White Christmas

by Gelfling21

Copyright © 2003

gelfling21@comcast.net

Rating: R
Disclaimer: Ethan Rayne, Rupert Giles and all Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters are owned and operated by Joss Whedon. I'm just taking them out for a spin
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: /mysticmuse.net
Watchers: /thewatcherscouncil.net
Feedback: Yes please.
Spoilers: In Love & War.
Author's Note: Ethan Rayne resurfaced in Giles' life at Thanksgiving in The Watchers – The Virtual Series episode "In Love & War."
Dedication: All the Rippers & Ethans out there, who spend Christmas alone together
Pairing: Giles/Ethan

Bloody hell! Why did I let her talk me into this? If she hadn't just broken up with Kennedy, she wouldn't be pushing me to do this. I suppose it's only natural for her to try to salvage other peoples' relationships on the heels of that.

Now she's watching me, too, out of the corner of her eye, as though I wouldn't notice. She's too much like him – and likes him too! Damn.

Damn him.

Damn me! Why did I agree to do this? I should be spending this time with Becca...

"What, Willow...? Yes, yes, dialing now. See...?"

What time is it there? It'll be fairly late. Maybe he's already passed out. Or better yet, maybe someone's knocked him out. Teach him a bloody lesson or two...

"What? No, I didn't say something just then. No, the phone's just begun to ring... Ah. Well. That's it, then. He's not at home. Yes, I've already hung up. No, I did not leave a message. Why on earth would I –

"All right, Willow, all right. I will call him back but on one condition: you leave me alone to do it. Agreed? Good. And please close my door on your way out. Yes, I'll call to you so you can tell him, Merry Christmas, too."

Thank god, she's gone. Now where's that scotch? I know I've a new bottle here somewh – ah! Now that's so much better. Always easier to deal with him after a drink. Maybe I'll only pretend to call again...No, she'll see right through that and I'll never hear the end of it.

What's this? Rain!

Bloody priceless...Rain on Christmas. A hard rain at that...

Like that last Christmas we spent. It was raining then, too...

Damn it! Why rain, today of all days? Why can't it snow? It's this lake. I know it is...warm currents rising, taking the bite out of the air...

Maybe it will snow...Like it finally did that day...

That bloody Christmas day! The rain was so cold we wondered that it wasn't sleet!.

It stung, that rain, even through my winter coat. And all he wore was his green blazer, I remember. He always went about without a coat – even in the most bitter weather...nothing more than a simple woolen blazer over an half-opened silk shirt! And a scarf, wrapped twice around with the ends flipped back over his shoulders.

He would always walk us into the wind. Where the wind blew, that is where he'd lead us – straight into it. I can see him now, hair and scarf flying wildly about, squinting and grimacing against cold or sleet or snow or rain or whatever the wind could throw our way.

And I – in my warmest coat with my arms hugged tightly 'round me – I went with him and laughed at him. As though he was the fool.

Except for that one day. That last Christmas we spent together. That's when I understood.

He had been laughing about some utter nonsense – I don't even recall what it was. And then he went suddenly silent. I know he'd sensed something in me. He always could, the berk. He watched me from the corner of his eye, in that most annoying way of his.

Neither of us spoke, we just trudged on – he, no longer one footfall ahead of me, but alongside me; like a matched pair of coach-horses. Yet, never more out of step.

I didn't know that then. But he did. He always had. I was only beginning to understand. I wished then for snow – crisp, crystalline, cleansing – to take understanding away and return me to reckless giddiness.

But the rain continued to pelt us as we walked the rest of the way in silence.

It was very dark when we reached the pub. Suddenly, he turned and faced me, the wind lofting his hair up in mad swirls about his head. He looked at me, seriously, with sharp, gleaming eyes. I felt as though I saw him from some other place.

Bloody hell, let's go inside, I snapped at him. His look went through me. I got angry at once. Stay out here in the bleedin' cold if you want, you berk, but get the hell out o'my way. I shoved past him. I wanted more than anything to go inside the noisy, pub and join our drunken, bawdy mates.

Ripper, he said.

I stopped in my tracks; didn't dare look back at him for a moment. When I did turn, his back was to me and he was looking out from where we'd come.

What, I asked him. What is it, then?

He made no answer.

And then I saw that the bitter rain had turned to snow. The beauty of it struck me and I forgot to be harsh for a moment.

Then I regained my sense of meanness. Never seen it snow? I sneered, as Ripper as I could be.

No. Not like this, he said.

I backed away, I – I felt as though he'd put a spell upon me and that I would burst, any moment, into a thousand-thousand sparks. I almost jumped inside the pub to get away from him.

He came inside not long after me. He smiled, danced, played darts and tipped his glass to goodwill and to joy, sang mangled Christmas carols far off-key and strutted about, sly and winsome...just full of himself – nothing unusual there.

But I could not look at him, while he did nothing but watch me.

What's that commotion? There, that's Willow's voice – still a bit forlorn from her breakup with Kennedy. And no mistaking Faith's sarcastic tone. Someone's teasing Andrew – maybe Vi – and he's feigning indignance. I must rejoin them all, my charges, and my friends.

Just one more look, first, out my window.

I can almost see there, walking with me on that path, see him on the threshold of the pub. See him flitting merrily about, and falling to the floor finally, in a drunken, passed-out, heap.

I only see him now as I have ever since that rainy Christmas day.

Ah. Good. It's finally snowing.

Think I'll dial up Becca...

Part 2: London, Christmas Night, 2003:

"Gods rest ye, Merry Sorcerers! Let good spells go astray!
Remember all the fun we have when Chaos rules the day!
To torment those whose stu-pid noses out of joint do stay.
O-oh tidings of con-fusion and ploy,

Fusion and ploy – "

No wait a moment, that makes no sense. Bugger. And I was doing so well with it.

What's this then? Raining? Damn. I'm far too drunk to want to walk home in this and I don't dare try to teleport in my condition– not after that last time. Wound up in a Bulgarian sweat lodge...with that awful, wrinkled crone...Never quite figured that one out...

Maybe a taxi – "TAXI! TAX – Well, Merry bloody Christmas to you, too!"

Hmm, not too far to walk it I suppose, if I just keep both feet going in one direction...

Oh! Carolers! How charming – singing the Pachelbel in the rain. Oh joy – to be alive and hear this sweet music on Christmastide. Think I'll go over and give a listen...

"Ah, yes, sing children! Lovely, lovely – Oh! Pardon me, madam. So sorry. Please, allow me to re-affix your corsa – Ow! Bloody tart! D'ya think I was gonna snogger you, you old –

"Oh, Merry Evening, Officer. I was just – no, no I'm not trying to cause trouble – believe me, you'd know it if I were. I was merely listening to these delightful uh – well, that rude woman walked right into me. I was not staggering. Well, she was standing right in the way – loitering about – and after all, one can't be expected to just walk around things – people –

"Eh? Home? Why yes, I was just heading there myself...Y – yes. Yes, sir certainly, and right away. No, no please don't trouble yourself, I can find it on my own. Have done, many times...and under worse cirtumnances – circumchance – uh conditions, I can assure you! Good evening and Happy Christmas!"

Bloody berk.

Damn this rain.

I could call, I suppose. Go home and get it out of my system once and for all and leave off with this little drunken stroll in this miserable weather. Besides, winters have gotten colder than they used to be. I might catch pneumonia or maybe the flu. Then perhaps I'd die and wouldn't that be lesson to –

Bugger.

I suppose I could call and ask to speak to the Little Red Witch. I could wish her a Happy Christmas. But she, of course, would insist on putting him on and –

And I might as well talk to the guards outside Bucking-Bloodyham Palace. Hmmph! At least there I'd be able to see the person ignoring me...

What's this?

"Well now, what are you doing out here, eh? You oughtn't be out in the cold at this hour by yourself. What's your name, eh? Oh now – stop fighting; I'm not going to – uh – hurt you. Buck up, lad.

"You're shivering. Here then, come under my coat, you'll be warm. You know, I never used to wear a coat in wintertime. But the winters have gotten so cold. Here, let me hold you close. Yes, that's good, isn't it?

"There's usually no one around on this street. How did you manage to get here? You're homeless, aren't you? A homeless little whelp! Well, the city shelters are closed at this hour. Best I take you to my place. You can warm up there and spend the night. I don't know that I have all that much in the way of food, but I think I can conjure up something. So to speak.

"Here now, don't fidget, I'm only holding onto you to keep you warm. Yes, yes, calm down. I'm quite gentle, you know...

"Hmm...there's something oddly familiar about you, do you know that?

"You're a bit young, but I can see you're going to be quite handsome when you've grown some. You sort of remind me of – yes! Yes, I think it's the eyes. Same expression, just that yours are quite a bit darker.

"You don't have a clue what I'm talking about, do you? No worries. Just stay with me and I'll teach you a thing or two that you'll thank me for later. Not that he ever did...

"Oh, alright then, if you don't want to stay under my coat...Here now, follow me. This way. Come on...

"This is it. My place. Our place. At least for tonight.

"Come in. Come on! Fine time to decide you're afraid of me.

"That's the lad. Here, let's get you onto the couch. Lie down and we'll see if we can warm you up some, eh? Here's a nice warm blanket...Let me just rub your back a little...there. Better isn't it?

"Yes, that's it, relax...

"You're nothing but skin and bone, d'you know? Food for us both, then. I need to shake off this buzz I've got going and you look as though you haven't eaten in a week...

"Here we are – leftovers, but there's a fair amount of red meat in it. Just what a young pup needs. Here now, eat slowly, you're making a bloody mess all over –

"Oh Bugger. Look, I didn't mean to scare you. I just – it's this sodding holiday, it – it's not something I look forward to each year. Makes me a bit peevish. Don't look at me like that! I know that look. Someone else used to look at me the same way. Oh yes, and you favor his look ... "Here, have some water. I'm having a scotch...

"You – you know, I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Ethan. And I don't know your name but I – I'd like to call you – 'Rupert.' You don't mind do you? You really do favor him about the eyes. How does that sound to you? Rupert. Hmm? Eh?

"Oh. Oh...you're asleep."

That didn't take long. I must be losing my touch or whatever it is I used to have.

Well, no matter. Tomorrow, we'll go 'round to the shelter and see if anyone's put in for a lost puppy. If not, you're a handsome enough dog that some nice people will want you for their family pet. Or maybe some sweet grandma for something to talk to besides the telly or some potted plants.

Or maybe – maybe you could stay with me...Man's best friend and all that...but then, I'll have to change your name.

For tonight, though, you can be Rupert...

Happy Christmas, Rupert. Looks like we got inside just in time. Rain's turned to snow out there...

The End

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