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Dracula stood at the window of his study and watched Xander’s retreating back until he appeared as nothing more than a dot on the horizon then disappeared. A slight frown marred his brow. He didn’t like that his manservant appeared conflicted and had half a mind to journey to England to take care of the matter himself.  

As the head of the new Watcher’s Council, Rupert Giles was a primary target of the denizens of the underworld. His death could be made to look like something or someone else – rather than he – was behind it. 

Unfortunately, Xander had been adamant that he do nothing. Citing something about staying out of his playground. Or was it sandbox? Americanisms, Xander’s in particular, were lost on him.  

But he’d agreed, however reluctantly, granting his manservant this one boon.   

Now he could do nothing but wait. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Firm, knowledgeable hands worked their way down his body, soothing aches and quieting his unease. The bottle of whiskey he’d drunk – a tribute, of sorts, to the vampire that had sacrificed his life to save theirs – helped as well.  

He moaned into the pillow as his ass cheeks were spread apart and he felt a tongue where it had no business being. The sensation made him rapidly change his mind, however… and wonder why he’d never done this before.  

Xander woke with a start and automatically reached for the canteen next to his bedroll. Months spent living out of a tent as he tracked down slayers, and he’d developed a permanent taste of dirt in his mouth. Never mind the sweltering heat. 

The dream – memory – settled into his subconscious, not to be revisited until the next time his defenses were running on empty.  

He’d promised Dracula that he’d deal with what had happened in Los Angeles between him and Giles, and he was. Denial was how he was dealing with it. If he refused to acknowledge that it had happened, then it hadn’t happened.  

His cell phone beeped and he glanced at the caller id, though he knew without looking who had called. Giles called every day at this time. The message he left, identical.  

Come home, Xander. Please. We really need to talk. 

Xander listened to the sound of Giles’ voice for five minutes, replaying the message over and over before finally deleting it. Agony, but then, he couldn’t sever completely his ties to the man that had been the closest thing he’d had to a real father growing up.  

Heaving a sigh, he got to his feet and left his tent, searching out the girl he knew would be clustered among the bevy of women settled around the morning campfire preparing breakfast. Today was her last day with her family before he put her on a plane bound for London.  

He would be leaving too, just not with her. Instead, he’d be traveling deeper into the wilds of Africa, looking for the next slayer, and then the next. Anything to keep him away from Giles. 

If he went home, he’d be forced to talk, and the last thing he wanted to hear was that their time together had been a mistake, a drunken one-night stand.

~*~*~*~*~

Xander had never been an overly religious person, though years spent living on the Hellmouth had given him a healthy respect for Fate, or the Powers, or some other type of Godly being that had watched over him and his friends as they’d done battle against the forces of evil. 

However, as he crested the rise and looked down over the valley below, saw the ghastly image of the decimated village and its inhabitants, the Psalms passage swiftly came to mind. ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.’ He even performed a hasty sign of the cross before bending over and throwing up his meager breakfast. Everywhere he looked bodies lay in grotesque caricatures upon the ground, their mouths and eyes frozen open in terror now that rigor had set in.  

They’d all stared death in the face… and suffered for it. Their final moments in life spent in agony. 

Xander dropped to his knees and fumbled with his backpack to reach his canteen. He drank greedily; precious water dribbled down the sides of his mouth and soaked into his shirt, but he didn’t care about the waste, wanting only to rid himself of the awful taste in his mouth.  

He just wished he could do the same with the images that were now permanently embedded in his brain, but doubted such a thing were possible.  

His cell phone rang suddenly, and distracted, he flipped it open and answered without first glancing at the caller id.  

“Hello,” he said, his voice still hoarse even after all the water he’d drunk.

“Xander?” 

“Dawn? Is—?” 

“Buffy’s been hurt,” she said abruptly, cutting him off. “I—uh… They’re not sure… I mean…” 

“I’m on my way.” He could hear the fear in her voice, the tears she barely managed to keep at bay, and knew the situation had to be dire if Dawn was calling him.  

Xander hung up after assuring her that everything would be okay, that he would be there in a few days. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood, turning away from the village as he resettled his backpack on his shoulders.  

There was no sound of survivors. Whatever had gone through the village had killed everything in its path then moved on. He hated to walk away without doing anything, but there was no way he’d be able to bury the bodies all by himself. Mother Africa would have to tend to her dead in her own way. 

His step was heavy as he walked back the way he came, filled with guilt for what he couldn’t do and dread for what lay ahead. In the next village he hitched a ride on the back of an ox-drawn cart that was heading into the city.  

Two days later he was on a flight to Heathrow.  

~*~*~*~*~

As the plane leveled out, thoughts of Buffy’s welfare were soon eclipsed by Giles, and their probable confrontation. His shoulders drooped and tears stung his eye, already imagining Giles’, “what happened between us was a mistake” speech. 

He spent the next twelve hours alternately cursing and bemoaning the fates that had forced him to return home.  

~*~*~*~*~ 

Xander exited the airport and was grateful to see Dawn waiting for him. He heaved a sigh of relief at the reprieve, having expected Giles. There were dark circles under Dawn’s eyes, something he couldn’t help but notice as he got closer. She’d obviously not slept much since Buffy’s accident. She gave him a halfhearted smile before hugging him and he held her tight for a moment, giving her the comfort she so desperately needed. 

“You look like I feel,” she murmured after a long moment then kissed his cheek and stepped back. “Long flight?” 

“Yeah.” He could feel the dread settling around his shoulders as he tossed his backpack in the back seat. 

“That all you brought with you?” Dawn eyed his over-sized backpack with concern. 

“Yeah,” he said again. He didn’t elaborate on the sparseness of his belongings.  

Dawn shrugged her shoulders, letting the matter die. Neither said another word as she took her place behind the wheel and Xander slid into the front passenger seat. He closed his eye and blocked out the sounds of traffic as Dawn drove them away from the airport.  

When the car stopped and he shook off his tiredness, Xander was dismayed to see them parked in front of a townhouse, rather than the hospital he’d assumed Dawn was taking him to. 

“Giles said you could stay here while you’re in town,” Dawn said by way of explanation. “Figured you’d rather sleep here than deal with the craziness that is slayer central.” 

‘Oh, Dawn, if you only knew…’ 

“Anyway…” she continued, not realizing Xander’s inner turmoil, “I thought you might want to freshen up, maybe take a shower before we head to the hospital.” Her nose crinkled in distaste, and she was so much his Dawnie in that moment, he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Do I smell that bad?” 

“Uh… yeah.” 

“I’ll have you know, Eau de African Sweat is all the rage.” 

Dawn snorted and rolled her eyes. “If you say so.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Xander felt revitalized after his shower and spent the drive over to the hospital shoring up his defenses for his eventual meeting with Giles, because there was no doubt in his mind that the man would be by his slayer’s side.

He was right, of course. When he walked into the room, Giles was seated in a chair by the bed, holding her hand in his. 

“Hey, Giles. How’s she doing?” Dawn asked as she stepped around him and took her place on the other side of her sister. 

“Better. She’s sleeping now,” Giles said, but his eyes were only for Xander.  

Dawn didn’t notice, though, because she was too busy staring down at Buffy, as if that alone would get her to wake up.  

Xander noticed, and he couldn’t look away as Giles took his measure. He noted, too, the relieved expression on Giles’ face that he appeared no worse for wear. 

“Hey.” Xander raised his hand in a half-hearted wave. 

“Xander.” 

Giles said nothing but his name, but there was such a wealth of meaning in that one word that Xander looked away. 

“I’m just gonna…” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Coffee. Anyone want?” 

“I’ll come with you,” Giles said as he stood up. 

“No! Uh, that’s okay. I’ll get it.” He turned and nearly collided with Willow. “Wills, hey! Just gonna get some coffee. Be right back.”  

He bolted from the room, ignoring Willow crying his name. He didn’t stop until he reached the relative safety of the vending machine area. There he collapsed back against the wall in a corner, panting heavily. 

It had been a mistake to come. Just seeing Giles brought back everything from that night. Every touch. Every whispered word. The way he’d felt afterward – safe, protected, loved. 

Then he’d woken… alone.  

“Xander?” Giles’ voice intruded upon his thoughts and Xander reluctantly lifted his head. He appeared nervous, not his usual Giles-like self. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” 

“What about Buffy?” 

“Buffy’s fine. She woke up earlier today and is just resting now. It took a bit longer for her slayer healing to kick in. Most likely because of that spell she performed last year.” 

“Oh.” That was all Xander could think to say. He’d flown all this way, thinking that Buffy was on the verge of dying, and the only thing wrong with her was that it had taken a little longer for her slayer powers to do their thing. Man, did his life suck. 

“About that talk…? There’s a nice café around the corner.” 

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure, why not? But, we don’t have to go anywhere, because, really, what’s there to say? You made a mistake, I get it.” He rubbed wearily at his temples; he had the mother of all headaches – a combination of the long flight, and a lack of food and sleep.  

“Is that what you think?” 

“What else could I think, Giles? I woke up and you were gone. It was pretty clear to me that you regretted what had happened. I wasn’t going to stick around and have you tell me so.” 

“Oh, Xander. I went to get breakfast. The hotel didn’t have room service and I thought you might be hungry when you woke up.” 

Xander couldn’t help it, he began to laugh. “Really?” 

“Yes, really.” 

“So… you didn’t regret what you… what we…? I mean...” 

Xander really didn’t know what he meant. Thankfully Giles spoke before he could start into a full-blown babble mode.

“I regret that we were both drunk, but not what we did, or why. I felt guilty because I thought I might have taken advantage of the situation. You were hurting and in need of comfort, and I—” 

“Don’t,” Xander shushed him with a finger to his mouth. If they kept up, well, he didn’t like to think what would happen, but unmanly tears were a distinct possibility. Instead, he changed the subject. “You said something about food?” 

Giles nodded and there was a twinkle of laughter in his eyes, relief too.  

“Well, what are we waiting for? I’m starved.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Dracula read the report of Xander’s reconciliation with Giles and then gently laid the single sheet of paper on top of his desk. A second later it, and everything else on the surface, went flying. He had only himself to blame for convincing his manservant to settle things with the man.  

When the room was destroyed beyond recognition, having vented his anger, he collapsed into his chair with a bottle of vodka. He had finished it and started on a second when a servant poked his head around the door, inquiring if he was ready to feed.  

He waved the human away, yelling that he was not to be disturbed again. The last thing he felt like doing was eating.  

Nearly a week later, he was still in the same position. Bottles littered his desk and the floor around him. He’d alternated between returning to London and reclaiming what belonged to him and letting his manservant have his time with the human.  

Only Xander’s reaction to Giles’ death stayed his hand and kept him at his desk silently brooding.  

And waiting.

The End

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