Current mood:

accomplished

Fic: A New New Man, Giles/Wesley, PG-13/FRT
Title: A New New Man
Author: lostgirlslair
Fandom: BtVS
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: PG-13/FRT
Summary: Wesley throws a wrench into Ethan's plans.
Spoilers: Set during the season 4 episode “A New Man”
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair AT yahoo DOT com

Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.

This was written for the cya_ficathon (masterlist here). Huge thanks to mrtwstedwhsprs for the quick and dirty beta magic.

“How could she not tell me anything about him?” Rupert said, his voice bursting in to what had been a quite apartment up until then. Wesley glanced out into the living room to find Rupert dusting--again--and scowling at the dust on the mantel. Wesley knew there couldn't be much: Rupert had already dusted the thing twice.

“I know you're hurt, but you remember how it is at her age.” Wesley said, raising his voice to make it heard over the clatter of the dishes he was doing. “It's entirely possible it slipped her mind.” Wesley said, leaning to see Rupert through the pass through. He groaned to himself as he watched Rupert finish dusting the mantel and turn to the bookcase without even a pause.

“Slipped her mind?” Hearing Rupert say it, Wesley winced at his own choice of words. “And why shouldn't it?” Rupert grumbled, “It's not as if . . .”

Wesley looked up when Rupert didn't continue. Rupert sat in front of the bookcase with the feather duster between his teeth. He spit it out, grumbling something. Wesley opened his mouth to ask, but before he could Rupert stood up. “Crap.”

“What?” Wesley asked.

Rupert tossed the duster down and headed toward the kitchen, holding out the book he'd been reading. Wesley pulled off his dish gloves and wiped his hands, taking the book. “You know me.” Wesley said, his voice dry. “I do hate to leave the dishes half done, but any number of things take precedence, I suppose.”

“The demon Prince Barvain is going to rise tonight,” Rupert said.

“Yes, like that, just for an example.” Wesley said, grimacing. He skimmed the passage beneath Rupert's finger and then paused, doing math in his head. “Third new moon after the . . . nine-hundredth feast of Delthrox . . . Right.” Wesley nodded and looked up at Rupert. ”You pack the ritual materials and I'll figure out where it's happening.”

Rupert actually grinned as he turned away. Wesley felt his eyebrow rise. While the demon Prince Barvain wasn't exactly the Mayor, he could do quite a bit of damage if they couldn't contain him. Shaking his head, Wesley went back to the book. He walked out of the kitchen and sat down on the sofa, all without lifting his eyes from the words. It was Xedri, which wasn't too challenging, and it was fairly specific, once Wesley began deciphering the landmarks. Rupert finished packing what ritual items they'd need before Wesley finished pinpointing a location. Hunched over a map he'd spread out over the coffee table, Wesley tried to concentrate, but Rupert was pacing.

“It's a little hard to think with you doing that in here,” Wesley said, his eyes flicking from the map back to the Xedri, picking up the words just above his finger. Rupert pressed a hand to Wesley's shoulder in apology and went into the kitchen. Wesley felt a fond smile curve his lips, but it disappeared a moment later at the rhythmic 'thwap' of Rupert's footsteps against the kitchen floor.

Forcing himself to ignore it, Wesley focused on the last landmark. Finally, he glanced back at the map, circling the last one and then translating what directions there were. Wesley could feel Rupert's impatience as if it poured from the kitchen in tangible waves. “I've got it!”

“Then we should have plenty of time to take care of it before sunset,” Rupert said, coming out of the kitchen to lean over Wesley's shoulder as Wesley jotted down directions.

“Shouldn't we at least let Buffy know what's happening? We can probably take care of it ourselves,” Wesley said as he straightened, “but she should know to be ready, just in case.”

“You're right,” Rupert said, though he didn't sound particularly happy about it. “That is the responsible thing to do. I'll call and then we can go.”

----------

“I left a message with Willow. Buffy will check in with her,” Rupert said as he opened the boot of the car. They were parked a little ways from the cemetery gates. No one else was about at this time of night. The citizens of Sunnydale may be so deep in denial that they were at risk of drowning, but they weren't morons. Well, most of them weren't, at any rate. Wesley grabbed his crossbow and Rupert took the spell materials and the flashlight and they started into the cemetery.

“Let's hope she does,” Wesley said, giving Rupert a shrug when he glanced over. “I just don't like this system. I'm quite sure we can handle this without Buffy's help, but we really should be able to get in touch with her when the Slayer is what's needed.”

“I'll talk to her about checking in,” Rupert said, though he seemed more intent on the crypt itself. If Wesley hadn't known better, he'd have said Rupert was actually looking forward to the fight. It wouldn't be much, if everything went the way it was supposed to. They'd erect a circle, to keep the demon Prince contained, and then they'd banish him. And all of that only if they hadn't arrived in time to cut off the mystical energy flowing to the spot from the Hellmouth. Well, divert it, they couldn't actually cut it off, just channel it away. If they were early enough--it would take at least an hour to accomplish diverting the energies and they'd have to also begin the preparations for the banishing, just in case--they might even be done in time enough that they wouldn't lose their entire night to this.

Wesley knew something wasn't right the moment he pushed open the crypt door. There was the soft flicker of candlelight, for starters. And there were traces of movement in the dust, but also signs that someone had swept it away near the center of the room. Wesley raised his crossbow a little as he entered. Rupert was right behind him.

“Is someone here?” Rupert called out and there was a shuffling sound from the back of the crypt. Rupert shined the flashlight toward the noise and the light caught a man about their height with short dark hair.

“Oh, bugger,” the man said, adding one more fact to Wesley's accumulated knowledge. The man was British. Rupert took a step toward him and the man raised his hands as if to ward off a blow. “Ripper, I can explain. You have to listen.”

Wesley opened his mouth, though he wasn't sure which of his hundred or so questions he was going to ask first, but then snapped it shut as Rupert took another step into the crypt and said, “Ethan Rayne.” Rupert's voice was tense and strained. He took another step into the crypt and the man--Ethan Rayne, Wesley couldn't place where he'd heard the name before--took a corresponding step backward.

“You know this man?” Wesley asked, unsure whether or not that meant he could lower his crossbow. Rupert didn't seem particularly friendly.

“Know me?” Ethan gave a forced-sounding laugh. “Ripper and I are old friends, mate,” Ethan said. Of course, then Ethan tried to dart around Rupert and Rupert tripped him. Ethan went down hard on the stone floor. Before Wesley could even speak, Rupert was hauling the man to his feet by a hard grip on his arm. Rupert kept his grip on the man.

“No, no!” Ethan said, his hands held up as if that would reflect the blow. “Wait! Hang on! You-you can beat the crap out of me,” Ethan's eyes flicked to Wesley. “In stereo. Go ahead, I can't stop you. Or-or you can listen to what I have to say. Find out what's going on.”

“What are you talking about?” Wesley asked, and he hoped Ethan would be smart enough to answer.

“Something bad is happening.” Ethan said, his hands still up. “Bad for all of us. Well,” he added after a heartbeat, “I'm assuming all of us.” He was looking at Wesley as he said it, but his gaze moved back to Rupert when Rupert spoke.

“Bad for you, you mean?” Rupert nearly growled the words and his fist drew back. Wesley moved to stand next to Rupert, laying his hand for a brief moment against the small of Rupert's back. Wesley hated being confused as to what as happening. He'd had far more experience with that than he liked and he wasn't about to let all of this happen without knowing what the hell was going on.

“Rupert?” he said, softly. He still had his crossbow pointed at Ethan, the man wasn't going to get away, so there was no need to pound him. Although, given the slight look of disappointment that flash across Rupert's face, Wesley wasn't so sure that Rupert agreed. Rupert pulled his fist back a little more and, before Wesley could ask what was going on, Ethan was talking.

“No, no, no! Listen! You have to listen! You're going to need time to prepare!” The man seemed more desperate than earnest, but Wesley found himself believing Ethan. Rupert didn't seem so inclined.

Then it hit him. “Ethan Rayne,” Wesley blurted out, having finally made the connections. The Council hated the man quite a lot, but he'd never done enough to warrant wet work. The Council tried not to kill humans, unless there was no other option. Both Rupert and Ethan were looking at him, and Wesley felt rather slow, the last to catch on to the undercurrent of tension in the small crypt. He knew, vaguely, that Ethan and Rupert had been associated for a time, though exactly what their relationship might have been he didn't know. There were rumors, though . . . Suddenly, Wesley was a good deal less opposed to the 'beat Ethan to pulp' plan.

Still . . . Wesley had to admit that he did believe Ethan had something to tell them. The man had to, if he'd come here, didn't he? What other purpose could he have? Wesley glanced down at the floor. Rupert had dropped the flashlight when he'd gone to trip Ethan, but it still lighted the floor well enough, and the one remaining candle (there were others that had gone out around the room) helped enough that he could still see vague traces of chalk on the floor. They might have caught Ethan in the middle of a ritual and they needed to know what kind. Sighing, Wesley stepped between them, though he kept his back turned to Rupert and not to Ethan.

Rupert let go of Ethan, though, and that was a start, though Wesley didn't get the sense that he'd actually wanted to. Rupert was still crowded up against Wesley's back, as if he wanted to be there in case Wesley changed his mind and decided to let him hit Ethan.

“We're listening,” Wesley said. “What's so bloody important?”

“You're a Watcher.” Ethan's eyes narrowed as he looked at Wesley.

“Brilliant deduction,” Wesley said, his tone dry. “However, as I doubt that's what we'll need time to prepare for, why don't we get back to the topic at hand?” Rupert felt like a storm cloud behind him, a thunderhead glowering at Ethan over Wesley's shoulder.

“And feisty,” Ethan's tone created layers of meaning, more than Wesley would have thought possible for two little words. “Isn't he feisty, Ripper?” Ethan looked past Wesley's shoulder and Wesley's jaw clenched, but he held on to his temper.

“Just tell us whatever you have to say, Ethan. It's been a long, long day and if I leave, I can't guarantee that Rupert won't beat you to a pulp.” Wesley was bluffing, of course, but he made every effort to keep that fact off of his face. Rupert even perked up a little. Wesley glanced back and found him almost grinning. Not the most comforting reaction.

Whether Ethan bought it or not, he agreed. “All right,” he said, his eyes darting to Rupert's face and then back to Wesley again. “But not here.” Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. “It's cold and musty, but there's a place down the street that will do.”

“I'm not sure I want to be seen with you in public,” Wesley grumbled.

“Safer than in private,” Rupert said softly. Wesley gave a very small nod, but he knew Ethan had overheard their exchange anyway. He was grinning, and Wesley was really growing to hate that reaction. Especially given that Wesley could see a certain similarity in their grins. Not physically, of course, but in the spirit of the thing.

“Fine,” Wesley said, trying to shove aside the uneasiness taking up residence in his gut.

----------

The place wasn't bad, at least Wesley wouldn't have minded going there, if they hadn't had Ethan in tow. It was small, cozy. The brick walls were coated in a heavy layer of brick-red paint, making the place seem smaller even than it was, and the booths were smallish, too. Rupert waited until both Wesley and Ethan had sat and then scrunched in next to Wesley. Under the cover of the table, and for just a heartbeat, Rupert pressed his hand against Wesley's thigh. Wesley wasn't sure what it was supposed to convey, but it didn't particular matter, just then. It helped. Wesley sat up straighter, studying Ethan's face as the man gave the waitress his order.

“I suppose it will have to do,” Ethan muttered as the waitress walked away. American beer wouldn't have been Wesley's first choice either, but the waitress returned quickly, setting their drinks down on the table. She gave Wesley a wink and a smile before walking off.

“Brilliant!” Ethan said. “Now isn't this more fun than kicking my ass?

“No,” Rupert and Wesley said at the same time, but Wesley's reply was grumbled and quiet. Ethan unnerved him. He was oily and far too cheerful. Ignoring the fact that he hadn't felt that way before he'd know exactly who Ethan was, Wesley glared at the man, for good measure.

“Oh.” Ethan almost sounded disappointed. Then he shrugged, smiling. “It's more fun for me.”

“Just tell us what you want to tell us,” Rupert said. He'd mostly settled into the seat, but Wesley could feel the energy in him, coiled, as if Rupert were about to fly across the table at Ethan. Whatever the reason for that reaction, Wesley wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been sitting right next to Rupert, so he assumed Ethan had no idea, either. Wesley tried to be casual as well, or at least to appear that way. On the inside, he felt very much like he supposed Rupert did. Ethan put him on edge, but it wasn't only that. Wesley didn't feel he knew enough of the story between Rupert and Ethan. Though Rupert's hand had moved from Wesley's leg, Wesley could still feel the heat of the touch. Wesley concentrated on that and ignored his instincts, which were fairly shouting that Ethan needed to be elsewhere, right now.

“Oh, so crass.” Ethan said, his tone one of mock hurt. “We used to be friends, Ripper. When did all that fall apart?

That nickname, Ripper, grated against Wesley's raw nerves. He was getting rather sick of hearing it, or at least, of hearing Ethan say it. It, too, was infused with layers of meaning that Wesley couldn't even guess at.

“The same time you started to worship chaos,” Rupert sounded tired as he spoke. Wesley's pressed his shoulder against Rupert's a little more firmly.

“Oh, religious intolerance.” Ethan said, addressing himself to Wesley for the first time since they'd come in. “Sad, there. I mean, just look at the Irish troubles.” Rupert made to stand and Ethan's eyes darted back to him. “Oh, hang on, I'll tell you.”

Rupert sat again, giving Wesley a sidelong glance. Wesley knew the look well and he was glad to see that he wasn't the only one dubious of Ethan's . . . everything. “Something's happening in the darkworlds," Ethan said. "It's always been rumors out there but . . . only one thing's coming through clear. That something's harming demons and it's not the Slayer. Know anything about it?”

Wesley and Rupert exchanged another look. Wesley's mind jumped to the commandos who had been moving about Sunnydale lately. Spike certainly seemed worried about them and putting a chip in a vampire's head was certainly something new, something demons might fear. Wesley certainly would, were he a demon.

“What are they saying?” Rupert asked.

“You know demons. It's all exaggeration and blank verse. 'Pain as bright as steel,' things like that. They're scared. There's something called '314' that's got them scared most of all. The kind of scared that turns to angry.” Even in that there seemed to be some sort of hidden meaning. Rupert and Ethan locked eyes and suddenly Wesley felt superfluous.

“Right,” he said, just to break the moment. Rupert and Ethan both looked at him, and Wesley told himself firmly that they hadn't just forgotten he was there at all, though Ethan looked as if he might have. “And you think this '314' is here? In Sunnydale?”

“Most of what I've heard mentioned the Hellmouth,” Ethan said. “At least, obliquely.”

“You're sure about that?” Rupert asked, though Wesley could hear the first trace of worry in his voice. If these commandos were provoking the darkworlds with their techniques, it could lead to anything. There were a good number of demons who were peaceful, who lived their own lives in their own worlds and who couldn't care less about humans, but if something these people were doing was enough to terrify demons so badly . . . Wesley did not like the direction in which his thoughts were heading.

“Fairly certain, yes. Look, Rupert, I know we're not particularly fond of each other, but we are a couple of old mystics. This new outfit, it's blundering into places it doesn't belong. It's throwing the worlds out of balance. And that's way beyond chaos, mate. We're headed quite literally for one hell of a fight.”

They all three finished their drinks in silence. For his part, Wesley wasn't sure that he trusted what Ethan was telling them, but he didn't disbelieve it either. It was all too plausible. They'd known there was a new group in town, and that this new group had some rather . . . different ways of dealing with vampires. Wesley thought of Spike, who Rupert and he had watched for Xander occasionally. Wesley would have preferred just to stake him and not risk letting William the Bloody find a way to get loose on the public again, but even he had to admit that he wasn't sure he could have done it himself. Staking a chipped vampire just seemed cruel. Regardless, they still didn't know what else this group was doing to vampires, and demons, as well. How far a step was it from 'making them harmless' to 'using them to do the dirty work?'

Wesley gave a small shudder, but it helped to pull him back to the present. The waitress had brought them all a third round, though Wesley wasn't entirely sure when they'd all finished the second. He'd meant not to drink at all, and yet he found himself pausing with a beer halfway to his mouth.

Shaking his head at himself, Wesley pushed the glass away from his hand and glanced over a Rupert, who seemed to have no such reservations.

“You really believe what you've said,” Rupert said, studying Ethan fairly intently. It didn't sound like a question, but Ethan nodded, leaning back in his booth.

“I'd hardly be here if I didn't, would I?”

Wesley snorted. “You could be a distraction from something else. That's just off the top of my head, of course. If I tried, I could probably think of a few other reasons.” Wesley couldn't help the way his eyes slid to Rupert. As soon as he glanced back at Ethan, Wesley knew the man had seen it. Ethan's eyebrows were raised, but his eyes were narrowed, curious. Wesley did his best to give nothing away. The moment stretched far longer than Wesley would have liked, but then Rupert spoke and they both looked to him, ending whatever contest had been between them.

“So, you can see why your mere presence isn't enough to convince us.” Rupert sounded tense again, and his expression was rather more angry than he'd been just a moment ago.

“Then I doubt much else will,” Ethan said, giving a little shrug and sipping at his beer. “I mean, if you think I value my own safety so little.” His lips turned up into a brief smile, he and Rupert studying one another.

“Well,” Wesley said, “given that you're not bleeding or bruised yet, I'd say Sunnydale isn't all that dangerous for you.”

“Well, I suppose that makes it clear how much you know,” Ethan said, and the sound of that oily tone made Wesley want to reach across the table and break something that would make a satisfying sound. Wesley suddenly wondered how many times Ethan had had his nose broken.

“And that makes it clear why you can't seem to go anywhere without someone hitting you,” Wesley took a sip of his beer, rather pleased with himself for not giving into the impulse. Of course, it wasn't gone, but he wasn't about to give Ethan the satisfaction. Besides, Wesley got the idea that at least one cool head in this bunch would be a very good idea.

“That's nonsense,” Ethan said, still apparently in good cheer. “I travel quite a lot and it's only here I have to worry about making it out again intact. I wonder why that could be?” Ethan gave Rupert a significant glance.

“Oh, I wouldn't worry,” Rupert said, his voice starting to sound a little soft around the edges. “They just don't know you, yet. I'm sure they'll come around.”

Ethan snorted. “Are we talking about the same people here? The ones who sleepwalk through their lives and convince themselves that it's perfectly mundane for someone to die of 'neck rupture'?” Ethan laughed as if he'd never heard anything funnier.

Wesley shared a look with Rupert, Rupert rolling his eyes and Wesley shaking his head. Still, Wesley had to admit--to himself, at least--that he was more amused than he should be. He knew Ethan was dangerous, involved in the same sorts of things that Rupert had been involved in during what some members of the Council mockingly referred to as his 'sabbatical.' Demon summoning, dark magic, and any number of petty car thefts, though Wesley thought Ethan had probably left that hobby behind. Yet, he didn't feel in any particular rush to leave.

Ethan said something Wesley didn't catch, but it was likely obnoxious, judging by Rupert's thunderous expression. “Leave her out of this.”

“I can't even ask after the young Slayer's health?” Ethan said, feigning hurt.

“What do you care?” Rupert growled, and Wesley could feel the tension returning, though not as strongly.

“Oh, I don't,” Ethan said, turning his back to the wall and stretching his legs out along his booth. “I was only curious. After all, they sent another Watcher, something has to have changed.”

Wesley could see Rupert's jaw tighten, knew Rupert was staring daggers at Ethan.

“I'm not a Watcher, any longer,” Wesley said. What did he care if Ethan knew that? He didn't, but Rupert might not feel the same way about Ethan knowing he'd been sacked. “I was let go.” The words were tighter than Wesley had expected them to be. He thought he'd gotten over it, but he'd just now thought to wonder how the Council--and how his father--saw it. Wesley had come to Sunnydale to replace a Watcher who some of them regarded as dangerous, and then he, too, had gone rogue. Now, here he was, associating with Ethan Rayne, of all people.

“What?” Wesley asked, realizing someone had said something to him. He blinked first at Rupert and then at Ethan.

“Get lost?” Ethan asked, laughing. “I was just giving you my congratulations, on being free of those awful bores. Well,” his eyes swept to Rupert. “Almost free.” There was an edge to Ethan's voice that hadn't been present before.

If Rupert heard it, he said nothing, and the waitress soon returned with six shot glasses, though Wesley didn't remember who had ordered them, or when. Ethan pushed two of them toward Rupert and another two toward Wesley.

“No, I think I'd like to keep my wits about me,” Wesley said, waving the drink away.

“You see there, Rupert? He's going to keep his wits, so now you don't have to worry about yours.” Ethan snorted, taking one of the shot glasses in hand and downing whatever the contents were. Rupert gave a slightly drunken laugh and followed suit. Wesley tried to catch his eye, but Rupert didn't even pause between the two shots. Neither, Wesley had to admit, had Ethan.

“You sure you're not going to drink that?” Ethan asked, pointing to one of the shot. Wesley rolled his eyes, pushing both of them toward Ethan. Ethan pushed one toward Rupert and Wesley was glad when he and Rupert shared an exasperated look. Rupert's wasn't as somber as he'd have liked it to be, but at the rate Ethan was drinking, they'd probably be leaving him passed out in the booth. At least, he'd probably be too drunk for any serious mischief.

“You know you're really very attractive.” Both Rupert and Wesley turned to look at Ethan, who was apparently talking to the waitress. Wesley glared at Ethan anyway, feeling a bit unsteady himself. “Here's my name and number. You give me a call, I'll show you a good time.”

“Yeah, thanks.” The waitress rolled her eyes as she turned away. It cheered Wesley a little, petty as that was.

“You haven't changed.” Rupert said, shaking his head. “You're still sadistic and self-centered.”

“Here's to me.” Ethan toasted.

“Ethan, the world has past us by.” Rupert shook his head and Wesley had to re-access just how drunk Rupert might be. “Someone snuck in and left us a couple of has-beens in our place. This new thing, new outfit, I mean, their methods may be causing problems, but they're getting the job done. Where am I? I'm an unemployed librarian with a tendency to get knocked on the head.”

“Well, we won't have to worry about that anymore now, mate.” Ethan sounded serious enough that Wesley straightened in his seat, suddenly at attention. Rupert, too, straightened, but Wesley had serious doubts about whether or not Rupert remembered how dangerous Ethan was. “When you went to the loo I slipped a small pellet of poison in your drink. You'll be dead in an hour.”

Wesley's stomach dropped into his toes. Rupert looked at him and all Wesley could think to say was, “You went to the loo?”

Ethan lost it, laughing like a loon. “I'm Just kidding!” Wesley suddenly had that urge again, the one that ended with Ethan's nose making crunching noises. His fists even clenched, but before he could say anything, Rupert burst out laughing as well and suddenly the urge Wesley was resisting was the one that involved his own forehead and the table.

“You're going to feel like hell in the morning, the both of you,” Wesley grumbled.

“Relax,” Ethan said. “Enjoy the night.” He glanced at Wesley, as if looking for something. Then he shrugged. “We're just a bunch of sorcerers. The night is still our time. Time of magic.” Ethan raised his glass and Rupert raised his own as well.

“To magic,” Rupert said. Though neither of them seemed to notice, the clink of their glasses was accompanied by a soft thump as Wesley's head hit the wooden table and his muttering as he settled himself in for an aggravating evening.

----------

Wesley peeled his eyes open, though that really was the last thing he wanted to do. Unfortunately, his bladder insisted and Wesley sat up, only then realizing that he'd been asleep on the couch. Memories of the night before came rushing back and Wesley groaned softly, pressing his fingers against his aching temples, as if that would make it stop.

He hadn't had nearly as much to drink as Rupert had, but he'd had a few more beers, resigned to his fate. They'd walked home, dangerous given where they lived. Wesley's nerves had been frayed nearly to snapping by the time he'd gotten Rupert into the house. Once Rupert had passed out in the bed upstairs, Wesley hadn't had the strength to fight with him. He'd grabbed his pillow--pulling it out from under Rupert's arm--and the extra blanket and slept on the couch.

Still, his head ached and he thought he might like some water. A gallon or so should do it. Shaking his head at himself, before realizing that would only make it worse, Wesley forced himself to get up and head to the bathroom.

He felt better after he'd had a shower and a breakfast of toast and a few glasses of water. Wesley heard the alarm go off upstairs and went to make tea. Rupert was going to feel even worse than he did, so food probably wasn't the best option, but tea made everything better.

Wesley heard Rupert coming down the stairs, then there was a shout and a crash, followed by another. Wesley ran into the living room, skidding to a stop in front of what looked to be a rather surprised Fyarl demon . . . except . . .

“Rupert?” Wesley heard his own voice shake. He stared, trying to get his brain to start working.

“Please tell me I didn't see . . . “ Rupert trailed off, glancing behind himself at the damage.

“You're speaking Fyarl,” Wesley said, his eyes narrowing. He took a step closer, reaching out. His fingers brushed along Rupert's face. “And you look like a Fyarl.” His eyes flicked up to meet Rupert's. They were still the same eyes.

“Ethan.” They said it together.

Wesley turned, reaching for the phone. “I'll call Buffy. It'll hurt more if she kills him.” Rupert moved to stop him, to tug the phone out of this grip, but Fyarl demons being quite a bit stronger than humans, the receiver shattered in Rupert's hand. They both stared at it for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” Rupert said. Wesley said a quick thank you to his language tutor, who had insisted that he learn all the languages of the common mercenary demons. “Can we . . . I'd rather we handle this without involving Buffy.”

Wesley grimaced as he realized how much Rupert and he would have to explain to Buffy. “You've a wonderful point,” he agreed.

“We can take care of Ethan on our own,” Rupert said, and the his voice was a low growl. Wesley began to wonder if that was a good idea. As much as Wesley would like to see Ethan in some pain, A dead Ethan wouldn't be able to undo whatever it was he'd done.

“Yes, but I think we need to go about this calmly,” Wesley said. Rupert's eyes narrowed and he growled again. Wesley drew back a little and Rupert shook his head.

“I'm sorry,” Rupert said, reaching a hand out to Wesley, but not actually touching him. “I just feel . . . strange. Angry and . . . on edge.”

“Not surprising, given the situation,” Wesley said. “Still, we need Ethan.” Rupert gave a low growl, but he seemed content to wait at least a little while. Not patiently, mind. Wesley tried to think of some way to find Ethan, but Rupert was pacing circles around the living room. When Wesley's brain began making comparisons between Rupert and a caged animal, he forced himself to focus. “That waitress last night!” Wesley finally said, standing in a rush. His sudden movement seemed to startle Rupert, who growled and whirled to face him. Wesley went still, waiting. Rupert blinked at him several times.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and there was an edge of something in his voice. Worry or fear, Wesley couldn't tell which.

“We'll get this sorted, Rupert. I promise you.” Wesley wanted to reach out to Rupert, but he wasn't sure how that would be received. Rupert nodded, looking as sheepish as it was possible for a Fyarl demon to look. “We can find that waitress, ask her if she still has Ethan's number.”

Rupert nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We'll just go and ask her.”

“Well,” Wesley said, hedging a little, “it might be best if I go by myself. The less you're out in public, the less chance that someone will spot you.”

“You're not going after Ethan by yourself,” Rupert growled, taking a step toward Wesley. “He's dangerous.”

“I know,” Wesley said, holding up his hands. “I'll only go talk to the waitress by myself, then I'll come back and we'll go together to deal with Ethan, all right?” Wesley kept his mind on the moment, refusing to let himself think past those things. They'd find Ethan. Ethan would undo the spell. It was as simple as that.

“All right,” Rupert rumbled. He was still pacing. Even as Wesley watched, Rupert swung around and knocked a cup off the desk. It was empty and Rupert didn't even seem to notice the sound it made as it shattered against the floor. “Go.” Rupert looked morose as he came to a stop and turned to look at Wesley. It was strange to see Rupert's eyes staring out of the face of a depressed demon. “But Wes? Hurry, please?”

Wesley nodded, grabbing his coat. “I'll be back as soon as I can, Rupert. Try to stay calm, all right?” Now that it came down to it, Wesley found he also didn't want to leave Rupert alone. What if Buffy came by? Everything Rupert said came out in Fyarl, and Buffy wouldn't understand. “Maybe you shouldn't stay here.”

“Will you make up your mind?” Rupert growled.

“What if Buffy comes by?” Wesley said. “She can't understand a word you say, and all she'll see is a demon standing in a rather disheveled room where her Watcher should be.”

“Fine,” Rupert said, giving Wesley a very Rupert-like glare. “Where should I go then? Hmm? Xander or Willow will surely tell Buffy. I can't exactly wander around Sunnydale, so where do you purpose we go?”

----------

“Well, well.” Spike's voice came from behind Wesley, from around one of the crypts. Wesley turned to find Spike staring at Rupert. “What do I spy with my little eye? A demon. That would be . . . Oh, right, the things I can kill.”

“Spike,” Wesley said, drawing the vampire's attention. “That's Rupert and I rather think he'd like to pop your head like a balloon. You do speak Fyarl, don't you?” Wesley knew Spike could speak at least some Fyarl, he just wasn't sure how fluent Spike was.

“Fyarl? Giles?” Spike turned back to Rupert, looking up into his face. Rupert began a low growl and Spike took a step back.

“You can't really think to leave me with him,” Rupert said, turning back to Wesley. “He'll drive me over the edge.”

“Just hang on,” Wesley said, reaching out automatically and laying his hand on Rupert's elbow. The skin felt strange beneath Wesley's fingers, driving home what his eyes had been telling him all day. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Wait, you want me to demon-sit? What, out of the evilness of my heart?” Spike said, though he sounded more confused than angry. “And what the hell happen to him? You just come over all demony this morning?”

“Yes,” Rupert said, and he seemed content to leave it there.

“Thanks to Ethan Rayne,” Wesley said, trying to explain. He knew that, other than Buffy, Spike was the person most likely to survive Rupert as a Fyarl demon, but still Wesley couldn't help but feel as if he were leaving Rupert in the hands of the enemy. “I need you to keep Rupert calm until I can find Ethan. Then . . .”

“He must undo this,” Rupert growled, glowering at both Spike and Wesley. “Then he needs to be torn into several compact pieces.” Wesley's stomach twisted into a knot. It wasn't really the words, but the look in Rupert's eyes. He knew Rupert was in there, somewhere, he just hoped things would remain that way for long enough for them to get him back.

“I'll find him, Rupert.” Wesley said, “Just stay with Spike while I go do this, all right?” Wesley stared Rupert right in the eyes. If he didn't look anywhere else, he could pretend this wasn't as bad as it looked. He could focus on the moment. He had to find Ethan, make him undo it.

“Hello?” Spike said. “What makes you think I'm going to demon-sit Rupert?” Wesley broke eye contact with Rupert, glancing over at Spike.

“Money?” he said, after a moment of thought.

“Oh, I like money,” Spike said, turning toward them as if someone had pulled his strings. “How much money?”

“A hundred dollars?” Rupert growled, shuffling from foot to foot. Wesley imagined he could feel the nervous energy pouring off of him. He needed to leave so that he could drag Ethan back here and make him undo the spell.

“Two-hundred,” Spike said, giving Wesley a challenging stare.

“Fine,” Wesley said, giving a shrug. Spike deflated a little, as if he'd expected Wesley to fight him about it. Just then, Wesley could have cared less about the money, but time did seem to be ticking past awful quickly.

“Oh,” Spike said, shrugging. “Right, then. Rupert, how do you feel about poker?”

Rupert gave a low growl and Wesley patted his arm, sending Rupert what he hoped was a reassuring look, before he headed back to the car.

----------

Wesley drove to the bar they'd visited the night before. All while he parked and went inside, all Wesley could do was pray to whomever was listening that the waitress was there. He didn't think he could spare the time tracking her down would take.

He spotted her as soon as he got inside. It was only around five, but there were a few patrons already taking up barstools. Wesley didn't waste any time, walking straight up to the waitress, who seemed pleasantly surprised to see him. “Hello, I was here last night, do you remember?”

“Yeah. I remember you. You were with those two older guys.” She smiled at him.

“Yes, and one of them gave you his number? I was hoping you still had it. I have to reach him.” Wesley hoped she wouldn't ask why, because he wasn't very good at coming up with a lie on the spot and he didn't relish telling her that he had to find Ethan because Ethan had changed his boyfriend into a demon.

“He owe you money or something?” She nodded before he could answer. “Well, I don't have his number anymore,” she said with a shrug. “I threw it out. I mean, I took one look and saw that he was staying at that rat trap. No thanks.”

“Which rat trap?” Wesley asked.

“The one by the highway.” She pointed vaguely and then, at Wesley's quirked eyebrow, said, “The Sunnydale Motor Inn.”

“Thank you,” Wesley said, already turning to go. He knew where the motel she was talking about was and he was sure he could convince the desk clerk to tell him what room Ethan was in. After that, it was just a matter of grabbing Ethan and dragging him back to Spike's crypt. He felt bad about promising Rupert that they'd go together, but he hadn't seen any other way. Wesley wasn't sure that Rupert could control himself with Ethan about, and if Rupert killed him they may never find a way to get Rupert back.

Wesley parked outside the office of the motel and went inside. There was an older woman behind the desk knitting as she watched some ancient game show on a TV fitted into a mount in the corner of the room.

“A single?” she asked, when she finally looked over at Wesley.

“No,” Wesley said, “I'm looking for someone and I think he may be staying here.”

The woman leaned forward and flipped off the TV, setting her knitting aside. She stood up, leaning forward over the counter to look Wesley up and down. “You don't look like a cop.”

“I'm not,” Wesley said, taken by surprise. “I'm just looking for someone.” Wesley pulled out a fifty dollar bill, laying it flat on the counter in front of him.

The woman looked at the bill, then up at Wesley. “What's this person look like?”

“He's a bit older than me, with dark hair, about my height?” The woman looked blank until Wesley added, “He's British, as well.”

“Oh, right. The creepy one.” The woman ducked behind the desk and pulled a paper out of a stack of other papers. “Yeah, he's in room seventeen.”

Wesley nodded his thanks, leaving the bill and going to find Ethan. The room wasn't far from the office. He walked up to the door, knocking loud and hard. There was no response from inside the room and, just as Wesley was starting to think he should have gone around back and tested the windows instead, the door opened.

Ethan took one look at his face and started to close it. Wesley pushed in with all his strength and finally the door opened. Wesley's own momentum threw him forward, into the room. Ethan was standing in the middle of the place, his eyes flicking from one side of Wesley to the other. Trying to decide which way to run.

Wesley reached behind himself without looking, closing the door. Then he leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know why I'm here, and you're coming with me one way or another.” Wesley did his best to keep his voice cold, dispassionate.

“Oh, dear. You are fucking him, aren't you?” Ethan laughed and Wesley finally gave in to the urge. He was on Ethan in a heart beat, grabbing Ethan's wrist and slamming his fist into Ethan's stomach. Ethan doubled over, but Wesley kept him from collapsing to the floor. Ethan moaned and then Wesley grabbed his collar, pulling Ethan up so that they were face to face.

“My choices are to either let Rupert slip deeper into a demon, or to get you to perform the ritual and turn him back. This will all go a lot easier if you come along quietly.”

----------

The silence was heavy in the Citreon as Wesley drove back to Spike's crypt. Wesley had expected Ethan to chatter and to, generally, be as annoying as possible. Instead he'd gone quiet, well, after he'd spent about ten minutes complaining about the tie around his wrists. Wesley had used the belt of a bathrobe he'd found in the bathroom and, apparently, terry clothe made an uncomfortable makeshift rope. After that, however, Ethan had settled down. Now he slouched in the passenger seat next to Wesley. He stared out the window, the perfect picture of misery.

Wesley leaned forward, glancing up and starting at just how dark the sky was. It was beginning to get dark. He hadn't thought he'd been away that long. He flipped on his headlights and went a little faster.

“You know,” Ethan said. “I need to learn to do the damage and get out. It's always the staying to gloat that gets me.”

“I could have sworn you were too drunk to cast anything last night,” Wesley found himself saying. He glanced over at Ethan and then back to the road.

“Please,” Ethan said and then he gave a snort. “I do happen to be a professional.”

“Drunk? I can believe it.” Wesley turned into the parking area in front of the cemetery. It actually formed the border between the cemetery and a little park with playground equipment. You had to give Sunnydalers credit for one thing; they had a marvelous gift for juxtaposition.

“Very funny. It grows easier to see why the Council sacked you,” Ethan said, as Wesley turned off the car's engine.

“Actually,” Wesley said, “they sacked me because I'd 'fallen under Rupert's influence'.” Wesley turned a glare on Ethan. “If you don't get him back, I may kill you.”

Ethan stared at him for a moment and Wesley thought Ethan was probably trying to decide whether or not he was telling the truth. It would be a good trick, given that Wesley wasn't even sure. Whatever Ethan was looking for, a moment later he nodded. “All right,” he said, “let's get this over with.”

Wesley got out and opened Ethan's door. Ethan climbed out and Wesley nodded for him to start into the cemetery. Wesley stayed behind him and kept an eye on Ethan, but he found he wasn't all that worried that Ethan would run. It would be hard with his wrists bound, and they were in a cemetery, on the Hellmouth, at night. Wondering around lost and partially tied up wasn't exactly a strategy for success.

They were closing in on Spike's crypt when Wesley saw something move in the shadows. He grabbed Ethan, pulling the man back so that they were both hidden behind another crypt. Wesley ducked out quickly, his eyes scanning the shadows between the two of the family mausoleums. He saw something move again and then he got a clear look at one of the moving shapes and he drew back with a curse.

“What is it?” Ethan asked, enunciating in a way that made Wesley think this wasn't the first time he'd asked.

“Commandos,” Wesley said, trying to fight off the panic rising inside him. He'd had to leave Rupert with Spike, hadn't he? Spike, who the commandos were hunting. What would they do to Rupert, if they got a hold of him?

“Bloody hell,” Ethan muttered, looking morose. “I don't suppose we're going to leave quietly, are we?”

“Not without Rupert,” Wesley said. “And possibly Spike.”

Wesley waited until the last of the shapes had moved to another section of the graveyard. He could just barely make them out, when they moved or if something they carried happened to catch the light. When it was time for them to move, Wesley tugged on Ethan's bindings to get his attention and then nodded where he wanted Ethan to go. Ethan glared at him. Wesley dragged him to his feet and then pushed him forward. Wesley was right behind, keeping a hurrying hand on Ethan's back.

“How are we going to get to them?” Ethan asked between pants as Wesley pulled him to a stop behind another crypt. The commandos didn't seem to know what they were looking for. It was entirely possible they were just sweeping the cemetery. Still, they were a little too close to Spike's place for Wesley's peace of mind.

“We should be able to slip inside fairly easily,” Wesley said, glancing around the corner of the crypt and staring into the dark until he'd spotted the commandos again. “As long as we wait for the right moment.”

“And what makes you think I won't yell for the commandos?” Ethan asked, “You did threaten to kill me.” Ethan tutted. “And here I thought we might be friends.”

Wesley rolled his eyes. “You don't want to talk to them, either. And it isn't as if they'd just let you go without a single question.”

“Oh, I dare say that would fall out worse for you than for me,” Ethan countered. “My hands are tied and you're leading me to a vampire's crypt in the middle of the night. I wouldn't even have to lie to come out the hero of that story.”

“Well, not much,” Wesley conceded. Then he dragged Ethan to his feet and pushed him forward again. Despite what he'd said, Wesley knew Ethan didn't want anything to do with the commandos. He was scared, Wesley had heard it in Ethan's voice last night. Rumors or not, Ethan believed what he'd heard, and it had worried him.

They were close to Spike's place now, just a brief dart through fairly open area and they'd be there. The problem was that the commandos were nearby as well. They seemed to be taking the cemetery in sections, which put them unfortunately close at the moment. Wesley did his best to wait, but there was a voice in the back of his head pressing him to go quicker. Who knew what was happening with Rupert. If that temper of his had kept growing, Spike could even be the one in danger. Well, Wesley supposed that depended on whether or not the chip still recognized Rupert as a human.

Wesley spotted an opening and dragged Ethan along behind him as he made a dash for it. They made it to the crypt without attracting any attention that Wesley was aware of. He opened the door as quietly as he could, shoved Ethan inside and then slipped in behind him, shutting the door. When he turned around it was to find Rupert and Spike sitting at a makeshift table. There was a basket sitting on the center of the table and three kittens inside it, all of them peering around with great big eyes. The cards looked utter ridiculous in Rupert's huge Fyarl hands.

“Why are there kittens?” Wesley asked, too struck by the utter surreality of the moment to remember that there were enemies nearly at the gate.

“I wasn't going to eat them,” Rupert said, his voice apparently having deepened into a growl. He looked abashed. Wesley blinked and then nodded. Rupert glanced down then and seemed to realize that it was Ethan lying on the floor. Rupert stood in a rush, growling. Ethan got to his feet as well, quicker than Wesley would have thought possible with bound hands.

“Now-now Rupert,” Ethan said, holding his hands up in front of them. “If you kill me, you'll never get back to yourself!” Rupert took a step toward Ethan and Wesley got between them, looking Rupert right in the eyes.

“He's right. You won't get out of here looking like that, Rupert. There are people outside, those commando people. They seem to be sweeping the cemetery and they're not going to miss a six-foot tall Fyarl demon.”

Rupert growled, his eyes flicking from Wesley to Ethan and back again. He finally agreed, backing off a little.

“Uh, I'd like to take this moment to ask how you lot intend to get me out of here,” Spike chimed in. “I'm the one those tossers are looking for.”

“Let's deal with getting Rupert back to himself first,” Wesley said. “If we're caught with him as he is, they'll take all of us in no matter what.”

Spike apparently agreed, or at least didn't feel the need to fight about it. Wesley turned to look at Ethan. “You brought what you'd need?”

Ethan nodded and Wesley took a position behind Ethan, so that he could keep an eye on just what the man was doing. Spike kept pacing by the door, opening it a crack every now and then. He said he couldn't see any of the commandos, but that didn't seem to make him feel any better.

Wesley watched Ethan's every movement, his stomach in knots as he considered all the things Ethan could do without his ever noticing. It felt as if an eternity past. Whatever magic Ethan was doing, it swirled thick enough in the air that it made it hard to see anything more than a few feet away. When, finally, the smoke-like tendrils of magic had faded away, Rupert was himself again. Himself, only lying shirtless on a cold stone floor. Wesley took off his coat and went to make sure Rupert was all right.

Rupert sat up, taking the coat and pulling it around his shoulders. Then he stared at his hand, bringing it up slowly, to feel his face.

“You feel better?” Wesley asked, “more yourself?”

“I'm starting to,” Rupert replied. “I'm really back, aren't I? I wish there was a mirror..”

“You're back,” Wesley said. He couldn't resist ducking in for a quick kiss, which seemed to take Rupert completely by surprise. He didn't look angry, though, just bemused. It was so good to see his face again.

“Oh, don't you two start with the snogging,” Spike whined. “We're surrounded by commandos, remember?”

“They may just pass us by,” Ethan said, his head tilted to the side as if he'd be able to hear them coming.

“I find that a fairly optimistic attitude,” Spike grumbled. “What are we going to do?”

Wesley found himself the center of attention. Even Rupert was looking at him. “Umm . . . why shouldn't we just walk out?” They all blinked at him. “Only Spike has anything to worry about. The rest of us are just humans--foreign humans, who don't know any better than to walk through a cemetery at night. At worst, they'll escort us home. We walk out, Spike heads off behind the crypts and we draw attention away from him.” Wesley shrugged.

Rupert, Ethan and Spike all spoke at once, their voices running together as they agreed. Then Rupert paused. “The only problem is . . . how am I going to explain the fact that I'm half naked?”

Before Wesley could even get a word out, the door to the crypt crashed open. Dust filled the air and Wesley could only barely make out the shape of one of the commandos. The figure came through the dust and Wesley stood, not entirely sure what he was going to say. Rupert stood up beside him and Ethan and Spike had pressed themselves against the walls, as if that would make them harder to see.

The commando came to stand just in front of Rupert and Wesley. Between the night goggles and the face mask, Wesley couldn't see any of the man's--he was fairly sure it was male--face. Then the figure reached up a hand, pulling off the goggles and revealing enough face that Wesley recognized the commando.

Riley. Buffy's boyfriend. Wesley wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

“Hi, Mr. Giles, Mr. Pryce.” he sounded just as exuberant as he had the other night, at Buffy's birthday party. Anxious to make a good impression. Then he paused, his forehead furrowing, seeming to notice the situation in which he found himself. Rupert was shirtless, and the two of them were shut up in a crypt in the middle of the night with two other men and three kittens. Oh, yeah, Riley was completely going to overlook the fact that something was going on.

Riley glanced around and then his eyes widened. “Right. Well.” He stood there, looking as awkward as Wesley felt.

“Uh, fraternity brothers,” Wesley choked out, suddenly having to fight to keep himself from laughing. It had just been such a long day and the look on Riley's face was utterly priceless. It was, at once, horrified and relieved.

“It's, uh, a very long story,” Rupert began, “and I would . . . Uh, appreciate it if, uh . . . Well, Buffy . . .“

“You weren't here. I didn't see you. Have a nice night, sirs.” Riley backed out of the crypt, pulling the door closed behind him. Whatever he shouted to his cohorts, it seemed to be the all clear. The commandos moved on.

“What does any of this mean?” Rupert asked, giving Wesley a look that spoke of pure exhaustion. Wesley could imagine just how he felt. “Riley is one of the commandos, but he didn't act as if it were a secret.”

“We'll figure it out later,” Wesley said, nodding toward the door. Spike argued that he couldn't stay in the crypt now, not after the commandos had been there. Wesley pointed out that it made them all the less likely to be checking it out again, however, and Spike all but pushed them out the door. Wesley stopped outside the crypt, turning to shut the door behind him.

“All I want is a hot shower,” Rupert said. “No, make that a hot shower and a hot meal.” Wesley groaned, suddenly realizing that he hadn't had a thing since his breakfast of toast.

“That sounds heavenly.” Wesley turned and suddenly realized Ethan wasn't there any longer. “Damn it,” he growled, peering off into the shadows.

“Don't worry,” Rupert said, as they walked back to the car. “It'll be a while before we see him again.”

“Lovely,” Wesley muttered. “You have to keep your eye on him every second”

“He has a lot of practice,” Rupert said. Wesley decided to change the subject. Now that Ethan Rayne was--hopefully--gone, he was the last thing Wesley wanted to discuss. No wonder Rupert kept so quiet about the man.

“Do you think Buffy knows about Riley?” Wesley asked as he slid behind the driver's wheel. Rupert slid into the passenger's seat without a fuss and Wesley actually found himself missing the fuss. He shook his head at himself.

“I hope it's not something else she forgot to tell me,” Rupert said, sounding more tired than angry. “We really will have to talk to her about checking in.”

Wesley reached out and patted Rupert's thigh. “Don't worry. I don't think Riley will tell her about tonight.”

“We'll deal with it tomorrow,” Rupert said. They were both quiet the rest of the way back to the house. They headed into the courtyard, both of them moving stiffly after a long, long day. Wesley went to unlock the door, but it opened before he got the chance. Buffy, Willow, and Xander all stood at the door, staring out at them with wide, wide eyes.

Wesley was having to fight very hard to keep the laughter at bay. He was exhausted, and starving, and he'd had about all the stress he could take.

“Where have you guys been?” Buffy looked caught between relief and anger. “The place is a wreck and you two were all missing person-y and we thought something might have happened!” Buffy seemed to take in the state of them, then. Rupert, shirtless with Wesley's coat pulled around his shoulders. Wesley rumpled and in the sweats he'd put on that morning after his shower, when he'd been fairly certain he wasn't leaving the house for a while. They were both smudged with dust from the crypt, their hair practically covered with it.

“Can we discuss this tomorrow?” Rupert asked, but though he sounded utterly weary, his eyes were bright with suppressed laughter. The children exchanged worried glances, parting so that he and Rupert could get into the living room. “That's also when you can tell me all about Riley and his friends.”

Buffy shook her head. “What about them?”

“Well, we'll start with the fact that they exist and go from there.”

Light dawned behind Buffy's eyes. “Oh, crap. I . . . I didn't tell you about that?”

“No,” Rupert said. “Tomorrow.” He shooed the children out, diverting all their questions. Wesley leaned against the desk, waiting until Rupert shut the door and locked it.

When Rupert turned back into the flat, Wesley grinned. “How about we share the hot shower and then order a hot meal?”

“That sounds perfect,” Rupert said. He'd opened his mouth to add more when there was a knock at the door. Wesley stood away from the desk, grabbing his second favorite crossbow since his favorite was still in the car. Rupert took a stake from one of his hiding places. He looked through the peephole, but shook his head. “There's no one out there.”

Wesley took a few steps forward as Rupert opened the door. His eyes were drawn to a splash of white on the ground. It looked like a piece of paper, folded up under a small rock. Rupert bent down and picked it up while Wesley kept his crossbow raised, just in case. When Rupert had the door shut and locked again, Wesley put his crossbow aside and moved so that he could see the paper over Rupert's shoulder. The handwriting was unfamiliar to Wesley, but he knew who it was from.

Wesley, I know what Ripper sees in you. Rupert, it would have worn off you know. Be seeing you. - Ethan.

Rupert and Wesley shared an exasperated look, then Rupert tossed the note onto the desk and pulled Wesley after him as he headed for the shower. Wesley glanced back at the note, then shook his head and followed Rupert.