Power of Persuasion Part Three Ethan/Giles by Jane Davitt and Wesleysgirl

[janedavitt]

Here is the third part of this Ethan/Giles fic, written by Wesleysgirl and me.

Previous parts here.

Power of Persuasion by Jane Davitt and Wesleysgirl

Part Three

There was a great deal of time in which Giles dozed, slipping in and out of sleep with Ethan warm against him. At some point, he fell into a deeper sleep, and when he woke, he was alone on the couch in pitch-dark. The flat seemed unnaturally silent, and after a moment, he realised that the power was out. Again.

"Ethan?" he called, a bit more loudly than he probably needed to. The sleep, no matter how fragmented it had been, seemed to have restored his energy levels and with that had come a clarity of mind that told him in all likelihood Ethan had left. A moment's quiet and then he heard Ethan's voice reply from the kitchen. "In here."

The relief he felt was disproportionately strong.

Struggling to his feet and yawning until he felt his jaw crack, Giles headed towards Ethan's voice, his eyes adjusted well enough to the darkness that he didn't trip over anything for a change.

"Looks like the power's out again," he said, in a lower voice, more suitable for what felt like three or four o'clock in the morning. "The street lights are still on though; is it just us?"

"I think it's the whole building," Ethan said ruefully, remaining where he was and letting Giles come to him. "I hope you weren't particularly fond of your electric kettle."

"Devoted," Giles said. "But it had seen better days; don't worry about it." He yawned again. "A cup of tea would've been nice, but given that's off the menu, I can offer you milk, about half a glass of orange juice, if you're lucky, or an unlimited amount of tap water." His own mouth was parched and sticky, and he headed for the sink, finding a glass, rinsed but never put away, on the draining board.

He didn't fail to notice that Ethan was stepping back out of his way, carefully avoiding coming in contact with him again. "Best not," Ethan said. "When I'm out of balance like this, I'm likely to end up with a scorched tongue for my trouble."

"What do you mean?" Giles asked turning on the cold tap and letting water splutter noisily into the glass. "And what sparked – no, sorry, that pun wasn't intentional – what happened, anyway?"

"I touched your poor, innocent kettle and sent it to small appliance heaven," Ethan said with a shrug. "If what you're asking is what prompted that to occur this time and not, for example, when I made myself tea yesterday morning, I don't have an answer for that. Although it's been getting worse as times goes by, rather than better."

Giles drank most of the glass of water and then set it aside. "Tell me more about it," he said. "When it started, anything you can remember that might act as a trigger, anything you've tried to stop it happening – give me as much information as you can." He shook his head, although he didn't know if Ethan could see him, and walked over to him. "But not now. After we've got some proper sleep, and it's daylight."

"Careful," Ethan warned, stepping back. "Go on to bed; I'll take the sofa, if you trust me enough to let me spend the rest of the night under your roof." There was something challenging in his tone, but under it all he still sounded bone-tired.

Giles didn't feel inclined to argue with him – which had to be a first. The tiredness was seeping back into him and he wanted nothing but sleep, dreamless and deep, if possible.

"I'll get you a quilt and some pillows," he said, moving past Ethan. "And I'd appreciate it if you were still here when I wake up? I really don't want to spend tomorrow – today – chasing after you."

"I'll still be here," Ethan said quietly, following Giles and watching as he retrieved some spare bed things and put them on the couch. "Good night, Rupert."

It sounded more like 'thank you' than anything Giles would have expected from Ethan. On that thought, he went off to bed.

* * * * *

To Ethan's surprise, he actually did sleep. He hadn't thought he would – he certainly hadn't while Rupert had dozed on the sofa, thinking that it would be just his luck to drop off and torch the entire building in his sleep just when things were starting to look up. Not that he expected Rupert to save him, of course. He'd given up on that idea long ago, and stubbornly tramped down on any tiny flares of hope that tried to make themselves known. He'd been getting far too little sleep for far too long, so somehow he managed to sleep right through Rupert getting up and taking a shower. It wasn't until the sound of water running and saucepans on the stovetop in the kitchen filtered through to his brain that Ethan woke, slowly and reluctantly.

"It won't taste quite right, but here's some tea made with almost-boiling water," Rupert said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. "By the time I've poured it from the saucepan into a jug, and from the jug into the teapot, it's lost that crucial few degrees. Ah well. Better than nothing."

Ethan didn't want to sit up; he was too comfortable in his nest of quilt and pillows. But he did want the tea, so he forced himself upright, reaching a hand out for the mug Rupert offered him without thinking. Almost too late, he snatched his hand back, but not before knocking it against the mug and sending a splash of hot tea over Rupert's hand and the carpet.

"Ethan!" Rupert said crossly, shaking his hand to dry it and glaring at him. "Was that really necessary?" He slammed the mug down on the coffee table.

"Considering what became of your kettle, I'd think you'd be grateful that I'm concerned for your safety," Ethan snapped. "Never mind. I don't want the bloody tea, and I don't need your help." He struggled to his feet, throwing the quilt down onto the sofa with shaking hands and looking around for his shoes.

He heard Rupert take a deep breath and waited for him to come up with the perfect scathing comment to speed him on his way. It never came.

"I'd forgotten what a foul mood you wake up in," Rupert said, with a thread of amusement replacing the irritation. "Never were a morning person, were you? Let's try again." With studied politeness he said, "Good morning, Ethan. Did you sleep well?"

Ethan's own breath was as shaky as his hands, but he stopped what he was doing and forced himself to meet Rupert's eyes. "Let's just say that I slept and leave it at that," he said. "I appreciate the use of your sofa. And your kettle, short though its life turned out to be." He hated that when it came right down to it, he did need Rupert's help, but there was nothing to be done about that. He couldn't bear to be alone any longer, not if Rupert was offering.

"It's not the Holy Grail, Ethan," Rupert said, rolling his eyes. "Just a kettle. And there was about an inch of scale in the bottom; I could probably do with a new one anyway."

"So I did you a favor then?" Ethan grinned hopefully, pushing aside his worries and concentrating on the moment. "That's good. I'd hate to be too deeply in your debt." He sat back down and picked up his mug, which was damp on the outside, trying to gauge whether or not the contact with the liquid would earn him a shock.

"You're not in my debt at all," Rupert answered, going back into the kitchen and coming out with his own mug. "Helping you sort this out is very much in my best interests, unless you're planning to relocate to the Outer Hebrides." He took a sip of his tea and shuddered. "And you knew I'd help you." He gave Ethan a level look. "Didn't you?"

Ethan sipped at his tea tentatively then relaxed when nothing untoward happened. "No," he said honestly. "If I'd thought you would, I might have gone looking for you. But I'd no idea you were in London or even England. I wasn't lying about that."

"Then what were your plans?" Rupert asked, moving to the window and staring down into the busy street. "From what I can tell, you've been moving on every time something major happened, but running hasn't helped, has it? If anything, it's probably left you feeling even more hunted. Even though no one's actually after you yet." His mouth twisted in an ironic smile. "'The guilty flee when no man pursueth'. But you're not, Ethan. For once. Don't you think it's time to stop running?"

Looking down at his hands, Ethan wondered if he should chance admitting the truth and decided that he might as well. There was so little left to lose at this point, and his pride was long gone. "I thought I had," he said. "Stopped running. That's why I came back to London." Perhaps his pride wasn't completely gone, after all because he wasn't quite ready to admit that he'd come back to see some of their old haunts one last time.

It was bad enough without Ripper knowing that even now he was the only tangible thing Ethan had ever wanted.

Rupert had turned to look at him, so Ethan tried to explain further. "It was clear I couldn't continue on like this, not for much longer. You've seen what happens when I try to do something as simple as make a cup of tea."

"And you came back here because it's the closest you've got to home?" Rupert asked. He shook his head. "I understand that, but wouldn't somewhere remote be better? London – any city, any town – they must make your situation worse. Have you tried going to somewhere less, well, saturated with electricity, for want of a better description?"

"I suppose it's been a bit worse here," Ethan said. He was taking advantage of his current non-reactive state to drink his tea quickly. "Less saturated with electricity? You mean the middle of bloody nowhere. Do I really strike you as the sort of person who longs to get away from it all, to get back to nature?" He laughed at the thought.

"So you haven't even tried that?" Rupert asked incredulously. "You know you can plunge an area the size of Sunnydale into darkness, you think you can't touch anyone without disastrous consequences, and you head for London? Have you quite lost it?"

Frustrated, Ethan got to his feet, trying not to let his emotions run away with him. "I came here to die," he said, keeping his voice low. "Excuse me if I wasn't quite up to thinking about everyone else's convenience." It was selfish of him, and he knew it, but under the circumstances it had seemed pointless to worry about reforming his character. Not to mention far too late.

"I didn't – oh Lord." Rupert looked at him with what seemed to be fond exasperation, although possibly the fondness was a bit of wishful thinking. "Ethan, sod everyone else's convenience – I'm thinking about what's best for you. As I don't have the least interest in watching you mope around, having a drink for old time's sake in every pub we got banned from in our dissolute youth, and unlike you, I'm far from resigned to your supposedly imminent demise, can we please start considering solutions, not suitable epitaphs?"

"Yes, please," Ethan said, thinking that Rupert knew him too well for comfort. "Unless you're about to suggest something that includes solitary confinement." He'd had far too much of that; just the thought of it made his skin crawl.

"I think that'd be even worse for you than staying here," Rupert said seriously. "You – this not touching – it's not helping you, Ethan." He put down his mug and leant against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "The magic – it's all building up inside you and these power surges are your way of releasing that, I suppose. It's not really all that surprisingly when you think about it. Magic and electricity do have a number of properties in common. But it's damaging you, physically and emotionally." He straightened and began to walk over to Ethan. "You can't cut yourself off from the world, Ethan, not if you want to stay sane."

"It's not just that," Ethan said, watching Rupert warily from his spot on the couch. "Well, sometimes it is, but other times – when I'm actually trying to work magic for example – it's... I just lose control. The magic takes over and ends up channeling the electrical power right through me. I think." He gave Rupert a sheepish look. "Those are generally the times I lose consciousness and wake up hours later on the floor, so it's hard to know for sure what happens."

"So you can't do magic?" Rupert said, raising his eyebrows. "That's odd... I'd think that would be a way of releasing the build-up." He paused beside Ethan, sighed faintly and turned away, dragging over a wooden chair and sitting down very carefully out of reach. "Is this all right?" he asked. "Because I'm getting the feeling you don't want to repeat what happened last night."

"What I don't want a repeat of," Ethan said, "is the part where the thing I touch goes up in a shower of sparks and the smell of burning." He looked at Rupert with what he was sure was a fair amount of longing. "And about the other thing – I can still do magic. I just can't predict whether or not I'll be able to control what happens afterwards." He felt his expression twist into a sardonic grin. "Chaos personified. Just what I always wanted."

There was a flash of something far too close to pity in Rupert's eyes, but none in his voice. "Be careful what you wish for... yes." He pursed his lips in thought. "Apart from feeling a little tired afterwards, and that wasn't necessarily connected, touching you didn't hurt me." His mouth curved into a small smile. "Not a spark in sight."

"That doesn't mean there wouldn't be next time," Ethan pointed out stubbornly. If he was the cause of Rupert being hurt, or worse... he'd never forgive himself. Or Rupert.

"True, but it's a risk I'm willing to take." Rupert held out his hand, palm up. "Because if I can't touch you, I can't help you. You know that. It limits the healing spells we could try, it keeps you cut off, isolated, which I'm sure is making things worse –" His face looked calm, unworried as far as Ethan could see. "So let's try it again, shall we?"

Ethan looked at him, aware that saying no to Rupert was, for him, almost as impossible as flying. Trying to keep the surge of fear in check, he nodded and reached out a hand that only shook a little bit, ready to pull it back in an instant if contact resulted in a shock. To his relief, nothing happened but their hands touching each other, Ethan's fingertips sliding over Rupert's warm skin. He shivered, but didn't stop now that he'd started, moving his hand so that his smallest two fingers curled around the edge of Rupert's palm, his thumb curving around on the other side so that he could hold on. He glanced up into Rupert's eyes, aware that his heart was pounding.

"See?" Rupert said, his voice husky and uneven although his hand was steady. "Nothing happening." His fingers closed around Ethan's hand, clasping it firmly, and he hitched his chair closer so that their linked hands could rest on his knees.

"Nothing?" Ethan asked. "I must be losing my touch."

Rupert's hand tightened slightly and he gave Ethan a rather tense smile. "Nothing bad," he clarified. "And no, you're not." He tilted his head and his smile became just a little challenging. "Am I?"

There was no way that Ethan was going to admit that as far as he was concerned Rupert would never lose his touch, but he suspected that his eyes gave everything away. Eyes, he reminded himself, that were sunken and bloodshot in a face that was too thin to be anything but pitiable. "You said something about possible solutions?" he said, wishing there were a way to sound something between desperate and utterly detached because he didn't want to seem either if the latter meant that Rupert thought he didn't care at all. He'd have to hope that the fact that he was still holding onto Rupert's hand would be enough.

"Did I?" Rupert murmured. "Oh – well that depends on you. Given your earlier reaction, I'm not sure you're going to like what I suggest."

His upturned hand shifted slightly and Ethan felt warm fingers stroke across his wrist and pause where his pulse was beating hard and fast. There was just the slightest gleam of satisfaction in Rupert's eyes as though his question had been answered after all.

"You're not going to suggest putting me in a padded room with no access to electricity, are you?" Ethan asked, staying still despite the considerable effort it took. He knew that wasn't what Rupert was suggesting, but the thought of it plagued him so thoroughly that he had to give voice to it.

"No," Rupert said. "You know I'm not. Weren't you listening to me at all?" He didn't sound irritated despite his words, and the fingers against Ethan's wrist slid upwards under the turned-back cuff of his shirt, brushing lightly against his inner arm. "A retreat. A refuge. Somewhere quiet, and yes, without electricity. Somewhere we won't be interrupted and you won't be worrying about bloody kettles. Well?"

Ethan was so distracted by Rupert's touch that he had a difficult time remembering what he was responding to for a moment. "Just the two of us?" It sounded... "No. What if something were to go wrong? In the middle of bloody nowhere, with no medical care... it'd be asking for trouble." Putting complete strangers in danger was one thing, but risking Rupert's life wasn't something Ethan was willing to do.

"Were you always this stubborn?" Rupert asked, drawing his thumbnail over the skin he'd been touching, from the crook of Ethan's elbow to his wrist. "Ethan, you told me that if you stay here, you'll die. I'm not – for various reasons – willing to sit by and watch that happen. Now pick a county and I'll find us somewhere to stay. On the coast, do you think? So you don't feel so closed in?"

"I'm used to feeling closed in," Ethan muttered. On the other hand, the thought of being near the sea was appealing, somehow. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

He wanted to be convinced that it would be all right but he found himself a little puzzled by how quickly Rupert had decided to help him. It wasn't that he didn't think Rupert's deplorable habit of saving everything from the world to Green Shield stamps didn't include him, but he'd expected a lecture at the very least. Not to mention his own unexpected honesty the night before.

"Rupert, old man," he began. "It occurs to me that -"

"Can we just get to the part where you agree with me that it is because this is wasting time that I don't think we have?" Rupert enquired pointedly. "And given that it's getting late, shall we have breakfast now?"

The sudden shift to the prosaic was matched by the removal of Rupert's hand as he stood up, clearly considering the discussion – such as it was – over.

Sullen and a bit overwhelmed, Ethan stayed where he was for a long moment, looking at his empty mug and wondering if he ought to just get up and walk out the front door. But when it came right down to it, Rupert was right about several things. Ethan was lonely, and being so isolated wasn't likely to do anything to improve his situation. Getting away from all sources of electricity was one of the few things he hadn't tried, and one of the few he was unlikely to try on his own. Rupert did, Ethan admitted to himself grudgingly, have a point.

Abandoning his vague suspicions about the ease with which they'd become the 'Save Ethan' team - and he supposed it could be as simple an explanation as guilt on Rupert's part - he went, mug in hand, and stood in the doorway to the kitchen, where Rupert was contemplating the inside of the refrigerator. "What if there isn't a part where I agree with you that you're right?" Ethan asked, just to see what Rupert would say.

"I've annoyed you, haven't I?" Rupert said without turning. "Been overbearing and bossy and got you to the point where you'd be willing to die just to piss me off." He straightened, holding an egg carton and some bacon, and gave Ethan what he had to admit was a charming smile, and one he didn't trust a bit. "I'm so sorry, Ethan." The smile vanished and his voice rose. "I'll just be tactful and polite and hope you don't die while you make up your mind about letting me help you, shall I?" He slammed the food down on the counter and glared at Ethan.

Ethan... well, the only accurate way to put it would be to say he snapped. "Yes," he snarled, stepping further into the kitchen and putting his mug down before he broke it. "That's exactly what you ought to be doing, considering. This isn't about you, Rupert. For once in my bloody life there's something that's not about you, astonishing as that may be to believe." He knew that he should try to calm himself down, to stop the surge that was building inside him, ready to lash out. In a desperate attempt to distract it, he slapped the flat of his hand down on the countertop with all the force he could muster. "I suppose you've conveniently forgotten that the last time I trusted you, you left me. And yet you expect me to blithely go along with whatever scheme you cook up just because you say that you want to help me?"

There was a part of him that wanted to touch Rupert, to hurt him and show him what it felt like, but he didn't. Wouldn't let himself. Instead, he opened up, sending a powerful psychic blast to within inches of Rupert's face, all the fury and hurt that Rupert had caused him bundled into a neat package of raw emotion that the other man wouldn't be able to deny.

Things Rupert had said to him, little things that probably hadn't been meant to hurt as much as they did but which cut Ethan to the quick, lingering for years. Inflections of Rupert's voice Ethan could still remember and reproduce, disdain and disgust laced throughout words that didn't hold nearly as much power without that inflection. The way Rupert had allowed himself to be taunted by Ethan into sudden flares of anger which, while gloriously exciting, hadn't really been meant to goad Rupert to physical violence.

Getting back to the flat they'd shared for nearly ten months and finding Rupert's things gone, with no note or explanation of any kind.

What Ethan had dreamed of doing if he'd ever seen Rupert again. The careful plans he'd hatched during late nights alone in the flat. How he'd hunt down Rupert and make him pay...

Ethan could see the shock on Rupert's face, and felt a moment of pure, savage satisfaction. Then as Ethan had expected, the use of his magic resulted in an overload that caused the power in the nearest electrical outlet to arc and surge through him, every nerve in his body on fire as the electricity burned its way through his system. He only had a moment in which to hope that his heart didn't stop this time before everything went black.