The tree was almost finished. Giles directed everyone from where he lay on the sofa conserving his energy. Every now and then, he would catch one or more of them looking at him then looking away when he noticed.

It was awkward. Just what he didn’t want. He found now that as well as being in pain he was also very hungry and thirsty. This was torture! He turned over on the sofa and buried his head against the backrest. He wanted it to be over.

Why couldn’t he just go to sleep and not wake? Did it have to hurt so much and what was that strange noise? He caught his breath when he realised it was his own voice sobbing into the sofa. The wailing continued he couldn’t stop it. He was also aware of a rocking motion. He was comforting himself, as you would rock a small child. Where was Willow, why wasn’t she here helping him?

"Dad, Dad?!" That was Jack’s voice hang on to that. Jack’s voice!

He steadied himself and turned his head from the back of the sofa. Everyone was gathered round, concern written on their faces.

"Feeling a bit sorry for myself." He sniffed and eased himself round to a semi- sitting position.

"Oh, the tree looks fine…" He breathed in sharply as another wave of pain crested and crashed over him. "Jack!" He gasped, his head rolling back he was trying to breathe the pain away, but it wasn’t working. The scratch in his arm that he hardly felt blocked everything. He relaxed at once and slowly opened his eyes taking a deep cautious breath. Still here. That had been the worst so far.

"I think we all deserve a brandy, would you get it Jack?" Spike followed Jack out of the room with an offer of help.

"You should have put him out for good. He’s your Dad for God’s sake! He’s hurting, he wants to die!"

"Don’t you think I know that? I’ve had to deal with him getting steadily worse for five years! I don’t need some Bloody Johnny come lately to tell me that! I’m the one who helped him look after Mum. I’m the one who stayed awake each night while he wept for her. Every morning checking in on him to see if he’d topped himself in the night. If he wants to die I’ll leave the morphine for him, shall I? He won’t do it! He’s a stubborn old Bastard who will refuse to go until his allotted time." All through his tirade Jack had alternated between rage and being close to tears. He wiped his eyes with the tea towel.

"Get the glasses!" He took several shuddering breaths trying to steady himself before going back into the living room. Spike grudgingly got the Brandy glasses out of the cupboard that Jack indicated and put them on the tray. Jack carried in the brandy.

Laughter heralded their return Xander was telling jokes and Giles had a big silly grin on his face.

"Ah, Brandy. I’m going to have a drink and damn the doctor. See if I can beat my liver into remission." He smiled at his own joke. He looked at everyone’s sombre faces.

"I’m allowed to joke at my disease, its what keeps me sane!" He poured himself a generous measure of the fiery amber liquid and was reminded of Willow’s skin in firelight. He sighed at the memory. Now, she comes back to me. He took a sip and tasted her. His eyes closed as the spirit burned down his throat and warmed his cold, scarred stomach. He opened his eyes and looked round the room.

"I’m not dead yet! Drink up. Then we’ll have an extra story to set the scene for tonight…" He took another sip of Brandy and felt his body begin to warm. He began when he judged everyone ready. Spike sprawled on the sofa with his Slayer leant up against him. They made a fetching couple. Spike made no move at all when she snuggled closer to him.

We returned from the barn. God knows how Ethan got me up the stairs to Deirdre’s room with his broken ribs but he did. She bound his chest then cleaned my wounds.

"What did you give him, Ethan?" she asked looking at my eyes. "He’s not seeing us."

"Thomas gave me something new." Ethan said casually

"That ’something new’ sent the lab animals mad. They tore each other apart!"

"What?" Ethan looked at me closely. I remained on the floor silent, still and staring where he had dropped me earlier.

"Thomas was there it happened a couple of hours ago. Maybe it won’t affect a human the same way." She said hopefully.

Ethan crouched down beside me I was smiling again. "I’d better get those photo’s developed. Get Thomas working on an antidote. I don’t want Ripper shredding me before I get a chance to blackmail him."

"I missed something didn’t I?" Xander protested. "What pictures, he was going to blackmail you? How could you be so foolish as to let yourself be drugged by him?"

"Well, it was Spike’s story. The pictures were published in some university pamphlets with one particular photo making the cover of the Rag. I didn’t have a choice about being drugged he made sure I couldn’t get at him. Can I continue?"

Thomas found an antidote before I went on a bloodthirsty rampage. The ’trip’ had been interesting.

My relationship with Ethan had changed. I no longer followed him around like a lost puppy. I had found a new identity for our group. We were to be followers of Eyghon. Ethan was a better summoner than I. You had to be exact on all the details and Ethan WAS the magic! It flowed through him like a natural conduit. He loved it. I provided the template for the tattoos and Ethan made them permanent.

Our tattoos were a week old when Ethan and I were having one of our now, rare moments of intimacy. There came a knock at the door. I slipped my jeans on and opened the door.

I stared in shock at my father. He shared my expression. I didn’t look like his son anymore. My hair had grown long, a hoop of gold pierced my ear, and I had a tattoo adorning my left arm and I was bare chested with my jeans hastily fastened.

"Dad!" My explosive cry sent scurrying noises through the room behind me.
"Rupert. I thought I’d come for a visit…" He wasn’t as shocked as I thought. I stepped through the door pulling it to behind me.

"Visit?" I questioned.

"Really, Rupert your conversation used to consist of more than two syllables!"

"Sorry…" I winced. "Uhm, What brings you here?" That’s better; give him a question to answer.

He produced a rolled up magazine from his pocket.

"This!" One syllable beat me hands down! He unfurled the magazine to reveal a black and white photograph of a naked figure bound to a beam in a barn the title proclaiming ’Ripper at Easter’ the latest edition of the Oxford Rag. I shut my eyes and cursed Ethan. I opened the cover and glanced down the index. Sure enough, Ethan’s name appeared as the photographer. There were further stories; ’Ripper’s Escapade’s’ ’Ripper’s Birthday Bash’ but not, thank God the later pictures of the ’Crucifixion’ series. I sighed in relief.

"Ethan’s my flatmate, Dad, I agreed to the pictures being taken."

"Did you have to do it naked and aroused, Rupert?"

I whipped the cover flat again and studied it. Shit!

"Uhm, social comment Dad, if Christ were alive today would he be turned on by the bondage aspects of being crucified." If he believes that…

"Do you have any time for your studies Rupert? We, your mother and I saw a historical film the other week. Your name appeared as fight co-ordinator in the credits."

Deep, deep shit!

"Yes, yes I do and right now Dad, you’re interrupting a study period." I turned and slammed the door in my fathers face.

Ethan was dressed and had made our bed. If there’s one thing he was very good at it was dressing quick! I glowered at him threatening all sorts of violent retribution. He just smiled at me, slipping smoothly past and re-opened the door.

"Mr. Giles? Hello Sir. Do come in, would you like some tea?" Ethan slithered round my father oozing charm. I pulled on a sweatshirt. I wouldn’t have minded but Ethan had ’finished’ before me so I was on edge and cranky with it.

My father made me agree to meet him for lunch before he left the room. When the door closed and before I had time to hit him Ethan busied himself ’taking care’ of me. My shoulders hit the door with an audible thud.

I met my father at the Quadrangle bar. Many of the students parted at my approach. My expression broke no argument. Unknown to me my father had witnessed my traverse. He sensed something was up.

"The tattoo is Etruscan isn’t it?" He asked as I sat down opposite him. "Rupert, don’t summon him. They’re frightened of you already, don’t add death to your reputation."

"What are you talking about? I do not intend to summon Eyghon."

"Just don’t. A Watcher has to have certain grounding in magic but nothing too dangerous. I know we haven’t seen eye to eye about Watcher business but it is your destiny and you’re getting to the age when you’ll be able to sense a Slayer near you…"

"Dad, we haven’t seen eye to eye since I was eight! Didn’t you ever want to chuck your destiny? Most of the people I know don’t know what job they’ll do. I have had the burden of knowing that I will only ever have one job. Watcher until I die. It’s so bloody boring! I want to fight, create, paint, procreate and have fun. I do not want to wear the Tweed!" My voice had risen to a shout. I scraped my chair back and escaped the stifling air of my destiny.

I stormed back to the house and kicked in the door of our room. Ethan and Deirdre were in bed enjoying each other.

"Get the others we’re raising Hell tonight." I growled.

Ethan cheered. "That’s my Ripper!"

I stared into my glass. The silence telling they were waiting for the next part. I took more sips ignoring my audience, building the tension.

End of Pt.9

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