The first thing he heard was the sound of combat, and Jenny’s voice saying, “Hey, you all right?”
Ethan groaned and decided that he probably wouldn’t be in this much pain were he dead, so he must have managed to survive to live on for at least another few minutes. However, given the violence of the fighting noises around him, planning on anything beyond that was probably a stretch. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the distant ceiling of the dusty old factory. Beside him, Rupert said, “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” then rustled around. “Ethan?”
“Alive. Barely,” Ethan said, then he sat up and looked back over his shoulder at Rupert. “You?”
“Apparently,” Rupert said. Jenny sat back on her heels and then rolled to her feet and went to join Xander and Willow at the railing.
Ethan’s head ached. Being hung by one’s ankles would do that, of course. Come to think of it, his ankles hurt, too.
“Ow,” he said, crossly.
Rupert shuffled to his feet, brushed his fingers across Ethan’s shoulder, then went over to join the others with his brow furrowed. Ethan leaned back a bit to peer between them and caught a glimpse of Buffy staking one vampire and simultaneously setting another on fire.
He could have done without the screaming. And without the pounding of the sledgehammer, which did nothing good for his headache.
His mood had not improved by the time they got home.
“We’re alive,” Rupert said, as they walked through the door, “That’s something.”
“Yes, and we were alive yesterday, too. And earlier today. And, in fact, most of our lives. It was the proximity to not being alive that was the unusual circumstance tonight, and *that* was your Slayer’s fault. Simply returning us to the previous status quo which was so rudely interrupted isn’t that much to be thankful for.”
“Ethan... She made a mistake. Hell, if I’d translated that prophecy correctly sooner, this wouldn’t have happened either, so if you’re looking for someone to blame--”
“Oh, stop it,” Ethan snapped, whirling towards him. “Stop taking the blame for her. Stop-- Fuck it, I’m going to bed.”
“Ethan--”
Rupert chased him up the stairs. Ethan frowned and ignored him, heading quickly to the closet and stripping off his shirt and casting it aside. After all the dust and blood the damn thing would never be wearable again, anyway. He kicked off his shoes, yanked off his trousers and pants, all the while continuing to disregard Rupert’s wheedling and then increasingly annoyed tones.
Pointedly nude--Rupert feared the children would come by some night and be shocked--Ethan climbed into bed and tried to continue to ignore him.
“You’re being terribly petty, you know,” Rupert said.
Ethan didn’t look at him, but he knew how he’d look, standing beside the bed, probably with his hands on his hips, glaring down at him in that way he had that might have been scary had Ethan not actually known him.
“I have the right to be petty. I nearly died,” Ethan said, without rolling over. Although, of course, Rupert was right, and Ethan was only acting more childish with each passing moment. He didn’t want to care.
“As did I,” Rupert pointed out.
Damned logical man. Damned idiot who *had*, in fact, nearly died tonight, again, for the millionth time since coming to this cursed town to do this fated job. Ethan sighed and rolled over. He lay on his side, facing Rupert.
“Yes, you did. I know. And I’m not happy about that, either, by the way.”
Rupert sat down on the edge of the bed, tucked in the crook of Ethan’s body. His weight sunk the mattress a bit, pulling Ethan in like gravity, wrapping him closer around the solidness of his body.
“I’m sorry?” Rupert offered, with a small smile that would have been teasing if it wasn’t quite so tired and so sad.
“Told you to stop taking the blame, you berk,” Ethan muttered.
Rupert just reached up and passed a palm along Ethan’s hair, curled his fingertips into the ends, teased at them. “I love you.”
“I know that,” Ethan said, the irritation creeping back into his voice again, just a bit. That wasn’t the issue.
“Good,” Rupert said, not rising to the bait. Then he stood up and quietly stripped down to nothing, went around to his side of the bed and slipped under the covers.
Ethan managed to bite back the question until Rupert had pressed himself warmly and fully all along the length of Ethan’s back, one wonderfully clothing-free leg tucked between Ethan’s own, and then Ethan couldn’t help himself. “And if your Slayer drops by?”
Nestling his face into Ethan’s hair, his head on Ethan’s pillow, Rupert said, “Until we’re decent, she’ll just have to wait.”
Ethan settled his arms around Rupert’s and let himself relax against the smooth, all-bare-skinned warmth behind him. They lay together, bodies slowly matching temperature, heartrate, breathing. Ethan’s eyes drifted shut and he rubbed his thumb back and forth once across Rupert’s hand. “Mine,” he said, softly, and his heartrate kicked up a small notch. Momentarily uncertain.
Rupert mumbled a sleepy, ‘Mmm-hmm.’
Ethan smiled. Then, they slept.
The End
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