Title: Revealing Pictures (10/16)
Series: Giles/Ethan Series (Story 1/Part 10)
Author: Adrienne S.
Disclaimer: None of these characters or situations belong to me and no copyright infringement is intended.
"There are photographs?" Xander was outraged. "They took pictures?"
"It's standard for alleged assault, in case the victim wants to press charges," Willow said flatly. She was still numb, unable to function very well. Buffy, after a long bout of vomiting and an even longer bout of tears, appeared to be unable to function at all.
"Did you know?" Buffy asked dully, looking at Xander. "Did you know that Giles had been raped?"
Xander ran a hand through his hair. Looking at the devastation on the faces his two friends, he felt like he was reliving the whole nightmare all over again. As if his regular nightmares about it weren't bad enough.
"Yeah. I knew," he said. "I stayed with Giles a lot over the summer. I dunno how he could stand having me around so much, but someone had to help him out, what with his hand and all."
"It was... bad," Buffy stated flatly.
"Oh, yeah." Xander collapsed on a chair and flung his head back. Somehow, it made it easier to force back the tears that were threatening to fall. Giles was... He had no words to describe Giles. He would have said that Giles was a father figure to him, but the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Giles was a friend, someone he could count on. Bad as the summer had been, deep in his heart, Xander felt good about being there for Giles. "In a weird sort of way, it was good that you left, Buffy. It kept him from going completely around the bend. Gave him something else to think about."
"Xander!" Willow protested. "It was not good that Buffy left. How can you say that? We were all worried sick."
"Giles most of all," Xander replied. "At least when he was worrying about you, he wasn't thinking about what Angel did to him."
"Angelus," Buffy put in fiercely. "It was Angelus."
"Whatever." Xander dismissed the distinction. "Deadboy did a real number on Giles. I'd stake him myself if I could, but I think that'd just make it worse for Giles."
"Angel is not a monster," Buffy protested angrily. "He isn't. He loves me. And he's sorry for what he did. I know he is. He was going to kill himself over Christmas because he feels so guilty about what Angelus did."
"He should have." Xander stuck out his chin. "No loss there."
"Xander, Angel spent an eternity in torment when I sent him through that portal. He's suffered enough."
"Yeah, well, having seen it all summer, I think Giles has, too."
"Giles had the opportunity to dust Angel. He didn't. Maybe you should think about that before you go off and stake an innocent man," Buffy said flatly. "And the Powers That Be brought him back. If you want to screw around with that kind of power, be my guest. I won't be a part of that."
"Why are you still protecting him? Hunh? Doesn't your Watcher mean anything to you?"
"Yeah." Buffy's voice lost the hard edge and began to wobble. "Giles means a lot to me. And if he wants to stake Angel, I won't stop him. But that's his decision, not yours. Just like my decision to believe that he's here for a reason and deserves forgiveness is mine."
"Guys." Willow finally succeeded in pulling herself out of the numbness and was shivering. "I think we should stay out of it. In fact, I think we should forget all about what we learned tonight. Giles didn't want us to know. So we don't. Okay?"
"I'm not sure I can..." Buffy began, but Xander cut her off ruthlessly.
"You can. One day at a time, Buff. If I can pretend, so can you."
"I want to tell Oz, though. I can't not talk about it with him and Oz can keep his mouth shut," Willow added.
"And how." Xander nodded. "Yeah, Oz won't be a problem."
"What about Cordy? Please tell me you didn't tell her." Willow begged.
"She already figured it out," Xander said slowly, thinking.
-------------------
"What are you smiling to yourself about?" Ethan asked, a little smile playing around his mouth as well. They were sitting on the floor, half finished drinks next to them and pawing through Giles' music collection. Ethan was impressed; he hadn't heard some of those albums in years. The first notes of Jesus Christ Superstar - the original, not the film soundtrack - brought back so many memories. Ripper was still smiling, a slightly glazed look in his eyes.
"A Called Watcher," he said softly. Ethan grinned.
"After a total of - what? - nearly thirty years of hanging round the Council, you didn't know?"
"Dad called it a Calling when he first told me, back when I was ten, but he didn't say anything about it after that." Giles paused to play a note or two of air guitar. "Nobody ever mentioned the possibility to me. I thought the illness was because of Rand and what I had been doing to myself. Once I was eating properly, sleeping at night and off the drugs, I felt better. It never occurred to me that I felt more myself because I wasn't fighting it anymore. Perhaps it was a good thing nobody told me. That whole destiny business is what made me leave in the first place."
"So you found you wanted to be a Watcher after all?" Ethan inquired.
"Not exactly. I needed a place, particularly after, well, you. A place where I belonged. I like the work itself and I've got the talent and training for it, so it seemed to be a wise career choice. I was quite content, actually, working for the Council," Giles said thoughtfully. "I was certain that I'd never get matched with a Slayer, so I didn't have to think about it being my destiny. A life spent reading and working cover jobs in museums and the like didn't sound so bad."
"I can't believe that you spent all that time in the Council culture and it never occurred to you that you were one of the chosen ones?" Ethan teased.
"The Called Watchers are an elite, even within the Council, and I was never part of that. Then again, without a Slayer in the wings, is there really a Calling?"
"Is that the metaphysical version of the 'if a tree falls in the woods' conundrum? Science tells us that the philosophical wanking off is just that; of course it makes a noise," Ethan observed. "You had and have a Calling, love. That's why you can't stop being a Watcher, any more than I can stop drawing. Or chaos magic, for that matter."
"You're Called to chaos?"
"Janus has me sewn up, soul and all," Ethan said lightly. "It is what I am, Ripper. I can't change that and still be me."
"How much of that is your upbringing?"
Ethan shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. For all his laughing references to his mother's insanity, he was deeply ashamed of her. The stigma of mental illness was still very strong and he had never told anyone just how ill his mother really was.
"I can't change that, either," he said finally, hoping Rupert would drop the subject. "Mother is who she is."
"Did you ever wonder if you inherited her illness?" Giles asked softly. Ethan winced. Yes, Ripper knew him well.
"Yes and no," he admitted. "Being magically gifted really didn't help. I could hear voices if I listened hard enough, but they weren't telling me to kill my family or that I had bugs growing out of my toes, so I was fairly sure that, even if I did inherit it, it wasn't as bad as mum's version."
"But you didn't." Giles stated this as a proven fact, for which Ethan was grateful.
"No, I didn't. Dad had me tested when I was ten and again when I was fourteen. I had none of the symptoms," Ethan replied. "Phillip also assured me that whatever else might be wrong with me mentally, it wasn't schizophrenia. That's how he got interested in magic, you know. He started out looking into the psychology of magic when I moved in with him. But that's quite enough about me and my crazy mother. I'd rather talk about you and your marvellous Calling."
"It never occurred to me that I might be Called. I thought Dad was simply impressing on me the Giles family traditions. We've been Watchers since about 900 AD, if memory serves."
"Rather like that horrid parish priest we had in Weycombe," Ethan replied. "He didn't believe in God, as far as I could tell, but he liked to claim he was called to the clergy because his grandfather was the Bishop of Southwark. I always felt like telling him that God moves in much more mysterious ways than he could imagine. Not that he'd listen to me. He never even listened to God."
"Do you believe in God, Ethan?"
"I was brought up High Church, same as you, Ripper," Ethan reminded him. "Do you?"
"Yes, and you didn't answer the question."
"I worship the dual aspected god of the Etruscans. That rather precludes being a faithful son of the Church."
"I don't know. Some of the most powerful ceremonial magicians I've ever met were Church of England."
"Ninety percent of the Establishment is C of E, Ripper. Most ceremonial magicians come from that part of English society. You have to be, to have the means to do it seriously. And your precious Council is firmly Establishment," Ethan remarked. "We both are as well, I suppose."
"I've never really thought of myself as Establishment."
"Really? Let's look at it, then. Old money. Public school education and the old boy's network and all that. You read at Oxford, no less. And how could you have had such a rebellious youth if you had nothing to rebel against?"
"I suppose, if you put it that way. It just sounds so..."
"Old book and tweedy?" Ethan laughed. "I've seen the contents of your closet, Ripper."
"I was going to say hidebound and stuffy."
"Again, the contents of your closet..."
"And the thought of you being Establishment is rather worrisome."
"I'm not as well connected as you are. Just a clever lad with a scholarship to a fine school," Ethan said loftily. "You really should be ashamed of being seen in public with me." Ethan winced again; his need to give a clever riposte was getting ahead of his brain. Or perhaps it was the second glass of whisky.
"I am ashamed." Giles replied, as Ethan knew he would. "In fact, I think I will stay in here with you, so as not to let the world know that I know you."
"Oh, whatever shall we do with ourselves?" Ethan mocked, to cover for the sudden stab of pain.
"I was rather thinking of stripping you naked, throwing you down on the hearth rug and licking you all over," Giles replied easily. "Why? Did you have other plans?"
"I was going to paint you."
"No. No more paintings of me."
"I didn't say anything about paintings." Ethan raised his brows wickedly. "I said I was going to paint you."
Ethan reached over to run his hand across Giles' scarred back. Giles moaned and leaned into the touch.
"Any objections?" Ethan whispered, moving closer.
"None," Giles whispered back. "Get your paint pots."
"Get naked," Ethan replied, rising to fetch the bag of things he had bought earlier in the day. He laughed as Giles immediately stripped down, grabbed some pillows from various bits of furniture, and made himself comfortable.
--------------------
Buffy stayed the night at Willow's. She was too tired and heartsore to make the trek home, even if the vamps in town were behaving themselves. Despite how tired she was, she couldn't sleep. The minute she closed her eyes, she saw Angel and his sleek, smooth body and felt his cool skin against hers. His soft voice was whispering words of love and passion into her ears and she wanted him so badly that she ached.
Then the vision changed, to that soft voice mocking her, taunting her. And that beautiful body was no longer next to hers, but pounding rhythmically into her Watcher. The scene was silent except for the smack of flesh on flesh and that was worse than screaming would have been.
"No." She pressed her hands to the sides of her head, trying to banish the image. She shuddered and got up, still haunted by the vision. Another vision came to mind, this one of Angel - not Angelus - and the pain of remorse in his dark eyes. She wanted to stake Angelus; had she known, she would not have been so conflicted about staking him. Angelus was a monster, a demon. His killing of Miss Calendar was bad, but she could almost understand that. He was a soulless vampire and vampires killed. This was somehow different. Angelus had spent hours hurting Giles in ways she could no longer imagine.
But Angel... Angel was sorry for what Angelus did. Angel would never harm a living soul. And she loved him. She loved him all the more, now, since he had the courage to face the victims of his demonic parasite.
And she loved Giles. She seldom thought about how she felt about her Watcher, but she did love him. He infuriated her, insulted her, annoyed her, amused her and confused her. He had been nothing but supportive of her, even after she'd run away and she loved him for that. And she knew he loved her. For all his fussbudget ways and his insistence that she had to be what he wanted her to be, he did care. He had been hurt that she hadn't told him that Angel had returned.
'You have no respect for me or the job I perform'. The words echoed in her mind. At the time, she had been hurt and angry that he could think that. At the time, she had thought that he had been disappointed in her and that was worse than Xander's anger and Willow's bewilderment.
Well, he had been disappointed, but she wondered what other emotions had been hiding under the stilted words and the stiff manner. She had never seen him so cold and uncaring. But had he really been uncaring? Or had be been frightened?
She tried for a moment to put herself in Giles' shoes. How had he felt when he discovered that not only had his tormentor returned, but that she had been harbouring him? Okay, that was way painful.
She wrapped her arms around herself and quietly opened the door to the balcony off Willow's room. It was too chilly out for her thin nightclothes, but she didn't care.
After all that had happened, though, Giles had helped Angel. He told her himself that he would find the solution to their shared dreams and he had. Angel was wrong; Giles had forgiven him. Giles knew that Angel was not Angelus and he forgave. He had to; why else would he have helped?
She felt a sudden, painful rush of love for her Watcher. He was fine. He had forgiven. Everything was going to be fine. After all, he had said so and he never lied to her. Well, except when she asked, she amended, as she stepped back inside with a shiver and a smile.
She lay down again and closed her eyes. She did not see any visions of the two men she loved and loved her when she fell asleep, but late in the night, she felt a cool, smooth body on hers and agonizing pain as his body slipped into hers with brutal force.
-------------------
Willow pretended to be asleep as she watched Buffy prowl quietly around the room. A part of her was meanly pleased that Buffy couldn't sleep. How could she defend Angel like that? Angel had killed Miss Calendar. Angel had beaten and raped Giles. Angel had hurt Buffy and... and... he killed her fish.
Angelus was terrifying. Willow found him all the more terrifying because she liked him. She liked Angel and his quiet gentleness, his flashes of humour and his steadfast devotion to Buffy. She had seen his vampiric nature as a tragic illness, an affliction that he had worked hard to overcome. She grieved for him, as she grieved for anyone with a serious affliction, but she had never been frightened of him.
Now that he was back, she wasn't sure how she felt. Angel was still Angel. He was still the big, near-silent devoted presence that had once made her feel safe and secure.
That sense of safety was gone now and had been gone since Angelus first appeared, but he had been vanquished and was no more. She had sincerely grieved for her friend and for Buffy's pain, and a part of her had rejoiced in his return.
Although there had been vestiges of terror when she found out Angel was back, she was glad for Buffy. Now, she wasn't sure what she felt.
She had still been recovering herself when she saw Giles afterwards. He had been stiff and moved awkwardly, but he had been mobile. He had been quiet, too, but functioning. He had admitted that his time in the mansion with Angelus was unpleasant, but she had assumed that he was fine. During the summer, she had been worried about him, but only because he had been so tired and so disheartened. Buffy's leaving had taken its toll on him and she had thought that's all it had been.
Now she wondered just how much physical and emotional pain he had been in and maybe was still in. Angel's return had to have hit him like a tidal wave. Yet, he had defended Buffy at the time.
She forced herself to stay still and keep her eyes closed, although she wanted more than anything to jump up and go to Giles, to tell him that she cared about his pain, that she wanted to help, that she loved him.
Despite her crush on Xander, and her relationship with Oz, she still loved Giles. She still felt a funny rumbling in her tummy whenever he smiled at her, and she still felt weak in the knees whenever he leaned over her shoulder to look at the computer. She still had occasional dreams that one day, he'd look at her the way he had looked at Miss Calendar sometimes when he thought no one was looking. And Angel had killed Miss Calendar, too, and left her in Giles' bed to find.
When she saw Buffy settle down to sleep, she settled down, too, firmly resolving to be as loving and supportive of Giles as she possibly could.
--------------------
Xander appreciated Mrs. Rosenberg and her automatic assumption that he'd be staying over. She had made up the sofa without comment, both of them having been through this many times over the years. He was no longer allowed to sleep in Willow's room, as he had when they were kids, but the sofa at the Rosenberg household was always available for him.
He didn't replay the scene at home in his head. He didn't need to; it was same old, same old. Nothing new there. He did wonder if Dad really thought he and Giles had something going last summer or if he was just saying that to hurt him. Compared to some of the other things his father had said over the years, this one barely registered on the hurtful scale. Yet, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Did people really think he was gay?
Well, he knew Larry did, but Larry was so hyped on coming out of the closet that he probably saw gayness in everybody. It didn't mean anything.
But if it didn't mean anything, and if he wasn't homophobic, why did it bother him so much? It wasn't as if he cared what his dad thought.
Okay, so he did care. He cared a lot. This was his father, for freak's sake; his father's opinion did carry a lot of weight.
Or did it? Xander rolled over and clutched a pillow to his chest. Thinking hard, he realised that, while a part of him did care, a growing part of him really didn't give a flying fuck what his father thought. Xander knew that nothing he did was good enough and that he might as well stop trying.
No, it wasn't his father's opinion that mattered. It was Giles' opinion. Giles, who had been more of a father to him in the last couple of years than his father had ever been, mattered to him.
Yet he didn't exactly see Giles as a father figure. It was there, of course, but that wasn't all Giles was to him. Giles was a friend, but that wasn't it, either.
He cared deeply for Giles' good opinion. Despite the snarky comments, he knew Giles cared about him. He knew, even though neither one of them ever had or ever would discuss it, that Giles trusted him. If he hadn't, he could never have been permitted to see even the smallest amount of pain and fear and grief that he had seen over last summer. Over the summer, he had seen more of the man than he had during all the years before. Over the summer, Giles had treated him like a man, not a kid. Sure, he still kidded the piss out of him and used his years and maturity as a weapon against him, but there wasn't such a huge gulf of age and authority between them.
And, since seeing Ethan's pictures, he had added another dimension to his mental image of Giles. He had seen Giles as a man, with a past and with desires and interests outside the Watchers.
Over the summer, he had felt something odd whenever he was with Giles. It was a weird feeling; something akin to wanting something he could never have, but not quite that strong. It was subtle, but it was there.
It wasn't until he saw the pictures that he realised what that feeling had been. He had been far too interested in the painting of the nude, sexually charged Giles than he wanted to be. And he knew, despite his protests, that Giles and Ethan probably had slept together when they were younger.
He didn't want to think about too much, since that led to thoughts that he didn't want to think at all. He knew Willow had a crush on Giles, but he would die if anyone ever found out that he did, too.
There. He'd thought it. He wondered if he was supposed to feel confused instead of better. Larry seemed to feel like he'd had a load of sorrow lifted when he admitted he was gay, but all Xander felt was more and more confused.
He didn't think he was attracted to Giles in that way. Little Xander had never perked up when he thought of Giles. Well, not much, anyway. Not the way Cordelia or Buffy made the ol' trouser snake come alive.
Still, there was something there. A curiosity. He had wanted, all that summer, to move closer to Giles, to be there for him, to hold him and let him lean on him. It hadn't been sexual.
Or... Perhaps it had been, but the looming awareness that Giles had been badly violated sexually had killed any hint of desire before it began.
Xander rolled over again and punched the pillow. His feelings were suddenly quite clear. He loved Giles. Not like a father, or a lover, or a friend. Just as Giles. Nothing more and nothing less. And he knew beyond doubt that Giles loved him. Just him. Xander.
And it occurred to him that, if Giles wanted to, he wouldn't be entirely grossed out by the idea of sleeping with him. Not that he was panting after him or anything, but he was curious. Ethan Rayne had come back over and over again, so it wasn't as if Giles was a dud in bed. Miss Calendar certainly didn't seem to think so.
God, had he really thought that? Had he really had gay thoughts Giles-ward? Maybe Larry was onto something and he really was gay and just in deep, deep denial. Of course, the problem with deep denial is it got pretty shallow when the thought occurred. Xander looked fondly back at denial-land and knew that this particular issue was in exile.
He wanted to talk to somebody about this. He had to talk to somebody, but who? Who could he trust with these sorts of questions?
He smiled ruefully when he realised that the only person he knew that he trusted was the very person he had minor yearnings of a lustful nature towards. Typical. Then again, he didn't have to mention that part, did he?