Believe Me

[madimpossibledreamer]

this year doesn't deserve a holiday post i don't think (especially if it's the last year of truly united states thanks not-so-supreme court)
but here, have a hurt/comfort happy ending feelstrain possibly late father's day fic

Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU (Slayer's Mad Whelp)
Chapter Summary: Some semblance of healing.  coda to band candy though that's only really referenced.
Word Count: 1133
Rating: Teen
Warning: mention of abuse, trauma, etc, but the therapy's helping

        When Giles returns to the apartment, the first thing he notices is Xander, sitting unmoving on his couch, staring fixedly at the wall.  He’d frankly been a little (understandably) skittish, spending most of his time holed up in his room, presumably because he feels safe that way.  Today had been awfully embarrassing, and he hadn’t stopped to think how acting like that—a spoiled brat with no care for responsibility.  Like for the child he adopted.
        “Ya all right?” The accent from the most recent time he failed his son hasn’t disappeared.
        “I should be asking you that,” he responds quietly, turning the light on.  When he glances over, Xander is smiling, shy but genuine.  He pats the couch next to him, a silent invitation, and hesitantly, the Watcher goes to sit.
        “’m okay, actually.”  It’s actually completely honest, and Giles can’t believe what he’s hearing—but then, maybe the therapy had been good for him after all.  “’Cause I wasn’t thinkin’ ‘I deserve this’ or ‘he’s showin’ his true colors’ or ‘’m trash’.”
        He holds out a hand and covers Rupert’s own.  “First thing I thought, when ya started acting all screwball, was ‘somethin’s wrong’.  Worried, not resigned, an’ damn near bawled my eye out.  ‘Cause this hurts, sure, like a poke in the eye, but it’s normal.  Somethin’ I thought was just fer tv.  Somethin’ I never thought I’d have.”
        He leans in a little to Giles’ side, still a little needy despite his brave words.  “Ya gave that ta me, Oton.”
        Giles swallows and tries to pretend his eyes are dry after that little speech.  He’s fairly sure he’s not the least convincing.  He puts an arm around his boy, and the teenager snuggles in after only a moment’s hesitation, faster than before.  Still some trust issues, understandable after everything he’s been through, but…he’s trying.  These aren’t mere empty words.
        He’d made the promise to himself that he’d never call on the Ripper again.  Thought it would be simple to keep, because he didn’t think he’d ever need it again.  Then again, he never thought he’d have a child either, and that was what was drawing it out the most recently.  He’d tried to forget his past even existed, but when it kept coming back to haunt him, did he even have a chance?  And he’d never thought he’d care about the boy to this extent, seeing him mostly as an annoying distraction, but the scene in the hospital had awoken instincts he didn’t think he had. 
        Xander had tried to hide it, hadn’t even mentioned any details of what had happened, though he didn’t talk much after the incident, but Willow had mentioned, in tears, that she didn’t think it was a good idea for him to go back home and that maybe his father had sold him to Angelus because she couldn’t figure out how he got in otherwise and it wasn’t the first time Tony Harris had attempted to do that and Giles went into autopilot as he reassured her that Xander wasn’t going to go back there as the rest of his mind was occupied by a seething rage he couldn’t recall having experienced since his youth.  Hearing about all the reports of abuse that were never filed made it burn hotter, fiercer, but Ripper was all the more deadly when he chose to use his brain, and more than anything he had two children (three, honestly, now that he was bothering to pay attention, the Rosenbergs were never home, were they?) counting on him, now.  He couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
        He’d had to face down the Council, not that he’d told Xander.  Of course, a good deed was beneath them, wasn’t it?  He’d laid out his case.  The boy already had the markings of a good Watcher, and had more experience than even most of the aged members.  It was preferred that the Watchers continue by means of lineage.  He was extremely unlikely to have a child of his own.  The acquiescence was grudging, but they had gone along with it, which is what mattered.
        In all of that, he hadn’t paused to consider his normal worries—that, for example, he’d be a bad father.  And yet, despite his mistakes, Xander’s here, telling him that he isn’t a failure, no matter the evidence to the contrary.
        “I’m fine, but yah, ‘m worried about ya.”  He’d spent too long thinking.  “There was whatever happened with Joyce, an’…this was a thing with Ethan, wasn’t it?”  Giles flushes, and Xander quickly shakes his head, eye wide.  “Ya don’t have ta tell me nothin’, Oton, just…figured ya wouldn’t feel too good, now.  So I…”  Pauses.  Swallows.  “M’hair’s all tangled, an’ there’s a bit in the back I can’t reach.  An’ I thought maybe ya’d wanna catch some B-movies or somethin’.  Whatever ya’d like.”
        Rupert is so floored, he almost forgets to speak.
        For months, he’d been trying to coax Xander into activities, conversation, get what he could back out of the hollow shell.  Similarities existed to helping a feral, mistreated cat, between issues with food and trust, that never failed to hurt Giles’ heart.  He’d been especially spooked about anyone touching his hair, which Ripper darkly suspected had something to do with the months of torture and possibly the bite scar on the junction between his shoulder and neck.  To have Xander actually initiate something, taking the active approach for once, making the decision to expose his vulnerability to Giles and trust he wouldn’t abuse the situation, took a great deal of courage.  It does show improvement—the new therapist must really be helping—and yes, Xander must really have been worried, too.
        “I’m afraid I’ll only critique the films,” he replies eventually, aware that his adopted son is being patient when waiting for the reply.  Giving him the space he needs to deal with such a revelation.
        It’s a very imperfect response, but it appears the boy doesn’t care, judging by the lopsided grin that meets his words.  “That’s the point, Oton!” he exclaims excitedly.  “Hang on, I forgot my brush in my room.  Lemme get it; pick out a bad one, okay?”  He’s off in a rush, and Giles can’t help but chuckle at the enthusiasm.  It had been a bad day, yes, but he’s certainly blessed.
        He would never have tried it himself; poorly made films, he would have thought, would be a waste of time.  And yet, with Xander half-falling asleep sitting on the floor in front of him, humming softly at the feel of the brush in his hair and laughing at Rupert’s remarks or making cracks of his own, he finds that it is no more a waste of time than Ripper, or Xander.  All it needed was a change in perspective.