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An interlude of a chapter before Angel, Spike and Wesley arrive, with some hints of trouble to come.
Previous parts here
Chapter Four
It took a tap at the door to rouse Giles from his studies. Polite though the knock was, it was insistent enough to communicate to a befogged mind that the person knocking had been doing so for some time and was not likely to leave until he had responded. Blinking away the blurriness from his eyes, and noticing, with astonishment that the daylight had fled, he raised his voice.
“Come in.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mrs Sinter, giving him a small, entirely perfunctory curtsey. “I thought you should know that Mr Ethan’s awake and asking for you.” A tolerant smile touched her thin lips. “That is, he’s asking that you not come next nor nigh him until he’s better, but I thought –”
Giles returned the smile. “I quite understand,” he said gravely. “I’m sure he’s a troublesome patient.”
She sniffed. “I’ve no doubt should you take sick, you’d be no better, sir,” she remarked. Unbending slightly, she added. “Not but what he’s suffering. Burning up with the fever and weak as a kitten he is.” Giles gave her a startled, guilty look, regretting the hours he’d spent working and she shook her head. “He’s slept all day after the dose I gave him; he’ll be on the mend soon. Always been the same, ever since he was a boy ...”
Stemming the ready flow of reminiscences tactfully, Giles thanked her and slipped out of the room, a sheaf of papers under his arm, and made his way to Ethan’s bedchamber.
The curtains had been drawn; deep, rich scarlet brocade, splashing in a heavy fall against the panelled walls, and candles burned golden and warm on a table beside the bed. Ethan’s eyes were closed and his fingers moved restlessly against the sheet that covered him. The room was hot; so much so that Giles found himself prickled with sweat before he’d crossed the room to where Ethan lay.
“If you come bearing a posset, a poultice or a mustard plaster, I will turn you into a frog and make soup from your meat,” Ethan said in a whisper-light voice.
“No wonder Mrs Sinter fled in the face of such threats and base ingratitude,” Giles said, sitting down on the bed and threading his fingers through Ethan’s.
“I told her you were not to come,” Ethan said, sounding tired and sulky.
“And of course I always pay strict attention to your orders,” Giles said. “Love, you know were it I in bed with a cold, you’d not stay away.”
“From a sneezing, red nosed, revoltingly soggy mess? I most certainly would.”
“I think those joys are yet to come but thank you for the delightfully detailed picture you paint.” Giles laid his hand on Ethan’s forehead and winced. It felt rough and the heat from it seemed to hover above the flushed skin. “You really shouldn’t be in such a heated room,” he said, glancing incredulously at the fire someone had kindled that was burning merrily. “Let me see what I can do to cool you off a little.”
“Are you mad?” Ethan said. “I’m shivering. ‘Tis a chill I have, you ninny. I cannot get warm.”
“Ethan, you’re so hot I can scarce touch you,” Giles said gently. “It’s not good for you, I’m sure of that.” He shifted position and winced as his knee struck against something hard. “Tell me you don’t have a heated stone in there! Ethan, you must be half-cooked! Who was fool enough to give you that?” He stood up and strode over to the fire, picking up the iron poker and using it to push the logs apart so that the flames diminished.
“My servants,” Ethan said in the silky voice he used when he was angry, “know who is master in this house. I would you had as much perception. Please ring for someone to build the fire again.”
“Certainly,” Giles said agreeably, striding to the window and tugging the curtains apart. “When your brain isn’t addled – you know, it never occurred to me, but Prinny would find this room a perfect temperature, would he not? It explains so much about his Highness – I’ll gladly allow you to give as many nonsensical orders as you wish.” Bruising a finger and swearing mildly, he forced the window open, letting in a rush of cool, damp air and breathing it in gratefully. “Cover yourself, Ethan. I’ll not leave this open for long; just enough to clear the air.”
“Rupert...” Ethan’s voice was outraged and tight with anger. “I’ll not have this!”
Giles walked into the small washroom and poured water from jug to basin, picked up a cloth and towel and went to Ethan’s side again, marvelling at his regression to spoiled child. Setting his burden down on the bedside table he smiled down at Ethan. “Love, it’s been a long time since I bent the knee to you, has it not? Since I viewed you as the fount of all wisdom; a mentor and a guide in a new and slightly frightening world. I would not wish to still be like that, nor do I think you would truly enjoy it now.”
“It had its benefits,” Ethan said moodily, the covers drawn up so high that naught but his face was visible. “You would never have dared disobey me so flagrantly.”
Giles laughed. “Oh, I think I would have – and did, on many occasions. See; the heat is affecting your memory too.” He ignored the snarl that was all he received in reply and went over to the window, deciding that it could remain open if he drew the thick curtains once more to block any draught.
“I think it’s time we tried a more direct approach,” he said tugging at the covers and, after a slight struggle, pulling them back. Ethan’s glare was enough to make a lesser man tremble but Giles was unmoved. “A nightshirt? I had not known you possessed any. Are you able to remove it or shall I assist you?”
“I will not take it off,” Ethan said. His teeth were chattering but his eyes were still fever-bright.
Giles picked up not one but two heated stones from the foot of the bed and put them aside. “There,” he remarked, stripping off his coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves with a lack of concern for their laundered perfection. “We progress.”
The struggle to undress Ethan was brief, violent and entirely one-sided. “Weak as a kitten,” Giles said. “Will it make this easier to endure if I tell you that I very much dislike seeing you this way?”
“Were I able to believe it, yes,” Ethan hissed. “This side of your nature – that of a bully – is entirely new to me and I like it not.”
“When you are recovered, I’ll let you order my day from breakfast to bedtime,” Giles promised. He dipped cloth into water and bit his lip. “This water is lukewarm from standing in this hothouse,” he said, “but I’ve no doubt that to you ‘twill seem –”
“Like ice,” Ethan said bitterly.
Giles slipped his hand under Ethan’s shoulders and lifted him up so their faces were close. “How can I still want you when you’re in such a vile mood?” he murmured. “Yet I do. I think were I to but kiss you, I’d be consumed by fire, reduced to ashes...”
Ethan’s lips parted. “Shall we test that entirely desirable theory?”
Not entirely sure that Ethan had forgiven him, but bracing himself for a return to rage if he had, Giles kissed Ethan at the precise moment that his free hand clapped the wet cloth to the back of Ethan’s neck, tightening his grip so that Ethan could not wriggle free, riding the convulsions that wracked the slender body he held.
“Rupert, you bastard,” Ethan choked out, when he was capable of speech. “You –”
Giles let him slip back to the bed and wrung out the cloth again and again, laying it over wrists and against Ethan’s forehead, wiping it over the body he knew so well and feeling it shudder away from his touch.
“You feel a little cooler,” he said eventually, breaking a thick silence. “Shall I call for something for you to drink? Is there any medicine I can prepare?”
“I need nothing,” Ethan said, averting his face.
Taking a grip on his temper, Giles tossed the cloth into the bowl and stood up. “Then I’ll return to my work and let you sulk in peace. And I’ll leave orders that you’re not to be allowed to turn this room into a hothouse so do not think to undo all I’ve achieved, because I’ll not have it, do you hear me? All I have done this past hour has been because I cannot bear to see you so and not act. I trust, should our positions be reversed, you’d show me as little mercy. Love isn’t always kind, Ethan.”
Ethan shrugged a shoulder and made no reply. Giles sighed, and reached out to draw up one sheet over him. Ethan’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist. “Stay with me,” he said.
It was not quite a plea and only first cousin to an apology but Giles felt the tension leave him.
“If you feel up to it, I’ll stay,” he said. “And, Ethan, I’ve made some progress on the medallion, too.”
He smiled as Ethan rolled over to his back and looked up at him, dark eyes full of interest. “Really? Tell me!”
Giles shook his head. “This bed is damp and the sheets need changing,” he said. “If you’re able, come to my room and we can talk there.” He let his hand rest against Ethan’s head. “You feel warm still, but much improved.”
“My head aches, my throat is sore and I’m close to death,” Ethan said. “You have an odd notion of what constitutes improvement, Rupert.” Getting to his feet and swaying slightly, Ethan submitted to being wrapped in a robe and taken to Giles’ room.
After giving the necessary orders to a servant, Giles went back to his room. Ethan was still wearing the robe, but he was lying on Giles’ bed and had not tried to get between the sheets.
“Do you know, this is the first time you’ve been in my bed?” Giles said suddenly. “We’ve always used yours.”
“It’s bigger,” Ethan said. “Though I fancy this is more comfortable.”
“I’ve found it so, on the rare occasions that I’ve slept in it,” Giles said with a grin.
He undressed and went to lie beside Ethan, stretching out and sighing contentedly. “I’m stiff from poring over books,” he said, rubbing at aching shoulders, “but it was worth it. What would you think were I to tell you that your find is –”
Ethan murmured sleepily and his head fell against Giles’ shoulder. Stroking back the damp hair from Ethan’s face with a gentle hand Giles eased them both into a more comfortable position and let sleep take them.
The story could wait, as had the medallion. It had lain undisturbed for centuries; a few hours could make no difference.
Giles’ final thought was that he had no longer any need to fear that Wesley would be bored when he arrived in three days time; Spike would doubtless be inspired by the beauty around him; there was good fishing to beguile Angel’s waking hours, but Wesley might have found the visit tedious, he thought. Not now. The puzzle he had for them to solve would intrigue Wesley mightily.
It would be good to work with him once more.
He woke to find a clear-eyed Ethan smiling down at him. “Good morning, Rupert.”
The miraculous improvement was gratifying; the jug of water Ethan had used to wake him both wet and cold. And if Ethan said solemnly that he’d truly believed Giles to be feverish one more time...
Previous parts here
Chapter Four
It took a tap at the door to rouse Giles from his studies. Polite though the knock was, it was insistent enough to communicate to a befogged mind that the person knocking had been doing so for some time and was not likely to leave until he had responded. Blinking away the blurriness from his eyes, and noticing, with astonishment that the daylight had fled, he raised his voice.
“Come in.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mrs Sinter, giving him a small, entirely perfunctory curtsey. “I thought you should know that Mr Ethan’s awake and asking for you.” A tolerant smile touched her thin lips. “That is, he’s asking that you not come next nor nigh him until he’s better, but I thought –”
Giles returned the smile. “I quite understand,” he said gravely. “I’m sure he’s a troublesome patient.”
She sniffed. “I’ve no doubt should you take sick, you’d be no better, sir,” she remarked. Unbending slightly, she added. “Not but what he’s suffering. Burning up with the fever and weak as a kitten he is.” Giles gave her a startled, guilty look, regretting the hours he’d spent working and she shook her head. “He’s slept all day after the dose I gave him; he’ll be on the mend soon. Always been the same, ever since he was a boy ...”
Stemming the ready flow of reminiscences tactfully, Giles thanked her and slipped out of the room, a sheaf of papers under his arm, and made his way to Ethan’s bedchamber.
The curtains had been drawn; deep, rich scarlet brocade, splashing in a heavy fall against the panelled walls, and candles burned golden and warm on a table beside the bed. Ethan’s eyes were closed and his fingers moved restlessly against the sheet that covered him. The room was hot; so much so that Giles found himself prickled with sweat before he’d crossed the room to where Ethan lay.
“If you come bearing a posset, a poultice or a mustard plaster, I will turn you into a frog and make soup from your meat,” Ethan said in a whisper-light voice.
“No wonder Mrs Sinter fled in the face of such threats and base ingratitude,” Giles said, sitting down on the bed and threading his fingers through Ethan’s.
“I told her you were not to come,” Ethan said, sounding tired and sulky.
“And of course I always pay strict attention to your orders,” Giles said. “Love, you know were it I in bed with a cold, you’d not stay away.”
“From a sneezing, red nosed, revoltingly soggy mess? I most certainly would.”
“I think those joys are yet to come but thank you for the delightfully detailed picture you paint.” Giles laid his hand on Ethan’s forehead and winced. It felt rough and the heat from it seemed to hover above the flushed skin. “You really shouldn’t be in such a heated room,” he said, glancing incredulously at the fire someone had kindled that was burning merrily. “Let me see what I can do to cool you off a little.”
“Are you mad?” Ethan said. “I’m shivering. ‘Tis a chill I have, you ninny. I cannot get warm.”
“Ethan, you’re so hot I can scarce touch you,” Giles said gently. “It’s not good for you, I’m sure of that.” He shifted position and winced as his knee struck against something hard. “Tell me you don’t have a heated stone in there! Ethan, you must be half-cooked! Who was fool enough to give you that?” He stood up and strode over to the fire, picking up the iron poker and using it to push the logs apart so that the flames diminished.
“My servants,” Ethan said in the silky voice he used when he was angry, “know who is master in this house. I would you had as much perception. Please ring for someone to build the fire again.”
“Certainly,” Giles said agreeably, striding to the window and tugging the curtains apart. “When your brain isn’t addled – you know, it never occurred to me, but Prinny would find this room a perfect temperature, would he not? It explains so much about his Highness – I’ll gladly allow you to give as many nonsensical orders as you wish.” Bruising a finger and swearing mildly, he forced the window open, letting in a rush of cool, damp air and breathing it in gratefully. “Cover yourself, Ethan. I’ll not leave this open for long; just enough to clear the air.”
“Rupert...” Ethan’s voice was outraged and tight with anger. “I’ll not have this!”
Giles walked into the small washroom and poured water from jug to basin, picked up a cloth and towel and went to Ethan’s side again, marvelling at his regression to spoiled child. Setting his burden down on the bedside table he smiled down at Ethan. “Love, it’s been a long time since I bent the knee to you, has it not? Since I viewed you as the fount of all wisdom; a mentor and a guide in a new and slightly frightening world. I would not wish to still be like that, nor do I think you would truly enjoy it now.”
“It had its benefits,” Ethan said moodily, the covers drawn up so high that naught but his face was visible. “You would never have dared disobey me so flagrantly.”
Giles laughed. “Oh, I think I would have – and did, on many occasions. See; the heat is affecting your memory too.” He ignored the snarl that was all he received in reply and went over to the window, deciding that it could remain open if he drew the thick curtains once more to block any draught.
“I think it’s time we tried a more direct approach,” he said tugging at the covers and, after a slight struggle, pulling them back. Ethan’s glare was enough to make a lesser man tremble but Giles was unmoved. “A nightshirt? I had not known you possessed any. Are you able to remove it or shall I assist you?”
“I will not take it off,” Ethan said. His teeth were chattering but his eyes were still fever-bright.
Giles picked up not one but two heated stones from the foot of the bed and put them aside. “There,” he remarked, stripping off his coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves with a lack of concern for their laundered perfection. “We progress.”
The struggle to undress Ethan was brief, violent and entirely one-sided. “Weak as a kitten,” Giles said. “Will it make this easier to endure if I tell you that I very much dislike seeing you this way?”
“Were I able to believe it, yes,” Ethan hissed. “This side of your nature – that of a bully – is entirely new to me and I like it not.”
“When you are recovered, I’ll let you order my day from breakfast to bedtime,” Giles promised. He dipped cloth into water and bit his lip. “This water is lukewarm from standing in this hothouse,” he said, “but I’ve no doubt that to you ‘twill seem –”
“Like ice,” Ethan said bitterly.
Giles slipped his hand under Ethan’s shoulders and lifted him up so their faces were close. “How can I still want you when you’re in such a vile mood?” he murmured. “Yet I do. I think were I to but kiss you, I’d be consumed by fire, reduced to ashes...”
Ethan’s lips parted. “Shall we test that entirely desirable theory?”
Not entirely sure that Ethan had forgiven him, but bracing himself for a return to rage if he had, Giles kissed Ethan at the precise moment that his free hand clapped the wet cloth to the back of Ethan’s neck, tightening his grip so that Ethan could not wriggle free, riding the convulsions that wracked the slender body he held.
“Rupert, you bastard,” Ethan choked out, when he was capable of speech. “You –”
Giles let him slip back to the bed and wrung out the cloth again and again, laying it over wrists and against Ethan’s forehead, wiping it over the body he knew so well and feeling it shudder away from his touch.
“You feel a little cooler,” he said eventually, breaking a thick silence. “Shall I call for something for you to drink? Is there any medicine I can prepare?”
“I need nothing,” Ethan said, averting his face.
Taking a grip on his temper, Giles tossed the cloth into the bowl and stood up. “Then I’ll return to my work and let you sulk in peace. And I’ll leave orders that you’re not to be allowed to turn this room into a hothouse so do not think to undo all I’ve achieved, because I’ll not have it, do you hear me? All I have done this past hour has been because I cannot bear to see you so and not act. I trust, should our positions be reversed, you’d show me as little mercy. Love isn’t always kind, Ethan.”
Ethan shrugged a shoulder and made no reply. Giles sighed, and reached out to draw up one sheet over him. Ethan’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist. “Stay with me,” he said.
It was not quite a plea and only first cousin to an apology but Giles felt the tension leave him.
“If you feel up to it, I’ll stay,” he said. “And, Ethan, I’ve made some progress on the medallion, too.”
He smiled as Ethan rolled over to his back and looked up at him, dark eyes full of interest. “Really? Tell me!”
Giles shook his head. “This bed is damp and the sheets need changing,” he said. “If you’re able, come to my room and we can talk there.” He let his hand rest against Ethan’s head. “You feel warm still, but much improved.”
“My head aches, my throat is sore and I’m close to death,” Ethan said. “You have an odd notion of what constitutes improvement, Rupert.” Getting to his feet and swaying slightly, Ethan submitted to being wrapped in a robe and taken to Giles’ room.
After giving the necessary orders to a servant, Giles went back to his room. Ethan was still wearing the robe, but he was lying on Giles’ bed and had not tried to get between the sheets.
“Do you know, this is the first time you’ve been in my bed?” Giles said suddenly. “We’ve always used yours.”
“It’s bigger,” Ethan said. “Though I fancy this is more comfortable.”
“I’ve found it so, on the rare occasions that I’ve slept in it,” Giles said with a grin.
He undressed and went to lie beside Ethan, stretching out and sighing contentedly. “I’m stiff from poring over books,” he said, rubbing at aching shoulders, “but it was worth it. What would you think were I to tell you that your find is –”
Ethan murmured sleepily and his head fell against Giles’ shoulder. Stroking back the damp hair from Ethan’s face with a gentle hand Giles eased them both into a more comfortable position and let sleep take them.
The story could wait, as had the medallion. It had lain undisturbed for centuries; a few hours could make no difference.
Giles’ final thought was that he had no longer any need to fear that Wesley would be bored when he arrived in three days time; Spike would doubtless be inspired by the beauty around him; there was good fishing to beguile Angel’s waking hours, but Wesley might have found the visit tedious, he thought. Not now. The puzzle he had for them to solve would intrigue Wesley mightily.
It would be good to work with him once more.
He woke to find a clear-eyed Ethan smiling down at him. “Good morning, Rupert.”
The miraculous improvement was gratifying; the jug of water Ethan had used to wake him both wet and cold. And if Ethan said solemnly that he’d truly believed Giles to be feverish one more time...