Continuum
by Te
January 2000

Disclaimers: If they belonged to me they'd 
probably be scarier people.

Spoilers: Vague, vague ones for the Ethan eps.

Summary: Giles... does some thinking. A slightly 
different look at the way things might have gone 
in Rippertime. 

Ratings Note: NC-17 for implied m/m, as well as
imagery some may find disturbing.

Author's Note: Believe it or not, this is yet another
attempt on my part to use the poem "Peaches" in 
a satisfying manner. Maybe I should just quit...

*

There is a kind of adolescent love that is neither 
casual nor -- in the strictest sense -- romantic. It's 
the sort of thing one might see coming from a 
distance, and is thus possible to avoid -- from the 
vantage point of hindsight, at least.

Ethan and I... it started so simply, so predictably. 
Opposites clashing on their way to a shared goal, 
too many drugs, too much testosterone and the 
lunacy of our chosen hobby. If anything, I found 
myself surprised at how long it took. 

In the end, however, it all happened as it was 
supposed to. Maddeningly pissy London rain, 
stifled quarters, yet another disagreement. I shoved 
him, he... glittered at me, and so it went. And after 
we came up for air we each carefully pushed a 
button, and so kept ourselves free of all but the 
most shallow intimacy. 

It seemed like a wonderful idea at the time, of 
course. Even well before I placed Ethan firmly in 
the realm of my enemies, he was by no means to 
be trusted. Even well before I devoted myself to 
the reclamation of respectability, Ethan... was 
too much of a whore.

Not that I know that much about his sexual 
habits beyond what passed between the two of 
us, but... Over the years I've accepted certain 
things about myself, about who I've been and 
who I am today. I've told the necessary lies to keep 
things running smoothly with the children who 
trust me, I've put paid to every restless ghost I 
could catch. 

However. In this climate of self-help groups and 
chicly humble twelve step programs one phrase 
feels very right to me: Keep your memory green. 
Of course, it's merely a play on 'those who do not 
remember their history, etc.,' but it's rather 
evocative, as well. I will tend to my memories, and 
I will not lie to myself... not ever again.

The dead are dead, yes, but I remain alive. I do 
not regret that. But I was talking of Ethan.

I know now that there was a part of me that 
smelled Ethan coming. The brittle humor, the 
ostentatious display of (occasionally) shocking 
sensuality, the constant watchfulness... Everything
about him shouted 'victim.' His vulnerability was 
both goad and enticement and I used him to 
cheapen myself, seeking some idealized wisdom 
of the gutter. 

And then I left, and turned him away when he 
would follow.

I also know now that Ethan was my first 
experience of love. A twisted example, to be sure, 
but still my first. I remember everything. I remember
the scent of his hair, underneath the cigarettes and 
sulfur. I remember the red welting shape of my hand
on his flesh, and I remember the first time I tasted 
his blood without even the excuse of a spell. 

I remember drugging myself in his languor. 

I remember his fever when I would let him make 
love to me. I remember watching from almost 
outside myself, hidden back in the tall grass as 
Ethan tried, desperately, to find me. Touch me. 

I remember the day I discovered that somehow, 
somewhen, he *had*. The sight of him some years 
after Eyghon... I wondered when he'd found dignity,
and I wondered how he seemed to fill the space of
my small, bookish rooms.

"There's something I think we forgot, Ripper mine," 
he said, and I couldn't help but pay attention. His 
smile wasn't nearly as brittle as I remembered.

"And what was that?"

He walked to me, traced one incongruously 
aristocratic finger down my temple, over my cheek. 
Rested it against the corner of my mouth. "Who 
else... would give you this?"

He offered no gestures, and none were needed. It 
hit me then, the hunger and the ache of it. I made 
love to him -- for the first time and so very 
helplessly -- right there on my dark, clean rug. And
then I fucked him in an attempt to save... 
something, but Ethan only laughed at me. 

I made him bleed, a little, but he wore his stagger 
like a crown as he walked out my door.

"Be seeing you, luv..."

I spent much of the next fourteen years denying 
the obvious and Ethan came and went as he 
pleased, using old memories to goad me into 
making new ones. There was never any doubt of 
my surrender, not really...

It must have been a nasty little shock for him to 
get the old, vicious Ripper when he bewitched the 
candy... I wish I could remember more of it. I wish
I'd detailed every last moment of his terror, and 
made a point to see if I'd caused any... other 
emotions. Nostalgia is a powerful thing.

The spell has run its course, now, and Ethan will
be coming for me tonight, or perhaps tomorrow. I
will have him, and he will have me, and I will wake
alone. Love is... inevitable.

End.