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summer_of_giles2012-06-17 01:04 pm
Fic: Two men (and their dog) in a boat 2/??
Part Two
Events conspired to push the planned vacation to the back of Xander’s mind in the intervening weeks. He spent several of them chasing down rumours of an undiscovered Slayer somewhere in Turkey, one crawling through narrow passages in a Egyptian pyramid looking for lost scrolls, and a couple more helping Buffy and her support squad hunt an ancient vampire and his cohort of minions through the sewers and catacombs of Rome. He was reeling from jet lag, too little sleep and too much oestrogen by the time he arrived back at Heathrow, Buffy’s farewell hugs (and this one’s for Giles – make sure he gets it) still warming his heart, and a gaggle of trainee slayers in tow. He was half hoping to find Giles waiting for him, but wasn’t entirely surprised that he wasn’t – this was a business trip, and he knew how busy the man was: neither of them had managed to be in the right place for even the briefest of phone calls for days. What he was surprised by was being greeted by Andrew, who calmly announced that he would be escorting the girls the rest of the way, and be the one to debrief them - as otherwise “Mr Harris will be late for his appointment. Mr Giles is sending you on to Coventry, Xander. The shuttle to Birmingham leaves in an under an hour. He said be on it.”
The girls – and Andrew – left giggling, amused by the idea of Xander being sent to Coventry like that. Xander was more bemused then amused – he tucked his new boarding pass into his pocket and went to look for the baggage drop-off point, wondering why on earth Giles’ last voicemail hadn’t mentioned anything about an additional trip … and it wasn’t until he was safely buckled into his seat on the Cityhopper that realisation began to dawn.
Coventry.
Something about visiting the Cathedral, and a Castle and there being more canals in Birmingham than Venice …
There was a car waiting for him at Birmingham airport. Its driver was one of the older Slayers they’d managed to accumulate over the past couple of years, and she greeted him with a warm grin and a chirpy ‘carry your bags, sir?’ that put him instantly at ease. He didn’t know the woman all that well, but he’d heard good things about her – and she’d clearly heard good things about him, because she chattered away happily as she drove them out of the airport and along one of those English highways that wasn’t quite a freeway, but wasn’t exactly a back road either. The road signs all suggested that they were, indeed, heading towards Coventry, so Xander assumed that he wasn’t being kidnapped and sat back to enjoy the ride. The Slayer – she said to call her Henri, which was apparently short for Henrietta – drove a little more sedately than most of her chosen sisters did, although she handled the car with comfortable expertise. She asked polite questions, like how the flight had been and what the weather had been like in Rome, and she spoke warmly about the girls in her local group, some of whom Xander knew and had helped train, and she managed to keep him vaguely entertained without straying anywhere near the kind of fangirl conversations he was continually fending off from the younger members of the slayer sorority.
He was grateful for that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to talk about days in Sunnydale, to confirm tales of the awesomeness that was Buffy Summers, or the wonderousness of Willow. It was just that – well, that was then, and memory coloured all of it so differently: there were a lot of bad recollections among the good, and any number of things he’d done that he didn’t really want to revisit more than he had to - especially those last, few desperate days.
Henri chattered on – some nonsense about her day to day job, which seemed to have something to do with horses and dogs – and Xander smiled and nodded, not really paying attention. He was far too tired to pay attention to anything, really, and he let her words wash over him while the world outside the car went by in a blur, leaving little more than vague colours and shapes behind. He might even have dozed, a little, but jerked awake again as the car took a left turn into more countrified lanes. Another right, and then they were pulling into some sort of yard. A couple of low brick buildings stood off to one side, and there was a more picturesque kind of cottage at the far end – but the space in the centre was dominated by a jumble of colour and shapes, painted panels jostling for attention in among a plethora of angled shapes, tiny windows, coiled ropes, and the glimmer of water, somewhere beneath it all.
Boats, Xander realised after a moment, although nothing looked anything like the sort of boat he might actually recognise. Narrowboats …
That he could see. They were blocky, square built affairs, stretched in one direction and impossibly cramped in the other. There didn’t look to be room enough to even turn round in one, let alone live in it for a week. Or two. His heart sank a little. He’d spent too much time crushed into long haul airplanes to find the idea of travelling in narrow, cramped spaces appealing. Even with the best of company …
The sign on the pulled back gate said ‘Godiva Hire Ltd’. The one on the closest building read ‘Knight’s Basin: Services, Mooring and Shop.’ The ‘shop’ appeared to be half office and half garage sale; stands filled with plant pots, what seemed to be painted watering cans, and a slew of other junk spilled out from the open doorway, with hand lettered signs declaring prices propped up amongst them. A bunch of kids were sitting on a bench in the middle of the mess, tongues and noses buried in ice-cream cones, and several other people were milling about, mostly dressed in jeans and tee-shirts, although there were a couple of men in what looked like work overalls. It was a scene straight out of one those older type English comedy movies that Giles had introduced him to: Xander half expected a younger Peter Sellers to stroll out of the shop, or to spot an equally de-aged Alec Guinness emerging from one of the boats.
Neither of those illustrious gentlemen were present – but Giles was. A casually clad Giles, a soft green shirt jacket draping his shoulders, and what looked like a dark Slayers tee-shirt underneath it. Xander’s breath caught. He’d been missing the man for weeks; seeing him like that had brought back all the reasons that he’d been missing him in one heart clenching rush. The tee-shirt had been a joke present he’d given the man a couple of Christmases ago – the one that Dawn had declared that he’d never wear – and god, he looked good in it.
Of course, the tight jeans, the way his hair looked slightly mussed – as if he’d used his fingers in place of his comb - the gleam of his earring, and the amused smile he was currently wearing didn’t hurt. The whole package was pretty …yeah …
Xander took a deep breath, allowing a delicious shiver to make its way from the sudden tightness in his throat all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He might even have allowed it to go further, but he was in a public place and there was a Slayer with a knowing smirk on her face opening the car door for him.
“Out you get,” Henri ordered briskly. “Don’t keep the boss waiting. I’ll put your cases aboard for you.”
“Uh – thanks,” he said, and found himself walking across the boatyard almost before he realised he’d moved. Giles’ presence drew him like a magnet, a centre of gravity towards which he fell with inevitability. The Watcher – senior Watcher now, of course – was busy talking to a much older man wearing a pair of extremely battered jeans, one of those twisty cabled sweater things, and a cap – not a baseball cap, but a genuine flat topped, curved peak thing.
Made of tweed.
Xander glanced at the shop stands as he passed, and grinned. Yeah – there they were, all piled up and marked for sale. No way was Giles leaving this place without one of those to his name …
“Ah - Xander. There you are.” The greeting was warm – and backed with more than a hint of relief. Xander’s smile of hello turned into a wide eyed whoa of surprise as Giles stepped forward to grasp his shoulders in a brief but welcoming hug – and to plant an equally brief, but decidedly public kiss on his cheek before he let go. “I was beginning to think Henri was going to have to chase the boat down the towpath to get you on board. How was your flight? Not too tedious, I trust?”
He shrugged, half watching the unknown man out of the corner of his eye. “No more than usual. The girls behaved themselves. Mostly.” Unknown man wasn’t looking shocked, or disapproving, or even all that surprised, so Xander relaxed a little. “I’d seen the movie, but most of the girls hadn’t, so I got to watch it again.” Giles’ knowing smile held sympathy. Unknown man was listening with polite interest. “Food was … okay. Andrew took over with the girls, which was great – and now I’m here. With you.” Unknown man didn’t look shocked at that either, so he grinned. “That’s … better than great. Oh - and Buffy sends her love.”
“I should think so too. We must remember to find time to send her a post card …” Giles draped his arm around Xander’s shoulders and turned him towards their company. “Xander, this is George – George Brown, he owns the yard. I’ve been extolling your virtues to him. George, this is Xander Harris. My partner.”
My … oh, God. Giles …
That hadn’t had a business in front of it, or sounded as if it meant something totally casual and unimportant. In fact, it had definitely said ‘we’re together and yes, in that way.’ It was also totally proud, and a little self conscious, and completely out of left field. Xander didn’t know how to react to it. He did know that he suddenly needed Giles’ support to stay upright, because his legs went all quivery, His heart swelled too – all balloony and threatening to burst with something or other.
“Yeah,” he acknowledged, taking a moment to lean into the warmth of the strong arm that had tightened around his shoulders. That and get his head round the idea that Giles wasn’t just okay with this developing relationship thing, but actually wanted to proclaim it to the world. Scary stuff. In a top of the rollercoaster and here we go way. “Yeah.” He stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
George took the outstretched hand in a firm grip and shook it with manly confidence. “My pleasure, Mr Harris. I can see Mr Giles was right.”
“Huh?” Right about what? chased through his mind. Both men grinned at him.
“George was worried that we wouldn’t be able to manage taking the boat through a lock with just the two of us,” Giles explained. “But I assured him that we were both strong and fit, and that you were more than capable of handling a lock gate on your own.
“Oh. Oh, right. Yeah.” He half slid himself out from under the encircling arm so he could pump both of his in demonstration. “I – uh – work out. Used to be in construction. Learned to keep myself in shape.”
George laughed. “So I see. But – word of advice? Fit or not, find a boat to partner with when you tackle the Hatton flight. Especially if the flight’s against you. Anyway - boat’s pumped out, watered up and full of fuel. There’s a box of complimentary veg in the galley – half a dozen double yokers and couple of pints of milk in the fridge, and enough tea and coffee to keep you smiling for a day or two. Here are your keys – “ He dropped a jangle of them into Giles’ outstretched hand. “Have a good trip and … we’ll see you back in a fortnight.
Continued in Part Three
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