In the months following Buffy's death, Giles was engulfed by misery.
He went to great lengths to hide the true depth of his despair from the Scoobies, because while he knew that they were feeling plenty of pain themselves, he felt a very real obligation to be the grounded, responsible one. The one who knew what to do next. The one who powered on through the pain.
Late at night, when they were all safe at home, that was when he allowed his misery to swallow him whole. Sometimes he went home and drank but more often than not, he skulked in the Magic Box alone, draining glass after glass of liquor until he fell asleep at the table, or in the back room.
This was the state that he was in when Spike found him one night.
It was still rather early in the evening, but the alcohol had certainly begun to take effect by the time Spike waltzed in through the back door. Giles assumed that it was an intruder, and groped for a weapon that he could use to defend himself; his hand landed on a crossbow first and he held it aloft, hand shaky as he pointed it toward the doorway.
Spike caught sight of the Watcher and froze only a foot into the room, throwing his hands up into the air. "Hey, watch where you're pointing that thing!"
Giles knew intuitively that Spike wasn't looking for a fight, but he was irritated and drunk and he almost shot at him anyway. Unfortunately, he knew his aim would be off and he didn't want to start a fight that he couldn't win, so he tossed the crossbow aside and slumped back down in his chair. "What in the bloody hell are you doing here?"
"Same as you, I think."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Giles massaged his brow, exasperated. Well, mostly exasperated. Mildly curious. He had no idea what, exactly, he was doing; perhaps it would be vaguely interesting to hear Spike's take.
"I was thinking of B—" He stopped himself from saying her name when Giles looked up sharply, and the venomous glare that he received was enough to make him backtrack. He cleared his throat to stall for time. "I wanted to clear my head so I went for a walk. Next thing I knew I was standing out back, and I saw your car was still here, so…"
The Watcher raised his eyebrows skeptically. "So you thought you'd come in and what? Have a nice friendly chat over some tea?"
Spike snorted loudly and took wide strides to the table, where he sat down in the chair across from Giles. Before there was room for any protestations, the vampire pulled a bottle of bourbon from inside his coat and slammed it on the table. "Or something stronger."
"Oh, alright." Giles was about to get up to grab Spike a glass, but before he could muster up the energy, Spike had already removed the top and begun guzzling straight from the bottle. He chuckled in spite of himself—very well. He could certainly appreciate that mindset.
Although they never agreed upon it explicitly, Spike kept coming after that. They didn't talk much, mostly just drank. By the time Giles awoke in the early morning, Spike was always gone.
During his days, when Giles was attempting to conceal is increasingly miserable hangovers from the kids, he wondered why he was suddenly willing to play nice with the disgruntled vampire, even if it was just as a drinking partner. But deep down, he knew.
When it came down to it, they just mourned the same way. They were both drowning in their despair, but it felt less like it would put an end to them when they were drowning—drinking—side by side.
About a month after the showdown with Glory, and after several test patrols, Willow suggested that they keep the Buffybot in commission perpetually in order to ward off demons for as long as possible. They were all in total agreement about it, but that night the thought of the robot nagged at Giles and, for the first time since that initial night, he turned a weapon on Spike when he walked through the door.
He stood with a few feet of space between them, the alcohol he'd already drunk making him only tipsy enough to be at risk of truly shooting if he became cross enough. "I think I've figured it out," he told him slowly. "Why I still can't let myself like you."
There was a pregnant pause, as though he wanted to give Spike some room to speak, but for once, the vampire seemed at a loss for words, so Giles continued.
"You were… obsessed with Buffy. Bloody obsessed. And right at the end there, I thought maybe you were finally backing off. But when she died—" For just a moment, he stumbled on the word, but he soldiered on almost immediately. "When she died, it was like you thought it gave you permission to love her, even though she never did anything but make it clear that she… that she abhorred you. How fucking bollocksed is that?"
Both of them stood motionless for what felt like an eternity. Finally Spike decided to risk it, and he spoke. "I do love her, even if that's not how you see things. The Slayer was never going to be mine; trust me, I'd come to terms with it. I'm sure you can relate."
Giles gaped at him, and rushed into a stuttering objection, but Spike rolled his eyes and strode right past him, smacking his arm with the back of his hand. "Stop stammering, mate, let's just get to the drinking."
The Watcher joined him wordlessly at the table and he drank until the world was in waves.