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This is the final part of this fic. It was lovely revisiting this story, and, as ever, lovely to get the chance to write with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wesleysgirl ::hugs her::
Previous parts here
One Year On by Jane Davitt and Wesleysgirl
Part Three
"It looks perfect," Giles said for the sixth time, hearing the desperation creeping into his voice. He took a sip of the whiskey that he'd allowed himself after the late lunch that had followed an even later breakfast. And a very late night. He stared appreciatively, not at the tree, swaying dangerously as Xander twisted it around on the stand, but at Xander himself, letting his gaze go from dark hair, still slightly too long for the office, not that he gave a toss about that, down to an arse he had fond memories of touching and kissing and – well, there really wasn't anything he hadn't done to it... Not after the night before...
"Just perfect. Can we start to decorate it now?"
He transferred his gaze to the box of decorations, all new of course, with a soft dazzle of silver tinsel cloaking the rainbow assortment of balls and lights.
"No," Xander said, giving the tree one last adjustment before crawling backward and looking up at it. He'd rolled his shirt sleeves up and looked fairly relaxed. "Well, okay, yes. But only because at this point there's so much sap on my hands that if I touch the trunk again I don't think you'd be able to pry me off with a crowbar."
Xander stood up, hands at his sides. "You go ahead and get started," he told Giles. "I'll be right back."
Giles didn't, of course, want to start without Xander, so he contented himself with lifting one ornament from the box and fiddling with it while listening to the sounds Xander was making washing his hands in the kitchen.
In moments, Xander was back, sliding an arm around Giles' waist from behind and hugging him close. "Okay, what's first? Is there a special order?"
"You never – ?" Giles remembered too late to censor himself that Xander's Christmases hadn't been the kind that involved much participation in rituals like this. "I think it's supposed to be best to put the lights on first." He turned his head to give Xander a kiss and smiled at him. "New as they are, they should all work."
Xander moved around and dug through the box until he came up with the three boxes of lights. "Better plug them in and check first just to be sure." He opened the boxes and took out the lights, going over and sitting on the floor beside the outlet and plugging in the first string. It lit up in a brilliant bundle of color.
The second string lit as well, but the third flickered and then went out. Giles was busy by that time spreading a blanket underneath the tree, so he didn't know anything was wrong until he heard Xander say, "Hmm."
"We could always make do with two strings?" Giles suggested.
"No, it's okay," Xander said, fiddling with the string, which he'd unplugged. "It's just... there's this loose wire... I'm gonna get some electrical tape."
"Really, we could just make do... or I could try the corner shop; they're bound to have some..." Giles let his voice trail off. Xander was already heading towards the cupboard where he kept his battered but neatly arranged toolbox and looking, not happy exactly, but purposeful.
The same way Xander'd looked when he'd been trimming the branches so that the tree fitted perfectly into the corner, with room for the star on top. The same way he'd looked when he was trying to fix the boiler, tying knots, fucking Giles into a state of blissful incoherence.
The way he never looked at work.
Giles turned away with a muttered excuse Xander barely heard and went to their bedroom. They'd not given it the customary, if cursory, tidying it usually got in the morning, and he moved around, opening the curtains, smoothing the bed covers – before changing his mind and stripping the sheets, as they needed to be washed – and picking up scattered clothes for the laundry basket.
All make-work while he tried to decide exactly when Xander had started to hate the job he was so very good at.
Because it wasn't as simple as him not being suited for it; he'd done so well that the dubious looks had turned to approving smiles within the first month. As he'd told Xander, he had a certain glamour about him that worked in his favor, and Xander's natural instinct when faced with a job was to do it and do it properly.
It just wasn't what he wanted to do.
There were no more Council-related jobs like the renovation of Traighshee House, and if there were Xander's rank was too high for him to be assigned to them. Not that Giles would have let that stop him, but... And Xander could have looked for a job outside the Council, but somehow Giles didn't think that was what he wanted, either.
The night before had convinced him that Xander wasn't unhappy with him, but he was unhappy with something, and Giles wasn't about to let that situation continue. He couldn't protect Xander from everything – didn't want to – but this job had been his idea, and if it wasn't working out, then he'd have to find another one, make it right –
Revelations shouldn't come in pairs. Giles sat down heavily and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.
"Giles? They're fixed."
"I'll be there in a moment," Giles called back.
His briefcase was in the corner. He walked over to it and picked it up.
* * * * *
Groaning mildly in contentment, Xander pushed his plate away and laced his hands over his stomach. "Oof. I think I ate too much."
"You always say that after we have a big meal," Giles said, looking at him fondly. "Perhaps I should remind you when you're ten bites from finishing, so that you can stop then."
"But the whole point's to eat until you're stuffed." Xander grinned and finished the wine in his glass. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who ate too much." He looked pointedly at Giles' plate, which was, in point of fact, just as clean as Xander's was.
Still, despite Xander's attempts at good humor, Giles couldn't help but notice that the small lines around his eye were back, and that he occasionally rubbed at his temples.
It was stress, Giles was certain of it. "Wait until tomorrow," he said. "I guarantee after a traditional English Christmas dinner, you'll be incapable of doing more than stagger from table to couch. It's the mince pies. They're lethal." He picked up the bottle and refilled their glasses with what was left of the wine before standing and pulling Xander to his feet. "Let's have a trial run, shall we? Sorry, trial stagger, I mean."
Xander came along with him cooperatively enough, even if he did sound confused. "Trial run – stagger – of what?"
Giles gave him a puzzled look. "I just meant moving from table to couch. Is the lack of sleep catching up with you?" He placed his wine glass on the end table, and took Xander's from him and put it beside his own. "Let's sit down; I want to talk to you." He watched Xander's mouth tighten, not with annoyance, but tension, and as soon as they were seated, leaned over and kissed him firmly until he felt the mouth against his soften and respond.
Xander's hand settled on the back of Giles' neck, and when the kiss had ended, Xander pulled back just far enough so that their eyes could meet. "I love you," Xander said. "I do. Please tell me that's not the thing we're going to talk about, because I don't know how else to convince you." It was clear that the subject bothered him a great deal, which just made Giles more sure of what he was doing.
"Is that what you were doing last night? Convincing me? Or was there more to it than that?" Giles lifted his hand to cup Xander's face. "I know you love me. I shouldn't have doubted you, but you've been behaving differently and it's troubled me even when I didn't fully appreciate it was happening." He slid his hand behind Xander's neck, moving his thumb in a slow, reassuring slide against the sensitive strip of skin beneath his ear. "I don't want to force you to talk to me if you're not ready, but I can't help blaming myself for putting you in a position where you can't. That is why you've been so reticent, isn't it? You think I'll be hurt, even angry, if you tell me what's on your mind."
"I don't want to screw this up." Xander's voice was a bit unsteady, his eye bright and anxious. "I can... All that matters to me is that we're together. I can't lose you."
"That's not going to happen," Giles said quietly. "I'll always be here for you – but that's part of the problem. You were so – this was all so new to you that I took over, tried to make it easy for you because I loved you. Saw you weren't comfortable with driving because of this – " he brushed his fingers underneath the patch he so rarely saw behind, "or our insistence on driving on the wrong side of the road, and instead of encouraging you to face the problem I made it go away by always being the one who got behind the wheel. I've been doing that far too much, haven't I? Being the one calling the shots." He hesitated and then, before Xander could reply, he added, "In bed, as well as out of it?"
Xander shook his head. "No. I just... I just need some more time to get used to, you know, the change. Of being here. But I'm not... whatever it is you're thinking. Not living up to your expectations, is that it? I'll do better, I promise." He sounded as desperate as Giles had ever heard him.
"That's not it," Giles said soothingly. "It's nothing like that. You're everything I want. I just don't like seeing you so unhappy."
Sighing, Xander leaned in against Giles, one arm slipping around his waist. "I don't know what to say."
Frustrated because everything he said seemed to be worrying Xander, Giles grimaced. "I'm not sure either," he admitted. "Possibly I'm misreading the situation – " He shook his head. "No, I'm not. Last night – what made you finally decide to take control to that extent? And, no, don't you dare apologize, because I think I made it quite plain I enjoyed it – I'm just concerned that – you did it to please me, the way you do so much these days. Not because you wanted to."
Xander brought his hand down to rest on Giles' shirt sleeve, fingers plucking at the fabric. Finally, he said, "I guess... because it felt good? I mean, not physically – well, that too – but... I don't know." He shrugged. "Because I wanted to feel in control, maybe? Is that what you mean?"
Giles nodded. "You were trying to assert yourself in one area of your life, at least?" He gave Xander a wry smile. "And you're more than welcome to drive the car, you know. And pick a movie you know I'll hate, wear that shirt I told you made my eyes bleed, drink beer not wine, eat pizza not curry..."
Xander looked up from the cuff of Giles' sleeve. "I know. I just... I don't know. I guess I'm still waiting to feel settled." When Giles made a small questioning sound, Xander elaborated, "You know, how when you first get to a new place, you're waiting for everything to feel familiar. But the parts that do..." He trailed off.
"It's been a year," Giles pointed out gently. "And I do know; Sunnydale might not have been as large as London, but it was equally bewildering and challenging." He put his hand over Xander's, putting a stop to the restless movements of his fingers. "And there were these awful, cheeky teenagers to deal with, making jokes about my accent, my tea-drinking, my clothes..."
"Look... whatever it is you want me to do, or say, or... just tell me. Please." Xander turned his hand underneath Giles', holding on.
"I don't –" Giles stood up, removing his hand from Xander's after a gentle squeeze. "Wait here. I want to get something."
He walked to their bedroom quickly, feeling the pressure of Xander's startled, upset face and castigating himself for letting it go this far, missing so many signs –
Reaching into his briefcase, he took out the envelope on top of the papers he'd brought home and tapped it against his hand for a moment before shrugging. If this didn't work, he'd try something else, but he hoped...
"Here," he said when he got back to the living room, holding out the envelope. Xander was exactly where he'd left him, looking up with a stricken expression on his face. "Consider it an early Christmas present. And one you can definitely return if it's not what you want... but I think you do."
Xander looked confused, but he reached out and took the envelope slowly. "What...?"
Giles put his hands into his pockets and said, "Just open it."
"Okay." So slowly that Giles was tempted to shout at him to get on with it, Xander opened the envelope and took out the slip of paper inside. Giles watched his eye travel from left to right as he read it, lips slightly parted. "You're firing me?" Xander asked, still staring at the piece of paper as if he were dazed.
"Not exactly. If you decide to go, it'll be presented as you resigning." Giles crouched down beside Xander, resting his hands on Xander's knees. "If you decide. Whatever you choose is fine. I'm not going to make the mistake of forcing you into something again, but I am going to give you complete freedom to decide, and as much time as you need to do it in." He searched Xander's face, and saw nothing but confusion. "If you want to stay within the Council, you know the set-up well enough to know where you'll be happiest. If you want to leave altogether and go back to construction, set up on your own – anything, you can." He dropped his eyes and swallowed. "And if that means that we won't be together as much as we have been, well, we'll manage. I can't leave London, not really, but you can. Make this your base, not your home." He tilted his head back and met Xander's gaze. "And none of it means losing me, unless that's what you want."
"You know I don't want that," Xander said, his voice stronger now. He still sounded a bit bewildered, but Giles could almost hear his brain turning. "I want to stay here. I don't want – I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I chose this. Well, part of it. I just didn't realize..." He patted Giles' hand, looking at him. "I didn't want to lose you. It felt like..."
The silence grew longer, until eventually Giles prompted, gently, "It felt like what?"
"Like this was a package deal," Xander whispered.
Giles gaped at him in silence. "A – bloody hell!" He stood up and stared down at Xander, completely dumbfounded. "You thought – how could you think that? I wanted a way for us to be together, yes, and I sincerely thought you'd be good at it – which you were, no question about it – but to think that me loving you was conditional on –" Realizing that he was shouting, he closed his mouth on any more angry words, turned and walked away, ending up at the Christmas tree, serenely glittering, the spicy scent of the branches oddly soothing.
"I thought I'd be good at it, too," he heard Xander say. It was clear from his voice that he'd stood up as well, but when Giles turned his head, Xander was still standing just in front of the sofa. "I am good at it. Kind of. I just... don't like it. I guess maybe I'm not..." Xander sighed, and Giles inhaled the scent of the tree again. "There are different kinds of smart. Willow... she was the real thing. Give her a book and she could learn anything. A week later it'd be like she'd known it all her life... she wouldn't have to think about it, it was just... hers. I'm not like that."
Concerned at where this seemed to be headed, Giles did turn around properly, but Xander held up a hand to stop him from saying anything.
"I can do this stuff," Xander said. "Paperwork, requisition forms... but it never gets easier. Every time it's like I just learned it."
"Your job was supposed to be more about dealing with people," Giles said. "That bloody woman's been loading you up with paperwork she should have been dealing with herself... but there'll always be some, of course." He frowned. "And wasn't there when you worked in construction? Was that as difficult for you?"
Xander shook his head. "That was different. Wood and nails, they're... concrete. Well, they're not actual concrete, but... you know what I mean."
Giles nodded, staying quiet in case Xander intended to say more.
"I don't think I'm ever going to get good at this." Xander shrugged miserably. "And yeah, I know this... us... isn't really contingent on me working for the Council. But what else am I supposed to do? I mean, I couldn't just come to you and say, 'Hey, Giles, this job's making me want to slam my head against the wall.' It makes me sound so... stupid."
"No," Giles said tiredly. "It makes you sound like someone with enough common sense to realize you're in the wrong place. God, Xander... that's exactly what I need to know; as your employer, as your partner, as your friend, damn it."
"I didn't want to disappoint you," Xander said.
"So instead you worry me half to death thinking you're bored with me and wishing you'd taken John up on his offer?" Giles snapped, miserably aware of the fact that this wasn't how he'd thought they'd be spending Christmas Eve.
Xander flinched, but stood his ground. "You're the only part of this I've never regretted," he said softly, in a way that made Giles feel ashamed. "I still want to be with you. I never thought – not for a second since we've been together – about being with John. I'm not saying... Look, I know I screwed up. But this isn't about us. It's not."
"It is when you don't feel close enough to tell me how you're feeling, and I'm too blind to notice," Giles said. A tree ornament, intricate patterns of silver over an ice-blue snowflake, spun idly in the warm air, catching his eye. He flicked at it moodily and sighed as a shower of needles cascaded onto the presents stacked around the base of the tree. "You know, it occurs to me that you've had more practice at this than me. The living together, having arguments bit, I mean. I've never really – well, never had time for that." He reached out and touched the snowflake, stilling it, and then glanced at Xander. "Help me out? Are we at the kiss and make up stage yet? Because I'd like to be."
Smiling hesitantly, Xander shrugged with just one shoulder. "That depends," he said. "On whether you're still mad at me."
"I was never mad at you," Giles admitted. "More at myself, really."
"Well, I was never mad at you," Xander said, taking a step toward Giles. "And I didn't not tell you because I don't feel close enough to you. It's because I do, and I don't want to lose that. I like that we work at the same place and can, you know, have conversations about work that we both get." He moved closer still, pulling Giles into his warm, strong arms.
"I like that too," Giles replied, allowing himself to be held and comforted, resting his head against Xander's wide shoulder. "Just not so much that it's worth making every day a Monday for you." He straightened. "We'll – you'll think of something better. Something you want to do."
He felt Xander tense slightly, then relax again. "I'd better think of something quick," he said, "or you'll have to find a new roommate."
"Why would I want to do that?" Giles asked, feeling lost. "I don't want to do that," he added more firmly.
Xander fixed him with a stern look. "I was kidding," he said. "You know, exhibiting a sense of humor? I thought it was one of the things you liked about me."
"If you make any more jokes like that, it's going to rank below your less-than-endearing habit of putting a virtually empty milk carton back in the fridge," Giles said, returning the glare for about a second before it melted into a smile, because he didn't want to even pretend to be arguing with Xander right now.
Hugging him more tightly, Xander said, "I'm sorry. I should have said something, I just didn't know how."
Giles lifted his eyebrows. "An inter-office memo – a D3 as it was to me personally, not to be circulated, for which you'd have needed a D3a of course – would have worked admirably well. Let me see, how could you have phrased it? 'Dear Giles, this job sucks. Xander.'" He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that would have done the trick."
"Okay." Xander cleared his throat, hugged Giles again, then took a deep breath. "Giles?"
"Yes, Xander?"
"I hate my job. I hate the paperwork, and the way it never gets any easier, and I hate that it makes me feel stupid." Xander's chin was resting on Giles' shoulder, and as he spoke, Giles could feel the movements of his jaw. "In short, the job sucks. But I love you enough that I'd keep doing it if that's what it took."
"It doesn't," Giles said, lifting his hand up to stroke Xander's hair back off his face. "It never did. It never will."
"Good," Xander said. "Then you can't fire me – I quit." He grinned, his expression filled with wonder, and pulled Giles back over to the sofa and down in a tangle of limbs that ended with Giles very nearly in Xander's lap.
Then Xander's lips were on his, and very little else mattered.
* * * * *
Giles could hear Xander getting ready for bed, and it didn't make him inclined to linger, but he conscientiously turned off the tree lights and stacked the dishes in the small kitchen before moving towards the stairs.
On a sudden impulse, as the clock struck midnight, he went to the window and stared down at the empty street. No snow; no chance of it either, but high above a star shone brightly enough to defeat the artificial glow of millions of street lamps.
Turning, his hand brushed against Xander's desk, and he paused. The card from John lay there, and it occurred to him that he hadn't actually read it. It was a local artist's pen and ink drawing of Traighshee House, drawn some time before, as it still showed the tree that had come crashing down. Opening it, he read the formal greeting, addressed to 'Xander and Rupert' in a neat, careful script, and then glanced at the short message on the opposite side.
I'm thinking the island will seem far from you these days but you're both remembered and missed.
Rupert, the young lassies are settling in well, and Xander, you did fine work; we've had some fierce storms, but Traighshee weathered them all.
The fish bit well this summer.
Giles walked over to the mantelpiece and placed John's card beside the clock, which was busily ticking off the minutes of the second Christmas Day he'd get to spend with Xander.
He didn't know what was waiting for him under the tree – although the shape of the present from Dawn looked depressingly like socks – but he knew who was waiting for him upstairs.
Hopefully unwrapped.
He poured them both a measure of whiskey for a nightcap and then changed his mind. Xander didn't really like it. Tipping the contents of one glass into the other, he raised it in a silent toast and drank.
And wished, not for happiness for himself and Xander – he thought they could manage that for themselves – but that next year the card from John would have two signatures on it.
wesleysgirl ::hugs her::Previous parts here
One Year On by Jane Davitt and Wesleysgirl
Part Three
"It looks perfect," Giles said for the sixth time, hearing the desperation creeping into his voice. He took a sip of the whiskey that he'd allowed himself after the late lunch that had followed an even later breakfast. And a very late night. He stared appreciatively, not at the tree, swaying dangerously as Xander twisted it around on the stand, but at Xander himself, letting his gaze go from dark hair, still slightly too long for the office, not that he gave a toss about that, down to an arse he had fond memories of touching and kissing and – well, there really wasn't anything he hadn't done to it... Not after the night before...
"Just perfect. Can we start to decorate it now?"
He transferred his gaze to the box of decorations, all new of course, with a soft dazzle of silver tinsel cloaking the rainbow assortment of balls and lights.
"No," Xander said, giving the tree one last adjustment before crawling backward and looking up at it. He'd rolled his shirt sleeves up and looked fairly relaxed. "Well, okay, yes. But only because at this point there's so much sap on my hands that if I touch the trunk again I don't think you'd be able to pry me off with a crowbar."
Xander stood up, hands at his sides. "You go ahead and get started," he told Giles. "I'll be right back."
Giles didn't, of course, want to start without Xander, so he contented himself with lifting one ornament from the box and fiddling with it while listening to the sounds Xander was making washing his hands in the kitchen.
In moments, Xander was back, sliding an arm around Giles' waist from behind and hugging him close. "Okay, what's first? Is there a special order?"
"You never – ?" Giles remembered too late to censor himself that Xander's Christmases hadn't been the kind that involved much participation in rituals like this. "I think it's supposed to be best to put the lights on first." He turned his head to give Xander a kiss and smiled at him. "New as they are, they should all work."
Xander moved around and dug through the box until he came up with the three boxes of lights. "Better plug them in and check first just to be sure." He opened the boxes and took out the lights, going over and sitting on the floor beside the outlet and plugging in the first string. It lit up in a brilliant bundle of color.
The second string lit as well, but the third flickered and then went out. Giles was busy by that time spreading a blanket underneath the tree, so he didn't know anything was wrong until he heard Xander say, "Hmm."
"We could always make do with two strings?" Giles suggested.
"No, it's okay," Xander said, fiddling with the string, which he'd unplugged. "It's just... there's this loose wire... I'm gonna get some electrical tape."
"Really, we could just make do... or I could try the corner shop; they're bound to have some..." Giles let his voice trail off. Xander was already heading towards the cupboard where he kept his battered but neatly arranged toolbox and looking, not happy exactly, but purposeful.
The same way Xander'd looked when he'd been trimming the branches so that the tree fitted perfectly into the corner, with room for the star on top. The same way he'd looked when he was trying to fix the boiler, tying knots, fucking Giles into a state of blissful incoherence.
The way he never looked at work.
Giles turned away with a muttered excuse Xander barely heard and went to their bedroom. They'd not given it the customary, if cursory, tidying it usually got in the morning, and he moved around, opening the curtains, smoothing the bed covers – before changing his mind and stripping the sheets, as they needed to be washed – and picking up scattered clothes for the laundry basket.
All make-work while he tried to decide exactly when Xander had started to hate the job he was so very good at.
Because it wasn't as simple as him not being suited for it; he'd done so well that the dubious looks had turned to approving smiles within the first month. As he'd told Xander, he had a certain glamour about him that worked in his favor, and Xander's natural instinct when faced with a job was to do it and do it properly.
It just wasn't what he wanted to do.
There were no more Council-related jobs like the renovation of Traighshee House, and if there were Xander's rank was too high for him to be assigned to them. Not that Giles would have let that stop him, but... And Xander could have looked for a job outside the Council, but somehow Giles didn't think that was what he wanted, either.
The night before had convinced him that Xander wasn't unhappy with him, but he was unhappy with something, and Giles wasn't about to let that situation continue. He couldn't protect Xander from everything – didn't want to – but this job had been his idea, and if it wasn't working out, then he'd have to find another one, make it right –
Revelations shouldn't come in pairs. Giles sat down heavily and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.
"Giles? They're fixed."
"I'll be there in a moment," Giles called back.
His briefcase was in the corner. He walked over to it and picked it up.
Groaning mildly in contentment, Xander pushed his plate away and laced his hands over his stomach. "Oof. I think I ate too much."
"You always say that after we have a big meal," Giles said, looking at him fondly. "Perhaps I should remind you when you're ten bites from finishing, so that you can stop then."
"But the whole point's to eat until you're stuffed." Xander grinned and finished the wine in his glass. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who ate too much." He looked pointedly at Giles' plate, which was, in point of fact, just as clean as Xander's was.
Still, despite Xander's attempts at good humor, Giles couldn't help but notice that the small lines around his eye were back, and that he occasionally rubbed at his temples.
It was stress, Giles was certain of it. "Wait until tomorrow," he said. "I guarantee after a traditional English Christmas dinner, you'll be incapable of doing more than stagger from table to couch. It's the mince pies. They're lethal." He picked up the bottle and refilled their glasses with what was left of the wine before standing and pulling Xander to his feet. "Let's have a trial run, shall we? Sorry, trial stagger, I mean."
Xander came along with him cooperatively enough, even if he did sound confused. "Trial run – stagger – of what?"
Giles gave him a puzzled look. "I just meant moving from table to couch. Is the lack of sleep catching up with you?" He placed his wine glass on the end table, and took Xander's from him and put it beside his own. "Let's sit down; I want to talk to you." He watched Xander's mouth tighten, not with annoyance, but tension, and as soon as they were seated, leaned over and kissed him firmly until he felt the mouth against his soften and respond.
Xander's hand settled on the back of Giles' neck, and when the kiss had ended, Xander pulled back just far enough so that their eyes could meet. "I love you," Xander said. "I do. Please tell me that's not the thing we're going to talk about, because I don't know how else to convince you." It was clear that the subject bothered him a great deal, which just made Giles more sure of what he was doing.
"Is that what you were doing last night? Convincing me? Or was there more to it than that?" Giles lifted his hand to cup Xander's face. "I know you love me. I shouldn't have doubted you, but you've been behaving differently and it's troubled me even when I didn't fully appreciate it was happening." He slid his hand behind Xander's neck, moving his thumb in a slow, reassuring slide against the sensitive strip of skin beneath his ear. "I don't want to force you to talk to me if you're not ready, but I can't help blaming myself for putting you in a position where you can't. That is why you've been so reticent, isn't it? You think I'll be hurt, even angry, if you tell me what's on your mind."
"I don't want to screw this up." Xander's voice was a bit unsteady, his eye bright and anxious. "I can... All that matters to me is that we're together. I can't lose you."
"That's not going to happen," Giles said quietly. "I'll always be here for you – but that's part of the problem. You were so – this was all so new to you that I took over, tried to make it easy for you because I loved you. Saw you weren't comfortable with driving because of this – " he brushed his fingers underneath the patch he so rarely saw behind, "or our insistence on driving on the wrong side of the road, and instead of encouraging you to face the problem I made it go away by always being the one who got behind the wheel. I've been doing that far too much, haven't I? Being the one calling the shots." He hesitated and then, before Xander could reply, he added, "In bed, as well as out of it?"
Xander shook his head. "No. I just... I just need some more time to get used to, you know, the change. Of being here. But I'm not... whatever it is you're thinking. Not living up to your expectations, is that it? I'll do better, I promise." He sounded as desperate as Giles had ever heard him.
"That's not it," Giles said soothingly. "It's nothing like that. You're everything I want. I just don't like seeing you so unhappy."
Sighing, Xander leaned in against Giles, one arm slipping around his waist. "I don't know what to say."
Frustrated because everything he said seemed to be worrying Xander, Giles grimaced. "I'm not sure either," he admitted. "Possibly I'm misreading the situation – " He shook his head. "No, I'm not. Last night – what made you finally decide to take control to that extent? And, no, don't you dare apologize, because I think I made it quite plain I enjoyed it – I'm just concerned that – you did it to please me, the way you do so much these days. Not because you wanted to."
Xander brought his hand down to rest on Giles' shirt sleeve, fingers plucking at the fabric. Finally, he said, "I guess... because it felt good? I mean, not physically – well, that too – but... I don't know." He shrugged. "Because I wanted to feel in control, maybe? Is that what you mean?"
Giles nodded. "You were trying to assert yourself in one area of your life, at least?" He gave Xander a wry smile. "And you're more than welcome to drive the car, you know. And pick a movie you know I'll hate, wear that shirt I told you made my eyes bleed, drink beer not wine, eat pizza not curry..."
Xander looked up from the cuff of Giles' sleeve. "I know. I just... I don't know. I guess I'm still waiting to feel settled." When Giles made a small questioning sound, Xander elaborated, "You know, how when you first get to a new place, you're waiting for everything to feel familiar. But the parts that do..." He trailed off.
"It's been a year," Giles pointed out gently. "And I do know; Sunnydale might not have been as large as London, but it was equally bewildering and challenging." He put his hand over Xander's, putting a stop to the restless movements of his fingers. "And there were these awful, cheeky teenagers to deal with, making jokes about my accent, my tea-drinking, my clothes..."
"Look... whatever it is you want me to do, or say, or... just tell me. Please." Xander turned his hand underneath Giles', holding on.
"I don't –" Giles stood up, removing his hand from Xander's after a gentle squeeze. "Wait here. I want to get something."
He walked to their bedroom quickly, feeling the pressure of Xander's startled, upset face and castigating himself for letting it go this far, missing so many signs –
Reaching into his briefcase, he took out the envelope on top of the papers he'd brought home and tapped it against his hand for a moment before shrugging. If this didn't work, he'd try something else, but he hoped...
"Here," he said when he got back to the living room, holding out the envelope. Xander was exactly where he'd left him, looking up with a stricken expression on his face. "Consider it an early Christmas present. And one you can definitely return if it's not what you want... but I think you do."
Xander looked confused, but he reached out and took the envelope slowly. "What...?"
Giles put his hands into his pockets and said, "Just open it."
"Okay." So slowly that Giles was tempted to shout at him to get on with it, Xander opened the envelope and took out the slip of paper inside. Giles watched his eye travel from left to right as he read it, lips slightly parted. "You're firing me?" Xander asked, still staring at the piece of paper as if he were dazed.
"Not exactly. If you decide to go, it'll be presented as you resigning." Giles crouched down beside Xander, resting his hands on Xander's knees. "If you decide. Whatever you choose is fine. I'm not going to make the mistake of forcing you into something again, but I am going to give you complete freedom to decide, and as much time as you need to do it in." He searched Xander's face, and saw nothing but confusion. "If you want to stay within the Council, you know the set-up well enough to know where you'll be happiest. If you want to leave altogether and go back to construction, set up on your own – anything, you can." He dropped his eyes and swallowed. "And if that means that we won't be together as much as we have been, well, we'll manage. I can't leave London, not really, but you can. Make this your base, not your home." He tilted his head back and met Xander's gaze. "And none of it means losing me, unless that's what you want."
"You know I don't want that," Xander said, his voice stronger now. He still sounded a bit bewildered, but Giles could almost hear his brain turning. "I want to stay here. I don't want – I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I chose this. Well, part of it. I just didn't realize..." He patted Giles' hand, looking at him. "I didn't want to lose you. It felt like..."
The silence grew longer, until eventually Giles prompted, gently, "It felt like what?"
"Like this was a package deal," Xander whispered.
Giles gaped at him in silence. "A – bloody hell!" He stood up and stared down at Xander, completely dumbfounded. "You thought – how could you think that? I wanted a way for us to be together, yes, and I sincerely thought you'd be good at it – which you were, no question about it – but to think that me loving you was conditional on –" Realizing that he was shouting, he closed his mouth on any more angry words, turned and walked away, ending up at the Christmas tree, serenely glittering, the spicy scent of the branches oddly soothing.
"I thought I'd be good at it, too," he heard Xander say. It was clear from his voice that he'd stood up as well, but when Giles turned his head, Xander was still standing just in front of the sofa. "I am good at it. Kind of. I just... don't like it. I guess maybe I'm not..." Xander sighed, and Giles inhaled the scent of the tree again. "There are different kinds of smart. Willow... she was the real thing. Give her a book and she could learn anything. A week later it'd be like she'd known it all her life... she wouldn't have to think about it, it was just... hers. I'm not like that."
Concerned at where this seemed to be headed, Giles did turn around properly, but Xander held up a hand to stop him from saying anything.
"I can do this stuff," Xander said. "Paperwork, requisition forms... but it never gets easier. Every time it's like I just learned it."
"Your job was supposed to be more about dealing with people," Giles said. "That bloody woman's been loading you up with paperwork she should have been dealing with herself... but there'll always be some, of course." He frowned. "And wasn't there when you worked in construction? Was that as difficult for you?"
Xander shook his head. "That was different. Wood and nails, they're... concrete. Well, they're not actual concrete, but... you know what I mean."
Giles nodded, staying quiet in case Xander intended to say more.
"I don't think I'm ever going to get good at this." Xander shrugged miserably. "And yeah, I know this... us... isn't really contingent on me working for the Council. But what else am I supposed to do? I mean, I couldn't just come to you and say, 'Hey, Giles, this job's making me want to slam my head against the wall.' It makes me sound so... stupid."
"No," Giles said tiredly. "It makes you sound like someone with enough common sense to realize you're in the wrong place. God, Xander... that's exactly what I need to know; as your employer, as your partner, as your friend, damn it."
"I didn't want to disappoint you," Xander said.
"So instead you worry me half to death thinking you're bored with me and wishing you'd taken John up on his offer?" Giles snapped, miserably aware of the fact that this wasn't how he'd thought they'd be spending Christmas Eve.
Xander flinched, but stood his ground. "You're the only part of this I've never regretted," he said softly, in a way that made Giles feel ashamed. "I still want to be with you. I never thought – not for a second since we've been together – about being with John. I'm not saying... Look, I know I screwed up. But this isn't about us. It's not."
"It is when you don't feel close enough to tell me how you're feeling, and I'm too blind to notice," Giles said. A tree ornament, intricate patterns of silver over an ice-blue snowflake, spun idly in the warm air, catching his eye. He flicked at it moodily and sighed as a shower of needles cascaded onto the presents stacked around the base of the tree. "You know, it occurs to me that you've had more practice at this than me. The living together, having arguments bit, I mean. I've never really – well, never had time for that." He reached out and touched the snowflake, stilling it, and then glanced at Xander. "Help me out? Are we at the kiss and make up stage yet? Because I'd like to be."
Smiling hesitantly, Xander shrugged with just one shoulder. "That depends," he said. "On whether you're still mad at me."
"I was never mad at you," Giles admitted. "More at myself, really."
"Well, I was never mad at you," Xander said, taking a step toward Giles. "And I didn't not tell you because I don't feel close enough to you. It's because I do, and I don't want to lose that. I like that we work at the same place and can, you know, have conversations about work that we both get." He moved closer still, pulling Giles into his warm, strong arms.
"I like that too," Giles replied, allowing himself to be held and comforted, resting his head against Xander's wide shoulder. "Just not so much that it's worth making every day a Monday for you." He straightened. "We'll – you'll think of something better. Something you want to do."
He felt Xander tense slightly, then relax again. "I'd better think of something quick," he said, "or you'll have to find a new roommate."
"Why would I want to do that?" Giles asked, feeling lost. "I don't want to do that," he added more firmly.
Xander fixed him with a stern look. "I was kidding," he said. "You know, exhibiting a sense of humor? I thought it was one of the things you liked about me."
"If you make any more jokes like that, it's going to rank below your less-than-endearing habit of putting a virtually empty milk carton back in the fridge," Giles said, returning the glare for about a second before it melted into a smile, because he didn't want to even pretend to be arguing with Xander right now.
Hugging him more tightly, Xander said, "I'm sorry. I should have said something, I just didn't know how."
Giles lifted his eyebrows. "An inter-office memo – a D3 as it was to me personally, not to be circulated, for which you'd have needed a D3a of course – would have worked admirably well. Let me see, how could you have phrased it? 'Dear Giles, this job sucks. Xander.'" He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that would have done the trick."
"Okay." Xander cleared his throat, hugged Giles again, then took a deep breath. "Giles?"
"Yes, Xander?"
"I hate my job. I hate the paperwork, and the way it never gets any easier, and I hate that it makes me feel stupid." Xander's chin was resting on Giles' shoulder, and as he spoke, Giles could feel the movements of his jaw. "In short, the job sucks. But I love you enough that I'd keep doing it if that's what it took."
"It doesn't," Giles said, lifting his hand up to stroke Xander's hair back off his face. "It never did. It never will."
"Good," Xander said. "Then you can't fire me – I quit." He grinned, his expression filled with wonder, and pulled Giles back over to the sofa and down in a tangle of limbs that ended with Giles very nearly in Xander's lap.
Then Xander's lips were on his, and very little else mattered.
Giles could hear Xander getting ready for bed, and it didn't make him inclined to linger, but he conscientiously turned off the tree lights and stacked the dishes in the small kitchen before moving towards the stairs.
On a sudden impulse, as the clock struck midnight, he went to the window and stared down at the empty street. No snow; no chance of it either, but high above a star shone brightly enough to defeat the artificial glow of millions of street lamps.
Turning, his hand brushed against Xander's desk, and he paused. The card from John lay there, and it occurred to him that he hadn't actually read it. It was a local artist's pen and ink drawing of Traighshee House, drawn some time before, as it still showed the tree that had come crashing down. Opening it, he read the formal greeting, addressed to 'Xander and Rupert' in a neat, careful script, and then glanced at the short message on the opposite side.
I'm thinking the island will seem far from you these days but you're both remembered and missed.
Rupert, the young lassies are settling in well, and Xander, you did fine work; we've had some fierce storms, but Traighshee weathered them all.
The fish bit well this summer.
Giles walked over to the mantelpiece and placed John's card beside the clock, which was busily ticking off the minutes of the second Christmas Day he'd get to spend with Xander.
He didn't know what was waiting for him under the tree – although the shape of the present from Dawn looked depressingly like socks – but he knew who was waiting for him upstairs.
Hopefully unwrapped.
He poured them both a measure of whiskey for a nightcap and then changed his mind. Xander didn't really like it. Tipping the contents of one glass into the other, he raised it in a silent toast and drank.
And wished, not for happiness for himself and Xander – he thought they could manage that for themselves – but that next year the card from John would have two signatures on it.