more, but it won't get finished tonight.
---
"I live here. For now, anyway." She tilted her head. "You know, Ethan, I seem to recall you had me tied to a table once upon a time. That whole "tatto a Slayer for Igon" thing. Remember?"
He stayed silent. She stood up and got him by the hair, jerking his skull up so that his eyes met hers. He wondered, for just a moment, if the day could possibly devolve any further. Then he saw the ice in those greeny-hazel eyes and his stomach tried crawling away entirely. Whatever was in there? It wasn't forgiveness and it certainly wasn't mercy.
Ethan decided that a radical change in approach was needed. Grovelling, he thought, grovelling might do the trick.
"Buffy, I'm sorry. I honestly don't remember what happened last night, but whatever it was, I'm sorry." His throat was parched, his bum was cold, and her eyes weren't warming. She held his hair, straining his neck. To his fury, he felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. "Look, I don't even know how I got here. What happened? What am I supposed to have done, anyway?"
"You raped my sister."
He had never heard anything as cold as that voice. At that moment, Ethan gave up hope. Yet something prompted him to say, "I didn't. I couldn't have."
"You could have, and you did. She's all right, which is why I haven't killed you, well, that and the whole 'not allowed to kill humans' thing. But you know what?"
She seemed to be awaiting a reply. He shook his head; with his hair held tight, the movement hurt. She accepted the gesture as a negative.
"I'm tired of you. I'm bored with you. You came to Sunnydale and three times, you caused nothing but grief. Maybe you thought it was funny, Mister Hot Shit sorcerer guy. But you nearly got a few people I love killed, and then you nearly got me killed. You gave everyone that damned candy. And then you came back to turn my Watcher into a fyarl demon."