled through a short walkway to a smaller square filled with planters and raised beds overflowing with late summer flowers. A man, with an electric trolley and a hose on a stick, was watering some hanging baskets. The Slayers paused, taking in the new locale as they'd been taught, and then, without apparently discussing it, split up, Kat taking the right wall of the square and Megan the left.

"They really are quite good," Rupert observed with a hint of pride as they watched the girls' progress across the square.

"Not that I have anything to compare them to, but yes, I think so."

"So which of them would be Wednesday?"

"I think the analogy is going to fall down if we take it much further," Ethan replied, somewhat distractedly. There was something in the air, like the build up of pressure before an electrical storm. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes." Giles raised his head as if scenting the air. "Can't tell where it's coming from though."

Ethan raised his head to call to the girls in warning, but it was too late, as dark clad figures emerged from the shadows into the well-lit square, crowding in front of Kat. Instantly, Kat and Megan both moved, getting the newcomers between them, both of them falling into fighting stances.

Beside him, Ethan could feel Rupert tense and reach for the short sword he'd hidden under his jacket, but they held back, waiting to see how the girls handled the situation. The two men were close enough to charge if things got out of control. Ethan grimaced, his fingers twitching with the urge to use magic. "Well, isn't this fun."

There were five vampires in total – judging by the mix of human and demonic faces on show, vampires were indeed what they were facing. Kat took one out immediately with a well-aimed crossbow bolt, much to the disgust of the female along side it, who paused her attack to brush her clothes free of his dust. Her dust was co-mingling with his a second later, as Kat took advantage of the vamp's distraction in order to stake her.

Meanwhile, Megan had apparently turned into a whirling dervish, attacking the other side of the group, and another was dusted before they truly registered her presence.

"Well, at least this shouldn't take long," Ethan commented dryly, but then the prickling on the back of his neck grew worse. "Rupert," he said nervously, looking about the plaza. "There's something..."

Megan screamed.

Ethan whipped his head back around to see the last vampire with Megan's stake buried in his chest and the vampire's hand seemingly buried in Megan's side. Despite having a stake through his heart, the vampire was showing no signs of dissolving into dust.

The reason why became apparent a split second later, as the vampire's form wavered and shimmered, like a mirage in a desert sun, before fading. The demon now revealed wasn't remotely humanoid, looking like a cross between something from Lovecraft and a bad Doctor Who monster.

It had a large, unblinking eye, the colour of ichor and blood, in the approximate place where a human's head would have been. Its body was a mass of thin and sickly green tentacles, each of which ended in a sharp and deadly looking stinger.

One of which was buried in Megan's side.

As Ethan watched, frozen in appalled horror, the Slayer's body jerked and twisted, and she nearly fell. Kat yelled something and started running towards her sister-at-arms. Rupert yelled something from beside him and also started running. Ethan heard none of their words. Something heavy and cold was filling him, something glacial and unstoppable. He raised his hand and spoke phrases he didn't even know he still knew.

The wave of silent power that rippled out from him threw him backward to the ground.

A most inhuman scream echoed in his mind long after it had faded from his ears. Rolling over and pulling himself up, Ethan looked over to where Megan was and where the demon had been. There was nothing left of the latter except an oily smoking spot on the ground.

Megan... Rupert had Megan and was gently lowering her to the ground, his expression one of worried concern as he checked the wound on her side. Kat stood beside him, her hand to her mouth, her expression wide-eyed and scared.

Scrambling to his feet, Ethan stumbled over to the others, his gaze never leaving the injured child: his charge, his Slayer... his fault. His breathing sounded very loud inside his own head. Megan was unconscious now, her face sheened with sweat, and her body still jerking occasionally. The wound in her side was deep. It was bubbling blood, but there was green ichor there too.

"Megan, Megan..." Ethan muttered barely audibly, dropping to his knees beside her and laying his hands flat upon her body.

"It was some kind of Entropical demon," Giles said, tight-lipped with worry. "Very poisonous."

Ethan was only half-listening. "She's going to die." He heard the cut off sob from Kat and winced. "Hume's Cleansing, Rupert. I have to..."

"Do it."

Ethan felt a wave of anger ripple through him at Rupert's brusque words, for no good reason at all as far as he could tell. He swallowed it down and concentrated on remembering the spell. Megan was all that mattered for now. Reaching out with his extra-sensory awareness, he felt into the girl's body where, Slayer or not, she was fighting a losing battle against the invasive toxin.

"Impigritas, ale me. Solve mihi pretio," he muttered, drawing power from around him. He was vaguely aware of the lights flickering nearby. Switching languages, he continued, "Wu xing bang ya dao." Ethan felt the power leave him as he directed into Megan's body. He felt it latch onto the wrongness of the toxin, smothering it as it was meant to, but only for a second. Then the poison twisted, growing stronger, moving faster through Megan's body.

Megan stiffened and a whimpering sound came from her throat, more an animal whine than a human noise.

Oh God, no... that wasn't right. He was making it worse somehow. What had Rupert said? Shit! Entropical demon... Ethan scrambled back in horror, realising what he'd done. "No, no, no..."

Rupert was holding Megan down as she convulsed. "Ethan, what did you do?"

"Do? Killed her. God, oh God..." Ethan's mind was awash with unaccustomed panic. He couldn't think; he could hardly breathe. He was sprawled on the ground watching the child who had trusted him run headlong towards death. "Entropy... I didn't listen, didn't hear..."

"Entropy feeds off Chaos magic," Rupert murmured in horrified realisation.

He'd killed her. He'd killed his Slayer. He had known he would end up hurting her, but this was even worse than he'd ever feared. "Oh God, Megan," he muttered, shaking his head furiously. "Damn you, Rupert..." For making this possible. For putting Ethan in a position where he could... murder a child. The child. His...

Ethan curled up in a ball and dug his fingers viciously into his arms as he rocked.

Then Rupert was there, pulling him up, voice and expression hard and urgent. "You can have a breakdown later. Right now I need your help. Megan needs your help. I can do the spell, but I need you to talk me through it."

Yes. Yes, Rupert could do the spell. Could save her. Rupert didn't have Chaos in his blood. "Yes," Ethan said urgently. "Yes. Touch her. The main spell is Taoist. Connect to the five organs of chi. Use the basic Roman method to draw power. Then channel water to metal, metal to fire, fire to earth, earth to wood, wood to water. It creates a vortex that smothers the poison. Save her, Rupert. Please, dear God, Ripper, save her."

Before the last word was out, Rupert was moving, kneeling once again beside Megan, laying one hand on her forehead, the other on her chest. As Rupert intoned the same words that Ethan had used earlier, Ethan could feel the magic gathering, more powerful than he remembered Rupert's ever being before. It flowed into Megan's body to fix Ethan's mistake.

Ethan didn't dare reach out –with his hand, or with his magical senses– to touch Megan, to see if Rupert's magic was working. Ethan would make it worse again somehow; his innate chaos would distort and corrupt, destroy the restoration of her body's order. His touch killed...

Ethan couldn't bear to watch.

He turned and strode away, not heading anywhere consciously, but ending up standing in a corner of the plaza amongst raised flowerbeds, still in sight and sound of the others. Laughing a little hysterically, he put his hand within the vegetation, expecting it to immediately shrivel up and die at his touch. It didn't, of course. Time seemed to blur.

"Ethan." Rupert's call was soft, but insistent. It kept coming. Reluctantly, Ethan moved back over to the small group, fearing what he was going to see...

Megan's eyes were open. Pain-filled, but awake and aware.

"It worked," Rupert said in that same soft voice.

Ethan inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. For Megan's sake, he had to appear as if in control of himself. Opening his eyes again, he smiled down at the child. "Welcome back, sweetheart. Gave us quite a scare there, you naughty creature. We'll get you to hospital now, and you mustn't worry about a thing..." The words trailed off rather faintly, and he wrapped his arms around himself to try to stop the shivering.

Rupert had jury-rigged a bandage out of his jacket, pressing it against Megan's side. "You're going to be fine," he said to Megan.

Kat suddenly appeared at Ethan's side and put her hand on Ethan's arm. From her expression, it wasn't clear whether she was asking for or giving comfort. Ethan jerked away from her, taking a step backwards and shaking his head. "No, don't. I'm... I'm not safe."

"E-Ethan?" Megan's voice was barely audible, but it sounded loud in Ethan's mind.

"I'm here," he replied immediately and dropped to his knees beside her, but he was careful to ensure none of him touched the Slayer. "I'm right here."

"...hurts..."

"Yes," he nodded, his hands twitching in the effort not to reach out. "Yes, it really does."