Author: Nicole
A/N: See part one for disclaimer and author's note.
Father of mine
Tell me, where have you been?
Y'know, I just closed my eyes
My whole world disappeared-- Everclear, "Father of Mine"
"Xander." The soft voice repeated his name insistently, breaking through the blackness to catch his attention. "Xander..."
Blinking somewhat groggily, Xander looked up at a familiar face. It was twisted into a concerned expression, one that the lines etched on to it suggested was worn far too often for a man still well short of fifty.
"Giles," he said hoarsely. "What are you doing here?" He looked around, seeing where his blind rush had taken him. Crawford Street...not very far from the mansion in which Angel had lived...in which Angelus had taken Giles as "house guest." Xander had run frantically, jogging when he finally ran out of adrenaline, walking until he could go no more. Then he had sat on the curb, head buried in his arms, trying to block out the world...block out the blank look he had seen in Buffy's eyes as she had regarded her Watcher and mentor, block out the piteous wail she had let out upon spilling more blood.
Giles offered him a bizarre smile, eyes shifting to the mansion. His mouth tightened slightly, then he winced in pain, gingerly touching his split lip. "It's nearly sundown," he said simply. "Not precisely the place to be after dark. Get in the car, if you would."
Xander looked from Giles to the sleek black rental car waiting a few yards back. "You can't drive that!" At Giles' bewildered expression, he clarified. "The Beamer...or hey, the Citroën!"
"In case that horror is not fresh enough in your mind, my Citroën was destroyed--along with my place of business--by Anya's lovely ex, the troll...thing." Xander felt his chest tighten at the mention of Anya's name, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. "Now, if the inanity is done, would you too terribly mind getting in the car? This is isn't exactly the spot in which I'd choose to have a bloody tea party!"
Wordlessly, Xander rose to his feet, and they both walked to the car. Both men remained silent for several minutes after Giles pulled away from the curb, waiting until the Crawford Street neighborhood was far behind. Xander broke the silence first.
"Where are we going?" he asked, gazing out the window. Without so much as a glance at the passenger seat, Giles turned on to Revello Drive.
"We're going to the Summers home," he replied calmly. "I need to see Dawn...and you and I have to talk." Xander felt a chill run down his spine at Giles' words, wondering how something said with such perfect British dignity could sound so menacing coming from Rupert "Ripper" Giles. Then he focused on the other thing that Giles had said.
"Dawn?" Xander repeated slowly. "I didn't tell you?"
The car jerked to an abrupt halt as Giles slammed his foot down on the brake, stopping in the middle of the street.
"No, you did not," he said in a voice that could have paralyzed a lesser man. "If Dawn is in a mental hospital, if Dawn is hurt or missing in any way, so help me, Alexander Harris, I will--"
"She's fine, she's fine!" Xander broke in hurriedly. "She's just...not in Sunnydale."
Giles stared at him for an instant, mouth slightly ajar, then he quickly closed it. "Right, then. We'll go to my place. And now we truly do need to talk, don't we?"
"It's pretty simple, really," Xander explained as he sat on Giles' couch. "Willow and Tara left, which--well, yay for them, or whatever." The bitterness in Xander's tone could not be fully suppressed. "Dawnie had nowhere to go after that, with Buffy..."he trailed off, and then took a deep breath. "I mean, I would have taken care of her as much as I could, but...God, I have to work for a living, too, you know?"
"Yes," Giles replied quietly, keeping his expression neutral even as his heart wept with pity. Xander was very nearly broken.
"We called her father, then, and Willow explained as diplomatically as possible that he needed to take care of his fucking daughter." This time, Xander didn't bother to hide his anger. "So he flew out, took her to Spain with him...Dawn had been failing her Spanish class, of course, but...Yeah. Hank Summers, father of the fucking year."
"I need a drink," Giles announced, turning away from Xander before he saw the shadow form over those hardened brown eyes. Giles knew he was just reinforcing everything the younger man had ever learned from the adult men in his life, but at this moment, he simply couldn't bring himself to play role model.
He was impressed by the steadiness of his own hands as he poured the whisky, but reasoned that by this point, the action must be controlled by muscle memory. He stared for a second, looking at the glass, remembering the first time Buffy had seen him drunk...seeing the confusion in those clear eyes...
"Jack Daniels, huh?" Xander asked, breaking into his reverie. "I guess you took all the good stuff back home with you."
The pointed emphasis on home may or may not have been intentional, but Giles certainly took note of it. Speaking quickly to overcome the awkward silence, Giles held up the bottle as a peace offering.
"Would you like a drink as well?" he asked, adding a nervous chuckle. "I keep forgetting that you're no longer a child. After watching you all grow up, I still want to play the father."
"Oh, is that what you call it?" Xander asked sardonically. "Gee, and I thought it was called abandoment." Giles felt his hand clench around the neck of the bottle, and willed himself back under control. "But I guess Buffy should have been used to it by this point, huh?"
"Don't talk about what you don't understand, Xander," Giles told him in a quiet, harsh tone, but he was more than stung by the remark. "Do you want a goddamn drink or not?"
"No." There was sanctimony in Xander's tone, and it made Giles bristle, but there was also determination. "I see what alcohol has done to my father, and I'm not gonna be that guy."
And he sees what's become of you, remarked a nasty voice in Giles' head. It was nonsense, of course-- a Giles didn't drink like a Harris. A Giles would be perfectly civil, and functional...just a bit of Scotch before bed, is all.
He took a sip of the whisky, letting it burn down his throat, closing his eyes as he swallowed. There was no need to look at Xander. He could feel the desperation and disapproval without needing to see it in the boy's eyes.
Giles couldn't stop himself from snapping. "For god's sake, boy, what do you want from me? I'm sorry? I think this is all past the point of an apology making everyone feel all warm and fuzzy again. It's time to grow up!"
"Don't you patronize me now, Ripper," Xander seethed, standing up to walk closer to Giles, looking straight up into his eyes. "Not after all this, don't you dare talk to me like I'm that idiot fifteen year kid that you thought you were so much better than."
"Xander, you were a child!" Giles exclaimed in exasperation, resisting the urge to move out of the personal space that Xander had so deliberately invaded. "And you continue to act like one."
"You left us," Xander went on, ignoring Giles' words. "You left us, you left her, you left me. And it all fell apart without you. Does that finally make you feel needed, Watcher-man? Isn't that the problem? You felt all neglected."
"Don't, Xander," he urged sharply, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Don't do this, I beg you, don't do this..."
Xander threw off his arm, and lunged at Giles with an inarticulate growl. Without a thought, Giles grabbed him, taking advantage of his momentum to shove him against the wall. Before he really knew what he was doing, his clenched fist hit Xander's jaw with a sickening thud, and the boy slid to the floor with a soft groan. Everything had happened so fast...Giles wasn't sure what had happened, but now Xander was a crumpled heap on the ground, and Xander was crying, he was actually crying, and Giles was staring at his own left hand in a kind of dull shock...and he was crying as well.
Idiot child...he knows my strength. He knows not to...good Lord, what have I done? I'm no better than his father...
"Xander..." he whispered, dropping to his knees next to the young man, touching his face gently. He knew his voice was hoarse, he knew that there was a hint of a sob in his throat, he knew that his own tears were splashing on to Xander's jeans. "Xander, I'm sorry. I truly am."