FUNNY HOW THE NIGHT MOVES
What can I say; hiding in shadows has always been a part of my act. As a human, I loved the bright, shiny sunlight where people could see me and talk and notice my rebellion. As Angelus.well, obviously it just shifted to the moonlight, didn't it? Darker shades of black. But the shadows are my home; they hide me from both the sunlight and the moonlight; keep me safe. Maybe that's why I understand this little charade being played around me.
A knock at the door- I still live at the Hyperion, even though no one else does- and I opened it. The smell in the air already told me who it was.
"Giles," I said, nodding warily at the man. I'm never comfortable around him.
"Angel," he replied, just as uncomfortable. Fearful really, the signs were there and I read them all. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything."
"Nothing at all," I said soothingly, no point not being polite. "What can I do for you? I thought you were in England with Willow?"
"I left," he told me. And I wasn't not sure whether to press for more and I was just deciding not to when he continued, sitting in a chair as if he was too drained to stand. "I couldn't live there any more."
And I understand his problem. It's home; yet not. He wants what he remembers. And when it comes down to people like us, even what we remember is never pleasant. He's caught in limbo and that sends him shooting from the place he loves and can't understand to the place he understands but hates.
"You can stay," I told him. And he looked a little surprised, like he never expected that. He also accepted and went his way to one of the farthest rooms he could find. With a hundred of those, we could live here and never have to meet. It works for both of us.
It was another night when we happened to be sitting in the old offices discussing mythology when another knock came. This time I thought it was Wesley. It was. Only he had someone in his arms who looked like they were close to death if not dead already.
Giles took one look and grabbed the man, carrying the slim frame away as if he couldn't trust it to either of the two of us watching him.
I finally had to ask. "Who was that?" I asked, looking confused.
"Ethan Rayne," he said tiredly, "Wolfram and Hart had him in their confines for work on a prophecy. I only found out when they sent the report to me for double-checking. I only got him out two hours ago."
"How'd you do it?" And really, I wanted to know because Wolfram and Hart know our backgrounds and they have enough files on Buffy and Giles and the rest to tell them that Ethan Rayne is a precious commodity in our little group.
Wesley stayed silent for a while. You know, one of those 'I'm a strong, silent British bloke who's also intellectual' silences. "I pulled a few strings and brought him in from the Chicago base. He's in my custody."
And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the wonder that is Wesley Wyndham- Price. The man is either a fucking genius or a damn fool! He's just had a psychotically inclined mystic released because he knew what the man meant to Giles. And he finishes with the brilliant encore of placing his own ass on the line.
Giles came back down three days later with red eyes and days worth of stubble and looked like he was on his last legs. "He's better," was all he said.
Gunn and Fred don't really know what to make of it all. Wesley has, to my evident astonishment, welcomed Giles' presence in this place. It's like he's only relaxed when I'm there or Giles is there. And I'm still figuring that out.
Fred looked at me. "Angel, what are we going to do about that poor man?"
I sighed. "I don't know. We have to find out what they did to him."
Giles shuddered when I said that, but not in fear. No, I've seen that and this is different- this is anger. "They ran tests. They injected him with god knows what to see what he's capable of. He's been drugged with everything under the sun and then they even experimented with his magical powers. This was, of course, done independently to the torturing for information that he went through."
And hell, but that man knows how to silence a room. Even I can pity the poor bastard for that. Wolfram and Hart is an 'eat or be eaten' world. And I can imagine how they ate Ethan Rayne for breakfast and then forced him back to life so they could do it again.
Wesley looked a little green. "What are his injuries, Giles? Is there anything we can do?"
And the Watchers went up-stairs to sort this out. Fred, Gunn and I sat where we were and talked- about cases, about life, and about what we would like to do. It's noise basically, that they make to remind themselves and everybody else that they're alive. Am I being cold? Well, duh! I'm a walking corpse!
Anyway, it wasn't for a month before I finally saw the man again. I came up from the sewers one sunny California day to find a thin, bony shape sitting in my dark office.
"Ethan Rayne," I said, coming up silently behind him.
And I'll swear he never knew I was there before but he didn't jump or start or get distressed. Merely craned his head back to see me. "Hello," he said politely, before looking in front again.
I sat down. I'm always intrigued by people who don't give the devil's kiss about my ability to sneak up and bite them. No one I know ever has done that. Not once they know my legacy anyway.
"How do you feel?" I asked gently.
"Like I've spent two years being tortured," he said neutrally, "And that was before I got out and got captured by Wolfram and Hart a month later."
I raised my eyebrows. I had no idea about the previous parts. "You were tortured before? When?"
The man said nothing, so I didn't push it. I merely stood up, told him that we would do everything to help him and tried to leave. The smell of salt tears didn't encourage that.
"Rayne, what's wrong?" I asked, nervously. Of course I'm nervous! The man's curled up like a kitten in my chair and he's been tortured for over three years and he's crying! The sadistic bastard almost caused my Buffy's death but he's crying like a child because someone said they'd try to make it better.
When I touched him I suddenly realized why. He was brittle, fragile almost. And I got so scared I'd break him. I wished Giles was there even if it meant he'd chew me out for upsetting his darling.
"Angel, go," the man gasped, getting to his feet. "And don't tell Ripper about this or I'll kill you myself."
And I left, but not without a sympathetic stroke of his shoulder. I still figure I can give him that much emotion.
And let me here and now state he's gotten better. Everyday Giles comes down a little paler, a little weaker. but Ethan is stronger. And being the vampire that I am, I don't mention the smell of blood on either of them. But I know how it happens. The advantages of shadow again, you understand.
I came up two days late, after spending time on a case. It was night and I'd offered to cook for the others but they were tired. Yeah. So I was alone, thank god.
They were in the offices, stark naked both of them, and I could see why. Ripper was back with a vengeance because the magic in that room was so thick it could choke a person. The slashes in Giles' body accounted for the blood loss and the way he let Ethan drain him and ride him definitely accounted for fatigue. Man, I've seen vampires who are less sadistic! But Giles took it all without a word. And I could tell he was running the magicks too.
Ethan was down again the next morning, sitting in my dark office; but this time not in my chair. "Ripper says you saw us last night," was what came out without warning. I have to say I blinked and almost turned tail.
That smirk of his peeped back at me. Oh, Ethan Rayne heals fast, he does. I'm learning that. He settled himself in what had been the client's chair and looked at me. I sighed and sat down.
"Angel, I don't know what you saw, I'm only asking," he pointed out, "I was, as you could no doubt observe, a little busy."
I noted the dry humor. "Yeah, I got that," I informed him, "It would be hard to notice another presence when you're flaying your partner with a riding crop so that you can drink his blood."
After that he sighed. Amazing how most dangerous men sigh.
"The spell required flagellation as a means to humiliation, fear and pain. I tried to make it pleasurable as well. Giles isn't into that sort, if you're worried. He does it for me."
"And at risk to himself," I remind him bluntly, "The man's almost collapsing where he sits. Even Gunn's noticed it and Gunn has no reason to."
This time Rayne didn't give me the two-dollar deal on his pretended opinion. He gestured helplessly like he really had no choice. "I've tried to stop him, but he won't. He won't rest. The only thing I can do is getting him to sleep later in the morning. And that's only because he can't force his body to do otherwise."
"I'll talk to him," I said, more as a way to see how genuine his reaction was than as an intended action.
Ethan actually smiled. Not a smirk, he gave me a relived, sweet, grateful smile. So this is who Giles sees. "I'm glad. Thank you!"
So that's why I'm here, waiting for him to come down on a Wednesday night because those are the nights we usually meet in the deserted offices and talk. Sometimes Wesley joins us, and once or twice Ethan Rayne has. It's usually just us, though.
Wait; he's coming down. I can hear the soft footfall. I looked up and god damn it, but I'm startled. The man looks like hell!
"Hello," he croaks valiantly, dropping into a chair.
I stare at the scarecrow figure with the gray underlying his pale skin and the lackluster hair. The pretty gray-green eyes don't sparkle any more. And the hands tremble as he hides them under the table.
"Are you okay?" Oh right, moron! Because he's not going to be on the defensive with that!
"I'm fine, Angel," surprisingly he doesn't even care about his pride any more. I suppose flagellation and constant other humiliations will do that to you.
"Giles, I want you to stop!"
And yes, I can say that because the man is hardly even the shadow of his former self and because he's mine and he bears my marking and why do you think vampires react to him the way they do? The stupid ones go after him; the smart ones leave him alone. Mine!
"I can't! It's healing him," he whispers. Eyes downcast.
"Rupert, love."
And he's shocked. There, now I've really done it. "What did you say?" he gasps.
"No, no, sit!" I bark. There's that fear again. And this time evident because he has no strength left to hide behind. "Giles," I emphasis the changed name usage, "You're killing yourself. Ethan will get better on his own. He's already well enough that you can stop."
"But he needs more," Giles said stubbornly, pushing his glasses up his nose.
And what can you say to such childish logic. "Giles, let me make myself clear. Ethan will be fine on his own. If I smell blood and dark sulphur on you once more in the rest of this week, I will tie you down to a bed and tell Ethan Rayne to put up an anti-magic spell around you." And I'm serious.
He stares at me with big eyes, looking some kind of cute, faded little kid. I almost expect his lower lip to start wobbling as the tears come. And yes, have I mentioned how broken he is? The fact that he's crying on my shoulder should say that.
What can I say; hiding in shadows has always been a part of my act. As a human, I loved the bright, shiny sunlight where people could see me and talk and notice my rebellion. As Angelus.well, obviously it just shifted to the moonlight, didn't it? Darker shades of black. But the shadows are my home; they hide me from both the sunlight and the moonlight; keep me safe. Maybe that's why I understand this little charade being played around me.
A knock at the door- I still live at the Hyperion, even though no one else does- and I opened it. The smell in the air already told me who it was.
"Giles," I said, nodding warily at the man. I'm never comfortable around him.
"Angel," he replied, just as uncomfortable. Fearful really, the signs were there and I read them all. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything."
"Nothing at all," I said soothingly, no point not being polite. "What can I do for you? I thought you were in England with Willow?"
"I left," he told me. And I wasn't not sure whether to press for more and I was just deciding not to when he continued, sitting in a chair as if he was too drained to stand. "I couldn't live there any more."
And I understand his problem. It's home; yet not. He wants what he remembers. And when it comes down to people like us, even what we remember is never pleasant. He's caught in limbo and that sends him shooting from the place he loves and can't understand to the place he understands but hates.
"You can stay," I told him. And he looked a little surprised, like he never expected that. He also accepted and went his way to one of the farthest rooms he could find. With a hundred of those, we could live here and never have to meet. It works for both of us.
It was another night when we happened to be sitting in the old offices discussing mythology when another knock came. This time I thought it was Wesley. It was. Only he had someone in his arms who looked like they were close to death if not dead already.
Giles took one look and grabbed the man, carrying the slim frame away as if he couldn't trust it to either of the two of us watching him.
I finally had to ask. "Who was that?" I asked, looking confused.
"Ethan Rayne," he said tiredly, "Wolfram and Hart had him in their confines for work on a prophecy. I only found out when they sent the report to me for double-checking. I only got him out two hours ago."
"How'd you do it?" And really, I wanted to know because Wolfram and Hart know our backgrounds and they have enough files on Buffy and Giles and the rest to tell them that Ethan Rayne is a precious commodity in our little group.
Wesley stayed silent for a while. You know, one of those 'I'm a strong, silent British bloke who's also intellectual' silences. "I pulled a few strings and brought him in from the Chicago base. He's in my custody."
And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the wonder that is Wesley Wyndham- Price. The man is either a fucking genius or a damn fool! He's just had a psychotically inclined mystic released because he knew what the man meant to Giles. And he finishes with the brilliant encore of placing his own ass on the line.
Giles came back down three days later with red eyes and days worth of stubble and looked like he was on his last legs. "He's better," was all he said.
Gunn and Fred don't really know what to make of it all. Wesley has, to my evident astonishment, welcomed Giles' presence in this place. It's like he's only relaxed when I'm there or Giles is there. And I'm still figuring that out.
Fred looked at me. "Angel, what are we going to do about that poor man?"
I sighed. "I don't know. We have to find out what they did to him."
Giles shuddered when I said that, but not in fear. No, I've seen that and this is different- this is anger. "They ran tests. They injected him with god knows what to see what he's capable of. He's been drugged with everything under the sun and then they even experimented with his magical powers. This was, of course, done independently to the torturing for information that he went through."
And hell, but that man knows how to silence a room. Even I can pity the poor bastard for that. Wolfram and Hart is an 'eat or be eaten' world. And I can imagine how they ate Ethan Rayne for breakfast and then forced him back to life so they could do it again.
Wesley looked a little green. "What are his injuries, Giles? Is there anything we can do?"
And the Watchers went up-stairs to sort this out. Fred, Gunn and I sat where we were and talked- about cases, about life, and about what we would like to do. It's noise basically, that they make to remind themselves and everybody else that they're alive. Am I being cold? Well, duh! I'm a walking corpse!
Anyway, it wasn't for a month before I finally saw the man again. I came up from the sewers one sunny California day to find a thin, bony shape sitting in my dark office.
"Ethan Rayne," I said, coming up silently behind him.
And I'll swear he never knew I was there before but he didn't jump or start or get distressed. Merely craned his head back to see me. "Hello," he said politely, before looking in front again.
I sat down. I'm always intrigued by people who don't give the devil's kiss about my ability to sneak up and bite them. No one I know ever has done that. Not once they know my legacy anyway.
"How do you feel?" I asked gently.
"Like I've spent two years being tortured," he said neutrally, "And that was before I got out and got captured by Wolfram and Hart a month later."
I raised my eyebrows. I had no idea about the previous parts. "You were tortured before? When?"
The man said nothing, so I didn't push it. I merely stood up, told him that we would do everything to help him and tried to leave. The smell of salt tears didn't encourage that.
"Rayne, what's wrong?" I asked, nervously. Of course I'm nervous! The man's curled up like a kitten in my chair and he's been tortured for over three years and he's crying! The sadistic bastard almost caused my Buffy's death but he's crying like a child because someone said they'd try to make it better.
When I touched him I suddenly realized why. He was brittle, fragile almost. And I got so scared I'd break him. I wished Giles was there even if it meant he'd chew me out for upsetting his darling.
"Angel, go," the man gasped, getting to his feet. "And don't tell Ripper about this or I'll kill you myself."
And I left, but not without a sympathetic stroke of his shoulder. I still figure I can give him that much emotion.
And let me here and now state he's gotten better. Everyday Giles comes down a little paler, a little weaker. but Ethan is stronger. And being the vampire that I am, I don't mention the smell of blood on either of them. But I know how it happens. The advantages of shadow again, you understand.
I came up two days late, after spending time on a case. It was night and I'd offered to cook for the others but they were tired. Yeah. So I was alone, thank god.
They were in the offices, stark naked both of them, and I could see why. Ripper was back with a vengeance because the magic in that room was so thick it could choke a person. The slashes in Giles' body accounted for the blood loss and the way he let Ethan drain him and ride him definitely accounted for fatigue. Man, I've seen vampires who are less sadistic! But Giles took it all without a word. And I could tell he was running the magicks too.
Ethan was down again the next morning, sitting in my dark office; but this time not in my chair. "Ripper says you saw us last night," was what came out without warning. I have to say I blinked and almost turned tail.
That smirk of his peeped back at me. Oh, Ethan Rayne heals fast, he does. I'm learning that. He settled himself in what had been the client's chair and looked at me. I sighed and sat down.
"Angel, I don't know what you saw, I'm only asking," he pointed out, "I was, as you could no doubt observe, a little busy."
I noted the dry humor. "Yeah, I got that," I informed him, "It would be hard to notice another presence when you're flaying your partner with a riding crop so that you can drink his blood."
After that he sighed. Amazing how most dangerous men sigh.
"The spell required flagellation as a means to humiliation, fear and pain. I tried to make it pleasurable as well. Giles isn't into that sort, if you're worried. He does it for me."
"And at risk to himself," I remind him bluntly, "The man's almost collapsing where he sits. Even Gunn's noticed it and Gunn has no reason to."
This time Rayne didn't give me the two-dollar deal on his pretended opinion. He gestured helplessly like he really had no choice. "I've tried to stop him, but he won't. He won't rest. The only thing I can do is getting him to sleep later in the morning. And that's only because he can't force his body to do otherwise."
"I'll talk to him," I said, more as a way to see how genuine his reaction was than as an intended action.
Ethan actually smiled. Not a smirk, he gave me a relived, sweet, grateful smile. So this is who Giles sees. "I'm glad. Thank you!"
So that's why I'm here, waiting for him to come down on a Wednesday night because those are the nights we usually meet in the deserted offices and talk. Sometimes Wesley joins us, and once or twice Ethan Rayne has. It's usually just us, though.
Wait; he's coming down. I can hear the soft footfall. I looked up and god damn it, but I'm startled. The man looks like hell!
"Hello," he croaks valiantly, dropping into a chair.
I stare at the scarecrow figure with the gray underlying his pale skin and the lackluster hair. The pretty gray-green eyes don't sparkle any more. And the hands tremble as he hides them under the table.
"Are you okay?" Oh right, moron! Because he's not going to be on the defensive with that!
"I'm fine, Angel," surprisingly he doesn't even care about his pride any more. I suppose flagellation and constant other humiliations will do that to you.
"Giles, I want you to stop!"
And yes, I can say that because the man is hardly even the shadow of his former self and because he's mine and he bears my marking and why do you think vampires react to him the way they do? The stupid ones go after him; the smart ones leave him alone. Mine!
"I can't! It's healing him," he whispers. Eyes downcast.
"Rupert, love."
And he's shocked. There, now I've really done it. "What did you say?" he gasps.
"No, no, sit!" I bark. There's that fear again. And this time evident because he has no strength left to hide behind. "Giles," I emphasis the changed name usage, "You're killing yourself. Ethan will get better on his own. He's already well enough that you can stop."
"But he needs more," Giles said stubbornly, pushing his glasses up his nose.
And what can you say to such childish logic. "Giles, let me make myself clear. Ethan will be fine on his own. If I smell blood and dark sulphur on you once more in the rest of this week, I will tie you down to a bed and tell Ethan Rayne to put up an anti-magic spell around you." And I'm serious.
He stares at me with big eyes, looking some kind of cute, faded little kid. I almost expect his lower lip to start wobbling as the tears come. And yes, have I mentioned how broken he is? The fact that he's crying on my shoulder should say that.