Disclaimer: I own diddly squat.
Author's Note: A response to the Dead Letters challenge, with Ethan. I like Ethan, he's a fascinating character, and his history with Giles is just as fascinating. Hope I've got him in character. Feel free to review, constructive criticism is always helpful.
Just So We're Clear
By Adele Elisabeth
Summary: Ethan indulges in a little sappy drivel.
To whom it may concern
(that's you, Ripper, just so we're clear)
I'm dead.
Well, not right now, as I write it, I'm not, but by the time you get this, I will be.
I'm dying. Cancer. Have been for a long time. Would've thought that you of all people would have noticed all the magicks around me at our last few meetings. Sadly, magick has failed me and soon medical science will too. I intend to go out with one last grand gesture, not slowly eaten alive by cancer. My life, my death, my way. You know me, Ripper, even though you'd like to imagine you don't.
I'd inquire about your slayer, but we both know I don't give a rat's arse. I like to think of myself as among the proud few who can honestly say they hate your beastly bottle-blonde. No, not because she "foiled my dastardly plans". Because she has the one thing I love with all my grubby little soul.
That, in case you haven't caught on yet, is you.
I'm dying, I'll never have to see you again, therefore I'm happy to be honest with you for the first – and last – time in my life.
I love you, you see. Not the sappy, puppy love your little ones indulge in, but…well, it would be far too cliché to say 'true love'. I mean the…the passion and the fire and all the little things that add up over time. That's what we had, for a while. I just never let go like you did. Couldn't.
Good grief. Well, isn't this just a pack of sappy drivel. Let an old man indulge. I can see your expression now – disbelief and possibly a little scorn. There's never been much trust between us, something I regret.
Yes, Ripper, I know what the bloody word means.
So this letter, this completely absurd little suicide note, is…an explanation. An apology. And a farewell.
I expect you'll be hearing from my lawyers within the month – lovely woman, Ms Morgan, she really is, though I doubt you'll like her terribly much. You inherit a sizeable amount at my death – who else do I really have to leave it all to? And there is an 'all' to be left…I always was a hoarder, remember?
I have a request of you, Ripper. Remember me kindly, and have a drink for me when you get this letter, because no doubt I'll be beyond alcohol – and isn't that an unpleasant thought?
I said this was an apology, so I really ought to apologise. All right. I'm sorry for turning you into a Fyarl demon…though you have to admit that had you been in on it many years ago, you would've found it just as amusing. The only reason I'm sorry about the candy incident is because of the repercussions I was unaware of and the fact that you were all for my being beaten black and blue, which I really must object too.
'Fraid I'm not really sorry for anything else, for that would involve regretting far too much of our time together, and I'm too possessive of what little pieces of you I have to let them go to regret.
This letter is a jumble of thoughts and things I've always meant to tell you and never had a chance to, so I'm sorry if it doesn't always…continue in a reasonable fashion.
Goodbye is a little too final for my tastes.
Yours,
Ethan Rayne.
PS
Do you still have those leather pants? I whole-heartedly approve of them for funeral wear.
