The Power of Persuasion
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.
Part Four
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