Rating: PG
Author: Trekker
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Fandom: Buffy
“You know what the worst part is?” Xander said, as he squinted against the sun and sort of wobbled on the fallen palm on which he stood.
Giles, frankly, did not want to know what the worst part was, but, unfortunately, deeply-engrained social graces demanded that he ask, “What would that be?” He picked up a piece of the plane’s shredded fuselage and examined the way it glinted. Useful as a signal, perhaps?
“The worst part is this is such a *cliche*!”
Giles blinked. Looked at Xander. Looked at the debris-scattered beach.
“Ah. Of course. The worst part would in no way be the fact that we are stranded miles from civilization with no food, no water, and no way to communicate with the outside world.”
Xander clapped him heartily on the shoulder. Giles cringed.
“Exactly. Totally cliched.”
“Well then, I suppose it would be utterly trite of me to suggest that we should perhaps attempt to find shelter.”
“”Fraid so.” Xander was nodding knowingly, shining in the oceanside sun. Salt crystals were clinging to the tips of his hair and his lashes. “And yet, still an excellent suggestion. I think I saw some rocky cliff things off that way. Caves, you think?”
“Quite possibly,” Giles said, a bit surprised and a bit impressed. “Shall we?”
***
“Well,” Xander said, a walk down the beach and a scramble over sharp rocks later. “It’s not home, but it is... it is... all right, I’m coming up blank here. Is there good here?”
Giles crouched near the top of the sloping interstice in the rock wall and twisted his head back, peering up. Sure enough, above him was a glimmer of sunlight. His boot scraped on dry stone as he turned and looked down to Xander, who was standing at the mouth of the cave, backlit.
“It has ventilation, up near the top. That’s good. Means we can build a fire in here. The smoke will have a way out.”
Although, Xander was right. It wasn’t much. Nothing more than a crack, really, with a jumble of large, broken stone for a floor, and two stone walls narrowly separated, slanting in on each other. At its mouth, the cave was just high enough for him to stand, but it narrowed and the floor sloped up as it went back. Where he crouched now, ten feet or so from the entrance, the stone was brushing the top of his head.
Bits of dry driftwood and seaweed tangled in the rocks near the mouth, suggesting that the tide would occasionally climb that high, but judging by the wear on the other rocks on the beach, Giles suspected that happened only rarely. Storm surges, perhaps.
He slid off the rock he was crouching on and down into the small sandy depression in the center of the cave floor. It would make a decent spot to sleep, albeit a bit tight. He hoped Xander wasn’t given to rolling about in his sleep.
Xander caught his hand and helped him step up and back out into the glare of the island sun.
“So. What next? Firewood? Water? Hula dancers?”
Xander was already reacting to his look, before he even turned it on him.
“I know, I know, serious situation, no time for jokes, yadda yadda. Come on, Giles,” he continued, as they began to teeter their way across the minefield of broken stones outside their temporary home, “Haven’t you figured out yet that the best companion in a crisis is a good sense of humor?”
“I’m sure it would be,” Giles answered, drily, “Were you actually in possession of one.”
“Ooo. Ouch. Giles. That stings. Really.”
“Ever so sorry.”
“You know, you’re not as funny as you think you are either, mister.”
But Xander’s tone remained inappropriately light and jovial even as he said this.
“Firewood,” Giles said, simply. Then, “And yes I am.”
***
“You know, I’ve watched a lot of Survivor in my life, and I think that qualifies me to say: this never works.”
Giles yelped and dropped the stick he’d been attempting to rub a fire to life with, grasped his hand and then cursed. Splinter. Of a sort, anyway. Although, something that massive really qualified more as a... log, possibly.
“I suppose,” he said, through gritted teeth as he tugged the bit of wood back out of his flesh, “You have a better idea.”
“Yup. Do.”
Giles peered up at him, squinting.
“And now the question would be, why didn’t you bring this up earlier?”
Xander dropped into a crouch on the other side of the pile of sticks.
“Um, because I assumed you knew what you were doing?”
“I do--”
“Hold still,” Xander said.
Before he could even get his “why?” out, Xander had snatched his glasses off.
“What are you--”
“Trust me, works every time.”
Giles blinked at the now-fuzzy sticks. A moment later, he was awash in shame.
“Oh for god’s sake, I should have thought of that.”
“Ah,” said Xander, as the bright patch of light, focused through the lens, began to smolder, “But you didn’t. I think someone needs his Watcher’s creds revoked.”
Scrambling for something, anything, he said, “Well, we don’t... usually operate in the daylight.”
“Uh huh,” Xander said, and the sticks caught alight. A few puffed breaths, and Xander was jumping to his feet and dancing dangerously on the slanted sharp rock. “Fire! I have made fire! Go me! Ooo, wow. Hey, if I start talking to a volleyball, um... slap me or something, all right?”
Giles focused on coaxing the flame to stay alight and let the strange words Xander was saying go right over his head. He assumed he was better off not knowing.
***
They found a small stream and beat a piece of fuselage into a passable bowl, and thus, started some water boiling on their fire.
Outside of their cave, the sun was setting over the ocean. Quite pretty, really, and Giles found himself simply sitting, arms around his knees, watching. His body ached in places he’d forgotten he had, half from the crash and half from the exertions, and even this early, his mind was fuzzy and sleepy.
Xander sat down beside him, bumped up against him in the close quarters.
“Hey. Kinda nice,” he said.
“It is,” Giles said.
“And, you know, this really could be worse.”
He had to concede that point as well.
”I mean,” Xander continued, “We’re both alive. And, hey, whenever we get back, *man* can you tell everyone you told them so.”
This was also true. The plane had been a drone, completely operated by some sort of auto-piloting system combined with some sort of magical charm. A Watcher’s Council original. Giles had hated the notion. Computers, even charmed ones, should not be replacing human beings.
Clearly.
Because here they were: living, stranded-on-a-deserted-island proof of that fact.
He nodded.
“I shall take great pleasure in doing so.”
“Figured that’d cheer you up,” Xander said, sounding quite pleased with himself.
They both took a deep breath then, and both let out surprisingly content sighs.
They watched the sun set in companionable silence as the water began to boil.
***
In the morning, Xander glared at him.
“Yes?” he said, blinking away a night of relatively comfortable sleep.
“You snore. And your elbow was in my back. All night.”
“Oh. Um. Sorry.”
He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling some of the gritty sand that had collected there fall away.
“Yeah. You should be. Anyway, we need water. And possibly food. If there is any on this godforsaken rock.”
“Whatever happened to having a sense of humor in the face of crises?”
“Giles. My sense of humor was replaced with a massive bruise over my spinal column.”
Giles sensed that now was not the time to make the comment that this was, perhaps, a beneficial exchange.
***
Xander perked up a bit after they found a grove of plantain trees.
“Never thought such a little banana would make me so very happy,” he said.
Giles choked on his plantain.
Cleared his throat and said, mildly, “You prefer your bananas large, then?”
He smiled with satisfaction as Xander coughed.
“Giles! Cheating! No unexpected gay-subtexty humor while I’m eating! This is not like you.”
Giles just smiled and took another bite.
Which turned out to be a mistake.
“Anyway,” Xander said, casually, “it’s not the size of the banana, it’s all in how he uses it.”
He waited until Xander was contentedly chewing before he said, “Works in theory, I suppose, but I’ve always been a bit of a size queen myself.”
He obligingly pounded Xander on the back.
“Ok,” Xander said, “We keep this up and one of us *is* going to wind up dead. Truce?”
They shook on it, and ate the remainder of the plantains, sans innuendo.
Mostly.
***
Later that day, they laid on their backs on a smooth rock outside their cave. Xander dozed and Giles watched the smoke from their fire laze up toward the clouds that drifted by high in the bright azure sky. His hands were laced behind his head, and he simply relaxed. He hadn’t realized just how very much he needed a vacation.
At least, not until now, when being lost and stranded somehow managed to qualify as one.
And as far as vacations went, this one wasn’t too bad. Granted, actual shelter would be nice. Real food. Water you didn’t have to boil. Access to showers.
But the weather was gorgeous, and the waves were soothing, and the companionship was surprisingly pleasant.
He rolled his head to the side to look over.
Xander’d taken his shirt off and balled it up under his head as a pillow, and so he was bare-chested in the violent-bright island sun. Light glinting off slightly sandy, sweat-sheened muscles and bronzed cheekbones. Giles felt a twist of desire and realized that, were they both a bit cleaner and in a slightly more comfortable environment, he actually might have been interested in seeing if their banter earlier had any basis in reality.
Something to think about, anyway. Perhaps later.
He shut his eyes and napped in the sunlight, the calls of seabirds and the roar of the ocean in his ears.
***
A helicopter woke them both, just after sunset.
“Hi guys!” Willow called out. “Sorry it took so long! There were issues with the locator spell!”
***
A few hours later, fed and showered and back on the mainland, they sat together in a hotel room and toasted their return to civilization with a bottle of champagne.
“So how about this thing called air conditioning? It’s great.”
“It’s wonderful,” Giles agreed, as he sighed and reveled in the lack of sweat and sand.
They sipped their champagne silently for awhile, sitting across from each other at the small table. He found himself watching Xander’s lips curl around the glass. His throat move as he swallowed. Found he was very aware of the impressive physique that T-shirt was clinging to.
He wondered how Xander would react to a pass.
Not well, he decided. Two days on an island could not undo years of being the sexless father figure, he supposed.
He poured a bit more champagne, and took a sip.
But then, two days had rather impressively undone Xander’s years of being the inept clown. He considered this carefully. Tried to judge Xander’s body language.
Oh, what the hell.
Then they spoke each other’s names at the same moment.
Stammering and verbal stumbling ensued.
Then silence reigned again.
Dammit.
He searched for the proper words, but before he could find them, Xander plunked down his glass and sat up. Then said, quite decisively:
“So, wanna have sex?”
Oh. Right. Those would be the proper words.
“Yes. Quite.”
***
A few hours later, they were sweaty again, but perfectly content about it. Sprawled on their backs on the bed, hands intertwined, heartbeats beginning to slow.
“Have I ever told you how much I appreciate your ability to boil a complex thought down to its simplest form?”
“About time,” Xander said.
Giles smiled.
The End