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summer_of_giles2006-07-01 11:07 pm
anidada.livejournal.com) wrote in summer_of_giles2006-07-01 11:07 pm
Entry tags:
Court and Spark (G/E) PG-13
Title: Court and Spark
Pairing: Giles/Ethan
Setting: Post-Chosen (with pre-series flashback)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nope, still don’t own ‘em.
Summary: Giles tries to understand why Ethan's never returned.
A/N: Title is that of a Joni Mitchell song (it’s Canada Day, eh? ETA: and the International Day of Slash! Coincidence?). Italics = thought. Giles is present, Rupert is past. Many thanks to my partner (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nottheterritory) for the beta. Crossposted to my LJ. (Under the wire! *sheepish grin*)
insomnia, again
Giles snapped his fingers. The candles on the bedside table flared to life, and he flinched at a current of memory.
On the night they met, Ethan had taught him that trick of light. Simple, elemental, harmless. One trick led to others, of course, some not so harmless. But the beginning – when energy crackled between them raw and pure – haunted Giles.
He had always told himself that surely, at some point, Ethan had escaped. Even after he understood what the Initiative were capable of doing, Giles never believed they’d manage to transport the mage as far as the state line, let alone imprison him. Though he didn’t like to think about it in any depth, he was also sure that he would’ve known, would’ve felt it, if Ethan had been hurt – or worse.
But in the years since they took Ethan away, there’d been nothing. No communication, in any form, neither from the Initiative nor from Ethan. No beyond-vivid dreams; no visitations; no telltale prickle on the back of his neck, warning him that Chaos was right behind him. No cold, possibly undead sorcerer on his doorstep, waiting to be invited in. No warmth in his bed, expected or not.
It seemed that Ethan had given up pursuing him. Much as Giles had tried to ignore the absence of that flow of energy, the magic inside him protested strongly. Especially here, in London, where it all began – and far from where it seemed to have finished.
It never finished, that was the trouble. It was in his blood.
That last time in Sunnydale, between drinks and demon, when he’d invited – no, dragged – Ethan back to his flat, he’d ignored all the things Ethan was trying to tell him, shut him up the fun way.
the night is still our time
And it was, all theirs, and might even have grown into more – but predictably, Ethan had spoiled it all with a prank. Predictably, the prank had backfired, resulted in a chase, just like--
no
Not like every other time.
not quite like the first
Accepting that he definitely wasn’t going to sleep if he didn’t play the memory out in his mind, Giles turned away from the candles and stared at the face of his alarm clock on the opposite side. The minute hand seemed to move backward, and he felt himself drifting – or rather, being pulled – back to the beginning.
the magic
That first night in the club, all Ethan had done to attract his attention was to smile – languid, bold, so very pretty. When Ethan licked his lips, Rupert's mouth watered. Ethan had turned away, leaving without a word – but the club went pitch dark when he walked out the door.
like chasing a storm, magic like electricity flickering around, through him
Rupert had followed Ethan into the night, staying what he thought was a safe distance behind. It didn’t matter that he was prepared for danger. It was far too late for that.
he always expected I’d follow him
Eventually, Ethan had bounded up the front steps of a shabby, partly boarded-up mansion, pushed open the door and disappeared into the blackness beyond. The door had stayed open, and Rupert had hesitated on the pavement.
where do you go when you leave me?
A spark, not from a match but from fingers snapping, and candlelight suddenly glowed yellow-orange. Ethan had turned in the foyer, faced the open doorway, hands on his hips. Silent. Waiting.
and what do I have to do to make you come back?
Rupert had felt himself rushing forward, taking the steps two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt at the door.
not a trick, not a prank, something else...
The city had been waiting, too, and as Rupert had stepped over the threshold, the sounds had rushed in all at once, traffic and sirens and dogs and drunks, fighting two doors down, loud sex one floor above, games of magic the rest of them were already playing.
oh, god – it’s a game, isn’t it? and I’ve played it all wrong
Ethan’s smile had seemed even brighter by candle than it had by the strobes in the club. He’d turned and started up the staircase, candles lighting on the risers as he’d ascended. The flames in the foyer began to fade. "Coming?" Ethan stopped on the landing and held out his hand, beckoning. "The light won’t wait for you."
the light is you
Rupert followed, the door shutting behind him with a click as he clasped Ethan’s hand, the candles guttering out.
I wasn’t just expected to follow
The air in his bedroom shivered, the minute hand moved forward a notch, and the back of his neck prickled.
"I was meant to catch you, and keep you," Giles sighed as he turned back to the candlelight, and the brightness of a familiar smile.
"Perhaps I should’ve said ‘tag, you’re it’?"
Pairing: Giles/Ethan
Setting: Post-Chosen (with pre-series flashback)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nope, still don’t own ‘em.
Summary: Giles tries to understand why Ethan's never returned.
A/N: Title is that of a Joni Mitchell song (it’s Canada Day, eh? ETA: and the International Day of Slash! Coincidence?). Italics = thought. Giles is present, Rupert is past. Many thanks to my partner (
nottheterritory) for the beta. Crossposted to my LJ. (Under the wire! *sheepish grin*)insomnia, again
Giles snapped his fingers. The candles on the bedside table flared to life, and he flinched at a current of memory.
On the night they met, Ethan had taught him that trick of light. Simple, elemental, harmless. One trick led to others, of course, some not so harmless. But the beginning – when energy crackled between them raw and pure – haunted Giles.
He had always told himself that surely, at some point, Ethan had escaped. Even after he understood what the Initiative were capable of doing, Giles never believed they’d manage to transport the mage as far as the state line, let alone imprison him. Though he didn’t like to think about it in any depth, he was also sure that he would’ve known, would’ve felt it, if Ethan had been hurt – or worse.
But in the years since they took Ethan away, there’d been nothing. No communication, in any form, neither from the Initiative nor from Ethan. No beyond-vivid dreams; no visitations; no telltale prickle on the back of his neck, warning him that Chaos was right behind him. No cold, possibly undead sorcerer on his doorstep, waiting to be invited in. No warmth in his bed, expected or not.
It seemed that Ethan had given up pursuing him. Much as Giles had tried to ignore the absence of that flow of energy, the magic inside him protested strongly. Especially here, in London, where it all began – and far from where it seemed to have finished.
It never finished, that was the trouble. It was in his blood.
That last time in Sunnydale, between drinks and demon, when he’d invited – no, dragged – Ethan back to his flat, he’d ignored all the things Ethan was trying to tell him, shut him up the fun way.
the night is still our time
And it was, all theirs, and might even have grown into more – but predictably, Ethan had spoiled it all with a prank. Predictably, the prank had backfired, resulted in a chase, just like--
no
Not like every other time.
not quite like the first
Accepting that he definitely wasn’t going to sleep if he didn’t play the memory out in his mind, Giles turned away from the candles and stared at the face of his alarm clock on the opposite side. The minute hand seemed to move backward, and he felt himself drifting – or rather, being pulled – back to the beginning.
the magic
That first night in the club, all Ethan had done to attract his attention was to smile – languid, bold, so very pretty. When Ethan licked his lips, Rupert's mouth watered. Ethan had turned away, leaving without a word – but the club went pitch dark when he walked out the door.
like chasing a storm, magic like electricity flickering around, through him
Rupert had followed Ethan into the night, staying what he thought was a safe distance behind. It didn’t matter that he was prepared for danger. It was far too late for that.
he always expected I’d follow him
Eventually, Ethan had bounded up the front steps of a shabby, partly boarded-up mansion, pushed open the door and disappeared into the blackness beyond. The door had stayed open, and Rupert had hesitated on the pavement.
where do you go when you leave me?
A spark, not from a match but from fingers snapping, and candlelight suddenly glowed yellow-orange. Ethan had turned in the foyer, faced the open doorway, hands on his hips. Silent. Waiting.
and what do I have to do to make you come back?
Rupert had felt himself rushing forward, taking the steps two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt at the door.
not a trick, not a prank, something else...
The city had been waiting, too, and as Rupert had stepped over the threshold, the sounds had rushed in all at once, traffic and sirens and dogs and drunks, fighting two doors down, loud sex one floor above, games of magic the rest of them were already playing.
oh, god – it’s a game, isn’t it? and I’ve played it all wrong
Ethan’s smile had seemed even brighter by candle than it had by the strobes in the club. He’d turned and started up the staircase, candles lighting on the risers as he’d ascended. The flames in the foyer began to fade. "Coming?" Ethan stopped on the landing and held out his hand, beckoning. "The light won’t wait for you."
the light is you
Rupert followed, the door shutting behind him with a click as he clasped Ethan’s hand, the candles guttering out.
I wasn’t just expected to follow
The air in his bedroom shivered, the minute hand moved forward a notch, and the back of his neck prickled.
"I was meant to catch you, and keep you," Giles sighed as he turned back to the candlelight, and the brightness of a familiar smile.
"Perhaps I should’ve said ‘tag, you’re it’?"