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Lament of Gandymede
by Two Ladies of Quality
http://www.twoladiesofquality.com/
Summary: It's been a long time since Giles waved Ethan off into the arms
of the Initiative. What's the chaos mage been up to?
Story Notes: Season 6, post Tabula Rasa, Giles in England
Warnings: slash
Lament of Ganymede
Rupert Giles sighed wearily as he unlocked the front door of his flat.
His flat in Bath, now returned to after his ill-starred sojourn in
America. His mind still hurt when he thought of the situation in
Sunnydale.
Buffy was so lost. Giles was in uncharted territory here. Only one other
Slayer in history had lived as long as Buffy, but Tatishero Midori had
been very content to live her life to her Watcher's instructions. The 18th
Century Japanese girl had survived as much due to luck as to skill. 21st
Century Buffy had family to look after, adult responsibilities. If she
were going to function as an adult in one sphere of her life, it was cruel
to force her into a subordinate role in the largest part of her life.
At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
He tossed his keys into the Imari scrying bowl next to the front door,
closed the door, and reset the wards. And noticed what he'd been too busy
brooding about outside to see--someone had crossed the threshold of his
home while he'd been gone. And if that person had left, they hadn't done
it via the door.
He pulled a dagger from a sheath at the small of his back. The blade was
heavy steel, useful against human foes, and the runes engraved in the
metal were effective against several sorts of arcane opponents.
As silently as he could, he moved down the hallway, scanning the sitting
room as he passed. A small sound from the kitchen caught his ear, and he
crept on. He reached out with his out-of- practice mystic senses to get a
feel for the room beyond. What he found made him relax a little, but he
didn't put away the knife.
He turned the corner into the small kitchen and glared. "Ethan."
"Hello, Ripper."
The chaos wizard sat at the end of the small table facing the door and
away from the windows. By the number of plates around him, he'd been
working his way steadily through Rupert's foodstuffs for quite some time.
He looked like he needed it--thinner, if possible, actually gaunt. The
angles of his face were much sharper, there was more gray in his hair, and
the long-sleeved turtleneck he wore did not disguise that he was down to
nearly skin and bones.
Rupert buried his first shock at the appearance of his old --
friend/partner/nemesis/center of everything. He'd been expecting a visit
of this sort for months. "I might have known the Initiative wouldn't be
able to hold you."
Ethan's sardonic smile was tight. "Of course not, I always land on my
feet."
"Though I expected you ages ago. There's a certain regularity to the
disasters you've inflicted on my life."
Ethan shrugged. "Well, you know, places to go, people to do."
"How did you get away this time?"
"Why, Ripper, do you expect me to give away all my secrets? Though I will
say I had a great deal of help from a very odd gentleman named Fox, who is
rather rabid on the subject of secret government labs. Though he was quite
miffed that I was only human. Still, I was able to thank him properly."
"Of course. So what finally brings you here? And how did you get past
those wards?"
Ethan tsked. "Who taught you about wards, Ripper?"
"Madeleine Aldoverro, as you very well know." He smiled ruefully. "Who
also taught you, so you know the basic structure of any ward I put up.
Foolish me, I'm getting lazy in my old age."
Rupert wondered if he was babbling to cover his growing dismay. His usual
apprehension at having Ethan around was shading quickly into concern for
Ethan himself. The usual furtiveness held more fear than slyness, and he
twitched at faint noises. Rupert saw that his hands shook slightly and
that more than one of the fingers looked like they'd been broken and
indifferently set.
Rupert finally put his dagger away. "Ethan--"
The refrigerator in the corner suddenly thumped and gurgled as the
compressor turned on. With a horrified yelp, Ethan was out of his chair,
back to the wall, dinner knife clutched in a shaking hand.
"Ethan?" Rupert stepped forward, only to have a panicky look sent his
way. "Yes, I know, it does sounds rather like an irate Izzen broodmaster.
The landlord swears he'll get someone out to fix it."
"The--the icebox. It's just the icebox."
"Yes, just the icebox." Rupert stepped closer.
He thought he knew every one of Ethan Rayne's moods. He'd seen the man in
passion, fury, boredom, cruelty, and happiness. He'd even seen the fear,
the horror and realization that things had gone terribly,
life-threateningly wrong. But Rupert had never seen Ethan look so helpless
and terrified. Rupert felt betrayed somehow. Ethan was his bete noir, his
opposite number, the dark mirror in which he judged his own soul's
progress. How could Rupert test himself against someone so broken? If
Ethan Rayne were so fragile, how strong was Rupert Giles?
"Ethan," he said softly, not coming too close, "what's happened to you?
Are you hurt?"
"Hurt?" Ethan laughed a little wildly. "Whatever makes you think I'm
hurt?" His eyes weren't on Rupert, they slipped from corner to corner,
from window to doorway.
Rupert moved closer until he could put a gentle hand on Ethan's arm.
Ethan jerked away. "Tell me, Ganymede."
Ethan went still. The name dated from the time of Ripper's birth, when
they were both innocent and jaded, immortal and so very vulnerable. But he
still didn't look at Rupert.
"You gave me to the Initiative," he whispered.
Rupert grimaced. "You deserved it. I could have been killed. I could have
hurt someone. Not that I was that worried about you. It took you, what,
two or three weeks before you had your feet under you and you slipped
through a crack somewhere?" He faded off as Ethan slowly shook his head.
"They're like children, Americans. So open-hearted, so casually cruel.
They come up with such clever gadgets and have so little concern about
whom they try them out on."
Rupert blinked several times. "Try them out on ... Ethan, what did they
do? I know they experimented on demons, but not on humans ..." He
remembered Riley Finn's augmentations and felt ill.
Ethan's smile was horrible. "Oh, yes, quite useful things they learned
from their work with demons and vampires and those humans so far outside
the norms that scientific curiosity easily overruled paltry scruples." He
reached up to touch a place behind his ear. "They balked at coerced brain
surgery on a human, the poor dears, so they used their clever little
devices to satisfy their curiosity."
Rupert didn't look at the spot indicated. His attention was caught by the
sight of the skeletal wrist poking out of the long sleeve, a wrist circled
by scars and burns. The oldest of those marks dated from the 70s and
inadvertent struggles during play. He doubted the new marks had been as
pleasurably acquired.
"But you got away. You're free."
"I didn't escape. I wasn't rescued. They let me go. Budget cuts. They
said I was harmless by then, anyway, what with the tests and examinations
and one or two miscalculations during experiments ... One must expect
experiments to go wrong when one is conducting research, you know, the
errors themselves can yield useful information." He covered his mouth to
muffle the hysteria creeping into his voice.
"When did they let you go?"
"Three weeks ago."
Rupert barely found the chair before his knees went out completely. "But
that's--it's been nearly- -"
"Two years. Yes, I know." Ethan finally met Rupert's eyes. "You gave me
to them."
"You've come to make me pay, haven't you." It was no less than he
deserved.
"No. I've come looking for my soul. Or my mind, most like. You've had
everything I am at one time or another, I thought perhaps you could help
me look."
Rupert finally put Ethan to bed in the spare bedroom, after feeding him
into insensibility. He thought of getting him drunk, but Rupert didn't
know what alcohol would do to Ethan's bruised mind.
And once he heard Ethan's uncertain breathing even out in sleep, Rupert
went to his bathroom, turned on the shower, and was comprehensively ill.
He had to have known what would happen to Ethan, how could he NOT have
known? The Initiative didn't believe in magic. Having a proven, powerful
sorcerer in their grip would have delighted those fiendish minds behind
the experimentations. They would have been obsessed with finding out what
made Ethan different, what went on in his convoluted mind. Young Ripper
had spent months on those explorations himself.
Rupert had, in the midst of his justified outrage at being turned into a
demon, handed over a man he'd known his entire adult life to people he
knew performed illicit experiments on living, sentient creatures.
Honestly, he'd expected Ethan to be merely confined, inconvenienced,
humiliated a little. Eventually, Ethan would smile that smug, knowing
smile and slip away, like Houdini. Then he would go off, lick his wounds,
and plan his next move in the continuing game of Prove Ripper Is Not
Nearly As Smart As He Thinks He Is. By now, Rupert had been feeling
slightly miffed that he hadn't heard from Ethan. He'd felt--abandoned. He
always stated, repeatedly and loudly, that he never wanted anything to do
with Ethan Rayne ever again, but he noticed that he felt better, younger
after those run-ins. It comforted him that somewhere in the world was a
person who knew him that well.
The first horror faded, leaving behind guilt and anger. It was the Ripper
voice that snarled at the thought of what the Initiative had done. Yes,
Ethan often required thumping for being an ass, but the thought of anyone
other than himself laying hands on the man ... Managing Ethan was Ripper's
job, he was Ripper's responsibility. Ethan was Ripper's.
But he was no longer Ripper, at least not solely. The guilt belonged to
Rupert.
A thump came from the guest room. Rupert hurried to the door. "Ethan? Are
you all right?" No answer, and he tried the door. He felt oddly flattered
that it wasn't locked.
The room was dark, but he heard harsh breathing. He reached for the light
switch.
"Don't!"
"Ethan --"
"No. They can't see as well in the dark as I can, they can't see me. And
the things in the shadows don't sneak up on me when everything's dark."
"There's nothing here, luv. No one's watching you--except me."
He eased to a lamp on a side table and switched it on. Ethan, huddled in
a far corner, turned his face from the light.
"I heard a thump. What happened?"
Ethan gave a very good imitation of his usual unconcerned shrug. "Thought
I saw something. Threw a shoe at it. I either drove it off or I was
hallucinating. In our world, how is one to tell?"
Rupert crouched next to the man and put a careful hand on his shoulder.
"Let's get you back to bed, you need to sleep."
"To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub."
"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come," Rupert finished
quietly. "Let me do something to block the dreams, then--"
"No! Leave my mind alone!"
Ethan swung blindly at Rupert, who dodged and caught the arm. "Ethan,
calm down, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." He thought a moment, then
nodded. "But you need to be in bed regardless. You need to rest."
"I'm fine here." Ethan was watching all the corners of the room, back
pressed firmly against the wall.
"I didn't mean in bed in here." He nodded as Ethan finally looked at him.
"Come sleep with me." A twenty-year-old had given the same
invitation--though less politely worded--to an incredibly beautiful young
man he'd met in a bar in Soho. A generation later, Rupert felt the same
hope- doubt-defensiveness as he had then. By the look in his eyes, Ethan
was remembering that moment, too.
And that same knowing smirk tried to appear. "Why, Ripper, you
romantic--" He broke off, suddenly looking at something over Rupert's
shoulder, something Rupert knew wasn't there. "Yes, thank you," he
whispered.
Rupert stood and held a hand out. Ethan allowed himself to be pulled to
his feet, his eyes not leaving whatever he had pinned on the far side of
the room. Rupert looked over himself, just to be sure, and saw only a pile
of boxes he'd yet to unpack. He let Ethan leave the room first.
Ethan paused just inside Rupert's bedroom door. Unremarkable double bed,
straightforward dresser. Only the shelf of statues on the wall showed that
the man who slept here had any unique qualities at all.
"You can wear this." Rupert held out a folded pair of pajama pants. "You
can change in the bathroom." Ethan nodded and silently obeyed. The man
must be in shock, to be so docile. But Rupert reluctantly remembered that
there had often been days on end where Ethan was unable to function
without being given specific instructions. He'd never bothered to find out
why, but Ripper had enjoyed those times, with his obedient Ganymede
fulfilling any and all requests. Fortunately Ripper had understood there
were limits and never asked anything he didn't know was acceptable. A
large enough list.
Rupert stared at himself pensively in the mirror. Was he ever going to
completely admit to himself that he couldn't blame the excesses of his
youth on that mythical other person? He was Ripper, and Ripper was he.
Hearing noises in the bathroom, he hurriedly changed into unaccustomed
sleepwear. He was buttoning up the top when he realized he'd only given
Ethan the bottom part of the pajamas. Was it some unconscious desire to
see Ethan shirtless, or was he merely trying to put the man at a
disadvantage?
The noises had stopped in the bathroom. "Ethan, are you all right?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine," came from behind the closed door.
"I forgot to give you the top that goes with that, just a moment and I'll
find it for you."
"No. It's not that. I've--just been avoiding mirrors. I'm just--looking."
"Take your time." And, of course, the contrary chaos mage immediately
came out.
"Gods," Rupert breathed.
Englishmen were often pale, but this was unhealthy pallor. Each bone was
visible. Raw patches appeared on various points of Ethan's torso, points
Rupert realized were the usual places where medical sensors were applied
to monitor bodily processes under stress. Worse was the line around his
throat, similar to the marks on his wrists. Ethan didn't meet Rupert's
eyes, only scanned the bedroom cautiously.
"Make yourself comfortable," Rupert said, nodding vaguely at the bed.
"I'll be right back." He spent nearly ten minutes in the bathroom to give
Ethan time to make what arrangements he would. When he came out, Ethan was
on his back under the covers, which were pulled up to his chin, and his
eyes were closed.
Rupert turned the light out, then crawled into bed on the opposite side.
"Good night, Ethan."
"Yes."
Rupert listened a moment, then carefully reached over until he found
Ethan's hand. Fingers wrapped around his desperately, and Ethan's
breathing relaxed a little.
They lay in darkness and silence for several minutes. "I'm sorry," Rupert
finally said softly.
The other man's breathing went ragged again. "I didn't blame you, you
know. You're never in a good mood after one of my little tricks. But as
they were shoving me into that truck, I looked over and saw you watching,
smiling, looking so very Ripper, and I have to confess I was a trifle
uneasy. And that woman, Walsh, saying you might have some usefulness after
all, if you could contribute specimens like myself ..."
"That harridan called you a specimen?"
A ghost of a laugh. "Oh, good, you didn't like her either. I heard she
died. Was it violent and bloody and painful?"
"Oh, yes."
"Nice to know some prayers are answered."
"Truly, I thought you'd be able to escape from them anytime you wished.
What happened?"
"Well, there was a shot of something as soon as they put me in that
truck. More drugs, later. Then it dawned on them that not even I can wield
magic with my brain fogged. Then it was physical restraints, followed
eventually by electronic ones."
The matter-of-fact voice was painful. "Did they--hurt you?"
"Of course not, other than--Oh, I see. Was I raped? No. American prudery
has its uses. Not that I wasn't threatened. There are always brutes
around. Interesting how men of my build and character are always assumed
to be easy prey. Then I overheard some guard say that, given my record, I
was probably--how did he put it? Oh, yes -- one of those sick queer fucks
who would only yell 'Yes, sir, may I have another.' Some military joke, I
imagine. Interestingly enough, I never saw that guard again. I must not
have been the only one who was not amused."
"Dear god," Rupert muttered, sickened.
"Why, Rupert, it's so nice to know you still care."
"Shut up." Thanking the darkness that let him forget who he should be and
how he should be feeling, he pulled his hand free of Ethan's grip and
pulled the other man into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, Ethan."
For a tense moment, Ethan didn't respond, then he sighed and relaxed,
resting his head on Rupert's shoulder. "I wouldn't have left you like
that. Not you."
"I know."
"So much more fun to torment you than a Fyarl."
"I know."
"I only do it so I know that you won't forget me."
"I have never forgotten you. I may regret you or hate you, but I have
never, ever forgotten you."
"I'm not sorry."
Rupert had to laugh. "You wouldn't be the man you are if you were sorry.
I did love you once, Ganymede."
"Not a name I'm entitled to anymore, I'm afraid."
"Let the person who gave it to you decide that."
In darkness or light, he knew the ways around this body. His fingers
found Ethan's face, and his mouth followed. Ethan whimpered slightly, but
when Rupert tried to pull away, arms wrapped around him to hold him close.
"When the nights were bad," Ethan whispered, "I tried to remember being
with you. But then the nights got worse, and I couldn't remember anymore."
"I still do."
Rupert tasted tears when he kissed Ethan again. He ran his fingers into
the other man's hair, finding more scars and places that caused flinches.
When he traced one fingertip down the back of Ethan's neck, though, the
sound he got was one of pleasure. His hands remembered other places, that
spot in the small of the back, the ribs, the nipples. Ethan's hands
remembered too, nimbly undoing buttons so that he could get to Rupert's
shoulders, summoning sounds of pleasure himself. The hands continued down
Rupert's back, shoving away the pajama top, but Ethan hesitated when he
found scars.
"Ignore them," Rupert said.
"What happened--"
"Ignore them, I said."
He silenced Ethan's mouth with his own. One hand traced the planes of his
face while the other reached down to untie the drawstring of the pajamas
and slide inside.
Ethan dug into Rupert's shoulders as fingers wrapped around his cock. He
was less deft in undoing the buttons on the other man's pajamas, but he
managed and ran his hands slowly down the line of his back, ignoring the
scars, down to Rupert's ass. He pulled them closer together, smiling as he
felt that Ripper was as aroused as he.
Carefully, Rupert stroked Ethan, then shifted his grip to include
himself. Ethan gasped and began moving his hips in time to the strokes.
Their mouths found each other, and they murmured old nothings to each
other. Ethan moaned and came first, but Rupert was not far behind,
crushing his lips against Ethan's as he shook.
Several moments after the tremors eased, Rupert chuckled faintly. "At
least I've finally figured out what pajama tops are for." He reached
around carefully to find the discarded bit of clothing and wiped his hand
and their torsos.
"Never saw any other purpose for them myself," Ethan murmured, his head
resting against Rupert's shoulder again. He clumsily shoved the bottoms
down and kicked them away.
Rupert likewise divested himself of the unnecessary clothing. Then he
wrapped his arms around Ethan, laying a gentle kiss on his forehead. Ethan
sighed and draped his arm over Rupert, sinking without fuss into sleep.
There were no demons in the easy breathing now. Rupert lay and listened,
slowly stroking Ethan's hair.
It wasn't going to last. Soon enough the sardonic gleam would reappear in
Ethan's eyes, and his smile would have edges. And Rupert would strike
back, defending himself from the weapons that only Ethan could wield with
such devastating precision. They'd known each other too long and too well
to be easy together. Ethan would still believe he could lure Ripper out
and back to darkness, and Rupert would begin to hope that Ethan could be
trusted.
But for once, Rupert looked forward to the inevitable break, because then
Ethan would be whole again, would be his strong, treacherous match. While
Ethan stalked the world, sowing chaos and mayhem, Rupert knew his own days
were nowhere near over. They were not made for weakness, not yet.
And, for now, at least, they were not made for conflict. Sleep came
easier to Rupert than it had in many months, with the familiar body in his
arms. Soon enough for the morning and the distrust. The night was where
Ripper and Ganymede were at peace with each other.
End
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