Title: Borrowed Time (1/1)
Author: Michele
Email: aka_m_1@yahoo.com
Website: http://www.SpikeNAngel.com
Rating: R (implied slash and language)
Spoilers: Show in general. Takes place the night before Willow and Giles' talk in Season 5, ep 1. Slight spoiler for Season 5, ep 1 and for 'A New Man' from Season 4
Pairing: Giles/Ethan (implied)
Summary: Ethan pays a Giles a visit.
Distribution: Take it, it's yours.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, the characters and premise used in creating this fic are not mine. If they were, I'd be a guy named Joss...
Note: Assumes that Giles and Ethan had some sort of sexual relationship when they were young and still occasionally 'get it on'. Also assumes that they have had more of an ongoing friendship (or more like love/hate relationship) for the past 25 years than Giles implied to Buffy and Co. when he told them about Ethan. Ethan's POV

"I want my shirt back." I've clearly startled him but he recovers quickly, giving me his fiercest glare. He's always thought those looks frighten me and the perfect time to tell him otherwise has not yet presented itself. Of course, he probably already knows what those looks *really* do to me since he's been throwing them my way for twenty-five years, and they never result in my being *afraid*.

He's sitting on his couch, sorting books from the floor into stacks on the coffee table. I've evidently interrupted the beginnings of a research stint. He should be glad I'm here to save him from the drudgery. Not that I'm actually expecting him to thank me, he never does.

"I burned the hideous thing. How did you get in? I know the door was locked this time."

Odd how he doesn't ask how I escaped from that dreadful place in the desert but I suppose he knew I'd get out when I was ready. Also a bit odd that he doesn't even bother to stand and, other than the initial glare, won't look at me. In the days when he was thoroughly Ripper, he put his hands on me every chance he got. Oh, in public it was disguised as a manly whack on the back or covert groping under the table, but he was almost always touching me. And when he once again became 'Rupert', he was not that much different. Every time I've seen him since he decided I was bad for him, he still grabs at me in public. And, just in case anyone who would care is watching, he now uses the excuse of anger and violence and hating me. But, still, he's touching me. I've almost come to look forward to him roughing me up since it's his own strange form of foreplay.

"I twitched my nose and the door just popped right open."

"What?"

He truly looks confused but at least he's looking at me now. Ah, well, pop culture references always were wasted on him. He wouldn't have known what I was talking about even if that dreadful show was still on. "I picked the lock. It was absurdly easy, you really should invest in a deadbolt."

"Get out."

What's this now? It almost sounds as if he means it. "What, no threats on my life for giving you fangs and a tail? No promise of a pummeling? And here I thought you'd be glad to see that I'm all right. I'm hurt, truly." I'm starting to wonder if there isn't something seriously wrong. He's acting very unlike himself. Any of his selves.

"Piss off, Ethan. I don't have the time to deal with you just now."

And down go the eyes again, hands busy themselves with the books. He sounds tired and … defeated? No, that can't be right. I've been watching and I know there is no apocalypse to be averted at present and he hasn't had any visitors for the past two days. So how can he be tired?

But this isn't getting me anywhere. I seat myself in a comfy looking chair and watch him for a few minutes. He doesn't even appear to be aware that I'm still here. Since when did I *ever* leave when he told me to go? This worries me more than I care to admit. I can't let this happen, whatever it is. Who would I have to torment if Rupert won't play?

Nearly twenty minutes pass before he finally sighs and looks up at me, eyes wary, like he would break if I said the wrong thing. No, this isn't right at all. I search my mind for something to say, anything to break the ice and get him to tell me what's wrong.

Unfortunately, the only thing I can come up with is 'What the fuck is wrong with you?' and I don't think that will accomplish my intended goal.

"That was quite tacky, you know, not up to your usual standards."

Okay, now *I* have no idea what he's talking about. "You'll have to be a bit more specific, Ripper, since you think everything I do is tacky."

"Turning me into a demon. Very tacky."

Oh, well, yes. I'll have to admit, turning him into a demon after accepting his hospitality the night before*was* rather tacky. And rather unoriginal, given our history, but a job is a job and it's not like I *planned* for him to catch me in that crypt. He should be glad that it was I who took that particular contract and not someone else or he wouldn't be sitting here right now. I'm not going to bother telling him that, though, because then he'd get so very tiresome, wanting to know all the details about who hired me and what not.

"And I don't think everything you do is tacky. The incident with the mummy when I worked at the museum was quite inspired. I really should have thought of it myself. Literally scared the piss out of that insufferable prig, Mr. Stockley."

"Didn't he threaten to have you dismissed?" Ripper hadn't found it very amusing or appropriate at the time. I judiciously stayed out of his sight for nearly a month after that one. And by the time I returned, he'd gone. Took me months to track him to this little quaint section of hell. But this unexpected praise didn't get me any closer to finding out what was going on here.

"He tried, yes. Of course he tried to get me dismissed on the grounds that *I* had caused a centuries old mummy to try to strangle him. Not that anyone believed that it had happened in the first place."

Again, he avoids looking at me for more than a second at time and his voice is curiously devoid of any emotion. "Look Rupert, what's all this about? Not that I don't enjoy reminiscing but I'd really prefer to get on with…"

His head jerks up, finally looking at me head on and I really don't like what I see. Something has nearly broken him. He was a little depressed when I was here last, but it didn't seem this bad. Or at least no worse than the usual pissing and moaning he's become so fond of this last year. When I finally left his bed near dawn to return to the motel, he seemed a bit hung over, but back to his relatively normal self.

"I'm going home, Ethan. I'm not needed here anymore."

Ah, so that's the problem. His little surrogate family has finally cast him aside and he is, apparently, not very happy about it. While I am more than relieved at this turn of events. I often feared that they would be the death of him, and really, that's *my* job, now isn't it?

"Well, Ripper, you knew it would happen sooner or later. You've more than done your 'duty' here. Now you can get back to doing what *you* want to do."

He glares at me again, the glasses not dimming the murder in his eyes one little bit. Did he really think I was going to offer him sympathy? He can be so fierce sometimes that I often wonder how he *ever* fooled *anyone* into thinking he was some docile bookworm. Especially that poncy Council of his.

"I *was* doing what I wanted to do. I liked being Buffy's Watcher. I liked being there for her and all the rest of them. But they've all grown past the need for me in their lives. In a way, I'm proud of myself that I could help make sure they all made it through in one piece. And I'm proud of all them, too, but especially Buffy. But it still remains that I'm no longer needed and so I will go home."

I want to shout for joy. This isn't merely a continuation of his tawdry mid-life crisis, he's actually serious *this* time. This means that *I* can finally go home and stop hanging about this sordid little town, taking petty jobs just so I have something to do to pass the time. And yes, I do stay in the area because he is here. I might be gone for months at a time, but I always come back. I could make much better money back home where I have contacts and people actually know how to treat a powerful sorcerer -such as myself- with the proper respect. Then again, the Lords of Chaos have been well served during my time on this continent, so I'm sure I will be rewarded for my work here… eventually. Ah, well. I had hoped Ripper would be happy to return home when the time came. Happy that there would be no more twisting and turning his personality to fit some mold that he thinks those dreadful children would expect. No more agonizing for hours, and sometimes days, over whether they will accept, or be disgusted by, some little change he's allowed himself. No more dreading the 'looks' whenever the façade slips, even just a little. He truly cares what those children think of him. I've known that since the first time I saw them all together and I've used it against him more than once. But then again, I'm fairly sure he *lets* me use it against him. Just one more thing to tell himself he hates me for.

He's watching me, waiting for me to say something, as if my opinion on the subject actually mattered. And I know if I show too much enthusiasm for his return, he will stay here, just to spite me. I've been quiet too long and now I'm suddenly very afraid of saying the wrong thing. Me, Ethan Rayne, afraid of … words.

He sighs and a nods head as if I'd actually said something. "It's all right, Ethan. I didn't really expect you to understand."

"Didn't expect me to understand?" I can't believe he really said that. "*Me*, not understand what it feels like not to be needed anymore? Oh, I understand, Rupert. I understand all too well!" I'm losing control here and I have to turn away for a moment to gather myself. Nothing good ever happens when I lose my temper. And why, exactly, *am* I losing my temper? What do I really have to be angry about? After all, he's doing what I want, leaving this place. I take a deep breath and turn back to him. I can see by the way his mouth is all twisted up that he truly didn't think before saying what he said to me. He's good at that, forgetting all that has gone before so that he can justify the now. Sometimes I just want to shake him.

"I meant that you can't understand what it's like to have no purpose in your life. Or to have that purpose taken away from you again and again. It's so much easier being you, isn't it? And while I don't agree with the way you live your life, I envy you that you know who you are, what you want and where you're going."

Well, this is different. What I mean is, Rupert rarely talks to me. He talks *at* me, he threatens, he makes demands, he tells me how the world works according to Rupert Giles, but he rarely lets me know what he's really thinking. Not that I blame him. I haven't exactly proven trustworthy in the past about keeping his secrets. But, I suppose it would be petty of me not to return the favor of honesty. At least this once.

"You are quite mistaken if you think it's easy being me." Maybe we can talk like this again and I can explain just wrong he is. "But that is neither here nor there. I can't say I'm saddened that your time here has run, though. Do really think you'll go this time? Nothing any of them can say will convince you to stay at the last minute?"

He shakes his head and stands. For a moment I think he's finally come to his senses and has decided to, once again, shut me out. But he only wanders over to the bookshelf and starts shifting things around. Before I can make any comment on this odd behavior, he pulls a bottle from behind one of the books and holds it aloft for me to see.

"Lately, I've taken to hiding them so they don't worry that I'm turning into a lush. Pathetic, isn't it?"

Well, yes. It is. More must have happened in these last few months than I can imagine. He pours us both a healthy portion of what appears to be scotch and returns to hand me mine. He reseats himself in the same place on the couch and stares down into his glass.

"If I tell them I'm leaving and they try to convince me to stay… I would know it's just because they think that is what they are expected to say. I know that they would all miss me -at least I can hope that is true- but that still wouldn't mean I was *needed*."

I raise my glass to my lips and take a sip to keep from telling him how ridiculous he's being. I know he wouldn't appreciate the insinuation that he's been thoroughly whipped by a bunch of selfish children.

I'm not saying that I don't understand what he's getting at, but really, it is all rather beneath him. I settle for something a bit more benign… "What will you do when you leave?"

"Oh, I don't know. The Council is obviously out. And I don't really think I fancy being stuck in some gloomy basement with dusty antiquities again. Perhaps I'll drop in on my mum for a bit, see if anything has changed in these last years."

That really doesn't answer the question, now does it? I know he'll spend, at most, twenty-four hours visiting with dear old mum before he tires of her incessant prattling about how much of disappointment he always was to his father. The man's been dead for over a decade and the woman still thinks he walked on water and could do no wrong.

Then again, she is a bit on the old side now and hasn't seen Rupert for years… Well, I'll just have to make sure he has some other reason to move on if she's changed that much. "And after that?"

He drains his glass and sets it on the table next to the couch. Leaning his head back, he closes his eyes and shakes his head again. "I don't know."

Something must have finally clicked within him because he jerks his head back up and studies me intently, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Why are you suddenly playing nice, Ethan? There can't possibly be anything in this for you."

Ah, caught. But at least he's not moping anymore. "You're very wrong there, Ripper. But I think I'll let you figure out what it may be on your own."

He shifts in his seat, like he's debating whether he wants to get up or not. I give him my smarmiest smile -just to help him decide, of course- and then he's up and bending over me, hands pressing my forearms into the arms of the chair, giving him the illusion that he's keeping me there. Works every time.

"Why did you come here tonight? What do you want?"

Now that's a little more like it. "Just thought I'd pop in and thank you for my involuntary vacation."

He blinks at me a few times, clearly unable to decide if I'm serious or not. I grin up at him and he finally scowls and straightens, releasing my arms.

"You can't stay the night, Ethan."

"Of course not. I always leave well before daylight, you know that." I know that is not what he meant, but I refuse to be so easily dismissed this time. "I value my hide too much to let one of your little protectors catch me here."

That causes one side of his mouth to quirk up a bit before returning to its familiar tightness. A bit better than when I arrived, but not enough. "I shudder to think what your Slayer would do to me if she thought I was corrupting her pet Watcher."

He chuckles once, but it's not a happy sound.

"Yes, she might give you a good ass kicking. Then again, she might decide that it's just one more proof that I've gone 'round the bend. It's hard to know how she'll react to anything these days."

"Really?" Makes one wonder what else he's been up to since I've been gone. "Well, she frightens me all the same." Not strictly true, but he knows that. "I suppose if that delicious little witch got an eyeful, she'd be just as understanding? I notice she's rather open-minded herself these days. But you really must teach her to mask her energies a little better before you go. I traced her and her charming companion in less than ten minutes. Or perhaps, if you're too busy, I could take a 'stab' at it. As a favor to you, of course."

Well, that seems to have done the trick. All signs of the depressed, purposeless, middle-aged librarian are gone in an instant and I'm yanked out of the chair by my shirt front. My almost full glass falls to the floor and the contents spill out onto the carpet. He doesn't seem to notice though.

"If you even *think* about Willow, I will make you sorry you were ever born. Stay away from all of them, do you understand me?"

What would he ever do without me around to cheer him up? "Whatever you say, Ripper."

He releases my shirt and steps back, once again presumably trying to decide if I'm telling the truth. I give him time and try to smooth the wrinkles out of my shirt. At least he didn't tear it this time.

"I think it's time for you to go."

Blast. "Is it? I rather thought you'd fancy it if I stayed a few hours. Maybe I can help you decide what to do once you go home?" I really thought it was going well there for a few minutes. He suddenly seems so very tired again. So very alone. "I'll behave. No threatening of your brood, no tricks, no spells. Promise."

He shakes his head and returns to the bookcase, but this time he begins pulling books off the shelf and stacking them in his arms.

"Not tonight, Ethan. I told you earlier, I don't have the time for you. Please just go."

Bastard. He really can be cruel at times. Then again, he did learn from one of the best.

"Very well, Rupert. I'll leave you to your project, whatever it is, and come 'round again in a few days."

Nothing. He just continues to select books and ignore me. He really has forgotten who he's dealing with here. Ah, well, I'm sure I can find something to amuse myself here in town while I wait for him to tie up his loose ends.

I don't bother to say anything else, just head for the door. It clicks shut behind me and I settle into one of the dark corners of the patio to think. I start casting about in my mind for some way to pass the rest of the evening now that I've been so summarily dismissed. I suppose it would be safest to simply return to my room and get some sleep…

But where would be the fun in that?

End.