Ethan blinks. He looks vague and unfocused somehow, but in a moment he snaps back to his usual sharpness. "Dawn, I--"
"You like to think you're so unconventional, but you let something meaningless like a difference in ages dictate what you're allowed to want. What I'm allowed to want. And how patronizing is that? I can't be interested in you because I choose to. It has to be because you're taking advantage. How nice to be the master of the universe that way. You're big-headed and cruel and not so different from every other guy out there."
Ethan swings the door open wider. "Dawn, come inside, please."
"Because you're willing to listen, or because you don't want the other guests to?"
He offers a small smile. "A little of both." He extends a hand to her. "Come."
Dawn ignores the hand but steps inside, through a thread of cigar smoke. Ethan's not holding one, though.
"You're right," Ethan says.
No one ever says this to her.
"I thought I was being unfair to you."
"This is what's unfair," Dawn says. "Ignoring what I say because you've got it all worked out in your head how things are."
"Yes."
"You said I was remarkable. Wait, no--" That was the dream. She gives her head a shake. "I dreamed that."
"It's true. I find you quite remarkable."
"But not enough to know my own mind and heart."
"You've changed my opinion on that."
"You mean that?" She finds herself weaving on her feet.
"Dawn, you're ill." He lays a palm on her forehead. His hand is so, so cool.
"You didn't answer."
"Of course I meant it. Now tell me what's wrong."
"I don't know. My head really hurts, and my skin -- it's like I'm on fire."
"When did this start?"
"I don't know. Sometime during the night. I mean, my head hurt before, that started when I was with you the other day. But this -- god, I feel so bad. I thought maybe I had shingles, but the clinic --" She dissolves into tears again.
"Did anything happen? Did you have any dreams?"
"I was falling. No. I dived -- dove -- dived. There was an opening between, but I got caught. God, my head --"
"You saw a doctor."
Dawn nods. "They couldn't find anything."
Ethan smoothes her hair back from her face. "I want you to sit here. I'm going to make some tea -- it will make you feel better."
A laugh escapes her that's at least half a sob. "Tea. English cure-all."
"It will help, I promise." Ethan settles her on the sofa and goes into a little alcove where he makes noises that make her think of Giles.
She rises again to pace, so uncomfortable that she wants to claw at herself, yet too miserable to put a hand to herself. She can hardly endure the slide of fabric against her skin. Again she catches a thread of smoke and sees that it's coming from a little table by the door that leads to the hallway. The cigar smolders in an ashtray before a cone of mud or clay, with cowrie shells pressed into it where eyes would be. There's a shotglass of something amber next to the ashtray. It doesn't look like Ethan's abandoned his own smoke and drink there, but that it's some kind of offering, and the table's an altar.
The smoke makes her cough, and she resumes pacing. Most other surfaces are covered in piles of books, most old, a few new. A yellow legal pad peeps out from beneath one stack, and Dawn suppresses the urge to tug it out and read Ethan's notes.
Leaning against one of the stacks of books is a piece of vellum with some kind of symbol on it. Like a Chinese character, but not quite. Like the love child of a Chinese character and the dingbat Prince changed his name to. There's something beautiful and mysterious about it, and she brushes her fingertips on the vellum. Her skin is too tender even for that contact, and she sucks in her breath.
"Dawn."
She turns to him. "I'm sorry. I can't sit still."
"It'll be ready in just three minutes. You'll have a bit of tea, and you'll feel better." He closes the distance between them and raises his hands to her temples, rubbing gently. "Tell me if this makes things worse."
Dawn sighs. This is all she wants, all she's ever wanted. His touch almost reduces the pain to background noise. She thinks she should say something, but no words will come, not until he breaks the contact. "No," she whimpers.
"I'll be right back. The tea will help, more than this."
Her breath turns ragged as panic rises in her. She focuses on the sounds from the little alcove, more Giles noises. Maybe she should call Giles. London's so far away, though, and he'll be mad at her for letting her studies slide.
Ethan's right back, just as he said, and she lets her thoughts about Giles drift away. He presses a mug into her hands. "It should be cool enough to drink. I put some ice in." He leaves his hands cupped around hers, urges them upward. "Drink. That's right, Dawn."
She takes two swallows, makes a face. "It's horrible."
"You must drink it."
"What will it do?"
"It will take away the pain. It will also make you sleep."
Dawn suddenly realizes he's scared. "Am I dying?"
He strokes her hair. "Of course not." But it couldn't be clearer that he's lying, and that scares her too.
She takes a deep breath and finishes off the tea.
"You should lie down," Ethan says.
It hits her fast, and she sways. "Yeah. I really should."
He helps her to the couch, then draws up a chair beside her.
"Don't leave me." It's so hard to stay awake.
"I won't."
"You'd be surprised ... how many say that."
Ethan strokes her brow. His cool skin on hers is so soothing. "I'm not them."
No. He's not like anyone.
"Don't fight it. You need to sleep."
She gives herself up to it, to the feel of his hand on her face. As she drifts off, she catches a few murmured words.
Never meant this.... thought you'd break your bonds.... they cut you instead....
Makes no sense.
Doesn't matter.
She sinks down.