REPOST: FIC: Aux portes des orages (Giles/Xander, FRAO)
Title: Aux portes des orages
Author: soft_princess
Website: Fly With Me
Date: June 10, 2007
Word count: 5,238
Fandom: AtS/BtVS
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Joss does.
Spoilers: post-Chosen
Summary: He couldn’t do this. He’d walked out. Grabbed just a handbag, the same one he was holding right now, and walked out.
New notes: This is a REPOST of a story I wrote two years ago. I had posted it before it had been betaed and then mireille719 hacked it into pieces. I just finished editing it. Hopefully, it's much better for it.
Old notes: written for scarletfiction in the maleslashminis's Giles' round. Request said 'Giles/Xander; anything, I'm easy'. Well, I hope this entertains.
Title taken from a poem in Le souffle d'une île, by Janique Watier, parts of which are quoted under the cut.
* * *
Je sais que tes pas t'amènent
Vers des torrents sans âge
Qui coulent dans tes veines
Comme une eau de passage. [...]
Je sais que tu t'enfuis
Aux portes des orages
Au seuil de la nuit
Le coeur dans les nuages.
Janique Watier, Le souffle d'une île
* * *
The phone never rang.
Xander had learned that within the first month of being in Africa. There were no annoying salesmen calling; no wrong numbers; no friends calling to chat, because email didn't cost ten bucks a minute; even employers preferred to use the Internet, even though they could afford the rates or had the means to magic-up the phone line to reach you in the middle of freaking nowhere. Or maybe that was just Xander's employer, but it was all the same.
There was a time when Xander liked that Giles used magic to reach him; back then, he’d missed hearing Giles’ voice, but these days he was grateful that Giles had learned to appreciate the wonderfulness that was the World Wide Web. He’d only heard Giles’ voice once in the past seven months, and he didn't want to repeat the experience anytime soon. The funk he’d been in for weeks afterwards hadn’t been worth it.
Emails were a lot more reliable and didn't create that kind of emotional breakdown.
Xander didn’t have Internet access regularly when he was traveling to the remote villages, but he tried to make it to town at least once every week or two, so he could and get the news on what was going on in his friends’ lives. If he’d finished his current assignment, he’d send his report, print out the next assignment, and try not to obsess too much about the things he missed the most.
Just seeing Giles’ name at the bottom of an email was enough to make Xander’s heart flip. Especially when he signed his missives with ‘Yours, R. Giles’. Xander knew Giles signed everyone's email that way, but then again, maybe he was doing it on purpose--and then the crazy would start again. He’d go for a run until his mind cleared and he could focus on the next task and forget all about Giles until it was time to get the following assignment.
In the ‘thank God for small favours’ department, at least Xander liked his job. He’d be too miserable to live otherwise.
Xander carried his cell phone everywhere and always made sure that the battery was fully charged. It never rang, but you never knew when it would come in handy. Emergency was a key word in their business after all.
That morning, though, when the horrible tuneless rendition of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony startled Xander awake. Figuring he must have still been dreaming, he turned to lie on his stomach, pulled the second pillow over his head, and went right back to sleep.
About five minutes after the ringing had stopped, it started again. This time, Xander was actually awake. The phone was ringing. He got up to his feet and grabbed his shoulder bag, digging his phone out from under a change of clothes. Caller ID said ‘unknown’, and Xander frowned as he flipped the phone open and answered: “Xander Harris.”
“Mr. Harris, thank the Lord!” a soft, female British voice exclaimed. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Xander said, scratching the back of his neck. “I sleep like the dead.” It wasn’t really a lie.
“No matter,” the woman said, her tone taking a more serious edge. “I’m calling from St. Gerard's Hospital in London.”
Oh, God. That couldn’t be good. A hospital calling was never a good thing.
“You’re listed as Rupert Giles’ emergency contact...”
That would be so like Giles, Xander thought, shaking his head and pursing his lips, to have forgotten to change that after...
Wait, emergency contact? Xander concentrated on listening. Freaking out would occur soon now; he could feel it.
“He was brought in with a head injury early this morning,” the woman continued, completely oblivious to Xander’s inner thoughts. “He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, and we’re afraid...”
She kept talking, but Xander didn’t listen. His brain had already taken a train in another direction, and was way off into ‘this can’t be happening’ land. Giles could not be hurt. The point of his being the head of the Council was that he had other people there to get the head injuries instead of him. “Excuse me,” he interrupted the woman. She stopped so abruptly that it took Xander a moment to remember what he was going to ask. “What’s your name?” he finally said, although he was pretty sure that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Maybe something more like, ‘will he be okay?’ but he couldn’t bring himself to actually say it out loud.
The words ‘unconscious’ and ‘afraid’ kept running in circles in his mind, and he just needed time to make them stop long enough for him to find his balance again. Chances of that actually happening were slim.
“Claudia Bramley, sir. I'm a nurse in unit three-b.”
“Okay, all right,” Xander muttered, looking around the room and already thinking about what he needed to pack. “Look, I’m going to grab the next flight out. I’m in Africa right now, I should be there within the next day or two, just--“ make sure he doesn’t die. Another thing he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud, so he muttered a thank you and hung up without letting her say another word.
Finding a ride to the airport was surprisingly easy. The Innkeeper was climbing into his beat-up truck when Xander came out into the sun, and offered him a ride, which Xander greedily accepted. It was getting a flight out that was the trickier part. Xander ended up booking a flight to Spain and grabbing one for London from there, catching up on his sleep a little during the eight-hour layover, although the worry made it very hard to actually sleep.
Finally, thirty-two hours after he’d hung up the phone, Xander landed at Heathrow. He hurried away from the crowd as soon as he could, clutching his shoulder bag tightly. He walked out, barely registering the rain enough to tighten his jacket across his chest, and hailed a cab.
He’d spent the whole flight, and most of his time on the not-so-comfortable chairs in the airport at Madrid, worrying. Giles was in coma; Giles was hurt. What if Xander was too late getting there? What if the condition had gotten worse and Xander ended up having to identify a body instead--
He always stopped himself there. There was just no way Giles was going to die before Xander got there.
Or, you know, ever.
He got out of the cab quickly, almost forgetting to pay him. He stopped at the information desk, shaking his head when they gave him the name of the ward Giles was in and saying, “Which room, which floor, and how do I get there?”
“Room three-oh-five, third floor, the stairs are right here on your left,” the man behind the desk said tersely.
“Thank you.”
Now that he was here, barely minutes from seeing Giles again after walking out on him seven months earlier, Xander froze with one hand on the railing and a foot on the first step.
He couldn’t do this.
He’d walked out. Grabbed just a duffel bag from under the bed, the same one he was holding right now, and walked out.
All of it for a reason so utterly stupid and irrational that Xander had known it was both the moment he’d slammed the front door shut behind him. He’d still left. Out of pride, out of not wanting to face those issues, ever, and knowing that he would have to if he went back in and tried to talk to Giles about it. So he hadn't. He'd continued on, grabbed the next flight out to Africa, and never looked back.
Xander had closed the door on possibly the best thing he’d ever had.
He had hated himself. The guilt and the shock of what he’d done, of how he’d run away, transforming itself into deep-seated hatred, and he hadn’t gotten out of his tiny hotel room for a long time. So much for learning from his mistakes; he'd had to go and do it all over again.
Then he'd received the very first email assignment from Giles, exactly one week after Xander had done his disappearing act. It was cold and professional, just the type of email Giles would send to any of the dozens of Watchers he supervised. There wasn't even a note of 'I miss you' attached, or a hint that Giles was angry or hurt or--anything. Xander figured that, well, if Giles could write him out of his life that fast, then he hadn't really meant a word of what he'd said, and Xander could totally write Giles out of his own life too.
Well, except for the part where he was working for the man, but they managed that part without too much interaction.
The whole thing hadn’t worked as well as Xander had thought it would, though, because here he was, in St. Gerard's Hospital, ready to climb three flights of stairs to get to Giles, even though Giles wouldn’t want him here. That had been on Xander's mind since the layover in Spain, when the urge to turn around had shown up, but he'd refused to think about it. Now, though, the thought finally seeped through his defences.
This was such a bad idea.
Not thinking things through was kind of Xander's forte. He hadn't even thought about it yesterday, just hung up, went straight to the airport and got his ass back to England. He'd come all this way just because Giles was an idiot and hadn't changed his emergency contact information.
Maybe Xander had just been waiting for an excuse, and this was his opportunity. He hadn't been consciously waiting for a moment to explain himself to Giles, to try to make amends, but it was easy to realize that he'd been waiting for this.
Or maybe Giles had done it on purpose. Well, not the getting hurt part, but the not changing the emergency contact info. Maybe this was his revenge in some way.
Or a way to get Xander back.
Xander realized he was starting to get odd looks from the staff, patients and visitors in the hallway, and he faked a smile. Shaking his head, he started climbing, taking one stair at a time. There was forty-eight of them, total, to get to the third floor.
Xander could see the open door of room three-oh-five a little further down the corridor, and he walked towards it, his heart beating wildly. He wanted to get this over with. At least he knew Giles wasn't in the morgue, but anything else could still hold true. Giles could be seriously banged up; he could have broken bones, and--oh God, what if he was paralysed?
Breathe, he told himself, remembering the exercises Giles had taught him when they'd first gotten to England and Xander had the first of many panic attacks. The psychiatrist Giles had taken Xander to had said something about PTSD and the "loss of loved ones" and would he like to be on medication? Xander had said no, and that had been the one and only time he'd seen the guy. Giles had been a lot more helpful about it. Breathe, focus, and everything is going to be fine. Giles' just got a head injury, nothing more. But damn, they'd called him in fucking Africa, and yeah, okay, cellphone, so they probably didn't even know he'd been down there, and really, head injuries weren't "just" anything. Xander leaned against the wall just a few feet from the door, carefully avoiding everyone's eyes--thankfully, there weren't as many people here as there had been downstairs--and took a few deep breaths. He waited until his heartbeat had slowed down, turning down someone's offer of a seat, and then took the last few steps towards the room.
Where Giles was sitting comfortably on the bed, eating something that looked vaguely like pudding and watching the news. Apart from the bandage, about as big as Xander's palm, on the side of his head, Giles looked exactly like his normal self. He wasn't even wearing a hospital gown.
A normal self Xander suddenly realized he'd missed a whole lot more than he'd let himself believe.
He stood there in the doorway, unable to move an inch or say anything, until Giles looked his way and dropped his spoon. "Hi," Xander said.
"Xander?"
"Yeah," Xander said, biting his lower lip and taking two steps inside. "Mind if I close the door?" he asked, hand on the handle. He didn't want any of the people in the hallway to hear whatever they were going to say.
"No, please, go right ahead," Giles replied. He pushed the tray table away from the bed and leaned back against the pillow.
Xander pushed the door closed and came further into the room, hands buried in his pockets. "So..."
"How--I mean, why are you here?"
"The nurse--anyway, I got a phone call this mor--no, yesterday morning, telling me you'd gotten a head injury and you weren't conscious, and I--" He shrugged and sighed. God, he was so stupid. He'd acted without thinking, and Giles probably didn't want Xander here at all. "I seem to be an expert at making rash decisions without thinking, so I grabbed the first flight out of there."
"Why did they call you?" Giles frowned.
"Emergency contact. Someone forgot to, you know--" Xander shrugged again.
"Oh, dear lord, Xander, I'm sorry," Giles muttered.
"Why? That they called me? I'm not. Unless you don't want me here," And oh God, that thought hurt a lot. "In which case, I get it, really, and uh, I'll be out of your hair and all that."
"No, bloody hell, Xander, no, please, stay," Giles said quickly.
Xander really wanted to believe him, believe the hint of longing that he could hear in Giles' voice. "I--okay. If you mean it."
"I do, please," Giles said again. He opened his mouth to say something else, when the door swung open, and a nurse walked in with some papers held in her hand.
"Here are your discharge papers, Mr. Giles, if you would just sign down here." She handed Giles the papers and pointed to the bottom of the page.
"They're discharging you already?" Xander asked, looking at the nurse and lifting his eyebrow. "Isn't it kinda soon?"
The woman turned to him, and shook her head. "You must be Mr. Harris. Claudia said she'd got a hold of you yesterday, but when we tried to call back, there was no answer."
"Yeah, probably because I was in a plane where I can't get phone calls." He glared at her. "Why is he being discharged?"
"It's just a nasty bruise, sir," she said with a smile, obviously not in the least bothered by his glaring and raised eyebrow. "Mr. Giles will be fine. Lots of rest and painkillers, and he should be right as rain on Monday morning."
"Right on time for work," Giles replied. Xander wanted to smack him. Just a little.
"What about the part where he wasn't conscious when you--er, Claudia called me?"
"Oh, he was awake just an hour later. Just knocked out cold by the blow, he has a concussion, but no lasting injuries. He'll be fine." The nurse gave Xander what she probably thought was a reassuring look, but only made Xander glare more seriously at her, and turned back to Giles. "Thank you, Mr. Giles, you're free to go. Dr. Granger's given you the prescription for the meds, yes?" At Giles' nod, she continued. "All right, then just call if the pain gets any worse, or if the bruising expands further. Otherwise, rest is in order; don't overdo it."
"I won't, thank you," he said.
Xander watched the nurse leave, arms crossed over his chest. They really shouldn't be releasing Giles yet, what if something went wrong? A head injury could be serious, and...
"She's gone, dea--Xander, you might want to stop glaring at the closed door, now."
Xander noticed the slip. A lump settled in his throat, and he closed his eye, gulping.
"Xander?" Giles sounded worried all of a sudden.
"Nothing," Xander said, feeling guilty, and not just for his reaction. He would never be able to make this right now, would he? "Just get dressed. I'll get you home."
Home.
Shit, shit, shit. Xander wasn't ready for this.
He'd spent seven months avoiding the issue entirely, and now he was being thrown right back into it without warning. He wanted to run, grab a cab, get the next flight out to Africa and...
Make the same fucking mistake all over again. "I'm an idiot."
"Pardon?" Giles was in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head, pants already on and fastened.
The sight of Giles' skin was too much. Xander shook his head and headed for the door. "I'll wait outside."
He closed the door behind himself and leaned against the wall, in the same spot he'd been just a few minutes ago. He was screwed; he was just so screwed. He could still run, he had time to run downstairs before Giles came out of the room, and grab a cab, and...
No. Fucking hell, no, he wasn't going to let this happen again. Even if the dreaded conversation was getting closer and closer, and Xander couldn't avoid it without ruining the rest of his life, again.
He had to stop running every time his life started to get too tough. This was getting just a little bit too ridiculous to be funny anymore. Not that it ever had been in the first place.
The door opened, and Giles walked out, holding a bag in one hand and his copy of the discharge papers in the other. "We'll have to stop by the pharmacy on the way; I've a prescription to fill."
"Sure." Xander led the way to the elevator, trusting the orderly would follow him with Giles, and then to the front door. "I'll get us a cab," he said. He walked out and waved at the cabs waiting in the designated area.
The whole ride was spent in silence. Xander waited in the cab, staring out the window at the rain falling steadily, while Giles had his prescription filled. He only answered the driver's attempts at conversation with 'mmm,' and after a while, the man gave up. For the first time in months, Xander wanted to be home. Right now, he wanted this whole thing to be over with and he wanted to be home.
With Giles; Giles' arm around his shoulder while they watched the news, and Giles' voice in the morning telling him it was time to get up, and the noises Giles made when he was cooking supper for them after a long day at work, and...
He just wanted Giles.
Who was opening the door, and sitting down on the cab seat clutching a paper bag in his hand. Giles gave the address to the driver and then looked at Xander with a small, guarded smile.
Which Xander found himself answering.
The cab stopped in the driveway of their small house--Giles' small house, and Giles paid the driver, grabbed his bag and got out. Xander took one last deep breath and followed Giles inside the house. He dropped his bag next to Giles', looked down at his shoes wondering whether he should be offering to call someone to stay with Giles or take the shoes off...
...and was pushed against the wall almost as soon as the door clicked shut. Giles' weight settled over him, still so familiar that Xander’s body adjusted to it without conscious thought, and Giles was kissing him. His lips were rough, his cheeks unshaven, and Xander kissed back, hard, opening his mouth to Giles' tongue. He moaned so loud that it was all he could hear--that, and the sound of Giles breathing, so close to his ear. Xander put a hand around Giles' neck, and pulled him closer, his other hand cupping Giles' cheek, and God.
He wasn't crying; it was just the rain that was dripping from his hair, nothing else. He was frantic, though, trying to wrap his legs around Giles, wanting him closer still. He couldn't let go. He'd been so damned stupid; so stupid to have given this up because of something… something he didn't want to remember or care about right now, because Giles' hands were under his shirt, and it had been way too fucking long.
Xander's cock hardened quickly, digging painfully into the zipper of his pants--which he realized he'd had on for two days, and he must have been smelling awful right then. "God," he whispered, when they pulled back just enough to breathe. "Shower?"
"Not now," Giles whispered back, before diving in again, his lips pressing even harder against Xander's, his tongue fucking Xander's mouth deeper.
Xander could feel Giles' erection against his thigh, and he reached down, squeezing it and rubbing it with his palm. God, he'd missed this, missed the gasps Giles made and the way he rolled his hips when he wanted more and couldn't say so because his mouth was otherwise occupied.
"Fuck me," Xander said. His voice was hoarse, but he knew he got the message across when Giles stilled and let out a breathless moan.
"I intend to. Later, once we’re in bed, and I can prepare you properly,” Giles whispered hoarsely. “Take off your clothes, please,” he added, hands drifting down to grab Xander's ass, before letting go to reach for Xander’s belt buckle.
"Fuck," Xander swore, eyes following Giles’ arm down to where Giles' fingers were already working on his belt and zipper. He quickly did as he was told, pulling his pants down and his shirt over his head, and leaned his back to the wall again, bracing himself. "Please."
"Dear lord, Xander," Giles murmured. He put his hand on Xander's stomach, fingers splayed on the skin, and the touch was like electricity sparking through Xander's veins. He arched towards Giles’ hand, wanting, needing more. "I've missed you, love, I've missed you so bloody much."
"Me too," Xander answered, leaning his head to the side invitingly. “Missed you so much. Please.” Barely a second later, Giles' mouth was on his shoulder, kissing and sucking and biting, just like he used to. Xander remembered the marks he used to have, the love-bites on his shoulders that he used to stare at for such a long time when he was in the bathroom. They had faded too fast. He hadn't been gone for a week before they had all faded.
There would be another one now, and another and another; Giles would make sure they'd never fade. He’d promised once that Xander would always have this reminder, and it was Xander’s fault if he’d let the marks fade. Never again.
Now there were fingers between Xander's legs, cupping him, stroking, and Xander thrust forward, moaning low in his throat and urging Giles for more. "Please," he said again.
"Yes, dear one, tell me what you need," Giles whispered, just like he used to. The same words, the same tone, and shit, Xander could feel the tears on his cheeks now. It didn't matter, though, because Giles’ skin was against his, and Giles' hand was wrapping around Xander’s cock, and Giles’ mouth was on his as Xander moved with him.
“God, yes,” Xander groaned. “You, I need you.” He wrapped both arms against Giles, pulling him even closer. He whimpered when their erections touched. God, he’d missed this. Missed everything about Giles; his voice, his touch, his smell, his house. Home.
This was home.
Giles was thrusting against him hard and fast, cock rubbing against cock, angling his hips perfectly and letting out that soft, breathy moan that Xander loved so much, as if Giles remembered everything, every little touch and sound that made Xander go crazy. Overwhelmed, it didn't take them long to come, gasping and shuddering together, as their cocks throbbed and spilled on their stomachs.
They let the wall hold them up in the aftermath, Giles' mouth raining kisses along Xander's neck as they caught their breath.
"Stay,” Giles murmured into Xander’s ear, hand stilling on Xander’s skin.
They hadn't talked. They hadn't said anything about that issue. Xander knew it would come up again, but right now, he couldn't care less. Giles wrapped his arms around him and turned him around, kissing him again.
"Upstairs," Xander replied, although he knew it wasn’t really an answer. "Please." He wanted the bed, wanted to hold Giles close and believe, even if it was just for a moment, that they could forget that the last seven months had happened and start over again from where they'd left off.
"Anything you want, Xander, anything," Giles whispered. "But will you stay?"
"Yes," Xander finally answered. "Yes, I'll stay, I promise. No more running away. I want you. I miss you. I'll stay."
Giles kissed him again, hard and way too short before he pulled back. They both left their clothes in a tangle on the floor and walked up the stairs, not even bothering to check if the door was locked. They could worry about it later. They climbed into bed, gathering the covers over their bodies, and Xander buried himself against Giles' side, heart beating wildly, but his mind was at ease for the first time since he'd walked out the front door a lifetime ago.
"I'll stay," Xander repeated, once they were settled and he could trust himself to speak without letting the emotions spill out. Giles stayed silent for a moment, and Xander looked up into his eyes, frowning and uncertain.
Giles pressed their lips together then, and Xander buried his head in Giles’ shoulder again, sighing contently. That’s when Giles said it again, asked it with the same words he’d used seven months ago. It was low; and Xander almost couldn't hear it with Giles' mouth buried in Xander's hair the way it was, but he still managed to make out the words.
"Will you marry me, Xander?"
Even Giles made mistakes, apparently, because Xander was pretty sure there was a rule, right there after the one about not running away from difficult issues, that explicitly said, ‘Don’t bring up said issues just an hour after you make up.’
Then Xander realized Giles was doing it on purpose, the whole whispering thing, giving Xander this opportunity to pretend he hadn't heard. He was leaving it up to Xander. Maybe it was best if they got it out of the way now, though.
That was the scary part: it was all up to Xander to fix this; no one was going to swoop in and wave a magic wand and make all the issues and the self-doubt disappear.
Xander knew, though, what he hadn't known seven months ago when he’d freaked out and run away at the mention of marriage. He could exist without Giles; he now had proof of that. But he couldn't live without him, or at least, he really didn't want to have to. He wasn't going to run away this time. Not ever again. Not over something as stupid as his fear of commitment. Twice in a lifetime was more than enough for him. At least, this time, he had a second chance to make it right.
Xander tightened his hold on Giles and shook his head. "I don't know," he repeated over and over again, breathing in the scent of Giles and feeling strangely okay with not knowing the answer now. "I don't know. I want to say yes, but there's still this part of me that’s pretty damn sure I’m going to screw up again. Can we talk about it another time? After I've had a shower, and sleep, and I'm not feeling like the whole world just finally got back on the right axis after being out of whack for so long?"
Giles let out a soft laugh, tightening his arms and kissing Xander's head. He sounded relieved when he said, "Yes, love, anything you want," and it made Xander a little bit guilty. The kind of guilt that would never really go away; he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve Giles and yet...
"As long as I stay right here, yeah?"
...he wouldn't be leaving again anytime soon. Not the least because Giles needed him right now. They still had to talk about Giles being attacked, and about Giles working too much, and about a million other things--and Xander deeply hated talking about things, but he couldn't just stand there doing nothing and hope that it would all go away. It never did, and then he ended up being miserable. Apparently, so did Giles.
"As long as you stay,” Giles whispered, cupping Xander’s cheek and making him look up. Their eyes locked, and Xander felt his heartbeat quicken at the intensity in Giles’ eyes.
“I never want to be without you again," Giles added, his thumb dragging across Xander’s lower lip.
Xander’s eyes drifted across Giles’ forehead. He’d almost completely forgotten about Giles’ actual injury, but it was right there, the bandage still firmly set on Giles’ forehead. Xander touched it gently, noticing the bruised skin surrounding it for the first time. The nurse had said ‘rest’ and they’d done the opposite of that when they’d walked in. Maybe sleep was in order now.
"You won't. I promise," he finally said, and he meant it, with every fibre of his being, because he didn’t want to have to live without Giles. He’d been spinning out of control, but now he was back right where he belonged, and he was going to stay here. Stay home. And Giles obviously wanted--needed--him here; that bandage was all the proof Xander would ever need. But then the sex, and the tone of Giles' voice, the look in his eyes, the fact that Xander was in this bed at all, were also pretty good clues.
"Then nothing else matters, dear one.” Another soft, fleeting kiss, this time on Xander’s lips.“Nothing else matters. Sleep. It can wait."
Giles was right, Xander thought. Nothing else mattered more than this. Nothing ever would.
The end.
Author: soft_princess
Website: Fly With Me
Date: June 10, 2007
Word count: 5,238
Fandom: AtS/BtVS
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Joss does.
Spoilers: post-Chosen
Summary: He couldn’t do this. He’d walked out. Grabbed just a handbag, the same one he was holding right now, and walked out.
New notes: This is a REPOST of a story I wrote two years ago. I had posted it before it had been betaed and then mireille719 hacked it into pieces. I just finished editing it. Hopefully, it's much better for it.
Old notes: written for scarletfiction in the maleslashminis's Giles' round. Request said 'Giles/Xander; anything, I'm easy'. Well, I hope this entertains.
Title taken from a poem in Le souffle d'une île, by Janique Watier, parts of which are quoted under the cut.
* * *
Je sais que tes pas t'amènent
Vers des torrents sans âge
Qui coulent dans tes veines
Comme une eau de passage. [...]
Je sais que tu t'enfuis
Aux portes des orages
Au seuil de la nuit
Le coeur dans les nuages.
Janique Watier, Le souffle d'une île
* * *
The phone never rang.
Xander had learned that within the first month of being in Africa. There were no annoying salesmen calling; no wrong numbers; no friends calling to chat, because email didn't cost ten bucks a minute; even employers preferred to use the Internet, even though they could afford the rates or had the means to magic-up the phone line to reach you in the middle of freaking nowhere. Or maybe that was just Xander's employer, but it was all the same.
There was a time when Xander liked that Giles used magic to reach him; back then, he’d missed hearing Giles’ voice, but these days he was grateful that Giles had learned to appreciate the wonderfulness that was the World Wide Web. He’d only heard Giles’ voice once in the past seven months, and he didn't want to repeat the experience anytime soon. The funk he’d been in for weeks afterwards hadn’t been worth it.
Emails were a lot more reliable and didn't create that kind of emotional breakdown.
Xander didn’t have Internet access regularly when he was traveling to the remote villages, but he tried to make it to town at least once every week or two, so he could and get the news on what was going on in his friends’ lives. If he’d finished his current assignment, he’d send his report, print out the next assignment, and try not to obsess too much about the things he missed the most.
Just seeing Giles’ name at the bottom of an email was enough to make Xander’s heart flip. Especially when he signed his missives with ‘Yours, R. Giles’. Xander knew Giles signed everyone's email that way, but then again, maybe he was doing it on purpose--and then the crazy would start again. He’d go for a run until his mind cleared and he could focus on the next task and forget all about Giles until it was time to get the following assignment.
In the ‘thank God for small favours’ department, at least Xander liked his job. He’d be too miserable to live otherwise.
Xander carried his cell phone everywhere and always made sure that the battery was fully charged. It never rang, but you never knew when it would come in handy. Emergency was a key word in their business after all.
That morning, though, when the horrible tuneless rendition of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony startled Xander awake. Figuring he must have still been dreaming, he turned to lie on his stomach, pulled the second pillow over his head, and went right back to sleep.
About five minutes after the ringing had stopped, it started again. This time, Xander was actually awake. The phone was ringing. He got up to his feet and grabbed his shoulder bag, digging his phone out from under a change of clothes. Caller ID said ‘unknown’, and Xander frowned as he flipped the phone open and answered: “Xander Harris.”
“Mr. Harris, thank the Lord!” a soft, female British voice exclaimed. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Xander said, scratching the back of his neck. “I sleep like the dead.” It wasn’t really a lie.
“No matter,” the woman said, her tone taking a more serious edge. “I’m calling from St. Gerard's Hospital in London.”
Oh, God. That couldn’t be good. A hospital calling was never a good thing.
“You’re listed as Rupert Giles’ emergency contact...”
That would be so like Giles, Xander thought, shaking his head and pursing his lips, to have forgotten to change that after...
Wait, emergency contact? Xander concentrated on listening. Freaking out would occur soon now; he could feel it.
“He was brought in with a head injury early this morning,” the woman continued, completely oblivious to Xander’s inner thoughts. “He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, and we’re afraid...”
She kept talking, but Xander didn’t listen. His brain had already taken a train in another direction, and was way off into ‘this can’t be happening’ land. Giles could not be hurt. The point of his being the head of the Council was that he had other people there to get the head injuries instead of him. “Excuse me,” he interrupted the woman. She stopped so abruptly that it took Xander a moment to remember what he was going to ask. “What’s your name?” he finally said, although he was pretty sure that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Maybe something more like, ‘will he be okay?’ but he couldn’t bring himself to actually say it out loud.
The words ‘unconscious’ and ‘afraid’ kept running in circles in his mind, and he just needed time to make them stop long enough for him to find his balance again. Chances of that actually happening were slim.
“Claudia Bramley, sir. I'm a nurse in unit three-b.”
“Okay, all right,” Xander muttered, looking around the room and already thinking about what he needed to pack. “Look, I’m going to grab the next flight out. I’m in Africa right now, I should be there within the next day or two, just--“ make sure he doesn’t die. Another thing he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud, so he muttered a thank you and hung up without letting her say another word.
Finding a ride to the airport was surprisingly easy. The Innkeeper was climbing into his beat-up truck when Xander came out into the sun, and offered him a ride, which Xander greedily accepted. It was getting a flight out that was the trickier part. Xander ended up booking a flight to Spain and grabbing one for London from there, catching up on his sleep a little during the eight-hour layover, although the worry made it very hard to actually sleep.
Finally, thirty-two hours after he’d hung up the phone, Xander landed at Heathrow. He hurried away from the crowd as soon as he could, clutching his shoulder bag tightly. He walked out, barely registering the rain enough to tighten his jacket across his chest, and hailed a cab.
He’d spent the whole flight, and most of his time on the not-so-comfortable chairs in the airport at Madrid, worrying. Giles was in coma; Giles was hurt. What if Xander was too late getting there? What if the condition had gotten worse and Xander ended up having to identify a body instead--
He always stopped himself there. There was just no way Giles was going to die before Xander got there.
Or, you know, ever.
He got out of the cab quickly, almost forgetting to pay him. He stopped at the information desk, shaking his head when they gave him the name of the ward Giles was in and saying, “Which room, which floor, and how do I get there?”
“Room three-oh-five, third floor, the stairs are right here on your left,” the man behind the desk said tersely.
“Thank you.”
Now that he was here, barely minutes from seeing Giles again after walking out on him seven months earlier, Xander froze with one hand on the railing and a foot on the first step.
He couldn’t do this.
He’d walked out. Grabbed just a duffel bag from under the bed, the same one he was holding right now, and walked out.
All of it for a reason so utterly stupid and irrational that Xander had known it was both the moment he’d slammed the front door shut behind him. He’d still left. Out of pride, out of not wanting to face those issues, ever, and knowing that he would have to if he went back in and tried to talk to Giles about it. So he hadn't. He'd continued on, grabbed the next flight out to Africa, and never looked back.
Xander had closed the door on possibly the best thing he’d ever had.
He had hated himself. The guilt and the shock of what he’d done, of how he’d run away, transforming itself into deep-seated hatred, and he hadn’t gotten out of his tiny hotel room for a long time. So much for learning from his mistakes; he'd had to go and do it all over again.
Then he'd received the very first email assignment from Giles, exactly one week after Xander had done his disappearing act. It was cold and professional, just the type of email Giles would send to any of the dozens of Watchers he supervised. There wasn't even a note of 'I miss you' attached, or a hint that Giles was angry or hurt or--anything. Xander figured that, well, if Giles could write him out of his life that fast, then he hadn't really meant a word of what he'd said, and Xander could totally write Giles out of his own life too.
Well, except for the part where he was working for the man, but they managed that part without too much interaction.
The whole thing hadn’t worked as well as Xander had thought it would, though, because here he was, in St. Gerard's Hospital, ready to climb three flights of stairs to get to Giles, even though Giles wouldn’t want him here. That had been on Xander's mind since the layover in Spain, when the urge to turn around had shown up, but he'd refused to think about it. Now, though, the thought finally seeped through his defences.
This was such a bad idea.
Not thinking things through was kind of Xander's forte. He hadn't even thought about it yesterday, just hung up, went straight to the airport and got his ass back to England. He'd come all this way just because Giles was an idiot and hadn't changed his emergency contact information.
Maybe Xander had just been waiting for an excuse, and this was his opportunity. He hadn't been consciously waiting for a moment to explain himself to Giles, to try to make amends, but it was easy to realize that he'd been waiting for this.
Or maybe Giles had done it on purpose. Well, not the getting hurt part, but the not changing the emergency contact info. Maybe this was his revenge in some way.
Or a way to get Xander back.
Xander realized he was starting to get odd looks from the staff, patients and visitors in the hallway, and he faked a smile. Shaking his head, he started climbing, taking one stair at a time. There was forty-eight of them, total, to get to the third floor.
Xander could see the open door of room three-oh-five a little further down the corridor, and he walked towards it, his heart beating wildly. He wanted to get this over with. At least he knew Giles wasn't in the morgue, but anything else could still hold true. Giles could be seriously banged up; he could have broken bones, and--oh God, what if he was paralysed?
Breathe, he told himself, remembering the exercises Giles had taught him when they'd first gotten to England and Xander had the first of many panic attacks. The psychiatrist Giles had taken Xander to had said something about PTSD and the "loss of loved ones" and would he like to be on medication? Xander had said no, and that had been the one and only time he'd seen the guy. Giles had been a lot more helpful about it. Breathe, focus, and everything is going to be fine. Giles' just got a head injury, nothing more. But damn, they'd called him in fucking Africa, and yeah, okay, cellphone, so they probably didn't even know he'd been down there, and really, head injuries weren't "just" anything. Xander leaned against the wall just a few feet from the door, carefully avoiding everyone's eyes--thankfully, there weren't as many people here as there had been downstairs--and took a few deep breaths. He waited until his heartbeat had slowed down, turning down someone's offer of a seat, and then took the last few steps towards the room.
Where Giles was sitting comfortably on the bed, eating something that looked vaguely like pudding and watching the news. Apart from the bandage, about as big as Xander's palm, on the side of his head, Giles looked exactly like his normal self. He wasn't even wearing a hospital gown.
A normal self Xander suddenly realized he'd missed a whole lot more than he'd let himself believe.
He stood there in the doorway, unable to move an inch or say anything, until Giles looked his way and dropped his spoon. "Hi," Xander said.
"Xander?"
"Yeah," Xander said, biting his lower lip and taking two steps inside. "Mind if I close the door?" he asked, hand on the handle. He didn't want any of the people in the hallway to hear whatever they were going to say.
"No, please, go right ahead," Giles replied. He pushed the tray table away from the bed and leaned back against the pillow.
Xander pushed the door closed and came further into the room, hands buried in his pockets. "So..."
"How--I mean, why are you here?"
"The nurse--anyway, I got a phone call this mor--no, yesterday morning, telling me you'd gotten a head injury and you weren't conscious, and I--" He shrugged and sighed. God, he was so stupid. He'd acted without thinking, and Giles probably didn't want Xander here at all. "I seem to be an expert at making rash decisions without thinking, so I grabbed the first flight out of there."
"Why did they call you?" Giles frowned.
"Emergency contact. Someone forgot to, you know--" Xander shrugged again.
"Oh, dear lord, Xander, I'm sorry," Giles muttered.
"Why? That they called me? I'm not. Unless you don't want me here," And oh God, that thought hurt a lot. "In which case, I get it, really, and uh, I'll be out of your hair and all that."
"No, bloody hell, Xander, no, please, stay," Giles said quickly.
Xander really wanted to believe him, believe the hint of longing that he could hear in Giles' voice. "I--okay. If you mean it."
"I do, please," Giles said again. He opened his mouth to say something else, when the door swung open, and a nurse walked in with some papers held in her hand.
"Here are your discharge papers, Mr. Giles, if you would just sign down here." She handed Giles the papers and pointed to the bottom of the page.
"They're discharging you already?" Xander asked, looking at the nurse and lifting his eyebrow. "Isn't it kinda soon?"
The woman turned to him, and shook her head. "You must be Mr. Harris. Claudia said she'd got a hold of you yesterday, but when we tried to call back, there was no answer."
"Yeah, probably because I was in a plane where I can't get phone calls." He glared at her. "Why is he being discharged?"
"It's just a nasty bruise, sir," she said with a smile, obviously not in the least bothered by his glaring and raised eyebrow. "Mr. Giles will be fine. Lots of rest and painkillers, and he should be right as rain on Monday morning."
"Right on time for work," Giles replied. Xander wanted to smack him. Just a little.
"What about the part where he wasn't conscious when you--er, Claudia called me?"
"Oh, he was awake just an hour later. Just knocked out cold by the blow, he has a concussion, but no lasting injuries. He'll be fine." The nurse gave Xander what she probably thought was a reassuring look, but only made Xander glare more seriously at her, and turned back to Giles. "Thank you, Mr. Giles, you're free to go. Dr. Granger's given you the prescription for the meds, yes?" At Giles' nod, she continued. "All right, then just call if the pain gets any worse, or if the bruising expands further. Otherwise, rest is in order; don't overdo it."
"I won't, thank you," he said.
Xander watched the nurse leave, arms crossed over his chest. They really shouldn't be releasing Giles yet, what if something went wrong? A head injury could be serious, and...
"She's gone, dea--Xander, you might want to stop glaring at the closed door, now."
Xander noticed the slip. A lump settled in his throat, and he closed his eye, gulping.
"Xander?" Giles sounded worried all of a sudden.
"Nothing," Xander said, feeling guilty, and not just for his reaction. He would never be able to make this right now, would he? "Just get dressed. I'll get you home."
Home.
Shit, shit, shit. Xander wasn't ready for this.
He'd spent seven months avoiding the issue entirely, and now he was being thrown right back into it without warning. He wanted to run, grab a cab, get the next flight out to Africa and...
Make the same fucking mistake all over again. "I'm an idiot."
"Pardon?" Giles was in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head, pants already on and fastened.
The sight of Giles' skin was too much. Xander shook his head and headed for the door. "I'll wait outside."
He closed the door behind himself and leaned against the wall, in the same spot he'd been just a few minutes ago. He was screwed; he was just so screwed. He could still run, he had time to run downstairs before Giles came out of the room, and grab a cab, and...
No. Fucking hell, no, he wasn't going to let this happen again. Even if the dreaded conversation was getting closer and closer, and Xander couldn't avoid it without ruining the rest of his life, again.
He had to stop running every time his life started to get too tough. This was getting just a little bit too ridiculous to be funny anymore. Not that it ever had been in the first place.
The door opened, and Giles walked out, holding a bag in one hand and his copy of the discharge papers in the other. "We'll have to stop by the pharmacy on the way; I've a prescription to fill."
"Sure." Xander led the way to the elevator, trusting the orderly would follow him with Giles, and then to the front door. "I'll get us a cab," he said. He walked out and waved at the cabs waiting in the designated area.
The whole ride was spent in silence. Xander waited in the cab, staring out the window at the rain falling steadily, while Giles had his prescription filled. He only answered the driver's attempts at conversation with 'mmm,' and after a while, the man gave up. For the first time in months, Xander wanted to be home. Right now, he wanted this whole thing to be over with and he wanted to be home.
With Giles; Giles' arm around his shoulder while they watched the news, and Giles' voice in the morning telling him it was time to get up, and the noises Giles made when he was cooking supper for them after a long day at work, and...
He just wanted Giles.
Who was opening the door, and sitting down on the cab seat clutching a paper bag in his hand. Giles gave the address to the driver and then looked at Xander with a small, guarded smile.
Which Xander found himself answering.
The cab stopped in the driveway of their small house--Giles' small house, and Giles paid the driver, grabbed his bag and got out. Xander took one last deep breath and followed Giles inside the house. He dropped his bag next to Giles', looked down at his shoes wondering whether he should be offering to call someone to stay with Giles or take the shoes off...
...and was pushed against the wall almost as soon as the door clicked shut. Giles' weight settled over him, still so familiar that Xander’s body adjusted to it without conscious thought, and Giles was kissing him. His lips were rough, his cheeks unshaven, and Xander kissed back, hard, opening his mouth to Giles' tongue. He moaned so loud that it was all he could hear--that, and the sound of Giles breathing, so close to his ear. Xander put a hand around Giles' neck, and pulled him closer, his other hand cupping Giles' cheek, and God.
He wasn't crying; it was just the rain that was dripping from his hair, nothing else. He was frantic, though, trying to wrap his legs around Giles, wanting him closer still. He couldn't let go. He'd been so damned stupid; so stupid to have given this up because of something… something he didn't want to remember or care about right now, because Giles' hands were under his shirt, and it had been way too fucking long.
Xander's cock hardened quickly, digging painfully into the zipper of his pants--which he realized he'd had on for two days, and he must have been smelling awful right then. "God," he whispered, when they pulled back just enough to breathe. "Shower?"
"Not now," Giles whispered back, before diving in again, his lips pressing even harder against Xander's, his tongue fucking Xander's mouth deeper.
Xander could feel Giles' erection against his thigh, and he reached down, squeezing it and rubbing it with his palm. God, he'd missed this, missed the gasps Giles made and the way he rolled his hips when he wanted more and couldn't say so because his mouth was otherwise occupied.
"Fuck me," Xander said. His voice was hoarse, but he knew he got the message across when Giles stilled and let out a breathless moan.
"I intend to. Later, once we’re in bed, and I can prepare you properly,” Giles whispered hoarsely. “Take off your clothes, please,” he added, hands drifting down to grab Xander's ass, before letting go to reach for Xander’s belt buckle.
"Fuck," Xander swore, eyes following Giles’ arm down to where Giles' fingers were already working on his belt and zipper. He quickly did as he was told, pulling his pants down and his shirt over his head, and leaned his back to the wall again, bracing himself. "Please."
"Dear lord, Xander," Giles murmured. He put his hand on Xander's stomach, fingers splayed on the skin, and the touch was like electricity sparking through Xander's veins. He arched towards Giles’ hand, wanting, needing more. "I've missed you, love, I've missed you so bloody much."
"Me too," Xander answered, leaning his head to the side invitingly. “Missed you so much. Please.” Barely a second later, Giles' mouth was on his shoulder, kissing and sucking and biting, just like he used to. Xander remembered the marks he used to have, the love-bites on his shoulders that he used to stare at for such a long time when he was in the bathroom. They had faded too fast. He hadn't been gone for a week before they had all faded.
There would be another one now, and another and another; Giles would make sure they'd never fade. He’d promised once that Xander would always have this reminder, and it was Xander’s fault if he’d let the marks fade. Never again.
Now there were fingers between Xander's legs, cupping him, stroking, and Xander thrust forward, moaning low in his throat and urging Giles for more. "Please," he said again.
"Yes, dear one, tell me what you need," Giles whispered, just like he used to. The same words, the same tone, and shit, Xander could feel the tears on his cheeks now. It didn't matter, though, because Giles’ skin was against his, and Giles' hand was wrapping around Xander’s cock, and Giles’ mouth was on his as Xander moved with him.
“God, yes,” Xander groaned. “You, I need you.” He wrapped both arms against Giles, pulling him even closer. He whimpered when their erections touched. God, he’d missed this. Missed everything about Giles; his voice, his touch, his smell, his house. Home.
This was home.
Giles was thrusting against him hard and fast, cock rubbing against cock, angling his hips perfectly and letting out that soft, breathy moan that Xander loved so much, as if Giles remembered everything, every little touch and sound that made Xander go crazy. Overwhelmed, it didn't take them long to come, gasping and shuddering together, as their cocks throbbed and spilled on their stomachs.
They let the wall hold them up in the aftermath, Giles' mouth raining kisses along Xander's neck as they caught their breath.
"Stay,” Giles murmured into Xander’s ear, hand stilling on Xander’s skin.
They hadn't talked. They hadn't said anything about that issue. Xander knew it would come up again, but right now, he couldn't care less. Giles wrapped his arms around him and turned him around, kissing him again.
"Upstairs," Xander replied, although he knew it wasn’t really an answer. "Please." He wanted the bed, wanted to hold Giles close and believe, even if it was just for a moment, that they could forget that the last seven months had happened and start over again from where they'd left off.
"Anything you want, Xander, anything," Giles whispered. "But will you stay?"
"Yes," Xander finally answered. "Yes, I'll stay, I promise. No more running away. I want you. I miss you. I'll stay."
Giles kissed him again, hard and way too short before he pulled back. They both left their clothes in a tangle on the floor and walked up the stairs, not even bothering to check if the door was locked. They could worry about it later. They climbed into bed, gathering the covers over their bodies, and Xander buried himself against Giles' side, heart beating wildly, but his mind was at ease for the first time since he'd walked out the front door a lifetime ago.
"I'll stay," Xander repeated, once they were settled and he could trust himself to speak without letting the emotions spill out. Giles stayed silent for a moment, and Xander looked up into his eyes, frowning and uncertain.
Giles pressed their lips together then, and Xander buried his head in Giles’ shoulder again, sighing contently. That’s when Giles said it again, asked it with the same words he’d used seven months ago. It was low; and Xander almost couldn't hear it with Giles' mouth buried in Xander's hair the way it was, but he still managed to make out the words.
"Will you marry me, Xander?"
Even Giles made mistakes, apparently, because Xander was pretty sure there was a rule, right there after the one about not running away from difficult issues, that explicitly said, ‘Don’t bring up said issues just an hour after you make up.’
Then Xander realized Giles was doing it on purpose, the whole whispering thing, giving Xander this opportunity to pretend he hadn't heard. He was leaving it up to Xander. Maybe it was best if they got it out of the way now, though.
That was the scary part: it was all up to Xander to fix this; no one was going to swoop in and wave a magic wand and make all the issues and the self-doubt disappear.
Xander knew, though, what he hadn't known seven months ago when he’d freaked out and run away at the mention of marriage. He could exist without Giles; he now had proof of that. But he couldn't live without him, or at least, he really didn't want to have to. He wasn't going to run away this time. Not ever again. Not over something as stupid as his fear of commitment. Twice in a lifetime was more than enough for him. At least, this time, he had a second chance to make it right.
Xander tightened his hold on Giles and shook his head. "I don't know," he repeated over and over again, breathing in the scent of Giles and feeling strangely okay with not knowing the answer now. "I don't know. I want to say yes, but there's still this part of me that’s pretty damn sure I’m going to screw up again. Can we talk about it another time? After I've had a shower, and sleep, and I'm not feeling like the whole world just finally got back on the right axis after being out of whack for so long?"
Giles let out a soft laugh, tightening his arms and kissing Xander's head. He sounded relieved when he said, "Yes, love, anything you want," and it made Xander a little bit guilty. The kind of guilt that would never really go away; he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve Giles and yet...
"As long as I stay right here, yeah?"
...he wouldn't be leaving again anytime soon. Not the least because Giles needed him right now. They still had to talk about Giles being attacked, and about Giles working too much, and about a million other things--and Xander deeply hated talking about things, but he couldn't just stand there doing nothing and hope that it would all go away. It never did, and then he ended up being miserable. Apparently, so did Giles.
"As long as you stay,” Giles whispered, cupping Xander’s cheek and making him look up. Their eyes locked, and Xander felt his heartbeat quicken at the intensity in Giles’ eyes.
“I never want to be without you again," Giles added, his thumb dragging across Xander’s lower lip.
Xander’s eyes drifted across Giles’ forehead. He’d almost completely forgotten about Giles’ actual injury, but it was right there, the bandage still firmly set on Giles’ forehead. Xander touched it gently, noticing the bruised skin surrounding it for the first time. The nurse had said ‘rest’ and they’d done the opposite of that when they’d walked in. Maybe sleep was in order now.
"You won't. I promise," he finally said, and he meant it, with every fibre of his being, because he didn’t want to have to live without Giles. He’d been spinning out of control, but now he was back right where he belonged, and he was going to stay here. Stay home. And Giles obviously wanted--needed--him here; that bandage was all the proof Xander would ever need. But then the sex, and the tone of Giles' voice, the look in his eyes, the fact that Xander was in this bed at all, were also pretty good clues.
"Then nothing else matters, dear one.” Another soft, fleeting kiss, this time on Xander’s lips.“Nothing else matters. Sleep. It can wait."
Giles was right, Xander thought. Nothing else mattered more than this. Nothing ever would.
The end.