Title: Strange Attractors 5/6
Author: K.V. Wylie
Disclaimer: Permission to use these characters relating to BtVS & AtS, has not been given. Joss, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB & Mutant Enemy own TM and copyrighted them. This is purely for fun, and no copyright infringement is intended

"In the explosion of an atomic bomb, stone becomes as sensitive as a photographic plate."
  F. David Peat

Ira woke to lights. At first, he thought he was dreaming about fireflies darting back and forth in front of him. Then he sat up, thinking about the warning signs of retinas detaching. One saw lights, didn't they? Lights instead of form. But would both eyes go at once?

Then he woke up fully and realized the lights went away when he closed his eyes. Not him then. Outside him. Something in the air in their bedroom. Another incubus?

He shook Giles gently. "Rupert, something is in here with us."

Giles didn't waken. Ira shook him again, felt for a pulse. Giles was alive, and sleeping as if drugged.

"Mr. Rayne," Ira whispered, unnerved by the sparks whipping around the room. Here was the dreaded spell, set off by their lovemaking, no doubt. Mr. Rayne had known they'd come together eventually. He needed only to wait.

And damn him that it had come on the Sabbath.

Ira got out of bed and the whatever-they-were followed him. He thought about the equation in the dust, Schrodinger's equation, and a cat in the box waiting for a photon to trigger a gun. He was the cat, but the experiment wouldn't work if the lid of the box was opened, if the cat left. The experiment collapsed then.

He remembered an animal his daughter had brought home once, a scrapper of a tomcat, adoring Willow and threatening everyone else in equal parts. A cat like that wouldn't have gotten in the box in the first place, and any scientist foolish enough to consider the idea would have found himself dealing with ten claws of holy terror.

Ira put on a suit, tie, and a thick sweater, the only armor he had. Then he covered Giles with a quilt, kissed him tenderly, and went downstairs.

Back door? Front door? Ira supposed it didn't matter. Mr. Rayne would find him.

He went out the front and walked down to the sidewalk, the magical fireflies following him. The windows of the houses around him were darkened. Everyone was asleep. He wasn't sure what time it was, and there was no hint in the sky either of dusk or dawn. There were only stars in a firmament he once believed was heaven.

He walked down the block, breathing in fragrances carried in the breeze. Blossoms on a tree, dew in the air, wet mud from the river. Then came a smell of spice, rather too exotic for this town. The odor made him think of oil lamps burning in tents and family celebrations of his childhood.

A voice came from behind him. "Do you know what I dislike most about the Western world? You have no holy land here. It's all neon and bible-toters with guns. There is no spiritual substance."

Ira turned. Ethan Rayne was behind him, leaning against a pole, a tall, slim silhouette with gleaming eyes. Ira began to have some doubts. If anyone had the sleekness and claws of a cat, it was Mr. Rayne.

"Do you want to see me better?" Ethan asked. He opened his hand and a glowing ball leapt into the air between them.

Ira stepped away from it.

"It's only light. It won't hurt you," Ethan assured him. "You'd know that if you listened to your instincts. I could teach you."

Everything had been about light. The equation. The shabbat candles. Mr. Rayne's magic. The beginning of Genesis. Lights in the darkness. Ira wondered what the connection was, if there was a clue...

"If I’d met you twenty years ago instead of Ripper," Ethan said.

Ira interrupted,"You would have passed me over."

Ethan smiled reluctantly. "I wasn't too bright in those days. Perhaps everything is just a matter of timing." He looked Ira up and down. "Is that what you usually wear to meet a lover? It's rather formal."

"I thought it might be cold."

Ethan paused. He'd expected some sort of protest. "May I call you by your first name?"

"If you wish."

Ethan hesitated again. Was Ripper out here as well? He hadn't sensed him. The spell should have put Ripper under, but Rosenberg was acting too confidently.

"Do you know what else I can't stand about the Western world? It has a fear of mystical experiences," Ethan said. "It teaches you that God is somewhere remote. Far away. No one is holy enough to reach him. In my religion, God's within. Inside here." He tapped his chest. "And inside you."

"Blasphemy," Ira said.

"What some people call blasphemy is really the divine. Don't be so quick to judge. Your own faith has a mystical basis."

"Do not tell me my faith, Mr. Rayne."

He'd hit a nerve. Ethan indulged in a silent moment of triumph.

The walkway of the house they were in front of was lined with boulders. Ira sat on one. "I'm out here, where you want me. Why do you not do what you wish to do?"

Ethan sat on a rock across from Ira. "Have you read Marquis de Sade?"

"Fortunately, not," Ira said.

"Too bad. He had an interesting way of setting up his books. Philosophy, sex, philosophy, sex, then a few whippings."

"You brought me out here in the middle of the night to discuss philosophy with you?"

Ethan smiled. "That's just the first part."

"Very well," Ira shrugged. "Let us continue."

"In your religion, all creation came out of light."

"And in yours, Chaos," Ira said.

"And exists in it."

"Yet this is not enough for you," Ira said. "If you truly believed in Chaos, could you also believe in karma, in predetermination? You told me, at some point, events must swing around so that Rupert finally has to pay what you've been paying. Such a belief is not part of Chaos."

Ethan was startled, but he recovered quickly. "I'm more of an alchemist."

Ira frowned. "Alchemy? You wish to create gold? That seems anti-climatic."

Ethan brushed that off. "Who cares about gold? Alchemy is transformation. That's the important part."

"Transformation of metal?"

"Not metal," Ethan said. "I've no doubt you're an excellent Jew, but you've gone as far as you can with that. It can't sustain you. It has no more to give, nothing left to discover. You looked for God and He eluded you. You think it's some fault of yours, but it's the fault of your religion."

"And you have the answer."

Ethan tilted his head. "I've spent a lifetime much as the same as you, looking for the ultimate. At times, I've been very near."

"But you keep missing."

"By myself, yes. The two of us together, that's a different thing. Do you know what you have within you?"

"According to you, God."

Ethan grinned. "You're quick." He studied Ira for a few moments. "I've found the way, but the door's locked. You, dearest, have the key."

"The key to transformation?" Ira said disbelievingly.

"Or illumination. Call it what you will," Ethan said. He reached over. When Ira didn't flinch, he grasped his hand hard. "I can feel it. There is power in you. You could bring the sun down out of the sky."

"Does this power have a name?"

"Some call it Earth's Fire. Your daughter has it, but not like you. Hers is diluted. I take it your ex-wife was a practical woman. No nonsense. Everything black and white. Ripper's the opposite. You can't be quite sure with him. Stuffy on top and demon under the skin. He used to like to bugger me until I bled."

Ira considered the statement, and found he couldn't throw it out so easily. "Why did you let him?"

"It's amazing what you'll do for someone you love, and I did love him," Ethan said in a way that rang true to Ira. "I notice you're not telling me to let go of your hand. What do you and Ripper do, besides fuck every few days?"

"That's our business."

"Are you happy?"

Ira didn't answer. Ethan leaned forward and whispered, "Tell me to go away. Tell me and I will."

A car came down the street, its headlights nearing them. Casually, Ethan said, "Shadow." The headlights went off as the car passed them, and resumed farther on. Ira stared after the car.

Ethan was amused. "That's nothing. Wait until you see what you can do."

"I'm not an ambitious man."

"Every man is. We all want something."

"And you want transformation," Ira said, shaking his head. "You intend to use me as a battery?"

"No," Ethan said. "That would be lonely. We go together, and we both come out the other side."

"The other side," Ira murmured. He understood now. Rupert was looking for a god. Mr. Rayne wanted to be one. Transformation into the deity within, through fire, through light. Light as the source of creation. Ira had finally clued in.

"Aren't you curious?" Ethan asked, knowing full well the other man was.

"Curiosity killed the cat," Ira commented, a tremor in his voice.

Ethan took hold of his other hand. Ira could feel something burning under their skin.

"We're meant, you and I," Ethan said. "There is a union much deeper than sex."

"And Rupert?"

"He got too dusty for me."

"I want a promise that you will never hurt him."

Ethan nodded. "All right."

"I need a promise I can believe."

"If I have you, I don't care about him. Let's start."

"Here?" Ira asked. He looked around, but he could no longer see the houses. They were in a mist of crackling blue fog. It ran over him in prickles, and danced in his beard and Ethan's hair.

"Have you read the Kabbalah?" Ethan asked, his voice a breathy reed. "I love the parts about ecstatic prayer, obliteration, and meeting your lover at the gates. All the burning and sheer physical desire..... the wish to achieve oneness with God. Did any of them make it, do you know? Those crazy Rabbis."

Dizzily, Ira closed his eyes against the whirling lights.

"That's what you Jews have over the Christians. Pleasure's not a bad thing. Sex can be an almighty holy act." Ethan pulled Ira closer, off the rock onto something hot but yielding. "You're the lover at the gate, and we meet with a kiss."

Ira felt he was riding a rough sea, and grabbed onto Ethan for support.

"Eager, aren't we?" Ethan whispered into his ear.

"What are we doing?" Ira demanded.

"Joining."

"Like this?"

Ethan's mouth captured Ira's, his tongue a barb of fire. All of a sudden, Ira was in the other man, looking at himself through Ethan's eyes. Disorientation knocked Ira off his knees.

"Do you think everything is black and white with me?" Ethan asked. "Am I bad, through and through? Do you know why I've been so vicious with Ripper? Because he frightens me. Because he's worse than me. Because if he ever got it in his head to hunt *me* instead–"

"Stop!" Ira demanded, almost choking. He was losing himself inside Ethan. He could *taste* him, like blistering pepper in his mouth.

"I know the way. You have the keys. We go together," Ethan told him caressingly. "I won't let go of you."

"Wait! Let me catch my breath," Ira pushed against Ethan, enough to break the contact for a moment until Ethan grabbed him again.

"I promise you–" Ethan started, but Ira tried to shake him off.

"I don't know you! I can't trust what you're telling me!" Ira tried to see the other man, tried to find the street. Where they still in front of that house with the boulders? He was blind and panicking in it.

Ethan kissed him again, but so softly Ira didn't realize it at first. Then Ira could see a blur like a reflection in water. Voices sounded, voices in memory, voices of people in a dim room with only a single candle for light. A woman was crying and a man snapped at her to shut up.

Ira jumped when he realized the man was Rupert.

There were others in the room. Two men huddled against a wall. Lying motionless by the candle was a body covered in blood. Rupert stood near it, and Ethan was a step behind.

"We have to call someone," the woman tried.

"Who?" Rupert demanded. "Who do we call?" He knelt, and Ira saw more blood on his face and hands.

"He wasn't strong enough," Ethan said.

"Ohgodohgodohgod!" wailed one of the men at the wall. "We're all in it. They'll put us all in jail!"

"Get out of here," Rupert yelled. "Get OUT!"

The men ran, taking the woman with them, but Ethan remained, hovering at the edge of the candlelight.

"You were the one on top of him."

"Yes," Rupert said quietly.

"Where's the knife?" Ethan asked.

Rupert glanced around. "I don't know."

"You had it," but even as he said it, Ethan found it in his hands, a dagger with stains dulling the blade. He looked at it blankly.

He dropped it. The sound of it hitting the cement floor rang like a church bell.

Rupert found some clothes and, with steady hands, covered the man on the floor. Then he went up the stairs. Ethan bolted after him.

Silently, they cleaned themselves up, having to fill the tub three times to get all of the blood washed away. Afterwards, they went into a bedroom and crawled into a small bed.

Ira was outside the bed, and also in it, looking through Ethan's eyes, lying beside Rupert whose mouth was tightly shut and whose face gave no hint of what he was thinking.

It was morning before Rupert spoke. "We shouldn't leave him down there. It's not the right thing to do."

"We left the girl that time, Ripper."

"We shouldn't leave him."

"He wanted to. You said no. We both said no to him, but he *wanted* to. I'll do that spell, the one you did to her body. There won't be any trace. Nothing to find."

Rupert got out of bed. Ethan could hear him going down the stairs and wondered if he was doing the spell. But when Rupert returned, he was streaked with clotted brown blood.

"I put Randall on the couch."

"Not the brightest thing, Ripper, since we don't have curtains and anyone could look in."

"Shut UP, damn you!" Rupert grabbed Ethan and shook him until the legs of the bed moved.

Ethan looked at his friend as if he'd never seen him before.

Ethan was afraid.

"I'll do the spell," Ethan said, trying to sound as casual as if he was talking about the laundry. He went to get up. Rupert hit him, again and again.

As Ethan bled onto the sheets, Rupert called the police. When they came, Rupert held out his wrists for the cuffs, and said simply, "I've killed a man. I did it by myself."

However, Ethan was there too so the police took him as well.

They were allowed to attend the funeral, from a distance and under guard. When Randall's casket was lowered into the ground, Rupert turned away and cried.

But when the sentencing came, Ethan was sentenced alone.

Ira came to himself, back to the blue fog and Ethan holding him tightly.

"Such are our sins," Ethan said. "He killed a girl, then Randall, beat me, but I went to jail."

"Rupert never told me about a girl," Ira said, teeth chattering. "I knew about the man, but not the girl."

"You live with a murderer."

"A young girl?" Ira asked.

Ethan didn't hear him. "I was afraid of him."

"How young?"

"How long do you have before he gets angry at you? Before he hurts you? Before he makes you bleed? Why do you think he never told you about his past? About me?"

Ira stared into the lights surrounding them, his eyes stinging. He felt Ethan take his hands again.

"Do you see the way?" Ethan asked. "Do you know what's at the end? The brightest light you've ever imagined. You can get there. Hold onto me when you go."

Ira could see it, a line more white and pure than the rest. When he stepped forward, it warmed his skin. He heard songs from his childhood, saw his father again, standing in the doorway with presents in his hands. Heard his mother calling from the kitchen, smelled the warm bread she carried to a table lit with candles from end to end. Saw his sister, dark braids flying as she ran laughing across the floor.

"What happened to your sister?" Ethan asked.

"She died when she was sixteen. A car hit her."

"I'm sorry," Ethan said.

The candles bothered him. There were too many and they burned too high. His mother couldn't carry the bread with her crutches.

"You changed it," Ira said, taking a deep breath. The skin over his left side began to burn as if someone was holding a candle to him. "It's.....wrong." He turned and could see Ethan beside him, very clearly now. "What else did you change?"

Ethan gestured around them. "These are your memories."

Ira shook his head. "Not quite. They're different. What you showed me, that's wrong too, isn't it?"

"Ask Rupert. He'll tell you that he killed Randall."

"He feels responsible for it, but that's not the same thing." Ira stepped away. His left side hurt ferociously now. He glanced down and saw smoke. "I'm on fire," he said, feeling strangely detached from it.

"It's just something on you that shouldn't be there," Ethan said quickly, brushing at Ira's side.

"What's on me is....." Ira smiled suddenly, for that was where Giles' sperm had landed. He pressed his hand against it.

Then he sobered and said, "Who really killed the girl?"

"We both did."

Ira shook his head. "No, I think it was only you. I believe you loved him, and I believe he hurt you terribly, but it was only you that took her life."

Ethan took a cautious step forward. Ira jumped back and yelled, "Shadow!"

He gaped at how easily it happened. Somehow, Ira *knew* he could do it, but he was still shocked at how quickly darkness fell over them.

Ira looked around him. The blackness wasn't complete. A small patch at the side glowed red.

Ethan had been knocked down. As he struggled to rise, he said groggily, "You've set your house ablaze."

Ira tried to go forward, and tripped over a boulder.

"It's the same as what happened to Randall," Ethan managed, grimacing for he was in real pain. The spell had aborted hard on him. "See how easily it's done? Rupert and I never meant to kill anyone. It just *happens*. And now you're done it too."

The heat was ferocious. It snapped the hairs on Ira's arms and whipped into his face. He shut his eyes, but the blaze beat at his eyelids.

"Rupert!" he screamed. The boulders were everywhere, and he couldn't see for the smoke. "RUPERT!"

A voice answered him. For a moment, he thought it was Rupert, and he stumbled towards it.

Arms caught him. He looked up into the face of Ezekiel.

"Get out of my–!" Ira started, but Ezekiel pushed him back.

"We'll pray together, friend," he said. He disappeared into the smoke.

Then Ira heard a noise. It was Ezekiel, pounding again at the door. "It is I, a lowly servant!" he called. "It is time for you to wake up!"

Someone grabbed Ira from behind. "NO!" he cried. "My friend's inside!"

Ira pulled and pulled, but he couldn't get free. A siren wailed in the distance, but all he could hear was the preacher, banging and calling over and over, "Wake up! WAKE UP!"

He heard more voices now of people around him on the sidewalk. The person holding him let go. Ira fell and was caught by a man in a paramedic uniform. "It's all right, sir. I have you."

"My friend's inside!" Ira tried, but he was being pushed onto a stretcher.

"Who was holding me?" Ira demanded. "Rayne? Where are you?"

Too many people were around him. Lights whirled, creating berserk flashes of red and white on faces and trees. Pandemonium shrieked against his ears. The confusion bewildered him. Ira clutched at the sides of the stretcher and screamed, "RUPERT!"

"I'm here, Ira."

And he was. Giles was beside him, shaking like a feather in a tempest, a blanket around his soot-laden shoulders.

Ira clutched him, and held him so hard that Giles fell forward onto the stretcher.

"I couldn't get to you," Ira said in a trembling voice. "I couldn't–"

"I heard Ezekiel," Giles said. "I was so angry that he was at the door again, yelling at me to wake up, and I went downstairs." He swallowed. "Ira, he was on fire. They couldn't put him out."

Ira stared at him in horror. "He died?"

Giles shook his head. "I don't think so. He...disappeared. He just wasn't there anymore."

Ira looked over at their house. The fire was out. The roof shone wet and black, and the firemen were gathering up their hoses.

"I caused it," Ira said in a quiet, awful tone. "Rupert, the fire came from me."

"Well, uh, don't do it again."

"I was with Rayne, but it came from me. It's my fault!"

Giles kissed him to shut him up. Then he looked him in the eyes and said, "Ira, when we're filling out the insurance claim, for Godssakes, let me do the talking."

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