The Promise of Home

Xander settled his cane next to the side of the booth as he maneuvered into the seat. He stared into the pint of Guinness in front of him, watching the rapid fall of bubbles as the head settled. He repressed the guilty voice in the back of his head that nagged at him for ditching out on physical therapy for the afternoon. Decisions had to be made, and he made decisions better with beer. Not that he made better decisions, but at least beer made it somehow easier to make a decision at all. Beer made a wonderful scapegoat in case things didn't work out. Xander had had enough of responsibility, thank you very much, and beer could share some of the responsibility for this decision.

He sighed and took a deep drink before settling the cold pint back on the beer mat. He glanced around the small pub, taking in the dark wood and the few customers that comprised the clientele at two in the afternoon. The White Lion had become a regular place, a comfortable place for him, one that he had taken to almost immediately when Giles introduced it as a pub that he had frequented often in his rebel years. The pub had changed radically since that time, Giles had been quick to explain as it became apparent that mostly working class older men seemed to frequent it in its current incarnation. But Xander had no problem with the clientele; in fact, he felt at home with the laborers after the months in Africa where he felt disconnected from all of the social classes, alienated by both his lack of familiarity with the culture and language and his frustratingly unwelcome charge to locate slayers and pull them from home and family.

A bullet in his left thigh had put an end to one set of frustrations and brought him new ones in the slow rehabilitation undertaken at the new Council headquarters. That rehab drawing to a close was what had him staring into his Guinness for answers about what to do next. Truth was that Xander didn't want to make the decision. The last months floating from the guest room in Giles's flat to the Council halls had structured his days in a safe way that soothed the nightmares left from the battles with the demons and distraught Slayer families, not to mention the Sudanese militants that had been responsible for getting him shipped back to London.

Xander closed his eyes and quickly downed a third of the pint, ready to abdicate the decision to alcohol sooner rather than later. Guilt poked at him for that feeling, but he told it to fuck off, much the same way he told the dread of searching for a new place to live to fuck off. Beer wasn't much help there. He knew that Giles had only signed on to house him temporarily while he recovered from his wounds, but in that time, they had settled into an easy routine that Xander was loathe to give up. He snorted quietly to himself as he noted that sitting in a pub that was in his head a ‘Giles place' hardly helped with the willingness to leave. Even if he took the Council position in London, he would be on his own in a new apartment. Going back into the field might be easier than that.

God, he was fucked no matter what he chose. He drank down the rest of the ale, debating whether to go for another. He had nowhere to be, and decisions had to be made. Imagining the concerned--and disappointed--look in Giles's eyes when he prevaricated at the question yet again was something he didn't want to face. Ergo decisions. Ergo beer, he reasoned and grabbing his cane, he limped back to the bar.

Pint of Strongbow in hand this time, he returned to the booth and settled in for contemplation a la cider. He stared into the pint, wondering whether he should just flip a coin to make the stay or go decision when a familiar voice brought him out of his brooding.

"Double Bushmills and a pint of bitter." The harsh demand pulled Xander's attention back to the bar to see Giles yank notes out of his wallet and hand them over to the barman.

Xander scrunched back in his seat, uncertain whether he wanted Giles to find him here. At the same time, it occurred to him that being in a pub in the middle of the day wasn't typical behavior for Giles either, nor was double-fisting drinks. Before Xander could decide on a course of action, he realized that he had been spotted.

Giles raised the whiskey to his lips and drank it back in a single go, only to notice that his actions had not gone unseen. He blinked slowly and set the glass down on the bar, trying to gather his emotions together before picking up his pint and crossing over to Xander's booth. He sat down heavily, pushing his briefcase across the seat ahead of him.

"Isn't this your hour for physio with Melinda?" Giles immediately regretted the accusatory tone, but this was definitely a time to use an offensive maneuver to avoid questions he didn't want to answer.

"And your afternoon meeting is with Ronnie over there?" Xander glared as he gestured to the bartender. For a long moment they stared at one another before Xander's guilt and confusion had him turning his eye back down to his cider. "Sorry. I'll do double time with her tomorrow or something."

"Xander, you know that if you don't keep with the regimen, you risk losing the progress you've already made," Giles spoke evenly.

"I know that. I've heard all the pep talks. Believe me, between Mel and all the baby slayers bouncing around cheering me on, I don't need any more pep." He took a long drink. "Besides, one day isn't gonna matter in the long run."

"Is it just one day?"

"Fuck off, Giles, it's not like I'm trying to make myself more of burden around here. I do what I'm told, go to physio, eat right, sleep...when I can. Sorry if it's not going fast enough for you, but not all of us have slayer powers of healing to rely on." He cursed himself for the bitterness, but his insecurities over being in the way and unwanted crawled over the walls of inhibitions lowered by the rapid infusion of alcohol.

"I didn't realize you felt so pressured," Giles continued quietly after a long moment of silence.

Xander shook his head. "I don't, not really." He determined that a change of topic was in order. "So what brings you here this fine afternoon? Has Andrew finally decided that your closed door means keep out to everyone but him?"

"Andrew's in Denmark, retrieving a Osserian mutating wand, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't try to change the subject."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Xander muttered. He glanced at the briefcase next to Giles and then back to his nearly empty glass of cider. Fuck this. Giles clearly didn't want to talk about what brought him in to the pub in the middle of the afternoon, and Xander certainly didn't want to discuss his own uncertainties over his future. Sure, it was kinda nice that Giles wasn't just letting him get away with non-answers, but it wasn't like Xander had any intention of pleading not to be thrown out of the flat that had come to feel more like home than any place since Sunnydale. Looks like sharing time is over. He downed the remainder of his cider and climbed awkwardly to his feet, reaching for and knocking over his cane.

Giles reached down to pick up the cane. He ran his hand over the curved head before handing it over. The cane had been a gift to him in the wake of a spell gone awry, and he suppressed the reminder of using that cane for more punishing amusements than walking as Ethan lay sprawled out on the bed in the London flat that they had shared for an all too brief summer.

"Thanks," Xander said shortly as he grasped the cane. "See you at...back at your place."

"Yes," Giles answered faintly, struggling under the waves of memory. By the time he managed to look up again, Xander had left. Unaware how closely he mirrored Xander's miserable position alone at the table, he allowed his thoughts return to the fax that had arrived a scant hour ago and pulled his pint closer in an ineffectual pursuit of comfort.

*****************

The slamming of the front door and heavy, uneven footsteps on the stairs jolted Xander awake. He rubbed his eye and squinted at the digital clock on the bedside table in Giles's guest room. 1:47AM. The footsteps paused outside the door to his room, and Xander reached for the gun beneath his pillow. Long months in territories rife with guerilla mercenaries had taught him that a loaded gun close at hand was never a bad thing. He held his breath, releasing it slowly as he recognized "Bloody buggering fool" muttered in a drunken attempt at a whisper.

Xander let his hand slide from the gun and sat up slowly, trying to think past the adrenalin coursing through him. The footsteps continued unsteadily down the hall, and before Xander could decide whether to get up and follow, he heard the door to Giles's bedroom open and then close. He frowned into the dark. Giles was drunk. Giles was getting home at nearly two in the morning, and he was drunk. And what the hell was up with standing outside of Xander's door calling him a fool? Hurt vied with worry. He lay back down and pulled the blankets close, telling himself that he would make Giles talk to him in the morning. Well, about whatever it was that had him out pub-crawling till the wee hours, anyway. Xander wasn't too sure he wanted to hear why Giles thought he was an idiot this time.

*****************

"Thanks, Mel," Xander accepted the gym towel gratefully, mopping the sweat off his face and neck. Melinda had upped his reps on the various strength exercises, and he was convinced that she did it in direct retribution for him skipping out the day before. He wanted to be irritated with her, but her naturally cheerful and encouraging demeanor discouraged that, and in the end, he had appreciated the focus that the session required. Putting all his energy into the exercises had forced his attention away from the confusion and stress of waking up to find that Giles had already left for the day by the time Xander stumbled downstairs for breakfast.

After his cool-down stretches, Xander waved a weary goodbye to Melinda as she spotted a Slayer on the weight bench. He headed toward the locker room on his way to the indoor swimming pool. He had strict orders from Mel to do twenty laps, but since she hadn't specified which stroke, he intended to enjoy a lazy backstroke for at least half of those laps.

"Hey, Xander!"

"Oh, uh, hey Vi." He slung the towel around his neck and leaned heavily on his cane as he waited for the bubbly slayer to catch up.

"A bunch of us signed this Get Well card for Giles since no one can remember him being out sick, like, ever." She thrust a cheery yellow envelope at him.

"Sick?"

"Yeah, and we figured that since you're staying with him, we don't have to wait for him to come back for us to give it to him! Thanks, Xan!" She scurried back the way she had come, disappearing around the corner before he could ask again.

"Sick?" Xander shook his head. He had checked the entire apartment before he left since Giles hadn't left a note and he had half expected to find the Watcher still in bed nursing a hangover. Giles wasn't home. Giles had called in sick. His mind whirred around those two facts, trying to find sense. He stared at the yellow envelope with the large loopy "Mister Giles" written on the front.

Five minutes later he was changed back into his street clothes and hobbling quickly out the front door of the Council, determined to find out what was going on.

Two hours after that, Xander walked up Great Suffolk Street toward Man Bar, paying scant attention to the leather-clad bodies standing outside the door. He fished the five pound cover charge from his wallet, ignoring the appreciative look that the doorman ran over him. As he stepped inside, the pounding music made him feel like his heart was stuttering out of its natural beat. The press of bodies on the central dance floor moved jerkily in the flashing strobe lights.

Xander took a deep breath and he pressed forward, taking in the scent of sweaty, cologned bodies and beer. He forced himself to concentrate despite the unfamiliar and exceedingly distracting surroundings. God, when Giles had told him about this place one night over a beery celebration for destroying one of the major vamp nests in south London, he hadn't mentioned how bare all the bodies would be. Of course, the blushing and stuttered protests that this club had taken over a slightly less cruise-oriented club Giles had frequented in his younger days should have warned Xander.

"'Allo, pretty." A voice whispered invitingly in his ear as a hand slid over Xander's ass, pausing to squeeze before Xander disentangled himself and moved a few steps closer to the bar.

"I guess if he's not here, getting a ride home isn't going to be a problem," he grumbled to himself.

After he had returned to the flat he shared with Giles to find it still empty, Xander had decided broken trust was a better risk than missing and possibly broken Giles, and he had searched through the papers on the desk in Giles's private study. The search hadn't taken long. The rumpled fax from one of the Council operatives in the States had given him all the clues he needed. The report detailed the results of a covert operation inside one of the remaining Initiative bases with a few short lines and a much longer list of no longer viable (re: deceased) laboratory subjects. Halfway down the second column, Xander had seen the name that had sent him rushing back out into twilight London: Ethan Rayne, sorcerer.

Xander tamped down on the anxiety knotting his stomach. He had spent the last few hours and more cash than he comfortably had access to taking cabs, busses, and the Underground from haunt to haunt as he had ransacked his brain for references to any place Giles had talked about going with Ethan. He cursed his self-involvement of the day before when he had stalked out of the pub without pushing Giles to tell him what had been bothering him. Looking back, he could see the strain the other man had been under when he had walked into the pub, and he realized that Giles must have known about Ethan then. At the same time, he struggled not to feel rejected by the fact that Giles didn't find him worthy of trust or being someone he could lean on.

Finally reaching the bar, Xander searched for Giles in the crowd, but all he could make out was bare skin and men of varying ages in various states of undress writhing to the music together. After a moment of frustration, he gripped the back of one of the high stools around the bar and hoisted himself up to his knees on the seat. With his cane braced on the bar countertop, he managed to stand on the seat cushion without falling on his ass.

"Oi! You! Get down from there!"

Xander ignored the shouts from the barman as he scanned the bar. There. As the strobe flashed brightly, he made out Giles's familiar figure leaned back against a wall on the other side of the room, beer in one hand and cigarette resting on his bottom lip.

Giles let his hips sway gently to the beat pounding out through the speakers. He took a deep drag on the cigarette, savoring the taste as he watched the smoke curl gently away. He rubbed his warm beer bottle against his crotch, enjoying the hardness there. Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated on finding a body that met his requirements. Of course, he grinned wolfishly, his requirements were little more than a hard, willing body. He automatically turned to share the thought with...his grin faltered...no one. For a brief moment, sobriety threatened, allowing the crushing pain of guilt and loss to swell, but he forced his attention back to surfing the waves of arousal and pleasure provided by the red tabs he had swallowed earlier.

Brusquely he swallowed the rest of his beer, dropped the cigarette inside, and banged the bottle down on a crowded table as he passed by. No longer content to wait for prey to come to him, he moved toward the dark cubicles in the winding back hallways of the club.

Xander pushed through writhing bodies and groping hands, resorting to a few well-aimed whacks at shins with his cane where the crowd was thickest. He swore as he glimpsed Giles moving away from his place at the wall toward a dark hallway.

In the cooler air of the back halls, Giles breathed in the musky scent of sex and adjusted his arousal as he prowled deeper through a doorway into a dimly lit room off the main hall. Moans of pleasure surrounded him.

"Yum, hello, Daddy."

Giles leaned forward to press the inviting body against a wall, reaching down to squeeze the young man's cock as he mouthed against his neck, "Was there something you wanted?"

"Mmmm, yeah, Daddy, fuck me good." The youth writhed closer and gasped as Giles turned them, applying pressure to the man's bare shoulders, encouraging him to kneel.

Eyes seeing not the surfer-boy good looks but instead a narrower, fox-like face with a flashing grin, Giles leaned down to whisper in a deceptively pleasant voice, "Suck me, boy." While eager hands fumbled at his belt and zip, Giles leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, biting his lip against a moan as warm lips engulfed his cock.

Blinking against the darker hallways away from the strobe lights of the dance floor, Xander struggled to get his eye to focus. He swallowed heavily as the scents and sounds of sex reached him. Giles was back here. His brain almost refused to accept it, at least it refused until it suddenly decided to regale him with images of Giles kissing and stroking some other man. Suddenly his brain and his cock decided in unison that they wanted in on that kind of action.

Xander moved cautiously forward, trying to find Giles without obviously staring at the men entangled together in clumps of twos, threes, and, in one place, was that five?? Surreptitious scouting was difficult with half of his peripheral vision permanently missing, so he had to swivel his head from side to side more than he would have liked, but determination kept him going despite the odd glare or invitation thrown his way.

Stepping slowly into one of the side rooms, Xander stopped to stare at the reality that his erotic imaginings hadn't come close to doing justice to. Giles stood with legs spread wide, hands pressed flat against the wall on either side of him as a blond head bobbed enthusiastically in front of his crotch. Want, fear, and jealously welded him to the floor as he drank in Giles's closed eyes and parted lips. All other sounds of the club faded away as he strained to hear the panting breaths that were emitted with each rapid rise and fall of Giles's chest.

Time snapped back into motion, and Xander stepped forward with a low growl. He grabbed the neck of the blond guy, who immediately decided that a glowering one-eyed guy armed with a cane trumped whatever pleasures were promised by servicing the buff old guy.

Before Giles could fully register that the mouth had left his cock for good, Xander moved to press his chest against Giles and snaked his hand down to grip and tug the saliva slicked cock that jutted obscenely from the open trouser fly. All thought had flown out the window at the desperate neediness and lust on Giles's face, and Xander gave into his impulses. He leaned forward to wrap his lips around Giles's earlobe, sucking fiercely before speaking.

"Don't argue," he panted harshly. "You're coming home with me now." Xander gave another tug on the twitching cock.

"Wuh...Xander?" Giles's eyes flashed open, recognition replacing the erotic fog.

Xander responded by stroking his fingers up and down along the hot, silky skin of the erection he didn't want to let go of. He wanted Giles, ignoring the guilt for taking advantage of his friend's grieving, but he didn't want him here.

"Please, Giles." Xander closed his eye and leaned his forehead on Giles's shoulder. "Come home." He tilted his head to mouth along the strong jaw before continuing, "I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Giles groaned against the dual sensations of Xander's mouth on his neck and hand on his cock. Those lovely red pills had his world swimming, and he didn't care who got him off or where as long as he got to melt into the purely physical bliss of sex.

Taking advantage of Giles's momentary pliability, Xander carefully tucked the exposed cock away and pulled up the trouser zip before giving one last longing stroke over the erection that blatantly displayed between Giles's legs. He moved his hand to grasp the back of Giles's neck and pull him into a rapacious kiss that reiterated his earlier promise in a tangle of tongues.

Despite the fact that the cab ride lasted little longer than ten minutes--minutes Giles put to good use by holding and pressing Xander's hand into his still begging cock--it was enough time for Xander's guilt to raise up once more and assault him for encouraging the escapism that Giles was clearly indulging in. With his hand on Giles's cock, Xander had a hard time focusing on finding a way out of his current predicament, and truthfully, he didn't want to find one.

As the cab pulled up in front of their building, Xander allowed himself to be dragged along, reasoning that if he didn't go through with this, then Giles would just be back out picking up random strangers. While that might have been okay for Giles twenty years ago, Xander knew that the responsible Watcher Giles would not recover so easily from the aftermath of self-reproach that would stem from using some anonymous body to escape his grief. It had to be better that Giles was with someone he could trust, someone who knew and loved him.

Neatly having reasoned himself into getting exactly what he wanted, Xander eagerly took the keys from Giles's unsteady fingers and unlocked the door to usher them both inside.

"Oof" Xander gasped out as Giles pressed him back hard against the closed door.

"I believe you promised to make this worth my while," Giles ground his erection against Xander's wounded thigh, eliciting a moan filled with more pain than pleasure.

"Upstairs." At the suspicious glare this earned him, Xander continued hastily, "Bed. Bed would be good."

"Right then, up you go." Giles pulled back from the enticing body and raked his hands down Xander's chest. His cock throbbed, and if he didn't get off soon, someone was going to hurt.

Xander limped up the stairs as quickly as possible, pausing for an indecisive moment before entering Giles's bedroom. Before Giles could shove him against another door, Xander turned them so that he could maneuver Giles toward the bed. He grasped Giles's cock once more, squeezing gently as he kissed and bit at welcoming lips.

Giles let his hips rock forward into the warm palm, and he reached down, making quick work of belt and zip to push down his trousers and boxers. As unsteady as the world felt, he still managed to sit down heavily on the bed and at the same time press Xander to the floor between his legs.

Xander held back a yelp as his bad leg complained at the brusque treatment. He concentrated on not letting his leg buckle beneath him. Not wanting Giles to get any rougher, he stroked his hands up and down the lightly haired thighs on either side of him. His eye focused on the wavering cock, and he leaned forward, wanting in his own way to get to the sex part that would take him away from the pain, both physical and existential.

"Fuck, yes," Giles hissed as warm lips once again wrapped around the tip of his cock. He bent forward over the dark head and slid his hand over strong shoulders and back. He urged his cock further into Xander's mouth.

For long moments only the sound of wet sucking and breathy moans broke the silence. Xander focused on sucking harder and deeper, sliding his tongue around to play with the unfamiliar foreskin. The world focused down to the warm flesh in his mouth and the encouraging sounds of lust murmured into his hair.

"So hot, love you on your knees."

Xander moaned his agreement and reached down with a shaky hand to free his straining erection. He pulled at the cock in his hand rapidly in time with the suction he applied to the cock in his mouth.

Giles gave a few shuddering, shallow thrusts and let his orgasm scream through him, reveling in the sensations shooting down his spine and out his cock. "Ethan," he moaned with an aching passion.

Xander swallowed compulsively, leaning back to gasp out a moan as the taste of Giles in his mouth encouraged his own release.

Flopping back on the bed, Giles floated in the lassitude that overtook him. He closed his eyes and faded into sleep, free for the moment from the guilt and pain that had sent him scrambling into the Man Bar hours earlier.

Xander stared at the puddle of come on the floor as he drew in ragged breaths. He took a moment to gather his scattered thoughts before risking a look at Giles. Relief and disappointment vied for dominance as he realized that Giles had fallen asleep almost immediately. Awkwardly, he got to his feet, stretching out his stiff knees and rubbing at his protesting thigh.

Taking in the peaceful expression Giles wore, Xander allowed the disappointment and sorrow a brief surge as he remembered the name Giles had moaned when he came. You knew who you were standing in for, he berated himself, so don't act all hurt. At least it was you and not some anonymous fuck who would have done god knows what when that happened.

The sentiments offered little comfort. Carefully, Xander lifted Giles's legs onto the bed and eased off the boxers and trousers. He pulled a blanket over the unconscious man and hobbled back to the guest room. Numbly, he undressed and crawled into bed, squeezing his eye shut against the tears that threatened as his heart beat hollowly. He had no illusions about the morning. If Giles remembered the evening at all, Xander doubted that the man would recognize the genuine want...who was he kidding...the love that Xander had put into the only chance he saw for getting to be with him.

*****************

Giles's first impression of morning was painful sunlight exacerbating the pounding in his head. He carefully sat up, frowning at the blankets that covered his naked lower half despite the fact that he was still wearing his shirt from the evening before. His stomach protested even the slight movement, and he held still to make sure vomiting wasn't in his immediate future.

On auto-pilot he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it before padding to the bathroom and the glory that was a shower after a night out clubbing. As he washed, the evening began slowly reconstructing itself in his memory. He clenched the shower railing as he remembered first his culpability in Ethan's death and his headlong rush into past behaviors to make some kind of atonement for or connection with his lost lover. Images of the back room of Man Bar rushed past until Xander's face with lust-wide eyes swam into focus.

Giles leaned his forehead against the shower wall, letting the water beat down on his shoulders as he recalled bringing Xander home, fucking his mouth, and...oh god...calling out Ethan's name.

Shakily, Giles reached out to turn off the shower and stepped out to dry off. He returned to his bedroom to pull on boxers and wrap his robe around himself.

"Bloody, buggering fool," he berated himself with his usual epitaph. Gathering his courage, he stepped into the hall and walked to the open door of the guest room. He had no idea what to say to Xander, and shame nearly had him walking past without stopping. However, he refused to let his behavior of the night before drive a permanent wedge in such an important friendship, and he knew that avoidance would begin to do just that.

"Xander," he called quietly as he stepped into the room. The bed had clearly been slept in but was currently empty. Slumping against the door jamb at the sudden reprieve, he took several deep breaths before making his way downstairs to the kitchen in pursuit of a much needed cup of tea.

Xander stared into his coffee, curling his hand around the mug and concentrating on the pain of the hot ceramic against his palm. Sleep had proven elusive, so he was up with the sun. He had thought about going out for a walk, not so much for the exercise as for the chance to be out of the house when Giles woke up. In the end, though, his nerves couldn't take putting off the inevitable, so he sat at the table, hunched over his coffee.

Giles paused at the entrance to the kitchen, caught by the misery that radiated from the lone figure at the table. He pushed himself forward, swerving away from laying a hand on Xander's tense back and moving to the counter to grab and fill the tea kettle with water. He banged it back onto the base more forcefully than he intended, and he winced at the sound.

"I'm...sorry," Xander stuttered out, "about Ethan." He lifted his gaze to watch the jerky motions as Giles went about preparing the tea pot. "I know he was your friend, and all, and well, I just, wanted to say...sorry," he finished awkwardly. A hot blush crept up his cheeks as he cursed himself for sticking his foot in his mouth by bringing Ethan up first thing.

Guilt and shame mutated into anger, and Giles struck out. He turned to glare at the flustered man. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

Xander didn't have to ask what Giles was talking about. He took a steadying breath and tried to remember why his actions last night had seemed so logical. "When I found out about...about Ethan...I tried to find you. It's just that, well, you talked about all those places that you used to go with him." He swallowed as he watched the pain flicker across Giles's face, and he rushed on. "So I went there, and then in the bar when you were there with that guy, I couldn't let that happen. Some random pick-up in a bar? That's not you anymore, Giles. You know it isn't, and you would be hating yourself this morning if you had gone through with it."

"So you thought it would be ever so much better to offer yourself, not to mention our friendship, as a sacrifice?"

"No! I'm not explaining this right." Xander's hands clenched compulsively around the hot mug.

"Did it even matter to you that I didn't care who I was fucking?"

Xander flinched at the harsh voice and words, but he held Giles's gaze. "Yeah, it mattered."

"This was about getting what you wanted, then, and the hell with the consequences." Giles ignored the stab of guilt as he once more remembered calling out Ethan's name.

"That's not it." Xander stood, unable to continue without moving. "Yeah, I was trying to make it easier for you, so the consequences wouldn't be so hellish. But also because...because I did want it...you...sex with you, I mean."

"Yet, I was hardly there, was I?" Giles spoke baldly, struggling to accept that he had used someone he cared so much about so badly. The tea kettle whistled shrilly, and he turned to snap it off.

"I'm sorry," Xander choked out before limping rapidly from the room, cane clacking on the hardwood floor. He clambered up the stairs into the guest room, shutting the door behind him. What a fucking train wreck, he thought with near hysteria. All his good intentions burst apart in light of the recognition that Giles hadn't really been there with him last night in anything more than body, and he had used that body for his own fantasies. Blinking past the tears that gathered, he pulled his meager stash of clothing from the dresser and shoved everything into the large army duffle he had been living out of for the last year. He glanced around the room, making sure he hadn't missed anything vital before opening the door once more.

The sounds of pans banging onto the stove top told him that Giles was still in the kitchen, and he quickly and quietly descended the stairs. Without looking back, he unlocked the front door and stepped out into the cold October sunshine, closing the door behind him with a sense of futility.

*****************

Quiet knocking on the door roused Xander from his slumped position on the couch. He snapped off the television, preparing himself for another well-meaning visit from Andrew. The littlest Watcher had taken Xander's rehabilitation on as a personal project since Xander had called asking about any available Council flats in London on that disastrous morning nearly two months ago.

Xander walked to the door with only a trace of the limp remaining and pulled it open only to stop short at the sight of his visitor. "Uh, hi."

"May I come in?" Giles inquired carefully, taking in the dark circles under Xander's eye and the several days worth of stubble on his cheeks.

Xander stepped back in wordless invitation, his heart pounding in sudden anxiety. He watched Giles study the apartment littered with dirty clothes, discarded take-out boxes, and empty bottles.

"How have you been?"

The question had Xander biting back a harsh, bitter laugh. How have I been? Since I sexually abused the man I love under the guise of helping him deal with the death of his ex-lover?

Giles reached out to run his knuckles over Xander's sunken cheek. "You look like hell," he stated fondly.

Xander stepped back, startled by the show of concern and affection. "You want something to drink or...there's, um, beer or...beer," he finished lamely.

"I'm guessing you've had quite enough of that." Giles sighed. "I'm so sorry, Xander. I treated you abominably."

Xander stared. He blinked. Giles was apologizing to him? "I don't understand."

The lost quality in Xander's voice pierced Giles's heart. He hadn't seen the young man in weeks, and in the interim, he had come to understand what Xander had been struggling to express on that ugly morning. More importantly, that understanding had bloomed into recognition of the pain Xander would be in after offering comfort, as well as his heart, in the only way that Giles had allowed while he floundered in his initial grief over Ethan's death. Still, it had taken time to accept his own culpability, both for Xander and for Ethan.

"I know you don't." Giles raked a hand through his hair, struggling to find words that would help them heal. He watched Xander wrap his arms around himself, looking even more lost and alone. He stepped forward and placed his hand on Xander's crossed arms, feeling the shudder that went through the other man.

"Come here, luv." Giles pulled Xander into a embrace and simply held the stiff figure in his arms. "I'm so dreadfully sorry."

"Giles?" Xander wanted to bring his arms up to return the hug, but agonizing confusion held him still. He had not been touched by anyone in months, and now he stood there afraid that kindness from the person who mattered most would break him utterly.

"We've made a mess of things, haven't we? And you've borne the brunt of that simply by trying to help. For that, I'm deeply ashamed."

Xander shook his head in denial even as his body pressed closer, yearning for the comfort that couldn't last. "Not your fault," he croaked out his tightened throat.

"Perhaps not entirely, but I'm certainly not without fault." Giles brought one hand up to stroke Xander's hair as he felt the man's tears seep onto his shoulder. "I've missed you. Your smiles, your jokes, your wet towels left over the kitchen chairs." He heard Xander give a wet snorffle at that and grinned as his heart began to lighten.

"I've missed you, too," Xander admitted. He shifted so that he could wrap his arms fiercely around Giles chest, needing to hold him here for as long as he could get away with.

"I think we've both suffered enough for mistakes made, don't you?" Giles offered quietly as he felt the desperate strength of Xander's grip. "Perhaps it's time to move on from those mistakes."

Xander nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat, afraid that he was jumping to the conclusions that he wanted to hear rather than understanding what Giles was actually offering.

"Come home with me," Giles whispered against Xander's neck with a grin. "I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Bursting out in a relieved laugh, Xander pulled back, his eye bright with tears and hope. "I'm gonna hold you to that," he answered back before moving into a kiss that returned the promise.