Title: Masks Chapter Three
Author: Magpie and Wolfling
Email: magpie@moracle.co.uk and wolfling@sympatico.ca
Show: Buffy
Rating: PG 13 this part, NC-17 overall
Category: angst, hurt/comfort
Warnings: spoilers up to the end of Chosen
Pairings: Giles/Ethan
Summary: Giles finds an old friend

Author Notes: Many thanks to Mad Poetess and Wesleysgirl for betaing :)

Giles didn't even try to get any sleep that night. There was always plenty of Council work to do, and he spent most of the time busy with that, going over reports from their ever increasing field presence. It was just the right level of mind-numbing; he was able to forget the man asleep in the other room for whole minutes at a time.

Giles checked on Ethan again, hovering just inside the doorway and watching the other man sleep. It was ironic really, he mused, to find himself so preoccupied with this physical representation of the most chaotic and irresponsible time of his past now that his life was nothing but responsibility.

There was a noise from the bed; Ethan was coughing in his sleep again. The doctors had warned Giles that Ethan's lungs would always be weak now and prone to infection, but the heavy doses of antibiotics should help to clear up a lot of the more wracking attacks in time. If Ethan stuck around long enough for the full course of treatment.

Giles was under no illusions; freedom had always been important to Ethan, and he had no doubt it would be even more so after the man's ordeal at the hands of the American military. He understood that the accusations that Ethan had thrown at him had come from that need, and Giles knew that he had reacted badly, quite probably in the worst way he could have.

He sighed, staring at the man in the bed. Ethan had always had an uncanny talent at getting under Giles' skin; it seemed he hadn't lost that knack.

The coughing eased quickly, but now Ethan began to whimper quietly and twitch under the covers. Ethan's face was turned to Giles, and he could see Ethan's eye s moving back and forth beneath the lids. Nightmare. Crossing the room, Giles sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out and touching Ethan's shoulder.

"No... help..." the sleeping man muttered, and his eyes shuttered open, staring at Giles without recognition.

"Ethan?" Giles asked softly, not sure if the other man was truly awake yet.

Slowly the wide-opened eyes blinked and then Ethan seemed to relax as he became more aware, but his expression grew miserable. "Oh, bugger it," he muttered, and turned away.

"Don't," Giles heard himself say.

Ethan didn't move, but asked, "Don't what?"

"Don't shut me out." It was a chance he was taking, he was aware, but if he didn't push Ethan at least a little, experience told him he wouldn't get anywhere with the man.

Turning back, Ethan looked sadly at Rupert. "Once you were the only person I was prepared to surrender control to. Now, I don't seem to have the choice; it's just taken from me."

"That's what the prisoner crack was about before you fell asleep?"

Ethan winced very slightly. "You probably think I deserve it."

Giles sighed, feeling very weary. "No one deserves what you've been through, Ethan."

No." Ethan shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I meant the loss of control. Because of what I did. What I did to you."

Ah. Giles thought about that, examining his feelings before answering. "Maybe I should," he finally said, although the sight of Ethan like this wasn't satisfying at all. "Why, Ethan? Were you trying to get me killed? Or just destroy me?"

"I've had a lot of time to think about that." Ethan answered without actually answering.

But however guilty Giles felt for what Ethan had been through, he wasn't about to be distracted. "Then you should have an answer for me."

"And I suppose, as usual, you're not going to let me get away with avoidance while I'm in your power. Tell me one thing at least, Ripper -- will it still make you happy? The masks falling, I mean."

Giles remembered those moments, back when they'd been together, when he'd been allowed to see the real Ethan, and what that had meant to him. "It was always that you trusted me enough to let me see that meant the most."

"That was before you left me."

"I didn't have a choice, did I?" Giles said, voice roughening as he spoke. "I was drowning; you saw that, and you just pushed me in deeper. If I'd stayed..."

"So you saved yourself and damned me." Ethan grimaced and turned away. "Sorry," he added quickly. "That was..."

"Would you have come with me if I had asked?"

Turning back, Ethan met Giles' gaze evenly and said simply, "Yes." Then he chuckled softly and let his eyes drop. "But I would have fought every step of the way."

Giles smiled a little at that, a bittersweet ache at Ethan's words. "When haven't you?"

"I may have a slight problem with trust." Ethan laughed aloud at his own words, presumably at the level of understatement they contained.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Giles deadpanned in return.

His expression sobering, Ethan reached up to touch Giles' face with the tips of his trembling fingers. The touch was almost unbearably light. Ethan gazed silently for a few long moments and then he sighed. "I couldn't let you go. That's your answer." He shifted uncomfortably under the bed covers.

Giles watched him for a moment, trying to ignore exactly how much old emotion Ethan's touch brought to the surface. "Do you trust me, Ethan?" he asked finally.

"To do what?"

The answer saddened Giles, but he persisted. "Do you trust *me*?" he repeated.

Ethan hesitated for a long time, his hand falling back to the covers. Giles could see that the other man was wrestling with the question, or at least with what reply to make. Eventually Ethan struggled out with, "I... can't."

Giles sighed sadly. Not that he was surprised at the answer -- it was, in fact, the heart of why Ethan and he had never been able to make it work for long. But he'd hoped...

No matter. Might-have-beens were just that. Water under the burnt bridge. He had too much depending on him, too much he needed to do, to spend time wallowing in mistakes of the past. He had to concentrate on the here and now.

"Do you want to stay here?" he asked. "Or would you be more comfortable somewhere else? I can hire someone to look after you if you'd rather--"

Ethan completely ignored Giles' question, returning to his previous one. "I trusted you once. You were the only one who ever..." He stopped, frowned, and then Giles could see the masks rising back into place. "So Rupert. Do I get the exquisite pleasure of peeing into a bottle while you hold it, or is there a bathroom you can help me to?"

"There's a bathroom if you think you're up to it," Giles said, accepting the shifting of the subject to something less fraught with emotional bombshells for them both. For now at least.

"Let's say I'll make a special effort for the occasion."

"All right then." He stood up and helped Ethan push the covers back.

Ethan slowly swung his legs to the edge of the bed, and he paused, frowning at the soft flannel pyjamas draped around his shrunken frame. "I hope you made the most of me naked," he said with a slight smile.

The memory of exactly how wasted Ethan's body had become was one that Giles was doing his best not to dwell on. It made him want to take apart the men responsible with his bare hands, and he and the Council couldn't afford to take on the American military, even that small a portion of it.

Not yet at any rate.

But that wasn't what he needed to say, or what Ethan needed to hear, not right now. Giles slid a supporting arm around Ethan's waist, preparation to help him stand. "The doctor wouldn't let me take advantage," he replied in kind.

Inch by painful inch, Ethan shuffled himself to the edge of the bed. He didn't have the muscle strength to stand up unaided, and Giles had to half-lift the other man. Very slowly, they made their way out of the bedroom, but just getting Ethan that far had caused a faint sheen of clammy sweat to break out on the invalid's skin. His expression was of barely controlled pain and fear, and he clung to Giles as if terrified of falling.

Giles tightened his grip as they made their slow way to the bathroom. "I'm not going to let go," he murmured, trying to ease some of that totally uncustomary fear. "I've got you." As they reached the bathroom door, Ethan tried to speak, but it turned quickly into a cough. "Easy," Giles said, stopping and holding most of Ethan's weight as the spasms went through him.

Once they eased sufficiently for Ethan to speak, he launched into a little speech. "Never let it be said that I'm not a generous man, Rupert. I have such a plenitude of abject humiliation that I'm going to share some of it with you now." He paused to cough briefly again, but recovered quickly. "You get to help me urinate. No, don't thank me. This is something I have to do."

"Words cannot express my gratitude," Giles said dryly. He took Ethan's words as a hopeful sign however; it was a hint of Ethan's old spirit and any of that was to be encouraged.

Together they made their way into the bathroom. Ethan stared down at the bowl as if it were a puzzle beyond his comprehension. He started to quiver, and for a few moments, Giles feared the other man would start crying again, but then Ethan said quietly, "Will you hold me up?"

Giles squeezed lightly with the arm he had around Ethan's waist. "Said I wasn't going to let go, didn't I?"

With shaking hands, Ethan fiddled clumsily inside his pyjama trousers and then set about what they had come in here for him to do. Perhaps as a distraction he said, "When this act in the carnival of the grotesque is over, I want to see a mirror."

Giles wasn't so sure that was a good idea, but on the other hand he knew it would have been one of his first demands as well in this type of situation. "All right," he agreed mildly.

Ethan didn't take long. He'd been dehydrated for so long that his body seemed unwilling to give up much liquid now. Finished and put away, he said determinedly, "Mirror." After a moment's hesitation, Giles helped Ethan over to look in the bathroom mirror.

Ethan's head was bowed as he walked across the floor, watching his feet perhaps. When they stopped, he slowly raised it and then just stared at the image of his own face, his mouth falling a little open. For painfully long moments, the blank gaze continued, Ethan's eyes seeming huge in his sunken face. Then he turned to one side, as best he could in Giles' supporting grasp, and said flatly, "I'd like to go back to bed now."

"Ethan--" Giles began, but then found he had nothing to say. Nothing that would help at any rate. So he just quietly said, "All right," and began the long slow journey back to Ethan's room. By the time Giles helped Ethan back into bed, the other man was an almost deathly white and seemed withdrawn into himself, as if in shock.

Giles pulled the blankets up over Ethan, worried at the way he had curled up. "Talk to me, Ethan," he said, softly, trying to draw him out, keep him with him.

Ethan lay still, eyes open and staring fixedly at nothing. Eventually, he murmured something that might have been "...tired..."

"This isn't permanent, you realise," Giles said, resting a hand on Ethan's arm. "It's all going to get better."

Again there was a long pause, before Ethan spoke. "How can your bear to look at me? Let alone touch me."

"You're alive," Giles replied. "You've survived. This," and he slid his hand up to cup Ethan's cheek, "the way you looked, never mattered to me as much as it did you."

"Huh!" Ethan coughed out. It was a harsh sound. He tried to wriggle more onto his front, attempting perhaps to bury his face in the pillows.

"It doesn't matter to me, Ethan, truly. It's always been your personality that got my attention, whether you were making me want to shag you or kick your arse."

Ethan stopped wriggling and looked up at Giles. "And of course, you can hardly resist shagging me now, can you? The desire is evident." He stared pointedly at Giles' groin.

"No, but I'm starting to want to kick your arse," Giles retorted. He sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Shagging you right now would be entirely one-sided." He directed his gaze to Ethan's groin pointedly in return. "That's never been my style."

Ethan blinked at him a few times and then let his head drop back into the pillows, closing his eyes. "Didn't have much after you left," he admitted miserably, lapsing back into the self-pity that Giles was beginning to suspect was simply a new kind of mask. "But I had my magic, and I had my... style. They've taken it all. I'm nobody now; less than a shell."

"Bollocks," Giles said bluntly. He wasn't about to let this particular mask become comfortable to wear. "You held on this long, you're not going to curl up and quit on me now. Your magic, your 'style', those are things that you'll get back, if you allow yourself time to recover." He paused for a moment then continued, "First and foremost, Ethan, you've always been a survivor. You still are."

"That's just a PC word for 'victim'," the invalid pointed out, but Giles noticed Ethan's colour was improving, and there was, perhaps, a slight twist of humour at the corners of his mouth.

"You know as well as I that 'victim' is what we call the ones who don't survive," Giles retorted bluntly.

Ethan looked at Giles, and there was definitely a twinkle in his eye. "So when I'm well enough to get it up again, I can expect a reward, can I?"

"I suppose it's rather inevitable," Giles sighed, under no illusions about the likelihood of them ending up in bed together before this was over. Every time they had run into each other they either ended up shagging or fighting, sometimes both. "Just as long as there's no turning anyone into a demon involved," he added with a stern glare.

"Wasn't that even a little bit fun?" Ethan asked.

"Waking up in a demon body, being unable to communicate with anyone but *Spike*, and being hunted down by my Slayer? What could possibly be fun in that?" After a moment's pause, honesty forced him to admit, "All right, chasing that blasted woman, Walsh, wasn't entirely without its merits, but still."

"Thought it might help you to let go a little," Ethan told him. "You seemed very uptight at the time."

"Let go?" Giles echoed in disbelief. "Buffy almost killed me!"

"She never got anywhere near killing you, Rupert," Ethan said with smug confidence. "Fyarl are almost impossible to kill without a *pure* silver knife, which that letter opener she was playing with most certainly wasn't."

"I almost killed you, as well," Giles reminded him.

"I believe someone said something about me being a survivor," Ethan smiled.

"Did I also mention unrelentingly trying to one's patience?"

"Ah well, I relent for now. I'm tired, Rupert. And if you don't let me sleep, I might start blubbing again. You know, about my lost looks. It's a great tragedy for the world." Ethan's words were light, but Giles could tell the threat of tears was genuine.

"Rest is probably the best thing for you," Giles said, relenting for now himself. He regarded Ethan for a moment, and then leaned over and kissed him.

Sometimes actions could make a point easier than all the words in the world.

For a moment, both hope and gratitude seemed to shine in Ethan's eyes, but then he closed them. "It seems my personality is radiant today," he murmured.

"Getting there," Giles replied softly. He squeezed Ethan's arm and stood up. "I'll be close."

***

"Bugger it," Ethan cursed, throwing the empty tube of liquid foundation in the general direction of the bin. "We need to go to Woolies and fill our pockets again." He added some moisturiser to the small amount of 'golden bronze' he'd managed to recover, and started massaging it carefully into his face. He'd compensate for the lack with the sparkling bronzer, he decided.

Ripper was half reclined on the bed, toying absently with the beer bottle he held as he watched Ethan. "Or we could go lift something that's actually useful. Or fun."

Ethan shot a look Ripper's way. "Make-up is *both*," he insisted.

"I don't wear it," Ripper pointed out. "And you don't need it."

"I do," Ethan said mildly. "When we're out." He studied himself in the mirror and then began to apply subtle touches of glitter over his cheekbones.

"Why?"

There was a pause while Ethan concentrated on the detailed work of subtle glitter application. Then he turned to Ripper and smiled at his boyfriend, knowing he now looked gorgeous. "It's who I am."

"Yeah?" Ripper slowly stretched and then got to his feet while Ethan watched the way he moved appreciatively. He walked over to Ethan, sliding a possessive hand into the other boy's hair, using it to tug Ethan closer. "Then who are you when you're not wearing it?" he asked in a low intimate voice before devouring Ethan's mouth.

Ethan didn't object, even though he knew he'd now have to redo his lips before they left. Instead he relaxed into the kiss, enjoying the beer and tobacco taste in his boyfriend's mouth. When Ripper drew back, Ethan answered the question. "Without it, I don't exist. Except to you."

"You're giving a little glitter and powder far too much credit." He stroked a finger over Ethan's cheekbone.

Ethan flinched his face away from the other boy's touch. "Ripper please. We'll never get out if you force me to start again. And anyway, aren't you proud to have someone as artistic as me by your side?"

He got kissed hard again for that. "Course," Ripper all but growled when he pulled back. "But that has nothing to do with what you've got plastered on your face."

"It is not 'plastered'," Ethan replied with a pout. "I have a very subtle touch, as well you know." He moved his finger tips lightly over Ripper's body, to prove his point.

Ripper grabbed his hands -- grabbed and firmly pulled away. "Keep that up and we won't be going anywhere."

"Places and places," Ethan grinned, quite happy to stay in despite the work he'd put into his appearance. "We could try a spell from the new book you nicked."

"Don't have all the ingredients for the one I wanted to try," Ripper told him. "Besides you wanted to hear that new band."

"Cinnamon Tea," Ethan said, providing the name of the band as he turned back to the mirror. "Yeah, I fancy the bass player." He tried hard not to smirk as it would spoil the line of his lips.

Ripper grabbed him around the waist, and pulled him back against him. "You just love winding me up, don't you," he growled in Ethan's ear.

"Why ever would you think that?"

"The amount of time you spend doing it."

Ethan couldn't help the grin this time. "Perhaps I like you fierce and possessive."

Ripper pulled back and looked at him. "You saying that I'm what? A pussy cat? When you're not winding me up?"

Ethan made a perfect pout with his now nicely re-painted lips and blew his boyfriend a kiss via the mirror. "Now, now, don't get huffy. Shall we say a lion at rest?" He grinned hungrily. "And sometimes I like to see the white glint of tooth and claw stained red with hapless antelope."

"I'm not beating up the bass player for you."

Ethan didn't answer, knowing perfectly well that Ripper would, with the right provocation, do exactly that. But he didn't want to bring out his bloke's stubborn side as that wasn't fun at all. He dropped the mascara tube back in the box and turned to Ripper. "I'm done. Shall we?"

Ripper pulled him close and dropped his face into the side of Ethan's neck, nipping at the skin there lightly. "One of these days, I'm going to throw all of your makeup away." Ethan froze. Raising his head again, Ripper met his gaze squarely. "Prove to you once and for all that you don't need all that shit."

Tightly, Ethan asked, "Please don't."

"You don't need it," Ripper repeated, though he seemed to be softening a little in the face of Ethan's plea.

"I do," Ethan insisted. "Only you can see..." He stopped and looked down. "It's just for you."

There was a long moment of silence, then Ripper was slipping a hand under Ethan's chin, tilting his head back up. He didn't say anything, but there was something in his eyes that made Ethan feel safe and uncomfortable all at the same time. It caught and held him, so that he didn't object when Ripper leaned forward to kiss him again, this time being careful and gentle enough that he didn't smear Ethan's makeup at all.

As the kiss ended, Ethan said a quiet and genuine, "Thank you." Ripper understood. Ripper accepted. He was the only one Ethan had ever trusted enough to let in, and the reward felt good. But even then, like a strong liqueur, he could only enjoy a small amount before feeling sated, and he let his face brighten with his typical smug grin. "Let's go out and dazzle the stars from the sky with our brilliance and beauty then."

Ripper headed for the door, slinging a possessive arm over Ethan's shoulders as they walked. "Just as long as you don't pick a fight with any of them when we do."

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