Author: Nicole
A/N: This follows the canon up to "Tabula Rasa" and then is fairly AU. So, forget everything that has happened since Giles left Sunnydale the first time. Disclaimer: Giles, Xander, Buffy and the BtVS universe are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. They're not mine...though maybe Joss would consider renting Giles out for the weekend?
"What ravages of spirit
Conjured this tempestuous rage
Created you a monster
Broken by the rule of love?"- Do What You Have To, Sarah McLachlan
As he stood motionless in shadows, Rupert Giles watched the young man standing next to the entrance of the hospital. Shaggy dark hair obscured his eyes as he bent his head to light the cigarette already pressed between his tight lips, but when Xander Harris straightened, Giles became inexplicably nauseous.
There was nothing overtly grotesque about his appearance...he looked like the same Xander that Giles had known for years now. Yet his face was...different. The eyes were cold; Giles couldn't help but liken them to stones. His youthfully handsome features were twisted in anger. Instead of his usual cheerful smile, he sported an indifferent scowl. Desperately, Giles searched that face for the boy he had left behind. Finding him nowhere, the Watcher stepped forward, directly into the force of that frozen gaze.
Xander's eyes flickered with...relief? resentment? hate? Giles wasn't sure, it was too brief a respite from the empty glare. The mask slammed back down, Xander moving his head slightly to indicate recognition.
"Since when do you smoke?" Giles was going for a light tone, but he felt the words come out flip and patronizing. Xander merely raised his eyebrows in response, holding out the pack silently. His mouth quirked in a brief but honest smile, Giles took the proffered cigarette gratefully.
"How was your flight?" These coldly civil words stabbed at Giles' heart more than any angry shout, more than even the silent treatment. He's going to be a grown-up; he's not going to let you back in, Giles thought to himself fiercely. Only a fool would think otherwise.
"It was well, thank you," he responded just as mechanically. Again, Giles thought he saw Xander wince slightly.
He's not as good at this as I was at his age, Giles mused clinically, then was hit by a sudden wave of self-loathing. What, you want him like you? Bloody hell, there was a time when the boy loved you, you black-hearted bastard. Of course he's in pain.
"Let's do this, then." Xander turned away from him, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You comin', or what?"
"Yes, of course." As Giles followed Xander into the hospital, he couldn't help but remember the phone call that had spurred his rather sudden trans-Atlantic flight.
"...Hello?" Giles cradled the telephone against his chin, letting his head drop back down on to the desk in exhaustion.
"Giles? That you?" Slowly, fuzzily Giles had made the connection. A phone call. A voice that he knew.
"...Xander," he mumbled. "It's late..."
"Not really..." Xander replied, somewhat puzzled. "It's only an eight hour difference..."
Giles pushed his head up painfully. "Oh." The clock only read 8:45 PM.
"Are you drunk again?" Xander demanded, disgust evident in his voice.
"What?" Giles asked weakly, looking at the decanter of scotch still clutched in his trembling left hand. "Of course not. Xander, why on Earth are you calling--"
"I knew this was a waste of time," Xander muttered.
"Is something wrong? Is everyone all right?" Giles realized he was slurring the words, and sat up, trying to clear his head. There was a bitter laugh at the other end of the line.
"Everyone. Yeah, everyone's fine, all...two of us."
"I don't understand," Giles said slowly.
"Willow and Tara have gotten back together--yay for them. They were packing up their things, getting ready to move out--to San Francisco, which is cliché even for Will--and then I found her."
Even in his alcohol impaired state, Giles was able to decipher those words. "You mean--"
Xander paused for a moment, seeming to revel in the pain he was feeling from across the line. "No, she's not dead, Giles."
"Th-thank God," Giles stammered in relief. "Goddamn it, Xander, what are you trying to tell me?"
"Buffy had a breakdown, okay?" Xander said irritably. "I don't know how else to explain, I'm no psychiatrist."
"What the hell do you mean, a breakdown?" The rage was sobering Giles somewhat, and he fished blindly for his glasses. "Are you saying my Slayer has lost her mental--"
"Your Slayer has done nothing," Xander cut in sharply. "The girl you walked away from when she needed you the most? Yeah, she's gone psycho. She stopped being your Slayer when you stepped on that plane."
"Psycho...Xander, I need facts, not a lecture." Giles cradled the phone against his chin as bent down to tie his shoelaces.
"She's been in the psych ward for the last month."
Giles went completely motionless, not even breathing. He felt sweat dripping from his palms, felt his mouth dry. "A month."
"Yeah."
"And you're calling me now." The voice was even, deadly so. Xander's response was somewhat hesitant.
"...Yeah."
"...Xander Harris, you little sodding fuck." There was venom in the Watcher's voice. He spat out the words with more hatred than he had ever shown Angelus.
"Giles--"
"So why do you even bother letting me know now?" Giles asked with cold sarcasm.
"She's...she's asking about you." The apathy was coming back into Xander's voice. "The doctor asked me to call you. He thinks it would be a good idea if you came."
Giles gritted his teeth. "Does he now?"
"Yeah...if you can sober up for a couple days. Think you can manage that?"
"You bloody pillock, I'm not as drunk as you think I am." He paused for a second. "And even if I were a slobbering lush in the gutter, what gives you the unmitigated temerity to even consider commenting on it? Who are you to pass judgment on me?"
"I don't know, G-Man." Xander's voice seemed oddly heavy. "These days, I honestly don't know."