Fic: Best Imitation of Myself (Giles/Xander, FRT)
Giles/Xander
Rating: FRT
Word count: 1297
Disclaimer: NOT MINE. *Weeps*

Endless thanks to janedavitt for the beta and advice.
Backup fic for the gilesxander ficathon. For soft_princess, with much love.


Best Imitation of Myself
by WesleysGirl


Giles' legs felt stiff as he walked up the stairs to his front door. It had been another incredibly long, exhausting day at the office, and while it was well past dinner time and his stomach was tight with hunger he knew he wasn't going to have the energy to eat. All he wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep.

He didn't realize until he'd unlocked the door and stepped inside that he'd been able to see interior lights glowing through the window, and by the time he did, he was already tripping over Xander's discarded boots. He caught himself and blinked down at them, not sure he should believe what he was seeing. "Xander?" he said uncertainly, but there was no answer.

The underside of the boots -- which were most definitely Xander's, the ends of the laces shredded -- was coated with a thin layer of mud. It had rained a few hours before, which probably explained it. Still...

Putting the boots on the mat where they belonged, Giles set down his bag and hung his jacket on the hook behind the door, then started back toward the kitchen, beyond which were the stairs that led up to the first floor. In the kitchen doorway, Xander's familiar, worn leather jacket lay on the floor. Giles picked it up, discovered it was damp, and draped it over the nearest kitchen chair, then turned the corner. There, just at the foot of the stairs, was Xander's suitcase, with Glasgow airport's tags still attached. It was damp, too, when Giles touched it, but he left it where it was and went up, listening for sounds from the bedroom or bathroom.

In the doorway to the bedroom, Giles paused. The lamp in the corner was on; although its bulb provided only a pale golden glow, it was plenty of light by which to see the man lying, asleep, across the unmade bed. Beside Xander's hand, his battered wallet lay on the blanket along with his keys. His eye was closed, his breathing slow and steady, and Giles moved quietly nearer, studying him. Watching him.

He hadn't known Xander was returning home today. Any other time, they would have spoken on the phone daily, and Giles would have driven to the airport to meet Xander, but things between them had been strained since Xander received word that his mother was dying. Cancer, swift-moving and devastating. Giles had assumed, not unreasonably, he felt, that he would travel with Xander back to California, to provide emotional support and for the inevitable funeral. Xander, in no uncertain terms, had insisted that it wasn't necessary.

"It's not about what's necessary," Giles had said, frustrated. "We've been together for years, Xander. Surely your family must know --"

But Xander had shaken his head and closed the bathroom door in Giles' face, and the next morning Giles had found himself alone in their bed, and a note folded carefully beside his glasses on the chest of drawers. It read, simply, I'll be back when it's over.

That had been nearly a month ago.

A week after he'd gone, there'd been a single phone call in the middle of the night, Xander's voice distant with more than the miles between them. "She died tonight. Just a little while ago."

"I'm so sorry," Giles said. "So very sorry, Xander. Is there -- is there anything I can do?"

"No." Xander cleared his throat. Giles wondered if he'd been crying. "The funeral's gonna be in a couple of days, and then I might -- I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Neither of them brought up the fact that Xander had left without saying goodbye, and after a few more awkward exchanges, Xander hung up, leaving Giles with the phone pressed to his ear.

Now, nearly three weeks later, seeing Xander's weary face relaxed in sleep, Giles forgot his initial irritation, and the subsequent long nights of worry. He sank down onto the bed and reached out to touch Xander's shoulder.

Xander stirred, woke. "Hey," he said, and hitched closer to rest his head on Giles' thigh. "What time is it?"

"After eight," Giles said. "When did you get back?"

"Hm. Dunno. Three?" Xander sighed. "Kinda lost track. Too many time zones."

Giles stroked Xander's hair. "I wish you'd phoned. I would have left the office early -- I would have come to the airport to meet you."

"Really?" Xander's voice was that of someone suddenly wide awake, someone who knew there was a situation to be dealt with. "Even after..."

"After you left without even saying goodbye?" Giles finished for him. "After you wouldn't let me come with you?" He spoke gently, wanting to make sure Xander didn't misunderstand. "Yes. Yes, I still would have come for you. I love you. Nothing will change that."

Xander wrapped an arm around Giles' legs and hugged them awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Giles told him.

"I do," Xander said. "I should have explained. I know -- I know you thought it was about me not wanting them to know about you." He sat up, his one eye searching Giles' face intently. "That I was, I don't know, ashamed of you, or of us being together, or something. But it wasn't that."

He swallowed and looked down; Giles cupped his chin and lifted his face again. "Tell me," Giles said.

"He's the one I'm ashamed of," Xander said softly, miserably, and Giles knew he was talking about his father. "I knew what he was going to be like -- drunk and acting like that was his excuse for being an asshole. But that's the poorly hidden secret -- he doesn't need to be drunk. He's just an asshole."

"It must have been very difficult."

Xander nodded. "I didn't -- I didn't want you to see him, and then maybe start thinking about how I'm related to him. I didn't want you to know where I came from. It's just... a little too much to take in. But it was about him, not you."

Giles leaned in to brush his lips against Xander's. "I understand that. I do. But..." He hesitated, not wishing to disturb this truce they'd negotiated with more questions.

"But where the hell have I been for the past three weeks?" Xander grimaced, looking ashamed. "Drunk, mostly. Trying to forget, which was stupid, I know. How much dumber can you be than trying to erase the knowledge that your own living parent is an asshole alcoholic by becoming one yourself?"

Aching for him, Giles wrapped a hand around the back of Xander's neck and pulled him into an embrace. "It may not have been the brightest move, no, but you did come home in the end."

"Yeah," Xander said, voice muffled against Giles' shoulder. "What else could I do? I mean, you're here. It made me feel better, thinking about it. Knowing that you were here, waiting for me. I wish I could have come home sooner."

So do I, Giles thought but didn't say. There was no point in giving Xander any further ammunition against himself. "I'm very, very sorry about your mother. And that I couldn't be there to make things easier for you."

"I didn't want you there," Xander said. "I just -- I want you here. I need you here. And me, too. Here, I can be, you know, this version of me. The one I can actually live with."

"I love every version of you," Giles said truthfully. He rubbed the back of Xander's neck. "Now, should we get you something to eat?"

Xander shook his head. "I'm not hungry. Will you just lie down with me for a while?"

"Of course."

When they'd settled into a comfortable position, with Xander's head pillowed on Giles' shoulder, Xander sighed and said, "God, I missed you."

"I missed you, too. Terribly," Giles said, and kissed Xander's temple before closing his eyes.




Request:
Scenario you want to see: Xander was on a long trip abroad, now comes home.
Time period you would most want it to be set in: some years Post-Chosen
Time period you absolutely do *not* want: comics
Two things you want included: established though currently strained relationship, home is somewhere not England or the US.
Two things you do *not* want included: adultery in any way or form, character death.