Title: Masks Chapter Five
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 was beginning to wonder if Ethan had suffered some kind of brain damage that the medical examinations hadn't detected.

Ethan was recovering physically, regaining strength and weight and health daily. He was able to walk short distances on his own now, without risk to himself or the furniture, and the last couple of days had seen him not only up, but dressed in something other than pyjamas. The cough was still there, but that was much improved as well, only really making an appearance when Ethan pushed himself a bit too hard.

Physically, Giles couldn't have asked for better progress. But...

After those first couple of days during which Ethan's emotions had been understandably all over the place, he had settled down into a placid, pleasant, helpful demeanour that was so far from the Ethan that Giles had known that he couldn't help but worry about brain damage. He kept waiting for a hint of Ethan's old fire, kept waiting for him to make acerbic comments about the Council or the Slayers, or anything really. But Ethan had remained remarkably mild and civil, discussing the subjects with an absence of sarcasm, and even going so far as to offer to help with some translations Giles was trying to do.

Giles was beginning to wonder if one of them was going insane.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Giles returned home from a visit to the new Council headquarters and found Ethan sitting with his legs up on the sofa. The convalescent was wearing a studious expression as he typed into Giles' laptop; he must have circumvented the password somehow. Leaning against the doorway, Giles cleared his throat, wondering with something that was much like anticipation what mischief Ethan was getting into now.

Ethan looked up at the noise and smiled pleasantly. "Hello Rupert, I hope your meeting wasn't too stressful."

"Just the usual," he replied, brushing away the ever-present arguments and power struggles the meetings had become recently. "I see you've found something to keep you distracted."

"A small attempt to be useful, nothing more." Ethan put the laptop down and rose unsteadily to his feet. "Would you like a cup of tea? I have everything ready in the kitchen. I just need to switch the kettle on."

Giles quickly moved forward to be able to steady Ethan if he lost his balance. He wanted to ask Ethan if he was sure he wasn't overdoing it, but had enough sense to stifle that question. "You've been busy," he said instead, adding, "Tea would be lovely, thank you."

Smiling gratefully for the momentary support, Ethan shuffled slowly to the kitchen. "So did they ratify the new procedures you've been working on?" While Giles, of necessity, kept the specifics of his Council business private, he'd seen no reason to lie about the generalities of his work.

"No, not yet," Giles replied, the memory of the meeting making him frown. "They want to review them some more." Which translated, really, into them fighting him every step of the way.

"I'm sorry," Ethan said sympathetically as he disappeared through the door. There was that strange pleasantness again; it was unnerving to discuss the Council in any capacity and not have Ethan make some kind of cutting comment.

Giles drifted after the other man, hovering in the doorway to watch. Ethan was moving slowly and carefully, but he seemed for all of that to be well in control of the situation. Indeed, it appeared he had a system all worked out; the pot was set up in the sink, so that Ethan could support the kettle on the side as he poured the boiling water. After carefully standing the kettle upright again, he turned to Giles.

"Trust me?" he asked, in a tone of mild censure.

Again, far more mild than Giles had come to expect from Ethan, but still a rebuke. Giles held his hands up and backed away. "I'll leave it to you," he said, heading back out into the living room.

The laptop caught his attention, and he went over and sat down on the sofa in front of it, checking what Ethan had been so busy with. Giles was more than a little flabbergasted at what he saw. Ethan had found the files Giles had been working on last night. The painstaking translation work, which had given him such a headache, now seemed nearly complete. Ethan always had been rather good with the Urgat family of languages, but still... What was surprising Giles was not that Ethan had done the translations so well, but that he had done them at all.

There was a noise from the kitchen door, and Giles looked up to see Ethan carrying a single mug of tea using both hands. Giles jumped up, but restrained himself from going over when Ethan shot him a look.

"I can manage a single mug, if I'm careful," he assured Giles. "I've had this morning to practice." He handed over the mug once he reached Giles and then headed again for the kitchen, presumably for his own. "If you'd been gone another hour or so, I would've finished that passage for you."

"Why?" Giles heard himself asking before he gave the question any thought.

Ethan paused. "Why did I do the translation?" Giles nodded, watching Ethan closely. "Well," he began slowly, "I've nothing else to occupy my mind with, beyond the hell of daytime TV, and I thought I should try to earn a little of my keep. Do you mind that I did it? It seemed to be causing you a spot of bother yesterday."

"It was," Giles readily admitted. "And no, I don't mind; I just... I didn't expect it."

Ethan smiled uneasily and left the room, soon reappearing with a second mug. Feeling a bit befuddled about the whole situation, Giles said, "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." Ethan sat down, cupping the mug in his hands and obviously savouring the smell. "So what's on the agenda for this afternoon then?"

"Well, I had been planning on working on that translation, but since it's already almost done, I actually seem to have some free time," he replied. Actually, there was always paperwork and other things he could be doing, but nothing that was calling to him as strongly as trying to figure out what was going on with Ethan.

"I'll finish it for you after this little break. Oh... I forgot the biccies." Ethan placed his mug down on the table and started to struggle to his feet again. This close up, Giles could see fatigue on the other man's face and an increased pallor to his skin, which was, admittedly, always far too pale these days -- four years without sunlight having bleached it of all of the usual rich tan.

Giles reached out and grabbed Ethan's arm, stopping him from rising. "I'll get them," he said. "You don't want to overdo it." Ethan didn't argue; in fact Giles would have said the convalescent was relieved as he relaxed back into the couch. He made a quick trip to the kitchen to get the requested biscuits, setting them down where Ethan could easily reach them without having to move. Resuming his earlier seat, Giles sipped at his tea while watching the other man.

Ethan noticed the attention and shifted on the cushion. "Have I done something wrong, or are you simply practising your chosen profession?"

There wasn't, Giles reflected, any way that you could casually inquire: 'why aren't you being exasperating?' Instead, he asked, "How are you feeling?" Maybe he'd get an answer that would shed light on the situation.

"I'm a little tired," Ethan answered cautiously. "Why?"

"You've done a lot today. I just want to make sure that you don't pass out in your tea."

Ethan grinned, looking more like his usual self. "I'll be sure then to put the mug down if I feel a fainting fit coming on."

Feeling a bit better for the quick display of something approaching the kind of behaviour he expected from Ethan, Giles smiled and said, "I'd appreciate that. I didn't go to all the trouble of rescuing you just to have you drown in a tragic tea incident."

Ethan's gaze dropped. "I do appreciate the trouble you went to," he said sincerely. Before Giles could react in any way to the uncharacteristic meekness, there was a sharp rap on the front door.

Putting his tea down, Giles bit back his irritation at being interrupted and went to answer it. On the other side stood his assistant, Pamela Smythe-Tompkins, holding a large concertina file full of papers. "Mr Giles, I am sorry to disturb you. You accidentally left the East Asian Consortium case behind, so I thought I'd deliver it to save you having to drive back at this time on a Friday."

"Thank you," Giles said dryly, taking the file from her and thinking rather wistfully that there went the illusion of having the afternoon free.

Pamela seemed to be hesitating in the doorway. "Sir, you do remember there's a deadline on the Tokyo report, don't you? I could come back later to collect it, or..."

"It's done," Giles stepped back holding the door open further for her to come in. "Give me a moment, and I will get it organised; you can take it back and make sure it gets to the proper people." He headed back to the living room, aware that she was following him.

Ethan looked up as the pair walked in and sat up a little straighter. He frowned quizzically at Pamela. "Good afternoon. Um, have we met before?"

The woman, clearly taken back at being addressed by Ethan, and probably also at finding him relaxing in Giles' living room, stuttered at first. "I, er... you may remember me from the aeroplane, although I believe you were unconscious for most of the flight." She turned to Giles and said urgently, "Sir, may I have a private word?"

"Ethan, this is my assistant Pamela Smythe-Tompkins," Giles introduced first, since she had neglected to do so herself. "And apparently, we'll be right back," he added as she walked back out into the hallway.

"Sir," she hissed fervently as the door was pulled to. "Please tell me that you at least have him magically bound."

The suggestion took Giles aback, even though perhaps it shouldn't. "That would be adding insult to injury, don't you think? Considering what's been done to him for his magic these past years?"

"Sir, with all due respect, don't you think you may be letting your, er, past history with this man blind you to the danger he poses to both you and the Council?" Ah, so she'd found the files on his past, had she?

"What do you suggest?" he said coldly, finding himself getting annoyed, even though he understood how reading those files could create her fears. "Chain him to his sick bed? That wouldn't be much different from the pillocks who tortured him for three years, would it?"

She flinched visibly at his tone, but persevered nonetheless. "While no one deserves what was done to him in that place, he *is* an inveterate criminal and a known devotee of Chaos. His crimes are sufficient to ensure imprisonment in a *humane* establishment for many years to come."

"Any humane establishment wouldn't be able to hold him," Giles said bluntly. "Not without some fairly inhumane measures undertaken."

"Never the less, sir, is it really wise to have him sitting freely in your front room?" She gave Giles an intense frown. "You have *Council* documents in there, sir." There was a slight noise from behind the door, which both of them heard. Pamela's brow wrinkled further.

"I doubt there is anything in those documents that would interest Ethan beyond making fun of my translations," Giles said, heartily tired of the secrecy for secrecy's sake policy that still hung on from the old Council and which had always had made his teeth ache.

"And what about the personal danger to you, Mr Giles? May I remind you how essential you are to the restoration work going on? You are vital to the new Council's survival in these early stages." While she wouldn't say it, it was clear Pamela thought Giles was being highly irresponsible.

The door opened. "Miss Smythe-Tompkins," Ethan said, and as Giles turned he saw a hint of a familiar and dangerous smile on the other man's face. "While I am unarguably flattered that you are so preoccupied with my existence, may I suggest you continue your charming conversation in the living room, where I can enjoy it in comfort?"

"Indeed," Giles said, moving back into the room in question himself. "My tea is getting cold."

Pamela stuttered and shot a demanding look at Giles, as if expecting him to do something about the outrage. Ethan chuckled at her as he shuffled back to the sofa, but Giles could see from his movements that the other man was in pain. Ethan stopped before sitting down, and paused. Finally he turned around and asked Pamela, "May I offer you a cup of tea? It's freshly brewed."

When Pamela didn't answer right away, Giles put in, "I can assure you it isn't poisoned." He sat down on the sofa; hoping his doing so would encourage Ethan to sit as well before the man collapsed. Still, despite the physical weakness that was so evident to Giles, there was something about the way Ethan was standing that spoke of the old spark he'd been missing.

Ethan waited, apparently patiently, for the woman to compose herself enough to reply. Pamela primped down her skirt nervously. "Um, thank you for the, er, offer. I'm not currently thirsty however."

Ethan's mouth quirked slightly. "Do sit then... unless of course you believe I've somehow impregnated this delightful Council three-piece with the stuff of raw chaos?" There was a wicked gleam in Ethan's eye that Giles thought perhaps he shouldn't have been quite so glad to see.

"Better not have," Giles said, leaning back against the sofa, knowing he shouldn't add to the situation, but not quite able to help himself. "I just had them steam cleaned before you showed up."

Ethan lifted a quizzical eyebrow. "Showed up?"

"Moved in?" Giles suggested instead. "How do you suggest I categorise your arrival?"

"Well, as I wasn't conscious for it, I'm not sure I'm qualified to say, but I didn't exactly call round unexpectedly one afternoon and then refuse to leave." Ethan sighed. "Miss Tompkinson-Smythe, won't you *please* sit down? While the accuracy of your impersonation of a very large and nervous pigeon is commendable, I'm afraid you're just making me hungry." He made a gesture with his hands like a cat flexing its claws.

Pamela's expression immediately fell from a flustered half-smile to an offended frown. "Mr Rayne," she said, somewhat imperiously, "My name is Smythe-Tompkins; please endeavour to get that right if you feel you must address me. I am here to collect some work from my employer, not to make idle chitter-chatter with malicious criminals, so if you don't mind, I'd rather stand."

Giles leaned forward and began flipping through the files looking for the one in question. Other than that, he remained silent and unobtrusive; he would step in if things got too messy, but it hadn't reached that point yet. And indeed, might never, as Ethan fell silent, looking down into his tea.

Clearly believing she'd scored a point, Pamela puffed herself up and crowed, "What's wrong, Mr Rayne? Don't you like hearing the truth about yourself?"

Giles noticed Ethan's hands tightening around the mug, and then, as he continued to carefully observe the other man, a slow and nasty looking smile stretched Ethan's lips. "You'll never have him, you know," he said, in a taunting tone. "Uptight, anal, and prissy just isn't his style. Well, anal maybe... but not in any way someone like you would ever consider."

Giles opened his mouth to correct Ethan's perceptions, but catching sight of Pamela's expression silenced him. The look in her eyes told him that Ethan wasn't as far off as Giles had thought.

Blushing and unhappy, Pamela looked beseechingly at Giles. "Sir, I can assure you that... And really, should you allow him to speak to me like...? I really don't know what--" she stopped herself, probably realising that she was only making things worse. "Perhaps you could let me have that report, and I'll be on my way."

There was silence from the other end of the sofa, and when Giles looked over he saw Ethan looking almost as unhappy as his foolish assistant. Which was somewhat inexplicable considering how successfully Ethan had just won his little war of words.

Giles stood up with the Japan file in his hands. "I'll see you out," he said, keeping his voice professional as he crossed over to where Pamela was standing.

She took it from him without meeting his eyes and they walked to the door. Giles opened it, and she walked out onto the street, turning to say in a genuinely apologetic tone, "I'm sorry, sir. I had no idea." Clutching the file under her arm, she walked along the pavement to her car. Feeling bemused and wondering what rumours this was going to lead to around the Council, Giles watched her go, then shut the door and headed back to the living room.

Ethan wasn't there.

After a moment's alarm, Giles heard him moving about in the kitchen "Ethan?" he said softly, pausing in the kitchen doorway.

"I'm sorry," the other man said immediately, without turning around from the sink where he seemed to be washing up their mugs. He sounded upset, and his rigid posture and jerky movements emphasised that impression.

"For what?" Giles asked, genuinely puzzled.

Ethan's hands were shaking as he scrubbed the inside of a mug. "For my rudeness. For outing you. For disappo--" He stopped talking abruptly.

Giles blinked, things starting to click into place with that cut off word. He quickly crossed the room, gently taking the mug out of Ethan's grasp and setting it aside before taking Ethan's hands into his own. "Firstly, you weren't any ruder than Pamela was. Secondly, I couldn't care less what or who anyone thinks I'm sleeping with. And thirdly," he softened his voice, "what makes you think I'm disappointed?"

"I..." Ethan swallowed, staring at their interlocked hands. "I've been trying so hard. It isn't easy for me, but I know that's not a good excuse." He looked up, meeting Giles' gaze briefly. "I've *tried*."

That certainly explained the overly good behaviour that had been so worrying Giles. "I can tell," he said, raising a hand to lightly touch Ethan's cheek. "And all of this best behaviour was because you thought I'd be disappointed?"

Ethan frowned, and then grimaced, and then said, "Do you think we could sit down?" While it was an obvious attempt to avoid the question, it was equally obvious that if Ethan didn't sit down soon, he would fall down. Giles nodded, and they headed back out to the sofa. He kept hold of Ethan's hand the entire way, sensing the need for continued contact. "I'm very tired," Ethan said as they slowly made their way. "I may just take a little nap on the couch."

"I don't doubt you are tired," Giles said. "You can nap after we talk." Sinking into the sofa, Ethan shut his eyes and failed utterly to converse. Giles sighed, realising it was, as usual, going to be up to him to press the point. "Why are you so worried about disappointing me?"

Ethan remained motionless and silent for so long that Giles wondered if the other man actually *had* fallen asleep. But then Ethan murmured, "I like it here."

The answer surprised Giles, though he was certainly pleased to hear it. The thought that Ethan may want to stick around this time... "I like having you here as well," he said, sliding a hand along Ethan's arm. "You don't have to... put on an act for that to be true."

"I do," Ethan insisted, the words emerging as part of a heavy sigh.

"Not for me." Giles moved his hand to trace Ethan's features. "You know I've always preferred you without the masks." He smiled slightly. "This one must particularly chafe."

"You say that..."

"I mean that."

"No."

"No?" Giles asked, eyebrow raised.

Ethan pressed his cheek into Giles' hand, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. "Maskless me wasn't good enough for you to stay with back then, and now I..." His face screwed up, and he pushed his head back into the sofa's cushions. "Now you aren't just part of the establishment that you chose over me, now you bloody well *own* the establishment, near as damn it. And I'm just a broken-down wreck, a 'malicious criminal' who's lost both looks and magic. Who... who..."

Ethan began to shake violently, so violently that Giles was scared that the other man was having some kind of fit before he realised that what he was seeing were sobs being fought every step of the way.

Without thought, Giles shifted, pulling the other man into his arms. "Who has always been able to get under my skin," he said, finishing Ethan's broken off sentence. "Who has always been able to see things that others can't and has never been afraid to act on that knowledge." He hesitated, not finding it easy to speak his deepest feelings, but knowing it was needed in this situation. "I've only been in love twice in my life. One was Jenny, the other's you."

And with those words, Ethan collapsed against Giles, no longer fighting the sobs, and holding Giles as tightly as his still meagre strength allowed. He was saying something against Giles' shirt, but the distortion of the emotion and the muffling of the cloth combined to make the words unintelligible.

"What was that, love?" Giles asked, choosing the endearment purposefully.

Ethan drew back a small few inches, sniffed, and said, "Never stopped."

Giles let out a long breath, surprised at how much those two words meant. "Well good." He leaned forward and kissed him. "Makes things easier."

Ethan's gaze finally met his. "Things?"

"This. Us. Life."

Ethan did a passable impression of a deer caught in headlights. "I... What... oh God." He swallowed hard. "Rupert," he started, in a feeble attempt at his usual sardonic tones. "Would you mind awfully being a teensy bit more detailed about what's on offer here? If indeed anything is." He smiled shakily. "Please?"

"You. Staying here, with me." Even with the conversation before it was still difficult to voice what he wanted, some superstition making him leery of putting it into words. "Seeing if we can actually manage some kind of relationship that doesn't involve us tearing each other apart."

A shiver passed through Ethan, and he laid the side of his face on Giles' chest, snuggling close. "I'm a broken man, Ripper," he admitted, in a low, guileless voice. "You've done with kindness and... and love, what four years of hell at the hands of American soldiers and scientists could not. You've taken me apart. And now you're offering to rebuild me using yourself as the glue. Which is all very well until you decide you've had enough. I can't survive that again. I'm not... I'm not what I was."

"None of us are." Giles slid his hand over Ethan's back in gentle, hopefully soothing circles. "The changes aren't necessarily bad though. Not if they've led us back to each other."

Ethan seemed to start to say things, several times, but stopped himself. Eventually, he just sighed, and with one hand, he began, rather inexplicably, to unbutton Giles' shirt. Giles didn't say or do anything; he just watched and waited to see what Ethan would do next.

One by one, the buttons were undone, until Ethan reached the waistband of Giles' trousers. Then, with a flat hand stroking over the hairs of Giles' chest, Ethan pushed apart the two sides of the shirt and moved so his face was lying on the exposed flesh. He pressed a few soft kisses down and then relaxed.

"I wanted skin," he explained.

It was an answer of sorts, Giles thought, and he wrapped his arms around Ethan with something like a contented sigh. "Whatever you need," he murmured, "all you have to do is ask."

Ethan's fingers played lightly across Giles' chest; it was a very familiar sensation. "Whatever?" he asked, and Giles could tell the other man was grinning.

"As long as it doesn't involve changing anyone into a demon," Giles qualified, feeling his own mouth pull upwards into a matching grin.

"I was thinking of lesser transformations," Ethan said, his fingers dancing lower and fluttering inside Giles' shirt where it remained tucked into his trousers.

"Are you sure you're up to such... transformations?"

"That's not the question currently," Ethan said archly, taking his hand out from Giles' shirt and finger walking down the fly of his trousers.

Giles could feel his body reacting to the touch. "It is the question for me," he said, reaching out and touching Ethan's face lightly.

"Whatever I need, you said," Ethan reminded him, and flattened his hand out over the growing bulge in Giles' trousers, rotating his palm very slightly.

"And this is what you need?" It was difficult not to arch into Ethan's touch; it had been so very long.

"Yes." Ethan looked up at Giles, smiling hungrily. "Very much so." His hand squeezed.

Giles' eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. "Well then..."

The movements of Ethan's hand became firmer, more determined. He squeezed and rubbed through the cloth. At the same time, he straightened up sufficiently for his mouth to be in reach of Giles'. "Whatever I need, Ripper," he said, and his tone and attitude were almost those of a different man from the one who, just a few moments earlier, had been sobbing in Giles' arms.

Giles had a second to wonder about how quickly Ethan's moods could change, and if this was just another mask, before Ethan was kissing him. Giles pushed aside his doubts, sliding a hand behind the back of Ethan's neck and holding him in place as he kissed back.

Showing remarkable energy for a man who'd recently seemed so fatigued, Ethan wriggled half on top of Giles, looping a leg across, and melded their mouths together. Ethan's hand stayed where it was, the heel of it rubbing firmly up and down Giles' erection, occasionally pausing for fingers to cup and squeeze.

Finally, Giles managed to gather sufficient wits and co-ordination to catch his breath and his thoughts. "I think," he said, covering Ethan's hand with his own and stilling its very distracting movements, "that we should take this discussion upstairs."

If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right.

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