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.