Title: I've Been Waiting So Long...
Author: soft_princess
Website: Fly With Me
Date: October 23, 2007
Word count: 1,250

Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Joss does.
Spoilers: Post-Chosen
Summary: The less people knew that he, and he alone, was the reason Xander had run away -- Giles and his drunken words and wandering hands -- the better.

Note: written for the Giles/Xander Fest's Dabble-a-Day prompts @ gilesxander. This fic was built using three prompts:

#16: "each hour like each hour before / this longing is a voice on the wind"
#18: "Morning after"
#21: "And you've waited so long and I've been waiting long enough for you."

There were maybe two people who knew where Xander was.

Even among his own friends, only Willow had had any contact with him in the past three months, and she fiercely guarded the secret of his whereabouts as if she was prepared to fight anyone -- and win -- over it.

"He's fine," she'd answered him when Giles had risked asking. "He'll call when he's ready to go back to work."

Nothing in the tone of her voice or expression on her face betrayed whether or not she knew the events that had prompted Xander to leave, mid-assignment, and hide.

It's better this way, Giles tried to convince himself. The less people knew that he, and he alone, was the reason Xander had run away -- Giles and his drunken words and wandering hands -- the better. The look in Xander's eye was burned in Giles' memory.

"Are you even going to remember this in the morning? You're drunk." Accusatory tone and piercing glare that burned deep. "Look at me, Giles! Does this even mean anything to you?"

Giles stared into the storm outside his window, and replayed those moments over and over again. Yes, he'd remembered, every second and every breath, but he'd never had a chance to answer the second question.

When the waiting stretched him too thin, he looked forlornly at the bottle of scotch, sitting on the kitchen counter, exactly where it had been that very night. Two nights later, Giles poured it down the drain.






Sunlight streamed through the blinds into the bedroom when Giles opened his eyes. After a week of stormy weather, the sight was definitely pleasant.

"Hey."

Giles looked up at the doorway and immediately scrambled for his glasses. "Xander?" Definitely Xander, leaning against the doorframe with a blush on his cheeks -- although Giles couldn't decide whether it was from too much sun or from something else -- and looking as if he hadn't left at all.

"Yeah," Xander whispered hoarsely. "Can I--?" He waved at the bed.

"Yes, of course," Giles said, sitting up. "Come in."

Xander walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "I hope you don't mind, I-- I still had my key."

"That's quite all right," Giles managed to say.

"I got here last night, you were already in bed, so I crashed on your couch, and--"

"You're always welcome here, Xander." Why he'd want to, after what had happened and all those months away, Giles had no idea, but the welcome stood.

Xander stared ahead, and pinched his lips. After a moment of silence, he turned to Giles and opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again a second later.

Giles thought maybe he knew exactly how Xander felt. There were things he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask, all on the tip of his tongue, and yet nothing felt appropriate. Instead, he reached out and cupped Xander's cheek. He said, "I have missed you."

"You're doing it again," Xander said. He didn't sound annoyed or angry, just resigned, and that, more than the words, made Giles pull his hand away from Xander's skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. The apology didn't mean much now, and Giles knew that. He just hoped it was enough for Xander not to run away again.

"I know you blame yourself." Xander was staring ahead, past Giles to the wall behind the bed. "I know, and you shouldn't, because you're not the reason I-- left," he finished, lamely.

"Then what is?" Giles asked, quickly, before he could even think of what to say. "Why did you go if not because of what I did and said that night?"

Xander sighed. "You remembered." Not a question, not really, more like a statement of a fact that Xander had known, but never acknowledged. "I didn't think you would, not with how drunk you were. But that's still not the point. I just-- I freaked out. What happened, what you said, it was just like, the cherry on top of the sundae, the icing on the cake, whatever you want to call it."

"The tip of the iceberg?" Giles supplied. He reached out again, just holding his hand for Xander to either take or ignore. He should tell Xander about the scotch, about watching it swirl down the drain and how that hadn't hurt at all, just made him feel empty. Later.

"Yeah, that." Xander ran a finger against Giles' palm, and huffed, shaking his head. "Look, the touching thing? I really don't-- I don't get it, Giles, you didn't use to..."

"Yes," Giles murmured. He looked up from his hand, still burning from Xander's light touch, and met Xander's gaze.

"What?"

"The second question you asked me, the answer's yes."

"Oh."

Xander looked nervous, maybe a little breathless all of a sudden, and Giles grabbed his hand firmly. "This-- I'm not--" He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, wishing his heart to stop beating quite so fast in his chest. If he hadn't been so glad, so relieved, to have Xander here with him, Giles would have wondered if this early in the morning was the right time to discuss this; but he was glad, and he was relieved. "Yes, it does mean something to me, just like I hope it does to you."

Xander didn't look at him, but his palm shifted in Giles' grip until their fingers were entwined.

Giles hadn't meant for this to creep up on him, but it had. It had become such a part of him that in the aftermath of Sunnydale, he'd forgotten to keep quite as much control on himself as he should have. There had been pats on the back, longing looks, embraces that had lasted far too long, until he'd been too drunk and had lost what very little amount of control he'd managed to keep.

"I spent the last three months in California. You know they have a Sunnydale memorial up? It's-- pretty much as cheesy as it sounds." Xander laughed quietly. "I-- I had to say goodbye."

Giles nodded, and squeezed Xander's fingers.

"Not just to Anya, but to-- to everything. I needed that." He finally turned to Giles and met his eyes. "I think I'm ready to move on now."

Giles let a smile tug at his lips, small and tentative, and he pulled Xander's hand close to kiss his fingers. The hard grip on his heart was easing, and Giles was able to look at Xander, really look at him. He realized the blush was from the sun. Xander looked healthy, at peace.

More handsome than Giles had ever seen him.

"I've missed you," he said again.

Xander lifted his free hand to Giles' cheek and rubbed his thumb against the stubble. "Yeah," he murmured hoarsely, "me too."

Giles had waited. He'd waited for so long, watching and yearning, and yet, never believing he would, one day, finally, have this.

Xander leaned forward, and Giles' free hand cupped the back of his head without a second thought. In the next moment, Giles felt Xander's dry, strong lips brush against his own, and he tightened his hold on hand and neck. There was no hesitation, no awkward silence and mumbled, drunken, apology, just Xander's mouth and Giles' fingers brushing against the hair at the base of Xander's neck, and the soft, wet feeling of a tongue sneaking between his lips.

Giles held on to Xander's trembling hand.