Aux Portes des Orages
June 10, 2007
5,592 words
Written for scarletfiction in the maleslashminis's Giles' round. Request
said 'Giles/Xander; anything, I'm easy'. Well, I hope this entertains.
* * *
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.
It was one of those things Xander had learned really quickly the first time he'd been in Africa. There was no annoying sales people calling you at all hours of the night or day to sell you one thing or another; no wrong numbers; no friends calling just to chat, because they all preferred to use emails as it cost a lot less money than an international long distance phone call at ten bucks a minutes; even employers preferred to use the Internet, even though they could afford the rates, or even had the means to magic-up the phone line to reach you in the middle of freaking nowhere.
There was a time when Xander liked that Giles used magic to reach him, because he'd miss hearing Giles' voice, being so far away from him all the time, but these days he was really, really 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 did not want to repeat the experience anytime soon. The funk he'd been in for weeks afterwards hadn't been worth it.
Emails were just a lot more reliable anyway, and didn't create that kind of emotional breakdown.
Xander didn't have internet access regularly, at least, not 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 connect, and get the news on what was what 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 and stomach flip. Especially when he signed his missives with 'Yours, R. Giles,' which he did a lot. Xander knew Giles wasn't doing it consciously, because he signed everyone's email that way. But then again, maybe he was doing it on purpose--and then the crazy would start again, two voices arguing in Xander's head. He'd go for a run until his mind cleared, and 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 if that wasn't the case.
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 toneless rendition of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony startled Xander awake, he figured he was still dreaming, turned to lie on his stomach, pulled the second pillow over his head, and went right back to sleep.
The second time, Xander, still half asleep, lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling. The heat had finally melted his brain; he'd known it was going to happen one day. That was the only explanation for this hallucination. Unless the inn's cook had slipped drugs in Xander's stew last night, which, considering the look she'd given him when he'd asked if they had French Fries, probably wasn't such a crazy thought, really. But, hey, he missed French Fries.
About five minutes after the ringing had stopped, it started again. This time, Xander was actually awake, and had a foot off the bed, and he realized that he couldn't be either hallucinating or dreaming. 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, womanly British voice exclaimed. "We've been trying to get a hold of you all morning, sir."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Xander said, scratching the back of his neck. "I sleep like the dead." It wasn't really a lie, and anyway, trying to explain to whomever this woman was about the phone never ringing and Xander have cause for thinking he was dreaming or hallucinating was kind of pointless to the extreme.
"No matter," the woman said, her tone taking a more serious edge. "I'm calling from London General Hospital."
Oh God. That couldn't be good. Hospitals calling was never a good thing.
"You're listed as Rupert Giles' emergency contact..."
That would be so like Giles, Xander though, shaking his head, and pursing his lips; so very like him 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 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 in the middle of a sentence. 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 'what's his condition, 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 it stop long enough for him to find his balance again. Chances of that actually happening were slim.
"Claudia, sir."
"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 old 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 a bit on his sleep 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. Walking out he barely registered the rain enough to tighten his jacket on 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 Spanish airport, worrying. Giles was in coma; Giles was hurt. What if Xander was too late getting there? What if the injury had gotten worse and Xander ended up having to identify a body instead--
He always stopped himself there because there was just no way Giles was going to die before Xander got there.
Or, you know, ever.
He thanked the cab driver hastily as he got out, 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. He had one hand on the railing and a foot on the first step, and he froze.
He couldn't do this.
He'd walked out. Grabbed just a handbag, the same one he was holding right now, and walked out.
All of it for a reason to 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 effectively 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. This had been so much of a déjà vu thing.
Then he'd received the very first email assignment from Giles. One week exactly after Xander had done his disappearing act. It was cold, and professional, exactly the type of email Giles would send to any of the dozens of employees and Watchers he supervised. There wasn't even a note of 'I miss you' attached, or a hint that Giles was angry or hurt or--something. 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 London's General Hospital, ready to climb three flights of stairs to get to Giles, and make sure he was all right. Giles wouldn't want him here. It 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, wasn't it? 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.
Or maybe Xander had just been waiting for an excuse, and this was his opportunity. Maybe Giles had done it on purpose. Well, not the getting hurt part, because Xander knew just how much Giles hated being knocked unconscious, but the not changing the emergency contact info. Maybe this was his revenge in some way.
Or a means to get Xander back.
Shaking his head, Xander realized he was starting to get odd looks from the staff, patients and visitors in the hallway, and he faked a smile, and he started climbing, taking one stair at a time. There was forty-eight of them, total, to get to the third floor, and from there, it was a little too easy to find room three-oh-five.
Xander could see the open door a little further down the corridor, and he felt the stares of another bunch of people as he walked towards it, his heart beating wildly. He wanted to get there, and get this over with. At least, the lady at the desk hadn't said anything about Giles being in the morgue, so that was one less option to consider, but anything else could still hold true. Giles could be in a coma, or 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. Breathe, and focus, and everything is going to be fine. Just a head injury, nothing more. He 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, 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 and the hospital gown he was wearing, Giles looked exactly like his normal self.
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, feet stuck to the ground and unable to move an inch or say anything, until Giles looked his way and dropped his spoon. "Hi," Xander said. "Rumours of your demise are greatly exaggerated." Well, joking functions were still in service, if a little rusty, that was somewhat of a relief. Although, the 'funny' seemed to go over Giles' head; he just kept staring.
"Xander?"
"Yeah, you're not hallucinating," 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--at least, I think she's a nurse, she didn't tell me, 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, without even asking for all the information, and Giles probably didn't want Xander here at all anyway. "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, eyes on Xander although he didn't seem to be looking at him at all.
"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 it, the hint of longing that he could hear in Giles' voice. He'd gotten really good at deciphering Giles' tones of voice in the past, and it was just so easy to think that that's what he could hear right now, even though he knew full well it was most definitely wishful thinking, and nothing more. "I--okay. If you mean it."
"I do, 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 and a pen.
"Here're your discharge paper, 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, but he hasn't got a concussion, no lasting injuries. He'll be fine." The nurse gave Xander what she probably thought was a reassuring look, but only made Xander glare harder, and then 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. More than what Giles actually said, the slip made Xander look up. 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? He wanted everything back to the way they were before too damn much for it to be any good for either of them. "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 was just not the time to be thrown right back into it, without warning. He wanted to run, grab a cab, the next flight out to Africa and...
Do 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 could not 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 out."
"Sure." Xander led the way down the stairs to the front door. "I'll get us a cab," he said. He walked out, not even looking to see if Giles was following him, 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 and showing no sign of stopping anytime soon, while Giles had his prescription filled out. 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 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', tugged off his shoes, and...
...was pushed against the wall almost immediately, Giles' weight settling over him so familiar, and real, and Giles was kissing him. His lips were rough, his cheeks unshaven, and Xander just kissed back, hard, opening his mouth to Giles' tongue, and moaning. Moaning 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 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, and not wanting to let go. He couldn't let go. He'd been so damned stupid; so stupid to have given that up because of something--that 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 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 he 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 to grab Xander's ass, before Giles took them away.
"Fuck," Xander swore, eyes drifting down to where Giles' fingers were already working on his belt and zipper, and Xander quickly did as he was told, pulling his pants down, shirt over his head, and he 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 sparkling through Xander's veins. He arched towards it, 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 it used to. Xander remembered the marks he used to have, the lovebites 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, over the first week.
There would be another one now, and another and another, and 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 it fade. Never again. 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 really was crying this time, but it didn't matter and he didn't care, because then Giles' skin was against his, and Giles' hand was wrapping around Xander's cock, and Giles' mouth was on his, and 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 cock 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, and 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 tiny moment, that they could forget that the last seven months happened and just 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 don't want to run 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 eased for the first time since he'd walked out the front door a lifetime ago.
"I'll stay," he repeated, once they were settled and Xander 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, not 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' or, you know 'before you get a chance to talk'.
Then Xander realized Giles was doing it on purpose, the whole whispering thing, giving Xander this opportunity to pretend he hadn't heard or do the exact opposite and start the conversation they'd both been dreading apparently. Maybe it was best if they got it out of the way now, too, and it was up to him.
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, he knew what he hadn't known seven months ago when he'd freaked out and ran 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 so 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, and it looked like Giles was more than okay with giving him that chance.
Xander tightened his hold on Giles, and shook his head. "I don't know, 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, I really want to, but there still this part of me that's pretty damn sure I'm going to screw up again, and I just don't know. 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 that might be related or not at all--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, and 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.
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