The search for tender mercies

 

Once again he opened his eyes to darkness, the tang of the tea Ethan had given him bitter on his tongue, his wounds itching almost unbearably. He moaned softly as he shifted position in an attempt to ease the itch, the slight sound drawing the attention of his ‘host’ from where he had been sitting in the armchair in the corner, quietly watching over his patient’s rest. 

“How are you feeling now?” Ethan’s voice was quiet and level, containing none of the cold fury he had displayed in the basement. 

“Just dandy, thanks.” Giles watched the expressive face cloud over as the man before him attempted to keep the hurt his words and tone had caused from showing. With a deep sigh, Giles relented. “I’m sorry. I just… well, how do you expect me to feel after you kidnapped me, tortured me and then, just to top things off, you forced that vile liquid that you so casually referred to as tea down my throat?  Not to mention I itch all over.” He knew he was pouting, and somehow couldn’t find it within him to care. 

Ethan’s rich, deep laugh rolled around the room. “Well, if it’s itching then the tea is doing its job at least. And do stop sulking, Ripper, it’s not particularly becoming.” 

Ethan sat carefully on the bed, making sure not to jolt it too much and disturb the magic-enhanced healing. “Yes, I’m sorry about that whole kidnapping ordeal. I suppose I just got a little carried away by the moment.” He smirked unrepentantly.