Coming Home
by Dr Squidlove
drsquidlove @ virginqueen.com

Written for gilesxander Octoberfest.

Summary: Xander leaves Giles for Africa. They are reunited five different ways.
Sort of a 'five things' variant, with a prologue.

Giles/Xander. Some angst, some smoosh.

Yes for No One Knows (thanks Sofy).
Archive anywhere as long as the header, most particularly my e-mail address & website, are kept intact *on* the story. (Intact, please, not as a weird-arse link that will disappear with c+p.)

Rated PG for one small apocalypse.
Story contains a teeny bit of violent images. No sex, actual violence, or underage anything. I don't warn for anything else.

Wordcount: 2664

Feedback is life. I welcome all kinds, including crit.

All my blings belongs to Joss.


Coming Home

Goodbye


Xander closed his duffle and pushed it against the wall beside his shoes. He wandered back to the kitchen, took one last swig of cocoa and set it in the sink. Not long, now.

Last cup of cocoa. Weird.

He was looking around as he headed out of the kitchen, through the front room, up the stairs, like he was gonna remember it all better from these two minutes than from the last six months. No lingering down here, though.

Xander quietly pushed the door open and leaned in the jam. This is where he'd linger.

Giles had rolled onto his back, head flopped sideways, jaw shadowed lightly with stubble. His hair was squashed flat on the back, spiking weirdly everywhere else. This was the image he wanted to take with him; so much he almost could have stayed right here, until it was time to head back downstairs.

Only almost. He wasn't stupid.

Xander padded across the carpet to sit on the edge of the mattress, breathed the smell of him, stroked from shoulder to elbow before resting his hand on Giles' arm and squeezing, shaking softly. "Giles."

Eyes opened slowly, foggy green, closed and opened again. "Xander?"

"Hey."

Giles twisted his head to see the clock and stiffened, staggered up on his elbows. "I slept in! I'm so sorry, why didn't you-"

"I turned off the alarm."

He frowned, uncomprehending. "Why on earth did you do that?"

"I liked watching you sleep." Xander pushed his shoulder until he lay back on the bed. "Don't get up."

Giles rubbed his eyes, and squinted towards the clock again. "But you're leaving in-"

"All the more reason to keep you there." He pushed aside the sheet and laid his head on Giles' chest. It was hot and a little sticky, hair scratching his cheek, heart thumping slow and steady in his ear. Giles' hands felt good, as one settled on his back and one rubbed his neck where his muscles knotted when he read too long.

It was reassuring, and it was terrifying because he didn't know how he'd do without it. He didn't know how he was gonna do this.

"Don't go."

Xander slid a finger over the slick bumps of Giles' ribs. "This was your idea."

"That was the Giles who thinks about what's good for you." Giles' chest vibrated under his cheek as he spoke.

"Who am I talking to now?"

"The Giles who wants what's best for him." The hand on Xander's back squeezed, and then softened.

They'd already had all the conversations and arguments they needed. They'd marked maps and scheduled phone calls. Xander had yelled when Giles suggested it was okay to sleep around in Africa, and Giles had frozen him out for a week when Xander insisted on visas for Tanzania and Burundi.

The trip been Giles' idea in the first place, but there'd been plenty of times when it was ascended-mayor-in-the-room obvious that Giles wished he could take it back. Too late: the moment it was out there, Xander had known he had to go. He had to do something that was his, alone.

The fingers stroking Xander's neck threatened to send him back to sleep, until a horn honked outside, and they both froze.

Xander was petrified. Of Africa, of the languages, of the girls he was going there to find, of what would happen here, without him. He knew how Giles felt, but this was going to be months. Their relationship was still measured in months.

He pushed up, and got a look at Giles' face. Beautiful. "Kiss me."

Giles did, hot and deep, hand fisting in Xander's hair like he might try to leave halfway through. Xander tried to store it in his memory, the taste and shape and need of him. Last Giles kiss.

"Stay here," he whispered, when they finally parted. "Go back to sleep."

Giles stayed as Xander pulled away, but he didn't close his eyes. He watched Xander straighten up and slip on his eye patch with the same pouty expression he had when Xander got up early on Sunday mornings. This was how Xander wanted to see him for the last time, not pressed at the window or huddled in his ratty knee-length robe on the front step.

Last look at Giles, and this one Xander knew he would remember, in perfect detail. Satisfied, he slipped out the door, and headed down the stairs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

White


Bed was soft. He didn't want to get up yet, it was bright outside but he was so comfy. Sleepy. Nice.

"Xander?"

Xander smiled but he didn't move. "Little bit longer." Lips on his forehead, and Giles was whispering that he had to wake up, so Xander opened his eye. Nice green eyes. "Come to bed."

Giles stroked his hair. That felt nice. "Do you know where you are?"

Xander widened his focus, with effort. Lots of white. "Not in Kansas."

"You're in Cairo."

Cairo. Okay. Not... Sudan? And Giles? "So are you." Giles didn't belong in Cairo. "Looks like hospital."

"That's right. You were in an accident."

Xander swallowed. His throat was dry. "Doesn't hurt."

Giles glanced up to the poles by the bed with a wry smile. "I'm sure it doesn't." The smile was kind of forced.

"Bad?"

Hacking coughs from another room, and nurse-talk in the corridor, and silence in here.

"That bad?" Seemed like he should be paying attention, but his eyes kept closing. So tired.

"Bad enough that I get to take you home when you're stable. You won't be fighting anything for a good long while."

"Home's good."

Awake long enough to feel lips on his, and he was smiling when he slipped back under.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Red


Xander was reloading the dishwasher when he heard a key searching for the lock. He took a long, slow breath. A crash of keys hitting concrete, and a moment later they were picked up; the key slid home and the door squeaked open.

He slid a glass onto the rack and waited; soon shuffling footsteps brought Giles to the kitchen and Xander realised he hadn't been prepared at all.

Neither had Giles. He stared at Xander, slack-jawed, red eyes wide, looking haggard and rumpled, and drunk.

Giles put a hand on the wall to steady himself. "What are you doing here?"

"I came home."

The tone went right over Giles' head, and a smile spread over his face as he took a step forward.

Xander stepped back.

Giles finally noticed the kitchen, clear benches, empty sink, eyebrows creeping high. "You came home and cleaned?"

"What," Xander asked through his teeth, "are you doing?"

Giles just blinked at him, like it wasn't the most obvious question in the world.

Xander slammed the dishwasher shut and stepped aside, so Giles could see the recycling box. "What the hell are you doing?"

Giles looked from Xander to the box, and back again, swaying slightly. "You came home and poured the contents of the liquor cabinet down the sink?"

"Every fucking drop."

He stared at the stack of empty bottles, no indication of whether he was going to blow up or back down, until his eyes widened and set on Xander. "Not my eighteen year-old Macallan?"

"Every fucking drop."

"Xander, that was a hundred and twenty pounds!"

"Giles-"

"You couldn't have given it away?"

Xander shoved off the counter and marched for the front room, stopped when Giles caught his arm. His grip was way too tight, and he was hidden on Xander's blind side, but Xander didn't turn his head. Giles blew out a long breath that stank of beer. "You weren't here."

"This is my fault?"

"That's not..." Giles let him go, and sagged back against the doorframe, hand coming up to rub his forehead. "What was I supposed to do? Call and say 'Xander, I realise you've lost your home and half your sight and the woman you loved, but I hate my job and I'm afraid of the Bringers under my bed so could you please come home and hold my hand?'"

Xander lifted his hands, and let them drop. "Why wouldn't you?"

No answer. Xander turned around and went back to the dishwasher, piling in the last few plates. He wanted something to do, something that didn't involve looking at Giles. It was Cleveland all over again, except this time Xander wasn't going to be such an idiot as to believe taking the glass out of Giles' hand and kissing him would be a magical cure.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing," Giles said at last, sounding like he passed exhausted some time back in June. Xander slowed his packing, not wanting to miss a word. "How in god's name do I build a new Council without books, without records, without *watchers*? How can I possibly run the bureaucracy for hundreds of slayers, without becoming Quentin bloody Travers?"

Xander grabbed the bench, and squeezed hard. "You ask for help. You remember for five minutes that you're not the lone adult, anymore." He forced himself to turn around. "You trust me."

Giles had taken off his glasses, was staring blearily down at them in his hands.

This was a waste of time, tonight. "Go to bed. We'll talk when you're sober."

Giles slipped his glasses back on, to see him properly. "Aren't you-"

"I'm sleeping on the couch." Xander pushed past and this time Giles didn't try to stop him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Grey


Xander shivered as he hitched his duffle up on his shoulder. London was freezing. He stepped out of the arrivals gate, scanning the crowd for the driver they'd sent to- Giles.

He was standing alone, all in black and painfully thin, and Xander flashed back on the Gentleman guys, but there was no false grin when Xander caught his elbows; Giles just whispered, "Xander," and hugged him so tight it finally squeezed out the tears that had been locked in since Xander got the phone call. He jammed his teeth together when his jaw trembled. Not here.

The stiff suit didn't smell like Giles, so Xander buried his face in his hair and breathed. So warm.

Giles finally loosened his grip and cupped Xander's face instead, for a good look. His eyes were red and puffy behind his glasses, mouth tight. "Willow and Kennedy are already back at the house with Andrew and Rona and the rest of the girls. Everyone's here. Faith and Robin, Riley and his wife. Oz heard, I don't know how. Angel and Spike came together, if you can believe that."

"Can we stake them, now?"

Giles smiled, a little. "At least not until after the service."

"How's Dawn?"

Giles breathed out, and closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against Xander's. "I'm so glad you're here."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Black


Xander hated Marseilles already. Stupid dark, narrow alleys. He was sure it was the right street, but he couldn't find a fucking number anywhere, and he really, really needed to get inside. It was too dark to see anything coming, and the stench from the bodies was turning his stomach, and he was about one minute away from sitting on the kerb for a good, hard cry. Something creaked, and Xander almost tripped over backwards.

"Xander!"

"Will!"

God. Thank god. He threw himself inside, into her arms, but she shoved him along and turned back to the door, chanting a fresh charm on it.

"Where's-"

"He's in there."

Xander's knees wobbled, but he stayed on his feet and staggered into chaos. The room was jammed with strangers wrapped in blankets, some wide-eyed and silent, some crashed out asleep while a bunch of girls argued. No one stirred at the new arrival.

It took a second to find Giles, crouched over near the side wall, still whole, thank god. He was wrapping Andrew's shoulder, barely looking at what he was doing as he talked to Dawn. She saw him first, and Giles followed her gaze, relief slackening his face. "The book?"

"Sorry."

"Dammit, Xander." He shoved Andrew's hand onto the end of the bandage and climbed to his feet.

Xander hadn't felt this much like the Zeppo in a long time. Contribution: zero. "I lost my bag."

"You *lost* it?"

"I didn't leave it on a fucking bus, Giles. They caught up with me on the Medjerda, and my bag got eaten along with most of the crew."

He'd been running for a week, hadn't eaten since Niger or slept since Chad and his eye patch was somewhere on the bottom of the Medjerda River. None of it mattered, because half of Europe was gone and now they were just fighting for days.

Giles pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "It's fine. Buffy will be back soon, we'll think of something."

It was Andrew, not Giles, who clambered over the sleeping bodies to pat him down for injuries. Giles just stood there, looking like the refugee he was, until Amanda and Vi dragged him into their argument.

Xander had known since Willow's little 'grab the book and get to France' brain-o-gram that he was sliding in on the end of whatever was left, and he'd run all the faster for it, wanting every hour, every minute he could get. He'd forgotten that in the last days, Giles would belong to them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yellow


Xander closed the door and laid his trusty duffle gently inside. Kicked his shoes off beside it. He struggled off his jacket and hung it on the stair rail post, relieved that it was at least a little bit warmer in here.

Giles had been doing some redecorating. 'Reorganising downstairs,' was how he'd put it on the phone, and Xander had thought he meant a few extra bookshelves, not ripping up the carpet and buying a lounge suite to seat a dozen people. It looked all right, he supposed. More importantly, he didn't care.

Up the stairs, to find the door ajar, so he could slip through to watch.

Giles was sprawled across the centre of the bed, one arm flung wide across Xander's side. His hair had grown longer, getting a bit of curl in it, every curl striking out in its own direction. He was bristly with morning shadow.

Xander had worried that he'd look older, like Xander had missed more than eight months, but he looked the same, as if Xander had just doubled back for his passport.

He thought about waiting here, watching as Giles woke naturally, but he'd left that patience back in the airport in Accra.

He toed off his socks and slipped off his shirt. He was probably a little ripe from the flight, but Giles was probably sweating under the big sunflower duvet so it was all fair. He dropped his eye patch on top of the pyramid of books that had taken over his nightstand. Button and zip and his jeans were gone, and Giles muttered softly as Xander slid in beside him.

His skin burned against Xander's as Xander slithered around him, hot and sticky, but it wasn't until Xander pressed his cold nose into Giles' neck to breathe him in that Giles woke with something that sounded like "Angh."

Half-woke, at least, squirmed, and a couple of seconds later managed a "Wha?"

"Morning," Xander murmured.

"Xander?" Suddenly more awake. "Xander?"

"Did you expect someone else?"

Flipped onto his back under all Giles' weight, crushed in a hug, and all his lingering fears were kissed away. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Isn't this better?"

Giles leaned in to kiss him some more and jerked back, and looked again. "You have a beard." His fingers found it and rubbed along Xander's jaw. Oh yeah.

"Do you like it?"

"I have no idea." He laughed, and he was right here in the room, where Xander could feel his body shake, see his lips curling up. Right here, where Xander could taste him and smell him, and every detail was perfect.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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