Giles misses his office terribly. He creeps around the boxes that have overtaken his flat and reminds himself he should be grateful that the books were saved. This is not a time for regrets, he reminds himself sternly. Better to savor victory snatched from the massive, demonic jaws of serpentine defeat. Best to look ahead, to make plans and welcome the future --
"Good Lord!"
As he runs up the stairs to his loft, Giles curses himself. Just three days since graduation, three days on his own, and he is already talking to himself like a doddering old fool. He rifles violently through his wardrobe, muttering -- if he's going to talk to himself, he might as well as just do it -- searching for the package. He finally finds it, wrapped in neat white butcher's paper, wedged behind his shoehorn.
Just like him to forget. Giles berates himself all the way across town, jogging slowly, excuses evaporating around him. There's no excuse for such thoughtlessness, no matter how often it occurs -- and when it comes to the boy, it occurs nearly constantly.
Breathing heavily, Giles rings the doorbell while attempting to sponge off the drops of sweat now discoloring the package.
A voice from somewhere inside the house gets louder and louder. "Coming! Hold up, I'm--"
Giles straightens up, tucks the package back under his arm, and tries to smooth down his hair.
"--coming!" The door flies open, revealing a shirtless figure in rumpled khakis through the dirty screen door.
"Xander--" Giles says. "I thought you might--"
"Giles?" Xander yawns widely and scratches his belly. "What are you doing at my house?"
Giles steps forward, indicating the door with a lift of his chin. "May I?"
Xander squints at him and runs a hand through his hair. "This is like--. Wait, I'm still asleep, right?"
As always, the boy is a couple beats behind the rest of reality. "May I come in, Xander?"
Xander tilts his head, blinking sleepily. "Okaaaaay," he says confusedly. He turns and shuffles into the gloom of the house. "What time is it?"
Giles shuts both doors behind him and follows Xander's retreating form. "Almost three. Are your parents--?"
"At work," Xander says. "Come on up."
The house is dark and smells quite strongly of cigarettes, a nicotine haze overlying faint wisps of turning food and sharp tangs of alcohol. Giles breathes through his mouth as he follows Xander up creaking stairs that lead to a narrow hallway.
"In here," Xander says, knocking open a door with his shoulder. "Make yourself at home."
Giles blinks against the sudden profusion of sunlight. Xander's room is small but quite orderly, surprisingly so. It smells distinctly of drying laundry and Old Spice. A few posters hang over the narrow bed that Xander collapses onto.
Turning uncertainly, Giles sees a small desk below the window. It is bare aside from three framed photographs: a slightly faded snapshot of three children, one of whom must be Willow, given the long auburn plaits, flanked by two skinny, dark-haired boys; one of Willow, Buffy, and Oz laughing under a tree; and the last of Buffy and Giles himself practicing fencing.
"You can sit down, you know," Xander says, and Giles hears nervous laughter in his voice.
"Y-yes, of course." Giles takes the rickety desk chair and sits down gingerly. "So."
Xander sits cross-legged on his bed, hands on his knees, looking back at Giles expectantly. His hair is mussed, sticking out in every direction.
"I-I woke you," Giles says. "I'm so sorry."
Xander shrugs and grins. "Just have a lot of sleep to catch up on."
Giles nods. "Of course." He glances around the room distractedly, but there is not much more to see.
"Want a drink?"
"Erm?" Giles looks back to Xander. "N-no, don't get up. I--"
Xander leans over to his bedside table. "Not a problem. Keep a little stock up here." He opens the door on the table, which Giles realizes now is a miniature refrigerator. "Water? I've got juice, too. Cran-apple? OJ? Or pop. Cherry Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and..." There is a clatter as he sorts through the contents. "No diet, sorry."
"Orange juice," Giles says. "Thank you."
Xander tosses him the small bottle, but, confused and more than a little off-center, Giles fumbles the catch and it bounces on the floor. "Sorry--" Xander says, lunging for juice as Giles does too. Their heads bump, apologies are uttered, and, eventually, Giles has the beverage he didn't really want in the first place.
He wonders how it is that Xander has always been able to put him off-balance, nudge his carefully-maintained equilibrium out of whack, confuse him just enough to leave him stuttering helplessly. It is a talent, to be sure, but Giles doesn't know whether that is a good thing.
"So, G-Man--" Xander drains his cranberry juice and tosses the empty container at a blue recycling bin in the corner. He misses, and it clatters against his closet door. He grins at Giles and shrugs again. "Good thing I turned down the Pistons, huh?"
"P-pardon?"
"Nothing."
Xander's voice is capable of dropping from slack, easy humor into bitter defeat as quick as mercury, and Giles hears it do that now.
"I brought--" Giles starts to say, remembering his package, but then stops. It would be rude to shove it at the boy and take his leave, although, given his mounting disorientation and confusion, that's exactly what he would like to do. "How are you?"
Xander leans against the wall, his knees drawn up, arms looped around them. His head is bowed slightly, so that when he looks at Giles, he is looking up through dark lashes and his shaggy fringe. "Okay. Well as can be expected, I guess." He must hear the bitterness in his own voice again, because he shakes himself and grins again.
Giles smiles politely. He is not a stupid man. He can talk to a slightly morose teenager. "I'd expect you to be happy, given--"
Xander leans forward. "Given what? That I got more people injured and killed in an hour than died all year?"
Giles blinks. "Oh. Graduation, yes. I simply meant--"
Xander shakes his head. "Forget it. Just beating myself up, sorry. So. What brings you to the Harris homestead?"
Just like that, Xander is himself again. His eyes brighten and he grins easily at Giles. Not for the first time, and not without a certain feeling of guilt at *how* Xander does it, Giles wishes he had that kind of emotional control, such a sure sense of how to shift rapidly and seamlessly between moods.
"I, ah, actually brought you something--" Giles hands the package over, relieved of the physical burden at last.
Xander holds it in both hands, looking back and forth between it and Giles. "For me?" he asks with a bit of wonder.
Giles nods. "Of course. A g-graduation present, you see. I know you're heading out on your road trip soon--. In fact, I wasn't sure I'd catch you. But I'm glad I--"
Xander is looking at him steadily now, and Giles's nervousness hitches up a couple of more notches. Xander's eyes are wide and still. "Thank you."
The boy sounds gobsmacked, yet his expression betrays nothing but a faintly unusual seriousness.
Giles swallows hastily. "Yes, of course. You're welcome. High school graduation--"
Xander's lips twitch. "I saw what you gave the girls," he observes. "They were beautiful."
"The necklaces?" Giles says, not quite following.
Xander nods. "And Oz's? Man, I've always wanted a pair of those."
Giles nods. "Yes, well, you see--"
Xander places the package beside him, patting it absently, smoothing the paper. Giles wonders whether he's even going to open it. It was a mistake, he thinks, buying the boy a book. Of course. But he didn't know what else to get Xander; he hardly knows him at all. He feels the familiar sense of irritation with Xander flare in his chest, mixed now with quite a bit of his own guilt. He's known Xander for over two years; surely he should have picked up some inkling of what sort of gift would suit him.
"Are you all right?" Giles asks. Xander is squinting out the window, the muscles in his jaw working slowly.
"Huh?" Xander turns his head slowly back, eyebrows going up, as if he's surprised that Giles is still here. "Oh, yeah. Thank you for the present."
"You're welcome," Giles says again. What is wrong with the boy?
"Broke my streak, you know," Xander says quietly, petting the package.
"Pardon?"
"Oh, you know," Xander says, meeting Giles's eyes. His fingertips brush the edge of the package as if testing whether it is entirely real. "When I saw the others', I thought to myself, hey, great. Don't need to go buy stationery or anything. No thank you notes for *me*."
Giles is always slow to catch the drift of whatever Xander's trying to say, but right now, he is entirely lost. "I'm not sure I follow--. Streak? Stationery?"
Xander sighs, and Giles hears himself in the sound. How many times has he sighed at Xander just like that? He feels terrible, just awful, and wants to snatch the package back, reverse time, go home and never have thought of going out in the first place.
Suddenly he realizes what Xander is saying. He'd seen the others's presents, and knew that Giles had forgotten his. He had probably shrugged when they asked him what he got, quipped an awkward excusing joke, and proceeded to feel terrible. Although not quite as terrible as Giles feels now, crushed with shame and unspoken apology. Xander probably thinks that Giles just got this for him; he can't know that it's been sitting in his wardrobe ever since Xander announced his road trip.
"Xander, I'm sor--"
Xander scrubs his hand through his hair again and exhales. "Thank you for the present, Giles," he says patiently and slowly. "Sorry I'm not the best host--"
"Quite all right," Giles says. His back aches from holding himself so stiffly. The juice has gone warm in his hand. "I'm sorry I bothered you."
"Didn't bother me," Xander says, looking away. "I'm glad you came."
"Oh, well, you see--"
Xander picks up the package and weighs it in his hand. "Book, huh?"
Giles nods.
"Still trying to edumacate me, huh?" Xander's grin appears genuine this time, spreading slow and easy, crinkling shut his eyes. Giles realizes that he is relaxing at just the sight of a smile and the sound of the boy's voice.
"Yes, I suppose I am."
"Don't have to listen to you any more, you know," Xander says. "I'm eighteen. Got the diploma."
Giles grins back. He would never have expected to be able to do this, not with Xander; they had suffered each other's company for three years for bigger reasons, better causes. But the boy's mercurial mood is infectious, to say the least.
"I would hope, however," Giles says, "that you would want to continue learning."
Xander ducks his head. "Yeah, well--" He glances back up. "Now it's about the School of Life. No more pencils, no more books--"
Giles laughs, startling Xander, who peers at him curiously before joining the laughter. "Indeed," Giles says, chuckling. "Are you going to open it, or simply fondle it for the foreseeable future?"
"Just want to hold onto it for a bit," Xander says. "What is it, anyway?"
"Generally, you find that out when you remove the wrapping," Giles tells him.
Xander returns the smirk implicit in Giles's voice. "Humor me, Giles. You know I don't like doing things the usual way."
Giles sighs, but parodically, smiling all the while, pretending to be impatient. "I thought it might come in handy on your road trip."
"You got me a book for my big journey?" Xander nearly shouts, straightening up and waving the book around over his head. "The whole point is that I'm *out* of school!"
Giles recoils slightly and pauses before speaking. "Well, you're taking the Kerouac, aren't you?"
Xander slumps back down. "That's different," he mutters. "Can't discover America without the Kerouac."
Giles pretends to consider this. "Good point. My mistake."
Xander unfolds his legs and stretches, yawning hugely.
"Am I boring you?" Giles asks, mostly teasing but now slightly worried.
"Nah," Xander says. "This is cool. You, me, just hanging. Like buds, you know?"
Giles attempts one of Xander's dismissive shrugs, hoods his eyes, and drawls, "Cool..."
Xander leans over and smacks him hard on the shoulder. "Don't make fun of me," he says warningly. Giles starts to straighten up, only to see the teasing glint in Xander's eye. "Buds don't do that."
"Duly noted," Giles says dryly.
Xander remains bent over, hand hovering just over Gile's shoulder. His eyes search Giles's face restlessly, darting to and fro, before he gives Giles a small, secretive smile and sits back.
Giles tries to slump in the chair, make himself a bit more comfortable, but it creaks just as a cramp seizes at his side. "Christ--"
"Come over here," Xander says, shoving the covers up to the top of the bed. "That chair's a killer."
"Yes, rather," Giles says. He shuffles over, massaging his sore muscle, and lowers himself onto the bed. "I don't know how you stand it."
"Don't," Xander says and winks. Giles looks away, disconcerted by the wink, before Xander laughs and Giles relaxes again. "Probably explains why I suck at school, huh? Sorry, past tense. *Sucked* at school."
Giles is enjoying himself too much to ponder the hints about Xander's home life that he has gathered so far in his visit. "Whereas the present tense--"
"Oh, *that*," Xander says, leaning against the wall. "That's wide open, you know. Whole vistas in front of me, that kind of thing."
It is difficult to imagine many vistas in this small, close room, but Giles doesn't say anything. "When do you depart?"
"Any day now," Xander says. "Soon as I get off my ass, actually."
"Oh." Xander's bed is extremely comfortable, Giles realizes. His anxiety has nearly fully drained out of him, replaced by a small, relaxed glow.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" Xander says suddenly.
"Anything," Giles murmurs distractedly, enjoying the relaxation burgeoning within him.
"Are all Brits, like, bi, or is that just a cliche?"
Giles sits back up, quickly enough that Xander smirks at him. "I beg your pardon?"
Xander turns around, leaning against the bed's footboard to face Giles, and shrugs. "Always wanted to know."
"Is that so?" Giles asks. He blinks so rapidly that Xander disappears, replaced by a quick-moving blur. "Yet you never betrayed a hint of curiosity."
"Figured I should wait til after graduation." Xander cocks his head to move the hair out of his head. "To ask, I mean. 'Cause you tend to freak out."
"I do not freak out."
"Yeah," Xander says, smiling again, disagreement clear and strong in his tone. "So, it's true then. Good to know."
"T-t-that's absurd, Xander! Where would you get such bizarre information? It makes no sense--" Giles wills himself to calm down, but all the familiar irritation and confusion has come rushing back. It doubles, then triples, when he notices how sweetly Xander is smiling at him, feigning utter innocence and curiosity. "How would you like it i-if I said to you: Yo, Xand-Man--" He drops his voice into what he thinks is fairly close to a teenaged drawl, "are all Californians bi?"
"Wouldn't mind," Xander says quietly. He leans forward fractionally, slowly, and Giles feels himself leaning back, fighting to maintain the distance between them. "Not a bit."
"X-X-Xander?" Giles asks, hesitantly. Xander's face is very close to his, large brown eyes sweeping slowly back and forth. "What are you doing?"
"You didn't answer the question," Xander says huskily. He plants one hand on the bed behind Giles and leans in even more closely. "And I asked really nicely, too. Least you could do--"
Giles hitches in a breath as Xander's nose touches his. Their lips brush and Giles eases himself back as Xander moves ever insistently forward. "Xan--"
Xander kisses him more directly this time. His lips are stunningly soft, and his tongue traces the edge of Giles's lips teasingly, back and forth, around and around.
Giles is dizzy. He is, however, suddenly and distinctly *not* nervous. Perhaps he finally ran out of Xander-induced anxiety at the worst possible time, or perhaps, he thinks, Xander is simply an immensely talented kissing prodigy.
Most likely the latter. Xander traces the border between Giles's upper and lower lips lightly, lapping and teasing, until they part. He sighs and Giles feels him trembling and slips an arm around Xander's waist reassuringly.
Giles traces the breadth of Xander's tongue with the tip of his own, then sweeps it over the boy's full lower lip, eliciting a short, sweet moan. Xander stills for an instant, their mouths pressed together, before his hand goes into Giles's hair.
The kiss deepens, goes more urgent with each heartbeat, as Xander wriggles until he is lying fully on top of Giles, nipping at his tongue and lips almost desperately. Giles opens his eyes to see Xander staring back unblinkingly at him, pupils dilated, shining. He sucks Xander's tongue back into his mouth, tasting cranberry juice and chocolate, tightens his hold, and meets each moan with one of his own.
Suddenly Giles is released, and Xander lifts himself up on one arm. He blinks blearily for a moment, tongue running over his lower lip as he smiles down at Giles.
"Thanks," Xander says.
Warmth and something like relief pulse through Giles, inflating his chest, muddling his mind. "Whatever for?"
"*That's* the present I wanted."
Xander grins and Giles pats his back. Xander's skin is hot to the touch, and Giles strokes the soft fuzz of down under his palm. "Good to know," he says. "Now, where were we?"
Xander squints and tilts his head warily. Full of disbelief and confusion, he asks, "I get more?"
"I daresay yes," Giles says, chuckling as Xander swoops back down.