Author's Note: This is the last chapter. I hope it's okay. I'm really going to miss this fiction; it was one of my favourites even if I didn't update so often. Thanks to all the reviewers for sticking around and being so encouraging. What can I say? I definitely wouldn't have finished it without you.

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"Mr. Giles, there's a man here to see you."

The Head of the Watcher's Council sighed as inaudibly as he could. "What's his name and business, Bianca?"

"He won't say, Mr. Giles." A whispered conversation took place and then Bianca's voice came back, a little uncertain, and a lot more peeved. "He says that he has a present for you that will not explode in your face, curse you, turn you into anything or otherwise incapacitate you."

"Alright, Bianca, send him in."

Giles sat back in his chair and hurriedly closed up the documents on his desk. For good measure, he stuffed them all into his desk and resigned himself to staying later than usual to get them back to order. When the expected knock came, he barely said, "Come in," before the door was opened.

Quite forcefully.

"Ripper, old chum!"

"Oh no, it's you," Giles groaned, "What the hell are you doing here, Ethan?"

Ethan held out a lumpy parcel with a very imperious hand and grinned in his usual sardonic way. "I had all these wonderful hints so's you could guess what this is," he replied, "But half the fun of presents is getting people to open them."

"I'm not touching anything you had a hand in," Giles snarked.

"Oh, now, Ripper, really! After all these years? After everything we've been through, you still don't trust me?"

Giles' answer was even more emphatic- "No."

Ethan's grin widened. "Alright, then. But I think you want this very much, Ripper."

"Suppose you tell me what it is?"

"Suppose I don't?"

"I can have ten Slayers in here in seconds flat."

Ethan was clearly unimpressed. He set the lumpy parcel on the desk- very carefully on its side- and took off his jacket. "It's getting too hot again," he complained, "Got off the plane from Los Angeles and it was almost as bad as back there."

"Los Angeles?" This, the Watcher had not expected. Mexico- yes. New Mexico- yes. But not Los Angeles. From the way Ethan's dark eyes were glowing, Giles had the suspicion that someone had been duped into reporting wrong. "You know our contact."

"Of course. That little boy was nothing like a chaos mage. He got squeamish thinking about goat's entrails."

"Why goat's entrails?" Giles asked, mystified by that one.

"I told him he needed goat's entrails to facilitate going back backwards into the past in a specific path. He had to put down his fork and breathe for a few minutes while I described exactly how to clean and cut them."

"Ethan, you don't need goat's entrails for that spell."

"Not unless you want to end up in the Ming dynasty when all you wanted was to get your client back three days to when he proposed to his girlfriend and did it so badly she refused to speak to him ever again," Ethan informed him, "Chaos mages must be tough and hard, Ripper. They must show no fear. Of goat's entrails, at least!"

"Because you've always been such a hero, eh?"

"Oh, no! I'm a coward and I've always said so." Ethan tossed his jacket into a chair with a self-satisfied smirk and followed it, stretching casually with a wide yawn.

Giles took the opportunity to look him over. The man was thin- as he always was- and annoying- as he always was- and there was a frenetic energy crackling around him that said he'd had a damned good time topping up on his powers. It wasn't all rest and relaxation on a chaos mage's holiday. A few oaths had to be renewed, a few intricate spells wrought… Giles remembered Ethan just starting out in chaos and the man was now the best in his field.

"See something different?" Ethan chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. He twisted his arms up to that green gaze and his smile got positively dizzy with triumph as he watched Giles jerk forward with an oath and run fingertips down the smooth skin. "Nice, isn't it?"

"What the hell… how did you… where did you…"

"Now, Ripper. What have I told you about stammering?" Ethan withdrew his arms and shook a finger at the other man.

Giles sat down and ignored that finger. At one time, he would have threatened to bite it off. For now, he was too surprised. Ethan was just sitting there! Looking as if he were rested and refreshed and ready to have all the phones in London ringing overseas' numbers for the hell of it! How it was even possible, the Watcher couldn't say. Such bonds were for life. It took years to let the bond weaken, let alone fade. Yet there Ethan sat, and he had managed to remove an irremovable dedication inked into his skin.

The man in question curled up in the chair and waved his hand at the packet. "Open it," he demanded.

It was a measure of how confused Giles was that he obeyed. Or optimistic? Possibly a combination of both where Ethan was concerned. The brown paper wrapping tore easily. But the package got smaller and smaller the more those callused fingers unwrapped.

Giles paused for a minute to glare when he heard a stifled laugh. But Ethan only blinked innocent dark eyes back at him. The Watcher shook his head and turned his attention back to the troublesome gift. "There will be a point to all this soon, yes?" he grunted.

"Keep opening," Ethan murmured, "You'll see soon enough."

By the time the paper fell away to leave another material behind, the present could fit into Giles's palm. He looked at it, looked up to Ethan's smug amusement and put it carefully down on the table between them. The present glittered quite innocently as they gazed soberly at it.

"Where did you get it?" Giles asked softly, mesmerized.

"A friend in Los Angeles," Ethan said, "A green demon with a great singing voice. Lorne, I think his name was."

Giles shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Will it work?"

"It might. The firm wouldn't actually have killed them," Ethan admitted, "Not if I read them right. Dead, yes. But not exactly gone."

"Ghosts?"

"No. The little I can tell from initial examination is that this is just a key," Ethan explained, "They're being held in a kind of void. Unable to do anything but exist for an eternity. Wolfram and Hart wouldn't risk sending them on to either a heaven or a hell. It's too risky. Someone might bring them back… or send them back."

Giles nodded and ran a hand over the jewelled pattern on the surface. "How did Lorne get it?"

"I don't know, Ripper. He didn't stay long enough to tell me. He said he wanted nothing more to do with saving the world. He said it only killed people."

"I'll keep that in mind," Giles remarked dryly, "So this gives us the ability to enter the- what did you call it- the void, where they're being held? Do you know how many there are?"

Ethan shrugged. "My guess is that the two vampires are in there, certainly. Possibly the Watcher, because he shares a close understanding with Angel. I don't believe the Goddess will be there. She could have ceased to exist, or she could have been sent on to another dimension. Angering a Goddess is never a good move, even for Wolfram and Hart."

"What about the other man?"

"The lawyer? Don't know. I don't see any reason to put him in there with the other three. He was too removed, too dispensable."

"And Cordelia?"

"Dead. Plain and simple. She wasn't there at the end," Ethan sighed, "Wolfram and Hart wouldn't keep her around."

"So we have the ability to get to them," Giles mused, "What about getting them out?"

"I was thinking that little redhead of yours, Willow, might have a few thoughts on the subject."

"It's not impossible?"

"Ripper, if it wasn't impossible to put them in there then it isn't impossible to get them out." Ethan acquired a faraway look of fascination. "This should make for an interesting time."

Giles watched him as he turned things over in his head. Ethan had always been the most interested in magic. Not just as a power, but as a subject. And the very fact that he was prepared to work with the Council on this project was very ironic. The previous council would have had him in custody before he even got to the elevators.

"Mr. Giles?"

That snapped his attention and he pushed the little intercom button and said, "Yes," hoping that no one was dead, hurt, in trouble or blowing up parts of the building.

"Ms. Summers is… No! You can't go in there!"

Giles looked at Ethan and the former chaos mage had swivelled around in his seat and was looking at the door with a fond glow on his scraggy face. The Watcher shuddered.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy demanded, "Xander found out that you were in the building and he's gone to get an axe."

"I tremble in fear," Ethan agreed, "How long before he arrives?"

"A minute maybe?"

"Then one kiss, my bonny princess, and I shall fly out the window." Ethan didn't look at though he was about to do anything of the sort.

Buffy rolled her eyes and glared at him. "You may think it's a joking matter," she hissed, "But I can't believe you really have the nerve to waltz in here uninvited and try to…"

"Buffy, Ethan came here with a present," Giles cut in. He knew all about his Slayer's tirades. After the second sentence, they tended to get very long and very loud, often confusing things completely until she won by sheer pint-sized fury.

"And you didn't turn into anything?" she asked sarcastically.

Ethan looked hurt. "I didn't expect a hostile reception," he said, looking most subdued, "What did I ever do to you?"

"As to that…"

"He's brought back a medallion that can get us contact with Angel and Spike," Giles interjected desperately.

Ethan wished he were anywhere but there as he watched that flicker of hope and need flit across the expressive little face. Buffy never had been able to hide her thoughts effectively. It had its advantages, but sometimes Ethan wished she could just pretend. Just for once.

"Really? How? Is this like the medallion that got Spike back as a ghost the first time?"

Ethan shook his head and opened his mouth to give her a suitably evasive answer.

Giles held up a hand and inched to the door. "You could do with some time to yourself, I believe." He left the office and shut the door behind him.

Ethan watched Buffy stare at the shut door in cool contemplation.

"You know," she said suddenly, "He didn't need to do that."

"He was being polite, Slayer. He obviously thinks we have a few things we need to talk about. Poor Ripper; he is such an optimistic git." Ethan didn't even notice that he was putting on a mask. He was simply of the opinion that…

"Yeah, but this is his office. He could have just shoved us out the door and given me a longer lunch break," Buffy pointed out.

Less than a second later, her Watcher stalked back in, held the door open and gestured them out. "Take all the time you need," he said kindly, "Don't hurry back. And don't kill each other!"

"Yes, papa," Ethan quipped.

Their way out of the building was very quiet. Xander was indeed waiting there with an axe, but Ethan ignored him. Besides, Willow was right there with her best friend and the redhead was very firmly tugging on Xander's arm hard enough to keep him from decapitating anyone. Ethan quite liked the little redhead. She was a wellspring of untapped potential. Someone would have to teach her how to use it before she succeeded in blowing up the world, but he generally liked powerful people. Especially when they weren't actively trying to kill him.

When they got out of the building, Buffy turned to him, put her hands on her hips and let her lips go thin as she stared him up and down. Whatever was on her mind, she didn't voice it. Instead she dropped her defensive posture and said, "Where should we go?"

"I know a little place not too far," Ethan suggested, "Italian. My treat."

"Okay. But we'll split the bill."

Ethan laughed. He'd forgotten how stubborn this woman could be and it amused him no end that in spite of all her super strength and abilities, she still reacted with a temper tantrum. She was petulant and she was obstinate and she scored petty victories, but she was independent and woe betide anyone who unconsciously threatened to take that independence from her. He offered her his arm with a gallant little bow. "As My Lady wishes," he promised.

It was certainly a little place. Ethan had forgotten to mention that it was exclusive.

Not that he needed to worry. He had gone there so often with his better class of clients that they knew him by name and always gave him a table, even if it wasn't the best one. Ethan wasn't that important. But he was liked. Besides, he'd once done the owner a favour with the ratings board.

They were seated, they ordered, and they waited until they got their food before beginning. Then Buffy began to ask questions- many more questions that Ripper had because Buffy didn't know enough to take things for granted- questions Ethan didn't quite know how to answer. And then she asked other questions that Ethan didn't quite know how to answer but they weren't to do with Spike or Angel.

"Why did you let Giles do that spell for you?" she asked, playing with her pasta.

"I didn't get a choice, Slayer. He put it in a glass of slime and I drank it."

"Slime?"

"Hangover."

"Giles is drinking again?"

"No, Ripper is not drinking again." Ethan sipped at the house wine and hoped that the awkward questions would stop soon. "I turned up drunk at his house and he let me raid his alcohol cabinet."

"Oh. Do you drink a lot? Giles had a problem a few years ago. We only sorted it out recently," Buffy said bluntly, "So don't get him started again."

"I doubt he has the time, Slayer."

"Could you stop calling me that? My name is Buffy."

"It's Elizabeth, luv, and you are a Slayer. You always will be a Slayer."

"Until I die? Yeah, yeah. Enough with the doom and gloom. I've done that twice." She stabbed viciously at a hapless piece of mushroom.

Ethan put a hand over hers and carefully took the fork away. "Don't break anything here," he said severely, "Neither of us can afford it."

"Sorry. I'm just tired, I guess."

Ethan looked at her for a long moment, wondering how it could take an intelligent young woman so long to accept the facts- "You are the Slayer and there is nothing that you can do about that. It's not a burden, you know. Now you have a hundred other young women who can fight with you. Why must you persist in feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Excuse me?"

"Boo-fucking-hoo," he snorted, "No one understands you. No one cares. It's not true, you know. Any of your friends would give their lives for you. They've been doing it since they met you. They've changed and endured some things that even you can't understand and they've done most of it without even a shadow of your strength and power."

Buffy shook her. "At one time I would have agreed with you and felt guilty," she told him, "But the last time… I can't forgive them for the last time."

"The last time? When you died?"

"I haven't told a lot of people, Rayne, but I went to Heaven. And it was good! And then to come back to this… mess." She gestured around the restaurant. "You can't understand how much that hurts. It never stops hurting."

"I wouldn't expect it to. But you, my dear, are in the unenviable position of living your life consumed with thoughts of death. And no, I don't mean suicide."

"You just don't understand it, do you?"

"Buffy, I understand more about you than even you do."

She studied him, examining every line in his face and every gleam in his eyes. Ethan had always given that impression of really understanding her. Why? She didn't know. But he had. She'd trusted a lot to tell him the things she had, or to do the things she had around him. It was a little uncomfortable to think of it but she really didn't have the energy to regret. She just went from day to day, trying to find some way to exist.

"Besides," Ethan continued, "This has very little to do with Heaven, and a lot more to do with being a Slayer. You despise the job description. It's that simple."

"No, I don't!"

"Perhaps not completely. But in many ways you seem to do. You hate having to fight. You hate the responsibility. You hate the paperwork and you hate the hours."

She laughed because it was just like Ethan to make it all sound like a joke. But it wasn't. Not really. Not in the ways that counted. "You know, it gets lonely when you're walking down a street at dead of night when everyone else is at home with their friends and family."

"I know. Believe me I know."

"You're a chaos mage, Ethan. I walk down streets at midnight because people like you exist," she said acerbically.

"First, chaos mages do not always do evil. In point of fact, I've probably saved as many lives as you have," Ethan counted aloud, "Second, I'm not a chaos mage."

"Denial is not a good look for you."

"Neither is sarcasm for you, my dear. And I broke my oath to Janus. I no longer serve Chaos."

"You… but you… but how… I mean…"

Ethan smirked. "It seems that stammering is a disease. I do hope I don't catch it."

"But how?" Buffy settled on.

For the first time the smile slipped from the man's face, leaving a dark blankness in its place. A second later the pain was gone, swiftly smoothed away before Buffy got a bare glimpse of it. "It doesn't matter," Ethan sighed, "I had meant to do it sooner or later."

"I thought you loved chaos."

"I do. And I chose to dedicate myself to Janus. But I always agreed that if I lived to a ripe old age with all my body parts intact and accounted for, then I would retire from active duty. A lot like the army as a matter of fact."

"The army."

"Yes. But not those sadists in your democratic country."

"What did they do to you? You never did tell me."

Once again there was that flash of blank pain. "It doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

Ethan cocked his head and stared across at the girl trying so hard to slip past his defences. "What makes you think I would tell you?"

"I want to know?"

"Not good enough."

"I told you about me, Ethan. Now it's your turn. It's called friendship in case you don't know."

The look he gave her very clearly stated his opinion on the matter. Ethan didn't like friends. They tended to try to make him do things he didn't want to do and he wasn't very happy with being influenced. Except, he was forced to cede, for certain people. People he respected. People who could, as Buffy put it, kick his scrawny ass.

"What about because I care?" Buffy pursued.

"I would have to know how much."

Ethan had intended it as a joke but if there was one thing that Buffy had ever learned about Ethan, it was that all of Ethan's masks were no proof against brutal honesty. Ethan simply didn't expect it and so it threw him off every time. It was a risk, but what the hell! She'd missed him and it didn't even make her sit up straighter when the opportunity to communicate with Angel or Spike loomed. What did interest her was this strange man sitting across from her who annoyed her and teased her and didn't seem to mind that she could break every bone in his body without breaking a sweat. He never took it for granted, but then Buffy got the feeling that he could protect himself.

"I still wear that shirt you lent me," she told him, "It's too big but it feels nice."

He looked at her oddly. "You can keep it."

"I prefer having the real thing, though," Buffy coughed, looking intently down at decidedly cold pasta. She would have pushed it around a bit more to fill in the growing silence, but Ethan had taken away her fork.

Ethan didn't reply for the longest time. It didn't seem possible that she had said what he had heard. Why a vibrant young woman like her would want anything to do with an old man like him was something he couldn't understand. Buffy didn't have a father complex that he could see. She did seem to like age, but there was a difference between a vampire of several hundred years and a mortal man of fifty.

"You haven't said anything."

"What do you want me to say?" Ethan asked, looking genuinely interested in her answer.

"I don't know. You could say a lot of things. What do you want to say?"

"That you are making a very big mistake and seem to have confused me with someone else," he said promptly.

"Ethan?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

He grinned at her with a complete lack of fright at the threat and sipped on his wine again.

"See? Right there. You make me laugh," she accused, "And hey, it's not even like I want to laugh right now, but you make me do it anyway."

"It's not such a bad thing, luv."

"Why do you call me 'love' if you don't mean it?"

Ethan pondered the open curiosity. "It's too soon to mean anything actually important," he said cautiously, "It was just a convenience for the both of us, Buffy."

"Oh. I kind of hoped it more. Oh well, my mistake." She got up from the table. "You can pay for lunch. I'm going back to work."

She got less than halfway out of the restaurant before Ethan caught up with her. He grabbed her arm, pulled her back and then leaned down to speak in her ear. "Do you really want me to answer that in full view of everyone here? This time it isn't the ducks that we'll scandalize."

"Wha… oh. Eeew!"

"I recall a different reaction the last time," he laughed softly, yanking her ponytail playfully. "My place or yours?"

"Yours," Buffy said fervently, "My place is a mess."

"Now that's one thing I'll have to insist on. I don't like mess."

"Well, I don't like living with closed curtains and locked doors," she retorted.

"I suppose Ripper will do the spell for me."

"Ethan, you're an idiot," she said, "I'm not even sure I should like you at all."

So it wasn't important, then? The spell? He smiled and took her back to the table. "Tell you what," he said firmly, "Let's get this cleared up and have dessert first. And then if we still feel like it, we can go annoy Ripper for a while."

"Annoy Giles? Can you?" Buffy looked positively demonic.

Ethan hadn't seen her look like that before and he quite liked it. Buffy had a little mean streak in her. It could mean trouble, but then Ethan liked playing with trouble. It always afforded him a damned good time.

"Trust me," he sniggered, "There are things I can do that you won't even have thought of."