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FIC: Not the End of the World (Giles/Xander, Mature)
Title: Not the End of the World
Authors: reremouse & savoytruffle
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Not ours. Not yours either.
Warnings: Friday nights, Saturday nights, plans, abuse of plywood, comedy, tragedy and prejudice against pineapple.
Thanks: To cordelianne for a first-class beta; to mods katekat1010 and elizabuffy for another great season of Giles.
Summary: Written for summer_of_giles. Takes place in Season 5 after "The Replacement." Spoilers for the whole season. A unified Xander has new plans for his life, but finds Giles playing a larger role than anticipated. A sequel is intended.



Xander's feeling oddly beside himself - but he's got a feeling that's gonna take a little while to go away, 'let the spell be ended' or no 'let the spell be ended.'

So when Giles gives him that Gilesey look of 'why are you still here?' instead of wondering when he got quite so fluent in Giles' looks, Xander shrugs and helps himself to a cleaning rag. "Hey, I figure I do the getting into trouble, you guys do the rescuing, the least I can do is help with the cleaning-up of said rescue."

"I can manage, Xander. Really." It's not unkind but it is - well - there's a whiff of Giles wanting to be alone, but Xander's ignored that for years.

Mainly because he's not so ready to be alone just yet.

And he figures it's what suave Xander would've wanted, giving Anya time to collect her things from his basement hovel before he starts packing. If nothing else, suave Xander taught him the value of human dignity. "It's no problem, Giles. Nothing like a little menial labor to take your mind off your troubles."

"Er - yes." It's awkward. But they're both good at awkward, so Xander waits it out on his knees putting the power of Mr. Clean to the test against whatever it is Giles used to mark up the floor. Eventually, Giles makes enough dent in the awkward to go on. "You're sure there have been no ill effects?"

"Not unless you count a serious case of wig and some confusion I figure's gonna take a little while to go away."

"No." Giles smiles a little this time and Xander smiles back. "I think some - wig - is both acceptable and understandable in these circumstances."

"You can say that again."

But Giles doesn’t say it again the way Xander would have (though suave Xander probably wouldn’t have, but he’s really got to stop thinking of himself as two different people) and it leaves kind of a gap in the conversation.

Xander wonders if talking to guys is always this tough – because let’s face it, he hasn’t had a lot of practice – and he wonders if he should be rethinking his new plan.

Except that he likes his new plan.

It’s not a gap, he decides. It’s comfortable silence.




Xander hates his new plan.

It’s the stupidest plan in all of Planville and all the other plans at Planville Elementary point at it and laugh and call it names and always choose it last for their kickball teams.

It’s unclear why exactly plans would play kickball, especially on a Saturday morning, but Xander doesn’t care. He slams into the Magic box and drops his tool box on the table and the minute Giles emerges from the back room he feels bad about all the noise but he’s not in the mood to apologize so he doesn’t.

“There are donuts and coffee on the counter,” Giles says on his way from the back office to a bookcase.

Xander nods and wolfs down a glazed before pounding out his frustration on a new set of shelves, then savors a chocolate cream-filled after.

Giles looks up from his inventory clipboard, glances in the direction of the shelves. “Thank you,” he says.

Xander washes down the sticky sugar with a good gulp of the liquid sugar he likes to call coffee. “No problem,” he answers.

He’s surprised to find that he means it.




It doesn't take long for Xander also to find that Zen peace really can be found in fried pastry and pounding wood or possibly just in The Magic Box. He's not going to examine it too hard.

Not going to look a gift sanctuary in the mouth.

Or wherever.

It's another week, another bookcase, another really bad entry in the bad plan of Bad Planville and Xander's vaguely aware of Giles edging around the periphery of his work space while he's taking out the badness on another helpless pile of planking.

Giles is also edging around the periphery of the conversation they haven't been having because Giles is English that way.

Xander wipes sweat out of his eyes, calls the shelf good, and takes pity on the Englishness. "Hard night," he says with just the right amount of ambiguity.

"Er - yes. You do seem rather wound up." Giles answers with an answering amount of ambiguity and Xander realizes it'd probably be possible to have an entire conversation with Giles without either of them being exactly sure what they're talking about.

It's a plan to save for another day. "If that was a polite way to say I'm really taking my aggressions out on harmless plywood - actually, you'd be right."

Which is how Xander finds himself building a training room in the back of The Magic Box - because Giles is right. It's a lot better when they don't hit back and if the punching dummy gets named Geoff - even if only in Xander's head - Buffy and Giles never need to know.

It's not just a Sanctuary.

It's therapeutic.

And the plan starts to look a little less stupid by the end of the day.

Or at least like it's got a place to go to blow off steam the next time buying the only straight guy in the gay bar a drink sounds like a good idea.

Not that there’ll be a next time.




But of course there’s always a next time.

Just because Xander tends not to make the same mistake twice, doesn’t mean there aren’t brand new mistakes out there just waiting to be made. There’s a whole world full, in fact, and finding and making them seems to be a Xander Harris specialty.

Step right up, folks, it’s Xander LaVelle Harris - the Houdini of mistake making.

World-class mistake artist.

And so the next weekend’s verse is just a riff on the first, not as loud as the straight guy (thank god), but a whole lot worse. Because a few minutes of public embarrassment? Don’t hold a candle to the suffering that was dinner and a movie with Ekundayo (born Daniel Smith).

Xander’s in the process of building a pommel horse - and showing it about as much mercy as he feels the universe has shown him – when Giles wanders in.

“Another hard night?” Giles asks.

Xander snorts. “Let’s just say that sitting in the dollar theater through one hundred and eighteen minutes of Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000 starring John Travolta was the highlight of the evening.”

Giles blinks. “You do realize I haven’t the faintest idea to what you’re referring?”

The Giles of it all makes Xander grin. “Trust me – your ignorance? Definitely of the bliss.”

Giles nods like he believes it.

A moment passes.

Xander looks back down at the horse.

Giles clears his throat and turns to go back out front. “Yes, well…”

He’s got his hand on the doorknob when Xander’s head snaps back up. “I mean, you must have gone on dates and stuff – you know, when you were… well, before.”

“Yes…” Giles’ tone is an eye roll. “You know I’ve not quite got that first foot in the…”

“’Cause I mean, I know a date is a time for getting to know each other and all, but like, if you ask one simple question and the other person proceeds to spend like the next hour and a half telling you their entire life story… I mean, that’s weird, right?”

“Well, it would seem customary to—“

“And then that person has the nerve to tell me that I’m enigmatic. Me. I mean, hello – open book here. Not known for being shy with the words or the personal information.”

“Yes, you do normally—“

“Like, is it so hard to just stop talking for like five minutes and actually listen?”

The glasses are off and dangling wearily from Giles' hand. "I'm sure I wouldn't know."

"Yeah, well, beats me, too. I mean, I don’t know, maybe I should try dating a monk or something."

"Excuse me?"

"Vow of silence," Xander explains – before it occurs to him that Giles’ confusion might have something to do with Xander’s sudden detour into gender-specific land. He looks up, but Giles’ face is straight as ever – no pun intended.

"I'm afraid there's a vow of celibacy as well, Xander."

"Yeah - right.” Xander rolls his eyes. “I'll bet they just don't get caught. And really, who's gonna snitch? It can't be holy - snitching."



Xander refuses to think the monk conversation of the previous weekend has anything to do with accepting a dinner date with a guy who looks like Friar Tuck.

And knows where all the good barbecue places are in town. All two of them.

Well - one, now.

To be fair, the guy had no way of knowing the Department of Health inspectors would shut the place down while they were waiting for dessert.

And Xander's really really glad only one of them ordered the potato salad and it wasn't him.

Xander accepts the fizzy glass of relief with a grateful groan and sips cautiously. "Thanks." He reconsiders and licks his lips. "And don't eat at Joe's."

It's possible Giles is laughing at him when he says, "I'll keep that in mind." But he helps Xander sit up and stay sitting up and doesn't take his hand away from where it's resting on Xander's back, not really doing anything but not making him more nauseous either.

It's kind of nice.

Xander thinks he could go for nice.




As it turns out, there’s such a thing as too nice.

You can find it in the thesaurus under ‘boring’ – see also ‘tedious,’ ‘uninspiring’ and ‘mind-numbing’ – and after this afternoon’s coffee date, Xander is convinced that the expression ‘nodding off’ comes from the way that nodding continuously (with a half-smile plastered to one’s face as the person across the table gives absolutely no new meaning to the words ‘small talk’) will slowly but surely lull anyone into a catatonic state.

Xander wants to go back and tip the clumsy waitress that shattered the glass that shattered his trance and got him to get himself out of there. And so what if ‘I need to go help my librarian who’s actually not my librarian anymore or even anybody’s librarian at this point but still uses a lot of bookshelves’ isn’t the world’s best excuse?

A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

The hour before closing on a Saturday evening is one of Xander’s favorite times to work at The Magic Box, and besides, he totally needed the coffee Giles always keeps on hand to recover from his coffee date.

These days, Xander’s life is all about the irony.

Like how they always used to tease Giles about being all dull and stuffy, but tonight after the Scooby meeting when the girls leave and Xander doesn’t, they get to talking. And then suddenly it’s three a.m. and Xander’s walking home and it occurs to him that Giles just may be the most interesting guy he knows.

The words dull and stuffy haven’t crossed his mind all night.





And that could be why the next Saturday evening finds Xander engaged in the bracing pursuit of inventory. "You know, Giles, they have these great time-saving inventions - called bar codes. And handy machines that read them. And keep track of your inventory coming in and going out."

Giles is giving him one of those Looks, one of the ones that despairs of the younger generation. But Xander is used to being despaired of.

In fact, he's an old pro. "I know - you're going to say I learned to read and write for a reason and humans do it better than machines, so please Xander, get back to work or let you get back to work."

He sneaks a peek at Giles, surprised to find the despairing Look looking a lot more like an amused Look. "Actually, I was going to suggest that you might want to take a break from all of this to pick up some dinner for us."

And while Xander is wholly unprepared for the effect the word 'us' from Giles has on him, his response to the offer of food is still both ingrained and instinctive and he really hopes Friar Tuck guy was right and there's a place for chubby guys in the gay scene or he should really give up. Now. "Are you buying?"

Having a great paying full time job doesn't make free food any less attractive.

"If I'm buying, I'm choosing as well." Giles already has his wallet out though and is handing over a pair of twenties.

"Choose away, big spender."

The amused Look is looking a little nonplussed these days and Xander acknowledges that Giles probably isn't used to a lack of argument when it comes to choosing food. "Er, anything. As long as it hasn't got pineapple in it."

"Two orders of 'anything,' hold the pineapple. Check."




“Two orders of ‘anything,’ hold the pineapple,” Xander announces, holding up a brown paper bag. The door swings shut behind him as he sets this week’s ‘anything’ – chicken fried rice and mu shu pork with a side of eggrolls – on the counter.

Giles steps forward to peer into the bag, steps back and smiles, and Xander doesn’t even care that they’ve taken to taking turns paying because that look on Giles’ face is never not worth it.

Xander’s not sure he’s ever looked so forward to Saturday nights before.

Not that he’s given up the plan or anything.

The plan is the plan and the plan goes on. Friday night is Xander’s date night and date he does. He’s getting better at separating the wheat from the chaff (or the far too likely to wear chaps) and Xander hasn’t wanted to climb out the window of a restaurant, theater or coffee shop restroom in weeks.

And if things in Sunnydale are getting hairy again with apocalypse season rapidly approaching (and boy does Xander regret ever mentioning monks)… well, all the more reason to find a little fun where he can.

And if some Fridays Xander finds himself glancing at his watch and wondering if it’s Saturday yet? Well, it’s only because Giles is a sure thing.

You know, in the fun department.



If not in the predictable department. In fact, Giles is pretty unpredictable. Unpredictable and going to England which is not part of the plan - not the Friday night's all right for dating plan but the anything hold the pineapple Saturday plan.

Which Xander is getting kind of attached to.

So when Xander gets a moment alone with him he does the predictable thing because nobody else is going to and asks, "Have you lost your mind?"

"The Council has access to far more information than I do, Xander."

"And asking them for help has always gone so well for us in the past." Xander pushes the remains of a taco - hold the pineapple - around on its wrapper. "I'm ordering pineapple pizza next Saturday if you're still gone."

As threats go, it's pretty weak but Giles has that look on his face, the one Xander could get used to. The one that has the kind of effect on his stomach he's still looking for on Fridays.

"The horror."

Xander's not sure if Giles actually is horrified or is doing the British sarcasm thing but a quip is never misplaced. He quips. "The horroriest."

Giles gives him a look that clearly holds him responsible for the demise of the English language. "I'll have to make sure I come back before Saturday won't I?"

"Pretty much. The fate of your Sunday morning leftovers depends on it."




Giles makes it back before the dreaded pineapple pizza can be purchased, but something tells Xander that Giles’ speed has more to do with the fate of Buffy (and of the world) than that of his leftovers. Xander figures he ought to be okay with those priorities.

Except for the part where he isn’t.

Well, is but isn’t. It’s one of those things.

One of those things that’s a hint that’s more like a big flashing neon sign, but what with his best friend being “reviewed” by the kind of “employers” that expect you to risk your life on a daily basis but never deliver a single paycheck, and a brain-sucking god plus a horde of medieval knights, both in town to kill said friend’s little sister, he can be forgiven a little tardiness on the uptake.

Or so he tells himself a few weeks later when he’s lying on the training room floor trying to catch his breath and Giles kneels down to lean over him, gently pushes his shirt up to check for bruises.

“For christ’s sake,” Xander mutters, “the padding on that sumo suit was like a foot thick. How does she do that? I think there’s internal bleeding.”

“I know the feeling,” Giles says. “Would you like a salve for the bruising? I’ve found that it helps.”

’That depends,’ Xander thinks. ‘Will you rub it into those hard to reach places?’ “Yeah, thanks,” he says out loud.

Giles stands, removes the jar from one of the training room cabinets and squats back down to place it in Xander’s hand. Xander pushes himself up to a sitting position, strips off his shirt and begins to apply the cream.

He doesn’t ask for Giles’ help, but he does have another question: “Hey, um, I know Saturday’s our usual thing, but are you free this Friday by any chance?”



They're all free on Friday.

It's not what Xander had in mind, keeping Giles company while he fills out the paperwork. Or possibly being kept company by. He'll know when systems start to come back online but everything since the hospital's kind of a blur.

And he's sitting too close to Giles for friendship on the couch in Giles' apartment and only just now notices.

And leans against Giles because he's on the left and Giles writes with the right and Xander's only got one good hand left so it's better than slamming the other one into the wall.

There's nothing like a death in the family to remind a guy he's not as grown up as all that. Well - death and a broken finger.

He'd offer to help with the forms but - broken finger.

Giles takes off his glasses and leans back on the couch, pressing their sides together and they sit there for a while staring at the other wall on a Friday night, two guys and a couch and a death in the family.

So Xander doesn't go home that Friday night and Saturday sees him waking up in Giles' apartment on Giles' couch and Giles' shoulder.

And it's really not what he had in mind.




As it turns out, that night is just the first of several that Xander spends with Giles over the next crazy weeks, but it’s not so much a matter of attraction as exhaustion.

And necessity.

They may be in mourning, but Glory isn’t, and life goes on in classic Sunnydale style - throwing one mystical curveball after another and pushing them all to their limit. Some days there are no free seconds, let alone the minutes he’d spend driving back to his place just to catch an hour or two of sleep.

Even on the slow days, there are no free hours. Not the kind of hours you spend getting to know someone as a real person – an equal.

And besides, they’ve both got a slayer to take care of.



Life goes on, but barely. Every day is an open question and making a move on Giles is pretty much the last thing in the world on Xander’s mind.

Until it’s not.

Until it’s the eve of the big battle, they’re in the Magic Shop basement and Xander doesn’t know if the world will be there tomorrow, let alone his friends.

Let alone Giles, who’s only barely healed from his stint as a watcher-kabob – and it’s anybody’s guess why that near-death didn’t untie Xander’s tongue, but this impending probability does.

Xander's unpredictable like that.

So while Giles is sitting on the stairs looking a lot like a guy being held together in the middle with tape and string and Xander's ransacking box after box of junk he really really hopes isn't cursed for a sphere he really hopes is all that and a bag of chips, it seems like a good idea to say, "The world might not end. I mean - the world's not ended before because - look, still here."

Giles does look. Or at least stares into space and Xander takes it as encouragement.

"And when the world doesn't end - again - because it won't - there'll be a certain amount of getting back into the swing of life." He pulls an improbable stuffed bunny rabbit out of a crate. "And okay - this is magical exactly how?"

"What?"

"No, how. Magical. Bunny." Xander wiggles it at Giles and tosses it to him.

"It - er - has powers to calm screaming children actually. With the right invocation."

"What's the right invocation?"

"It's - um - 'Little Bunny Foo Foo'."

"You're kidding me."

Giles doesn't appear to be kidding at all and Xander acknowledges that the world is way weirder than he ever knew which is reassuring in a way he's not gonna think about too closely. Because then he might not say, "And when the world doesn't end, maybe Willow and Tara could watch the shop some Friday and we could go out for - Giles?"

Giles isn't on the stairs anymore. In fact, he's in the corner, pulling the sheet off the Buffy Bot and when Xander joins him, he's got a look on his face that says there's a lot of Godly ass kicking coming up in the near future. "I believe the world just may not end after all."

"I've been saying that." He'll just have to say it again after the world doesn't end.

When Giles is listening.

And when they both don’t have a slayer to take care of.



But then they don’t have a slayer to take care of.

And Xander has nothing to say.



Nothing to say and nowhere to go. The rug has been pulled out from under their lives. They’ve lost their footing and it seems impossible to take a sure step.

In any direction.

Certainly slips through Xander’s grasp like straws and it’s easier to list the things he’s not sure of than the things he is.

He’s not sure what day of the week it is. He’s not sure he went to work yesterday.

He’s not sure they can hold a hellmouth without a slayer. He’s not sure they can raise a Dawn without a Buffy.

He’s not sure why he survived the battle. He’s not sure he’s glad he did.

He’s not sure if Giles is eating.

In fact, Xander’s pretty sure Giles isn’t and pretty sure is something these days and suddenly there’s a step - laid right out before him. When he gets there he doesn’t bother to knock.

He’s not sure Giles would answer.

Xander finds him on the couch. The room reeks of scotch. “Two orders of ‘anything,’ hold the pineapple,” he says softly, setting the cartons down on the coffee table, placing the fork in Giles’ hand.

Giles blinks up at him. “Why?” he asks.

Xander thinks for a minute.

“Because the world didn’t end.”

Like it or not, of that he’s sure.

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