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summer_of_giles2011-06-08 05:46 pm
Fic Part 1/3 Before You Lay Me To Sleep
Author: 0_Ruthless_0
Setting: Post destruction of the Watcher's Council
Pairing Giles/Ethan
FR: Um, can I get away with saying a low M? Got some languge, and a little slash, so...
Disclaimer: If you timk I own any of Buffyverse, then can I have some of your Band Candy? XD
A huge thanks to tweedisgood for the wonderful beta job that I got. And any mistakes that may remain are entirely my own, sorry. Hope you enjoy.
Setting: after S 7.
Part 1/3
Before You Lay Me To Sleep
Part I – Runaway
Call you up in the middle of the night
Like a fire-fly without a light
You were there like a blow-torch burning,
I was a key that could use a little turning
So tired that I couldn’t even sleep
So many secrets I couldn’t keep
Promise myself I wouldn’t weep.
One more promise I couldn’t keep.
Can you help me remember how to smile
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile
How on earth did I get so jaded?
Life’s mysteries seem so faded
There were questions to be asked.
Again, although that really wasn’t saying much. There were always questions that had to be asked, and never enough satisfactory answers to go around. But sometimes that was a good thing, because there were some questions that were better left unanswered, some things that didn’t really bear looking into, some answers that were best left unknown.
And he’d never learned how, or when to leave well-enough alone, although he knew that this might very well be one of those cases.
A pair of clever eyes turned down, bright gaze un-meeting, and un-met, and this was probably a good thing, too, even though he was having trouble convincing himself of the fact. He could remember what that gaze used to do to him, once upon a time, even though it had long ceased to have that effect. Or so he kept on telling himself.
Ethan seemed oddly fascinated by a bit of odd dirt stuck under a finger-nail, and he could understand that effect as well, prolonging the moment before contact would be necessary, because any contact that could ever be there could never last, and would only ever be temporary, because everything that could ever be said or done was already all water under the bridge, acid water that they were both only ever scarred from these days.
“Why?” his voice was soft, although he still flinched back, pulling away from the hand which finally rose to capture his own perhaps, or something of the sort. Didn’t know, couldn’t know, because he hadn’t let it play out.
Both guarded, just like things always were, these days. Just like they had been for well over twenty years.
Brown eyes which had flicked up for a fraction of a second, so brief that he almost missed it, lowered just as quickly.
“Why?” he asked again, a gentle prod rather than the sharp full-force snap that should have been. And again his mind offered up his own answers, telling him words that he’d longed to hear. Because I wanted to; because I’ve missed you; because I want to work with you again –for old times sake… or, more realistically ‘it’s chaos, mate; I’m here to throw another spanner into the works…’ or perhaps, once again ‘it’s just a bloody job, you prat. No need to get sentimental, old man.’
Not that there was any lack of money, in this case.
The tiny room that he was in seemed that much smaller all of a sudden, too small, and he found himself wanting out, right bloody now thank-you, he didn’t want to hear the answers, not out loud at any rate, didn’t want his hopes crushed and his dreams shattered, not again, not right now, not when he was only just beginning to build them up again.
Too much death, recently. Too many dreams, and hopes, and aspirations gone; no more than dust in the fucking wind. Too many people, good, and bad, and arseholes and saints, all gone.
And he was too tired, these days for the bluster and anger of youth.
Arms crossed over a slim frame, over a thin chest, and the way the other leaned back against the wall didn’t look at all practised as it had once upon a time, when dreams had been free, and it had been possible -at least for them- to live on that, and that almost alone.
Always another pocket to be picked. Always another five-finger discount to be had.
Not so these days, though.
“I’m sorry.”
That threw the world off its axis, surely. Had he just heard right?
He blinked, startled. Couldn’t have, it wasn’t possible. Brush it off, add something self-depreciating, make it less than it was, and show it for what it really was. This; simple words, frank, bold statement that could be shot down in a heart-beat or less, had never been them.
Had never been possible between them.
There was always some lie, or disguise , or mask to be torn off, dismantled, torn apart and rent open. Some new farce to uncover, and reveal in the cold, bitter-honest light of day.
The night was kinder. He’d always preferred its shadow and illusion to the harsh truths, although one would be hard pressed to get him to admit it, whether out loud and to another person, or even simply to himself.
“What?” he asked, digging a finger into his ear, just in case it was a build-up of earwax which had just caused what he thought he’d heard.
And realised that he was staring, almost pointedly at Ethan, as the other swallowed, another thing that he would deny ever doing.
“I said I’m sorry. And don’t ask me to say it again, because it’s not an easy thing for me to say.”
“How long do I have to live, then?”
He had to try to throw it away, try to make things back into what they always had been. And in a few seconds the bastard wouldn’t be able to hold his straight face, and would burst out laughing. He could hear that, too, in his mind, uncaring and as sharp as glass. What, you mean to say that I actually had you going? What’s the world come to, Ripper, honestly? When you take what I say at face value…?
And then there would be no option other than to drive a knee into his stomach, hit him around the head, and throw him from the tiny room.
He was holding himself tensed, his weight was even across his body, stance light. And then he noticed the flash of what looked surprisingly similar to panic, across the others face.
“Is there something that you’ve neglected to tell me?” and the look in his eyes seemed to be begging him to say no.
“I would ask you the same thing. You come here offering me, of all people an apology. Which I seem to remember you saying you would ah, never give until after I’d ‘rolled off my death-bed’, I believe your words were.”
He had to keep him at arms’ length, couldn’t show him how unsettled he was.
“Yes. Well…” The sentence hung there, and he waited for a conclusion to be offered, although none seemed to be forthcoming.
“Allow me to tell you right now, that I’m in no mood for games,” a tiny step forward, and he was close enough to be able to let the proximity carry any threat that he might find himself having to make.
“No games. Not this time.”
He bit back a frustrated sigh, “Then why in the world…”
And fell silent, as a hand rose, and the fingertips drifted over his cheek, light enough to tickle uncomfortably. Instinct, again, won out, and he found himself almost but not quite closing his eyes as he tilted his head towards the spidery touch, licked at suddenly dry lips, tensing again, although this time for an entirely different reason.
He wasn’t entirely sure what his reaction would be, or should be, if what he though might be coming actually happened. Didn’t know whether he would draw closer, or pull away. Or haul back and knock him one. Didn’t know what he wanted to do with this.
It had been a long time, but he wasn’t sure whether a long time had been long enough. Or if he’d ever really been able to hate the other. He’d always wanted to go back there, but he knew that he never could, not really, just like he’d always wished that it had never happened. Although he didn’t often feel so torn in the same breath.
“From what I’ve heard recently, it sounded like you could use a friend…”
He paused for a few seconds, just long enough really for the memories to wash back over him again, images that he’d seen in his nightmares for far too many nights already, and would no doubt see for a great many night to come; of a blast which seemed to come out of no-where, an awful suffocating heat enveloping him, and a sudden silence which was far too quiet, because no-one had had time to scream, or cry out.
Ethan’s next words were softly spoken, and hesitant, “If you want me to, I can…” he gestured with his head towards the door, not wanting to break away from the spell the those deep, green eyes were already weaving on him.
Yes, said that voice in his head. That was the smart option after all. The proper choice. But he’d listened to his head last time, and that had caused him even more agony than the loss of his best friend had.
“No. No, I don’t want you to.”
His own words were just as softly spoken. But there were no further reciprocations offered. Which meant that this was, once again, his field of play. The next move was his, and it was a move that he found easier not to think about.
There was minimal space between them. And for a few seconds, until he shook free of the memory, he saw too, how easy it would be to reach across that distance and cover mouth and nose with his free hand. Something which, there were times he wished he’d done.
Something that he knew he could never carry out, not even if the fate of the world hung in the balance.
He was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of violence, repercussions and arguments. Sick of picking at wounds which had been left to fester, and opening them to fresh infection.
It was easier than he’d though it would be, to tilt his head forward and press a slow kiss to those thin almost feminie lips, for the first time in over a decade. It was something that he’d dreamed himself doing, or imagined, or remembered, whenever he’d grown sick of the world. Whenever he’d wished he could find some form of out.
And everything seem cut and dry
Day and night, earth and sky
Somehow I just don’t believe it
Brought a ticket for a runaway train
Like a madman laughing at the rain
A little outta touch, a little in vain
Just easier than dealing with the pain
Runaway train never coming back
Runaway train tearing up the track
Runaway train crying in my face
I run away but it always seems to stay the same
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There were a few points during my reading of this where I got confused as to whose perspective we were seeing from. However, it almost seemed to add to my enjoyment of the story. I even found myself wondering if perhaps it was intentionally vague. Also I haven't had my coffee yet (seriously), so that might have something to do with it. ^_^
Can't wait to see what you've got planned for the next part!
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The vagueness wasn't written on purpose, but on reading it back over it didn't seem too bad with it. And coffee is a wonderful thing, is it not? LOL
You look forward to reading the next part, I'm looking forward to posting it.
Anyways, thanks for taking the time to R&R.
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I'm not so good at patience. I'll try harder though.
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Seemed like a good idea in theory, posting one part on each day...
LOL.
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