[Disclaimer: The monkey and I own nothing. We just like playing with Joss's toys]
Author's Note
Something of a follow-up to Just So We're Clear.
Love You, Hate You, Miss You
by Adele Elisabeth
Summary: Ethan's gone, but Rupert's still here.
It was a few months after Sunnydale went very definitely kaput before Rupert got a chance to go to Ethan's grave. It was fairly simple, a white marble headstone stating whom he was, when he was born and when he died. It didn't seem quite enough -- it said everything without saying anything at all.
"Hello, Ethan. I got your letter -- yes, you're right, I didn't like Ms Morgan at all. Perhaps that has something to do with the fact she works for a demonic law firm. Maybe?
"I didn't really know quite what to think when I got your letter, which I doubt will surprise you. Part of me wishes you'd said something earlier -- not when you were on the other side of the world and on your deathbed -- but another part of me can see quite easily why you didn't…and," he paused, "And I'm sorry."
A thousand memories, a thousand pieces of Ethan that he'd collected over the years, he saw them all now. Ethan, laughing with delight when a scowling Ripper thrust a Valentine's Day card at him. Ethan, his head resting on Rupert's chest, fast asleep and faintly snoring -- though he'd forever deny that he did. Ethan, glaring hatefully, bitterly at him as he packed his things. Ethan, standing there on his doorstep a week later, uncertain of his reception. (Understandably so, Rupert thought, wincing at the memory of quite calmly telling him to fuck off and punching him when he wouldn't.)
He'd loved Ethan Rayne and he'd hated Ethan Rayne and now, now he missed him something awful.
"I would've come sooner, but I had the small matter of another Apocalypse on my hands. You know how it is." There were so many things he'd wanted to say to Ethan -- even if he hadn't admitted that he wanted to -- but Ethan was gone and he couldn't find the words. "Why'd you have to go and die, you wanker," he muttered, sinking down to lean against the headstone, stretching his legs out.
He'd never considered the idea that one day; Ethan might not be there. It had never occurred to him. They were Ethan and Rupert, one way or a-bloody-nother.
Only now they weren't.
When he left, hours later, wiping away tears he would forever deny, a thought struck him, and he chuckled.
He couldn't believe his old leather pants still fitted.