Comfort

Giles, Xander (preslash if you squint)

FRM (for alcohol consumption)

Summary: Xander goes to see Giles, they drink, they talk, they cry.

Spoilers: The Gift

Distribution: Want, take, have; just let me know.

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, they never will be, and this is not for profit, just for fun, not infringement is intended.

Beta: my goddess, Antennapedia. Any mistakes left are my own.

Xander stared at Giles’ door. He asked himself why he was there.

“Because someone should check on him. He did just lose his Slayer after all,” Anya had pronounced when he’d asked her earlier.

But she was still recovering from the blow to her head. Willow and Tara had their hands full taking care of Dawn. And Spike vanished shortly after the funeral. So Xander was automatically volunteered for the job.

Deciding against barging in like usual, he knocked. He stood for a few moments, shuffling his feet and trying not to think about everything that had happened. There wasn’t an answer so Xander turned the doorknob and found it unlocked. He poked his head in.

“Giles?”

No reply and no indication that the Watcher was even there. Xander was worried. He entered the apartment, hoping that Giles hadn’t done something impulsive and rash. Wait, this was Giles, nothing impulsive or rash about him. Unless the situation involved Buffy. And boy, did this involve Buffy.

Xander ventured further in to the apartment. Giles wasn’t in the kitchen, unless he was hiding under the counter, but Xander would check that momentarily. Giles’ jacket was flung over the stair rail which meant he was here, or had been here and left without his jacket. Xander glanced upstairs, seeing no sign of Giles in the loft. Then his brain finally registered music playing, possibly jazz judging by the low mournful trumpet.

He went into the living room. Giles was slumped up against the couch, bottle of something next to him, mostly empty. Xander recognized the label, the last time he’d seen that bottle it had been just over half full. He really hoped Giles wasn’t going to need a trip to the ER.

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone.”

Giles nearly dropped the glass he was holding. He looked up at Xander with a glare. Xander noted that Giles’ eyes were red, probably from crying.

“What do you want?” Giles downed the contents of his glass. Then he reached out for the bottle, missing it before finally knocking it over.

“I came to see how you were.”

“Buffy’s dead. How do you bloody well think I am?”

“We’re all grieving. You shouldn’t do it by yourself. Other than Dawn, you’re the one who would be affected the most by this.”

“Thank you for your concern, Xander, but I don’t need your pity, so bugger off.”

“I don’t think so.”

Xander gently kicked aside a few bottles and sat down next to Giles. He grabbed a random bottle, cracked it open and took a swig. It burned going down making him cough. Giles frowned and snatched the bottle angrily.

“Have some care! That’s thirty year old scotch you’re downing there.”

Giles got up and staggered into the kitchen. Xander almost got up and offered to help but decided that Giles probably would resent that. Instead he watched as Giles swayed a little, holding onto the counter when he did get into the kitchen. Okay, so a little drunk, but not that much. He opened cabinets randomly, crowing with triumph as he pulled another glass out of one.

He came back to the floor, sat next to Xander, took the bottle and poured them each a glass. Handing Xander his, Giles lifted his own and looked serious.

“A toast. To Buffy.”

“To Buffy.”

As they drank, Xander realized this was going to be a long night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I was going to return to England.”

Giles’ statement came out of the blue.

“What? When? You never said anything,” Xander accused, pointing a shaky finger at Giles.

They’d moved onto vodka, which made Xander scrunch his face up in disgust, but he kept drinking it, matching Giles shot for shot.

“I told Willow, I didn’t want Buffy to know.” Giles tossed back another shot, thumping the glass on the floor when he was done.

“So why’d you stay?”

“She asked me to be her Watcher again. I had a purpose again.”

“I get that,” Xander said. He poured two more shots and handed one to Giles. Then he held his glass up. “A toast, to purposefulness.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I proposed to Anya,” Xander blurted out.

They’d finished off a different bottle, tequila he thought, and now he rolled it away from himself.

“Congratulations. A toast to your impending nuptials,” Giles slurred slightly, fumbling for another bottle.

“I don’t think I did the right thing.”

“Beg pardon?”

“It just seemed like the logical next step, you know? Plus, impending death and all.”

“Are you taking it back?”

Giles seemed awfully comprehensible given the amount of alcohol they’d consumed in such a short amount of time. Xander wondered how much of the drunken act really was an act.

“I don’t know.”

“Have another drink.”

Giles finally had another bottle in hand, more scotch it looked like. Or maybe the scotch he’d started out with. It didn’t matter, drunk was drunk. Giles poured and they drank.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I loved her.”

Xander blinked, the bottles were getting blurry. The scotch was gone and now they were on the bourbon.

“Who?”

“Buffy. And not like a daughter.”

“Oh.”

Xander held out his glass. Giles tipped over, hands catching him before he was hurt. He half crawled to a bottle that was still a quarter full. The vodka. He handed it over to Xander who abandoned the glass method and went back to straight out of the bottle.

“I did too. For a long time,” Xander confessed.

“I know.”

“Oh.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I couldn’t save her.”

They were sitting next to each other, legs and sides pressed together. The last bottle sat at their feet, something red, probably schnapps, though Xander couldn’t imagine why Giles would be drinking schnapps.

“How could you?”

“It’s what I do. I saved her before, why couldn’t I save her this time?”

“Xander, no one could have.”

He said nothing. A tear escaped his eye, rolling down his cheek. He must have let out a sob because Giles put his arm around him and held him tightly. Xander let the grief, the pain, the anger he’d been holding inside overcome him. He turned, burying his face in Giles’ sweater. Giles held Xander tighter, Xander let his own arms come around Giles, holding on, needing an anchor.

Xander thought he felt tremors, ones that weren’t his. He looked up to see Giles crying. He’d never seen Giles cry. Xander noticed Giles’ handkerchief hanging out his shirt pocket and pulled it out, offering it to him. Giles half smiled in appreciation. They were still holding onto one another, which really didn’t bother Xander all that much.

When the shaking and tears slowed, Giles reached for the schnapps and the abandoned glasses. He poured them one last drink. He passed the glass to Xander, clearing his throat before lifting it.

“To Buffy Summers, an extraordinary girl. May she find peace wherever she is.”

“Amen.”