They were halfway home when something started ringing.
“Oh... blast,” Rupert snapped, groping his pocket desperately, keeping one hand on the wheel and no eyes on the road, apparently. The car wobbled randomly over the lane markers.
The ringing continued.
Ethan rolled his eyes, “Oh, for god’s sake, keep your eyes on the road before you hit that phone pole.”
At which, Rupert looked up and yelped, and swerved the car back onto the road.
Ethan dug into Rupert’s pocket and rescued his cellphone.
“Yes?”
“Giles?” Buffy’s voice said. She sounded worried.
“He’s driving at the moment, and believe me when I say you don’t want to see him trying to multitask. What do you need?”
Rupert glared. “Let me--”
But Buffy was speaking, so Ethan waved him off.
“It’s, it’s my mom. Angel... Angel attacked her, she’s hurt, we’re at the hospital.”
Crap. And here he’d been hoping they might actually make it all the way home for dinner. “Right, ok. What room?”
“Twelve-sixteen,” she said.
“All right,” he said, and hung up.
“What did she--”
“Drive, Rupert. Turn left.”
“Left?”
“The hospital.”
“Oh, lord--”
“It’s not her, it’s her mother.”
“Is she--”
“She’s hurt, I don’t know how badly.”
By the time they reached the hospital, Ethan had decidedly *not* gained a new respect for the old clunker Rupert had been so insistent on buying. And yet, Rupert still muttered darkly about how long the elevator was taking. Ethan gave him a look.
“What?” Rupert said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Rupert’s eyes narrowed. “You were--”
The elevator slowed and dinged, and Ethan walked off with the enigmatic smile he’d perfected many, many years ago.
Rupert brushed past him and dashed down the hall. Ethan took his time, smiled at one of the more attractive nurses. No reason to rush now, really. The biting and such was no doubt over and done with.
When he reached the room, Rupert and the Slayer and her groupies had gathered in the hall in a huddle, discussing something in serious tones. Ethan hung back, and a few moments later, Buffy stalked away in a determined, I’m-going-to-stake-something sort of way. Ethan edged out of the way to let her pass.
Really, she was rather impressive. Spunky. He liked that in people.
He joined Rupert and the others.
“How is she?”
Rupert was distracted, however, peering off after Buffy’s retreating form with concern, so Willow said, “She’s, she’s ok, now. Just... a lot of blood-loss.”
Ethan eased back a step and glanced into the room. And blinked.
“Joyce?”
“Ethan? What are you--?”
“*You’re* Buffy’s mother?”
Joyce laughed, slightly, “I see my daughter’s a celebrity already. Should I be concerned?”
He pulled up a chair.
“Actually, I’m here with Rupert. He’s taken an interest in Buffy. Quite devoted to his job.”
She smiled.
“I’d noticed. I guess this town really does have a good school system. She talks about him all the time.”
Ethan was actually a bit embarrassed by the small surge of pride that invoked. God, when had he become such a sap? And on that note, poor Joyce looked rather like she’d been hit by a truck. He had to fight down the urge to demand to know who’d done this to her. Wouldn’t help, and besides, Buffy was already off to put the culprit in a world of pain, anyway. Or just a cloud of dust.
Rupert slipped into the room.
“You two, um, know each other?”
Rupert stood carefully off behind his shoulder, not touching him.
“Joyce helped me move into the shop.”
“And Ethan helped me get that shipment of fertility icons I’d been looking for for months.” Joyce looked between them, and said, “Oh, *Rupert.* So this is Rupert. Small world,” she added, with a laugh.
“Small town, more like,” Ethan said, with a smirk. “And yes, this is the infamous Rupert.”
Now his hand slid over Ethan’s shoulder.
“Don’t believe anything he says. Lies, all lies,” Rupert said, drily. “And fertility icons, Ethan? Should I be worried?”
Ethan looked up at him and batted his lashes.
Joyce snorted. “Innocent’s really not your look.”
“Oh, come now,” Ethan protested, “You wound me. I’m as pure as the driven snow.”
They laughed at him. He sighed.
Then, suddenly, Joyce sobered.
“Poor Darla,” she said, completely apropos of nothing, “I must have scared her half to death when I fainted. I should have thought of that before now.”
“D-Darla?” Rupert said, his hand pulling away.
“Yes. Buffy’s friend, Darla, who came to tutor her? Someone should really check on her.”
Ethan glanced over his shoulder at Rupert, who was whipping off his glasses and stammering, and backing towards the door.
“Y-Yes, yes, someone really should. In fact, I’ll do that. Right now.”
And then he was gone. No doubt taking the car with him.
“Wow,” Joyce said, sounding impressed, “He really is devoted to his job.”
“You have no idea,” Ethan said.
The End
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