The Glitter Jungle:
Fiction:
314
Repercussions. Giles/Ethan
He keeps calling my name. In his sleep, trapped in nightmares I could not pretend to understand. He calls my name in a hoarse voice, screaming for my help, and I wake up and hold him. Can't help but think of all the times he screamed and I wasn't there.
If I'd known they torture humans, I'd never have let them take him. "Rehabilitation", I was told, and like a fool, I believed it. I thought they can change him, his views and beliefs. I thought it's somehow like a detox. People quit alcohol, people quit drugs, people can damn well quit Chaos. But it's not the same. And experimenting... it's horrible to even think about it. When they do it to demons, and a thousand times more when they do it to humans.
I realised what I'd done when we broke into the initiative. Saw the horrific things, fought them, and during the whole time I kept thinking, "He's somewhere much like this, having these things done to him. And it's my fault." I couldn't bear the thought. And so later I arranged his release. Called in some favours, pulled some of the few strings I had left. Went to his rescue, like a knight in shiny armour. I didn't think of it that way, of course, not until we opened the cell he was in and he looked at me with big frightened eyes, like I haven't seen since he was a child, since he started learning his magick. I somehow assumed he could survive and thrive in prison. I suspected he could escape, even from a well-guarded, top-secret military facility. He could always get away with things. Get his way. But I was wrong. They broke him.
And they could only do it because I gave him to them.
In my arms, he relaxes. Wipes the tears when he thinks I don't see him. Falls back asleep, after a while. But I lie awake and think of his haunted eyes, every time I try to talk to him about his time with the initiative. About how small he looked in that cell, looking up at me and then smiling and settling back in on his bunk. I had to drag him out of there, half-carrying him, while he insisted he needs to be in his bed to keep the dream from coming to an end. I couldn't help myself but think about the time Angelus tortured me. Xander said this was very much like my own reaction to the rescue mission. Believing that I was dreaming, hallucinating. That the end to my sorrow wasn't real, because there could be no end.
He's only like that in the dead of night. When no one is there but me and him. He'll never break like that in front of anybody else. During the daytime... well, during his waking hours, be they day or night... he's as confident and self assured as ever. Joking around, insulting and annoying people as best as he can, pulling on practical jokes... the best he can do now without his powers. I never thought I'd miss that gloating look on his face after causing some most hideous trouble, that joy in his eyes at playing with danger. But he's still quick with his fingers as he ever was, and he can still play tricks to drive me and my younger friends round the bleedin' bend...
I smile and tighten my arms around him, and he snuggles closer to me,
burrows into my neck. He would never admit to doing that, of course. Or
to crying in his sleep. Or to saying "I love you", which he does. Rarely,
but he does. And when he does, I say it right back, and then he looks at
me with unreadable eyes, a quick look which changes abruptly to mockery.
And then he snorts at me, or says things like, "sod off, you sentimental
arse". If I dare mention that he said it first, he'll deny it fiercely.
But at night, he'll hold me close and won't let go of my hand. And in his
dreams, he'll call out my name.