Little Moments

[0_ruthless_0]

Summery: It was the little moments that made life worth living.
Pairing: Giles/Ethan.
Rating: FR 13, for minor languge and themes.

Little Moments

There were the little things, the tiny moments in between all of the pain, and the anger, and the bared teeth and heckles raised between us, that I came to appreciate.

The moments of quietness, of peace, and yes, I know that you must be scoffing even as I’m saying this, but it’s true.

And now, more than ever -because it’s only in those tiny in-between moments that my head is clear enough to think.

Gods, my head -it hurts. With all of their poking and prodding, I’m starting to fear that they’ll inadvertently damage something. There’s only so much damage that’s not superficial that can be healed, even with magick.

About the serious things, at least, I’ve always been honest with you.

Go ahead, laugh, is seems I can’t stop you.

Not that you’re really here, I know that. I’m not that far gone that I can’t discern between what’s fantasy and what’s reality. But for some unfathomable reason it still gives me some sense of comfort to talk to you.

You know, you were the undertone of everything that I ever did. You were the why, and the wherefore. The reason I came to where you were so often is because I was, in my own way, trying to help you by keeping you life interesting. And I wanted some sign that what I’d thought we’d once had hadn’t just been my imagination.

I wanted to be able to look you in the eye, see something there that I know now can’t have ever really been there.

Damn it, it’s only the smallest move and there goes my head again. Not only that, but I’m shaking and sweating, too. Feels like withdrawal.

Maybe they think I’m so far gone that they don’t need to keep me drugged any more.

Tired.

Cold.

Why you yelling at the guards, Ripper? You’ve never done that before.

Did I mention that I’m tired?

I’d appreciate if you’d fuck of and let me get some sleep now.

No? No matter, you can’t really stop me.

All I need to do is close my eyes. 
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I was sobered by how easy it was to break into what had once been a military stronghold.

Sobered, because if it were this easy for me to get in, then unless something were seriously wrong with him, then he should have been able to get out on his own.

The first time I set eyes on him, for the first time in four years he was muttering softly, eyes half-open. He’d always been thin, but now he was skeletal. There were hollows in his cheeks, and his skin had lost that almost gold tan that he’d been fond of. If he were any paler then I’d have hesitated about inviting him into my home.

And his head was wrapped in a heavy swath of bandages.

That was a tad unnerving.

This was a mission that I was tackling on my own, making use of a couple of contacts that I’d made on the inside, one of who was acting as a willing hostage, and my own oft-disused magick.

Even as I yelled at the guard that was on-duty in this area, to get the door open, he fell silent, closing his eyes.

The rise and fall of his chest was shallow. So much so that, for a few seconds I feared that…

But no, his pulse was still there. It was weak and thready, but at least it was there.

He didn’t stir when I picked him up, and I found that I was shocked by how little weight he had.

On the seven-mile drive to the airport, he didn’t stir either, nor when I transferred him from the back seat of my car, into the small private plane.

His power was weak, too. Almost entirely depleted.

That this was my fault, that the unbreakable, rough-edged Ethan had been reduced to a shell of himself… I’d thought that it would be good to give Ethan time to cool his heels, but this… I hadn’t wanted this.

I felt sick.

I’d done this, and it was up to me to fix this, even thought I didn't yet know how.

I’d lost too many friends lately, to want to lose another one. Not that we’d exactly been friendly for the last decade or so, even before I’d handed him over.

I hadn’t known what I would need when I started out on this crazy scheme, so I’d prepared for the worst, even as I’d hoped for the best, having a hospital-style bed, and an I.V drip, and several other things installed in my home.

It wasn’t morphine that would be needed, but nutrition.

Not just with vitamins, and protein, but with magick.

I hadn’t told Buffy, because I’d already known that she wouldn’t have warmed up to the idea at all.

I just hoped that the… damage wouldn’t be too much.

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It was a couple of weeks after I’d gotten him back to my home, when Buffy found out.

He still wasn’t showing any sign of waking.

I’d been sitting at the bedside, simply talking, with my fingers twined through his. It didn’t really matter what I said, but I always guarded my words when I sat like this, only talking about the good times that we’d shared when we’d been younger.

About the cold grey, English dawns, when we’d lazed in bed.

Gigs that we’d played, or snuck out of school to attend.

About the spells and magick that we’d woven together.

Just about the little things, really.

I’m not sure how long it was, that Buffy was standing there, listening. But I dare say she heard enough, before she alerted me to her presence.

“Giles? What is this? What’s going on, here?”

I turned to her, and met her eye, keeping my expression neutral, “What does it look like this is, Buffy?”

She ignored my question, and answered it with one of her own, “How long?”

“As of yesterday, a fortnight.”

“But… why?”

“Because no-one human deserves that kind of treatment,” I hesitated, and rested the palm of my hand against his cheek, for a couple of seconds, before I decided that if I were going to be hung for a sheep as a lamb, then I had no reason to hide anything, “And because I’ve lost too many friends lately to want to lose some else that I once loved.”

She’d started a protest, before I’d started the second part of my sentence, but the word loved made her draw up short.

She looked from him, to me, to my hand, and asked, slowly, in the tone of one that isn’t certain that she’d actually heard, or wanted to hear what she just had, “Loved? …You mean, as in plutonic ‘you’re my best mate’ kinda Willow-Xander…okay, bad example… Willow and me kinda love. Right? Please?”

“Do you really need me to clarify my statement, Buffy?”

“No. No, no, no. Please, no clarification. I do not need the things I’m trying not to picture, to become any clearer.”

Again, her gaze drifted from me, to him, and her voice took on a hint of a concerned note, although I’ve no doubt that it was nothing to do with his state, “You... you said that it’s been two weeks, Giles. And he’s been asleep all this time? He hasn’t woken up at all?”

“Yes,” my reply was curt.

“Well, um, I know it’s not exactly a happy thought... but... well, what if he doesn’t? Wake up, that is. What are you going to do?”

I swallowed. That, over the last few days, was a scenario that I had actually given quite a bit of thought, in spite of the fact that I didn’t like to. And while I knew that in such a case it might be kinder to be cruel, I also knew that I didn’t have the heart to do such a thing. Whilst in the past there had been moments that I’d wished Ethan were out of my life with every fibre of my being, now that I was actually face to face with such a thing, as a very real possibility, I again felt sick. The notion, that I may never hold a conversation with him again, that, for the rest of his life he would be in this stasis, was frightening to me.

I caught Buffy staring at me, and recalled that she’d asked me a question.

“If it comes to that, then I’ll deal with it. But (and here, I voiced another fear) such a thing may, indeed, be a blessing. Because even if he does wake, then there’s no guarantee of whether he’ll be entirely… rational. I… with him in a coma, then there’s no way to tell what… damage there is -And not just physically, but emotionally as well. He was never the most stable of people, even before.”

I closed my eyes tightly, against a very real glimmer of tears, and twisted away from the both of them, so I would no longer have to see either.

There wasn’t really anything that Buffy could say to such a revelation, and I knew it. When she left it was only some ten minutes later, although it felt like an eternity had passed. I busied myself with checking the I.V drip, and then I collapsed on my bed, emotionally and physically drained.

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In spite of my fears, or perhaps, because of them, it didn’t take me all that long to work out a new routine.

Such a thing settled me, at least partially. I’d always liked to have a routine to work to, even as a part of ritual.

Especially as part of a ritual -And everything about this situation felt like a ritual.

Because Ethan’s condition was my fault, and mine alone, I decided that I would care for him myself.

I arranged my work so that I could do most of what I had to from home, and Buffy fell into the habit of coming by one a week to ‘check up’ on me. She denied that this was the purpose of her visits, of course, but I knew her better than that.

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I was tired, and I felt as weak as a newborn kitten. But at least my head wasn’t hurting any more, and the lack of bandage wrapped around it, ment that it must have been a while since the last batch of ‘surgeries’ that had been done on me.

Slowly, I opened my eyes a crack, noting the presence of the drip at my side, and the figure of Rupert sitting in a chair inches from my side. So that explained why my head was unwrapped -I must be getting morphine, or something of the sort. They’d obviously taken me right to the edges of my limit this time.

Then, almost as thought he’d sensed the movement, Rupert looked up towards me, and his eyes widened, “Ethan?” he spoke the name hesitantly, as he stood and placed a hand on the side of my face.

By the gods -I could feel that touch. And that… that meant one of two things -Either I had totally lost it, or… or this was real. Rupert was really here, and I was out. 
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I leant over, tilted Ethan’s head from the left to the right as I looked into his dark eyes, searching for some sign of recognition, of sanity, of the man that he’d been before his imprisonment.

My heart was in my throat, and my stomach was twisting it’s self into knots.

“Ethan?” I asked again, not only hoping, but also preying.

He blinked up at me, and then his mouth moved, lips forming a silent word, as all that emerged was simply a harsh croak. Then he swallowed, and tried again.

“Rupe? …It’s really you?”

I blinked back tears, even as my face split into an open smile of relief.

“It’s me. It’s me.”

The next question was how. I wasn’t entirely sure if he meant how long, or how did I get here, so I answered both.

“I got you out of there. I… I… my god, Ethan… you… you’ve been in a coma for the last three years.”

At that he closed his eyes and rolled away from me, and my heart broke all over again. There was nothing that I could do to make this right, to fix the damage I’d caused, to give him back the life that he’d missed out on.

Ethan was shivering uncontrollably, and I couldn’t bare the sight of it any more.

“I’ll… I’ll get you a cup of water,” I offered, hurriedly, providing myself with an excuse to leave the room.

I didn’t wait around for him to turn me down.

This is a good thing I told myself. That he was awake, that he recognized me… It was strange how false the thoughts felt. I supposed that I’d grown used to his silent presence in my home.

And now… now, the best thing you can do for him is help him to get up and on his feet, and out of here.

The sound of bitter laughter touched my ears, and it took me a few moments to realise that the sound was coming from me.

It took a further ten minutes to bring myself back under control well enough that I could go back out there, glass of water in my hand. He rolled back towards me, as I emerged again, careful not to jostle the drip, I noticed, and reached upwards, wordlessly, for the glass.

I hesitated, noting the worsening shiver, “Can you hold this, do you think, or…” I trailed off.

He gave me a joyless smile, “I doubt it.”

I helped him into a seated position, and held the glass up to his lips him, tilting it upwards a little. He took a sip, and then simply looked at me, for a few moments. The uneasy silence persisted, right up until he crossed his arms.

“I seem to have been reduced to the level of a baby-in arms,” he muttered, before closing his eyes again, “I’m tired, Rupert.”

I wished that there were something that I could do, some magick words that I could utter, or some brew that I could whip up, or something along those lines. But, of course there wasn’t.

So I did what I could, reaching down to give his shoulder a light squeeze. The second my touch brushed against his shoulder, he flinched and cringed.

Again, I felt that wash of guilt -I was on familiar terms with that emotion, these days. Even when Ethan and I had had our worst fights in the past, he’d never flinched away from me like that. Instead, he’d stood toe to toe with me, and met me blow for blow.

No longer, it seemed.

The only thing that I could do was to give him the space that he needed.

I hesitated in the doorway, “If you need anything…”

I wasn’t sure that he’d heard me, for a few moments, but then he grunted in response.
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It was the middle of the day, but I didn’t care -the bed beckoned to me silently. I felt as exhausted, as drained as Ethan probably did.

I closed the door behind me and threw myself down onto the covers, instinctively drawing my legs up to my chest as I wrapped my arms around them, trying, to the best of my ability, to hold back the sobbing that I knew was just under the surface.

But it was too much effort.

Instead, I bit at my own lip in an attempt to keep the sound to myself, as, for the first time since my youth I allowed myself to feel the impact of everything.

All of it was my fault -everything that had happened since we’d been at High School together.

It had been I who had taken Ethan’s innocence, with words and actions designed to lure the young man in, simply because I’d been attracted to him. It had been I, whom had told him of magick, taught him how to influence and manipulate it, and then shown him it’s darker side -I, whom had introduced him to chaos, and darkness, and disarray.

And when I’d begun to fear that I was losing him to it, I’d bound him to me.

Then, I’d left.

Knowing that it would rent him in two, I’d torn myself away from him, and run back to the Council to lick at my wound, like a beaten dog.

He’d had no such support, and it had nearly killed him.

No way to deal with the incredible loss of self, which came with the breaking of magick that was as powerful as that.

And when, later, he’d tracked me down, I’d turned him away, seeing what I could have become if I’d remained.

If my father had ever found out the extent of what I’d done, then he’d have killed me. And there would have been few people that would have moved to stop him.

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I was tired, that much was true, but I couldn’t sleep.

It was too quiet, I felt cold, alone.

In my mind, for the past four years I’d been alone, in a soundproof cell with nothing but hallucinations, and the sadistic, pathetic excuses for human beings that the military personal were.

Gods, and Rupert once thought me sadistic… I had been nothing compared to what those wanna-be-human monsters were.

It was too much for me to process, that I’d lost three years of my life, just like that -Impossible to believe.

And that, totalled with the time I’d been imprisoned, made it seven years in total.

Now, more than ever, I hated this aloneness.

I craved human contact -ached for it -and not just from any random stranger.

Even when Rupert had hit me, it felt better then when he simply left me. That was the worst thing that he could ever do to me.

Even now, he didn’t seem to understand that I needed him more then I could ever hate him.

I wanted -needed -those familiar touches, and that gentle voice talking to me… to feel his body against me, his arms holding me.

I wanted to feel protected, safe, secure -and even when I’d feared him, I’d still felt protected by him.

Because when I was with him, it was only him that could hurt me. No one else was allowed to.

I’m a twisted, fucked up creature. Even my affections were fucked up, it seemed.

Being in the same house as him, his home I presumed, so close to him, yet so far away too… if I looked in the right way, with the sight that magick gifted I would be able to see where he’d stood, where he’d walked, where he’d sat, the dark green trace that his disused power left behind, as cool and as soothing to me as the effect of when he locked his gaze with my own.

My gods, can’t he feel it?

The way my power instinctively reached out for his, towards him, trying to call him out from whereever he’d run off to.

The bond that he’d woven between he and I in our youth ached for the lack of attention that it was shown.

Well, it seemed that there was only one thing for it. If he wouldn’t come to me, then I’d have to go to him. As weak as I was, I was sure that I could manage that.

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The sound of a muffled thump, and the much louder crash, of something shattering on the floor brought me instantly from the border of my dreamless, restless sleep, and I shot instantly to my feet, working for a few seconds to gauge where the sound had come from, even as I realised that I didn’t actually need to figure it out.

Of course it was Ethan. Which left only one question -what in the devil is he trying to do out there?

I made my way, hesitantly, to the room that I’d had built off to the side of the lounge. I wasn’t entirely certain of what I would find, and that was the majority of my reluctance accounted for.

Ethan was on the floor, a small table which I had to assume he’d tried to use for support on it’s side on the floor, and the lamp that had been on it also on the floor, shattered.

A tiny amount of blood, also on the floor, from the fragments of porcelain I guessed. He looked so tiny, and forlorn on the floor like that.

And that meant that my old question, to myself, could be replaced by the version which I could ask him, even as I crossed the room, and drew him up into my arms in order to help him back up. Or simply up, at any rate -I wasn’t sure that he’d even made it to his feet in the first place.

“What in the blazers are you trying to do, you berk?” I asked directly, even as he whimpered softly and tried to snuggle deeper into my grasp, his arms reaching up to grasp around my neck, as he clung to me with all the desperation of a child about to be left behind by his parents for the first time.

Feeling sick seemed to be as frequent a companion as the guilt that I’d experienced, over the last three years.

And I was fed up with fighting against the bond that I’d woven all those years ago. I no longer had anyone to prove myself to, and no matter what I told myself, Ethan wouldn’t be anywhere near strong enough to go anywhere for a long time.

“Don’t let me go, Ripper. Please.”

I held him tighter, and sat back on the couch, even as I shifted my position so that I was a little more comfortable.

I closed my eyes, and rested my chin against his shoulder for a few moments, before turning my head and burying my nose into his hair, breathing in that scent that was indescribable, that was so intrinsically Ethan, even as I felt a pang in my heart for the time that I’d lost. I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes again, but this time they didn’t hold the deep agony of a few hours ago.

“I can’t. Not again,” I muttered against his ear, “I’ve got you… never again, Ethan. Never again.”

He buried his own head into my shirt, into the hollow between my throat and my shoulder.

Ethan’s love for me had always been unconditional, just like a child's -another thing that I had tried so desperately to forget.

I ran the fingers of my right hand through his hair, muttering a few brief words of Latin. It would take an age to regain what we’d had before, so what better time was there to start, that now?

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I smiled, as I buried my face against Ripper.

It really was the little moments that had made life, and mine in particular, worth living.

“Love you,” I whispered, into his shirt, half-hoping, in spite of myself, that the words would go unheard.

“I know,” he whispered in reply, as he broke off the Latin, “I know.”