Rupert Giles was led to the glass cage. It probably wasn't made of just glass, but it was clear, and Giles wasn't otherwise interested in its composition. Renhada opened the door to the glass cage with jailer's keys. Evidently he wasn't overly concerned with the escape of a prisoner who was strapped down, attached to an IV and apparently asleep.
Giles smiled inwardly. They were underestimating him.
Renhada left, heading back for his post. There was another guard standing in front of the open door to the glass cage, holding a threatening-looking semi-automatic.
There was a fresh cigarette tucked behind his ear.
"You want a smoke break?" Giles asked quietly.
The guard didn't answer, just stood there and gave him a blank look.
"Habla ingles?" Giles asked.
The guard grinned. "No problem," he said, his accent thick and heavy but intelligible. They'd hire natives, but they had to be able to understand what they were saying.
"I'll give you a light," Giles said. "Here."
He handed the guard a small green cigarette lighter he'd picked up at the airport, with a twenty dollar bill wrapped around it.
The guard grinned even broader. "Hey," he said, "no problem ..."
Alone, Giles stepped into the darkened glass cage. The figure inside was prostrate, on an uncomfortable-looking pallet. He was hooked up to an IV, strapped tightly to the cot, and quite naked. He looked both very pale and somewhat bruised, although not entirely unhealthy otherwise. The bodies of the inmates would be kept in good physical condition for the purposes of experimentation. That was just good logical scientific process, not compassion.
His insidious beauty was still present. Stronger, perhaps, than ever, as he lay there, asleep. Helpless. Vulnerable. Even if Giles hadn't had other, more noble motivations, the man's beauty would have been ample enough motivation for what he was now doing.
Annoyed by the unexpected tenderness, Giles knelt beside the prone figure and began to roughly rip away the strips, his ahnds brushing lightly against the sleeping man's exposed flesh.
"Hello, Ripper," Ethan Rayne murmured, without opening his eyes. He smiled lazily as Giles froze. "Oh ... don't stop."
Insufferable flirt.
"Do be quiet," Giles said.
"I thought you liked listening to me talk," Ethan said wryly. "The sound of my voice ... as we ..."
"Shut *up*, Ethan," Giles growled, "I've got to get you out of here. Are you going to make me resort to violence?"
"Promises, promises," Ethan said, cracking open an eye. But he did shut up, until Giles finished unstrapping him from the bed, and carefully removed the IV from his arm.
"Can you walk?" Giles asked.
"I ..." Ethan said, and Giles stood, pulling him to his feet. He took a step, with Giles at his side, and then another, across the glass cage. "Yes." He glanced down at himself, amusement reflecting in his expression.
Giles followed his gaze and then pulled his look back up to Ethan's face. "You could use some sun," he remarked.
"I could use some clothing," Ethan returned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh, right," Giles said. He shrugged out of his soggy coat and slid it over Ethan's shoulders. "Better?"
Ethan gave him an affronted look as he shoved his arms through the sleeves. "It's all wet," he pointed out.
"Stop complaining," Giles grunted. "I didn't have to do this, you know. Come on." He grabbed Ethan roughly by the arm and started to pull him out of the cage.
"Let me close the bloody thing," Ethan protested, fumbling to shut the buttons of Giles's coat as he was dragged along.
Giles rolled his eyes and let go of him to fold his arms over his chest. "Hurry up," he said.
He watched as Ethan's trembling, fumbling fingers messed with the buttons until he finally started fastening the coat shut for him instead. "What did they have in your blood, Ethan?" he asked softly.
Ethan glanced up at him, as though surprised by the tone of voice. "I don't know," he admitted. "Something to keep me ... subdued. I don't know what else they were testing. Also, nourishment. Easier than actually feeding me."
"Hmm," said Giles, closing the last fastener on the trenchcoat. "All right. Let's go." He took Ethan's arm again and started to drag him along ... but it was quickly clear that this wasn't going to work. "All right, Ethan," he said quietly, "lean on me as we go."
"Thank you, Ripper," Ethan said, his voice soft as he delicately emphasized the old, familiar nickname. No sarcasm, no embittered lashing of the tongue, no anger at being abandoned, none of the desperate jealous anxiety of an old love gone sour, gone away: just simple gratitude. Giles suspected that it'd be rare, these days.
"Well, we'll never get out of here if we go at a snail's pace," Giles answered gruffly.
And had it gone away? Giles didn't want to think about it.
Ethan Rayne didn't weigh as much as Giles remembered. He was lean and underfed, very pale from lack of sun during his time in the cage, and although there was still some muscle to his rangy frame, some wire to his leanness, he was still in a bad way. Still beautiful, though. Still his beautiful, sensual, a touch fiery but always submissive Ethan ... still his lover, no matter how much water had passed under the bridge since then. Both of them had changed a lot. But both of them had also stayed the same.
The guard came back from his cigarette break to see them going down the hall, back the way they'd come. "Hey," he said, "I'll show you the way back."
"Thank you," Giles said.
"Hey," the guard said, grinning happily, "you're all right, man."
Ethan shot Giles a quizzical look, which he ignored as the guard led them back to the front door.
"One last thing," Giles murmured, his lips and tongue close enough to taste Ethan's ear.
"Hmm?" Ethan asked.
Giles whipped the handcuffs out of his vest-pocket and snapped them around Ethan's wrists. "That," he said, as they followed the guard with his big semi-automatic.
Ethan grinned. "Why, Ripper ..." he murmured back, "how ... playful ..."
Giles smiled grimly. "It's the look of the thing, you."
"Of course, of course," Ethan said. "How ... silly of me." His eyes gleamed.
It was good to see some of the old Ethan back, that his essential obnoxious Ethanness survived even ravaged as he was by his time in the glass cage.
Ethan was obediently cowed and silent as they went past the security man at the front desk and out into the rain. Then they were alone, and Ethan Rayne took a deep breath of the rainy air.
Giles gave him a moment to enjoy his freedom. He'd been locked away in there for a *very* long time.
"Ripper, old friend," Ethan murmured. "It's a dark and stormy night."
"Is it?"
Then, after a long silence as they stood, soaking together in the pouring rain of the southern hemisphere, Ethan said, his voice very soft, with no touch of joking to it: "I didn't think you'd come."
Giles thought of all sorts of things that he could say, about needing his old ... friend ... to help fight the worst evil that his Slayer and her friends had ever faced ...
And he thought of things he could say about not being able to leave him in there to rot, not after everything, not even after all of the stupid, bastardly things Ethan had done to spite him in Sunnydale, all of the insane jealousy, all of the bitter remembrances, all of the yearning ...
And finally all he said was, in a voice of quiet sincerity, "I didn't have a choice."
Giles smiled inwardly. They were underestimating him.
Renhada left, heading back for his post. There was another guard standing in front of the open door to the glass cage, holding a threatening-looking semi-automatic.
There was a fresh cigarette tucked behind his ear.
"You want a smoke break?" Giles asked quietly.
The guard didn't answer, just stood there and gave him a blank look.
"Habla ingles?" Giles asked.
The guard grinned. "No problem," he said, his accent thick and heavy but intelligible. They'd hire natives, but they had to be able to understand what they were saying.
"I'll give you a light," Giles said. "Here."
He handed the guard a small green cigarette lighter he'd picked up at the airport, with a twenty dollar bill wrapped around it.
The guard grinned even broader. "Hey," he said, "no problem ..."
Alone, Giles stepped into the darkened glass cage. The figure inside was prostrate, on an uncomfortable-looking pallet. He was hooked up to an IV, strapped tightly to the cot, and quite naked. He looked both very pale and somewhat bruised, although not entirely unhealthy otherwise. The bodies of the inmates would be kept in good physical condition for the purposes of experimentation. That was just good logical scientific process, not compassion.
His insidious beauty was still present. Stronger, perhaps, than ever, as he lay there, asleep. Helpless. Vulnerable. Even if Giles hadn't had other, more noble motivations, the man's beauty would have been ample enough motivation for what he was now doing.
Annoyed by the unexpected tenderness, Giles knelt beside the prone figure and began to roughly rip away the strips, his ahnds brushing lightly against the sleeping man's exposed flesh.
"Hello, Ripper," Ethan Rayne murmured, without opening his eyes. He smiled lazily as Giles froze. "Oh ... don't stop."
Insufferable flirt.
"Do be quiet," Giles said.
"I thought you liked listening to me talk," Ethan said wryly. "The sound of my voice ... as we ..."
"Shut *up*, Ethan," Giles growled, "I've got to get you out of here. Are you going to make me resort to violence?"
"Promises, promises," Ethan said, cracking open an eye. But he did shut up, until Giles finished unstrapping him from the bed, and carefully removed the IV from his arm.
"Can you walk?" Giles asked.
"I ..." Ethan said, and Giles stood, pulling him to his feet. He took a step, with Giles at his side, and then another, across the glass cage. "Yes." He glanced down at himself, amusement reflecting in his expression.
Giles followed his gaze and then pulled his look back up to Ethan's face. "You could use some sun," he remarked.
"I could use some clothing," Ethan returned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh, right," Giles said. He shrugged out of his soggy coat and slid it over Ethan's shoulders. "Better?"
Ethan gave him an affronted look as he shoved his arms through the sleeves. "It's all wet," he pointed out.
"Stop complaining," Giles grunted. "I didn't have to do this, you know. Come on." He grabbed Ethan roughly by the arm and started to pull him out of the cage.
"Let me close the bloody thing," Ethan protested, fumbling to shut the buttons of Giles's coat as he was dragged along.
Giles rolled his eyes and let go of him to fold his arms over his chest. "Hurry up," he said.
He watched as Ethan's trembling, fumbling fingers messed with the buttons until he finally started fastening the coat shut for him instead. "What did they have in your blood, Ethan?" he asked softly.
Ethan glanced up at him, as though surprised by the tone of voice. "I don't know," he admitted. "Something to keep me ... subdued. I don't know what else they were testing. Also, nourishment. Easier than actually feeding me."
"Hmm," said Giles, closing the last fastener on the trenchcoat. "All right. Let's go." He took Ethan's arm again and started to drag him along ... but it was quickly clear that this wasn't going to work. "All right, Ethan," he said quietly, "lean on me as we go."
"Thank you, Ripper," Ethan said, his voice soft as he delicately emphasized the old, familiar nickname. No sarcasm, no embittered lashing of the tongue, no anger at being abandoned, none of the desperate jealous anxiety of an old love gone sour, gone away: just simple gratitude. Giles suspected that it'd be rare, these days.
"Well, we'll never get out of here if we go at a snail's pace," Giles answered gruffly.
And had it gone away? Giles didn't want to think about it.
Ethan Rayne didn't weigh as much as Giles remembered. He was lean and underfed, very pale from lack of sun during his time in the cage, and although there was still some muscle to his rangy frame, some wire to his leanness, he was still in a bad way. Still beautiful, though. Still his beautiful, sensual, a touch fiery but always submissive Ethan ... still his lover, no matter how much water had passed under the bridge since then. Both of them had changed a lot. But both of them had also stayed the same.
The guard came back from his cigarette break to see them going down the hall, back the way they'd come. "Hey," he said, "I'll show you the way back."
"Thank you," Giles said.
"Hey," the guard said, grinning happily, "you're all right, man."
Ethan shot Giles a quizzical look, which he ignored as the guard led them back to the front door.
"One last thing," Giles murmured, his lips and tongue close enough to taste Ethan's ear.
"Hmm?" Ethan asked.
Giles whipped the handcuffs out of his vest-pocket and snapped them around Ethan's wrists. "That," he said, as they followed the guard with his big semi-automatic.
Ethan grinned. "Why, Ripper ..." he murmured back, "how ... playful ..."
Giles smiled grimly. "It's the look of the thing, you."
"Of course, of course," Ethan said. "How ... silly of me." His eyes gleamed.
It was good to see some of the old Ethan back, that his essential obnoxious Ethanness survived even ravaged as he was by his time in the glass cage.
Ethan was obediently cowed and silent as they went past the security man at the front desk and out into the rain. Then they were alone, and Ethan Rayne took a deep breath of the rainy air.
Giles gave him a moment to enjoy his freedom. He'd been locked away in there for a *very* long time.
"Ripper, old friend," Ethan murmured. "It's a dark and stormy night."
"Is it?"
Then, after a long silence as they stood, soaking together in the pouring rain of the southern hemisphere, Ethan said, his voice very soft, with no touch of joking to it: "I didn't think you'd come."
Giles thought of all sorts of things that he could say, about needing his old ... friend ... to help fight the worst evil that his Slayer and her friends had ever faced ...
And he thought of things he could say about not being able to leave him in there to rot, not after everything, not even after all of the stupid, bastardly things Ethan had done to spite him in Sunnydale, all of the insane jealousy, all of the bitter remembrances, all of the yearning ...
And finally all he said was, in a voice of quiet sincerity, "I didn't have a choice."