Sunnydale, October 2001/"Flooded"
His driver's license is warped, the lamination cracked into thousands of spidery lines, but it's still valid. And that's just the weirdest thing - Oz has only been gone from this town, this state, for a year and a half. Giles has only been absent for a couple months.
Still. After the flurry of packing and locking up the apartment - flat - and sitting forever on the plane, it's weird, strange, unsettling to be driving into Sunnydale. In a rental car, but Oz's hands and eyes remember the turns and the sights better than his mind. Everything's too soon, too fast, and he's kind of glad for that. He hasn't been gone that long, and it didn't take long at all to get back here - direct flights, it turns out, really cut down on travelling time - and now.
Now, they're here. Past the Pump, and they're out in public together in Sunnydale, and in the passenger seat, Giles' face is tight from freeway anxiety and general return-nervousness. Oz parks in front of the magic store and grabs Giles' hand so quickly that Giles starts.
"Sorry. I -."
Giles regards him silently, his face plaster-still and eyes huge behind his glasses.
"I love you."
Giles nods and they get out of the car. And now time is slowing down, as the muggy night air breaks against his air-conditioned skin, and Giles' hand is cold in his own, and they're approaching the store. It's different, it's all different, Oz thinks. He's said as much several times on the flight, in the car, and Giles seems to agree, but it's hard to tell. It is different than the last time he came back; he's not alone.
But standing here, Giles' suede jacket brushing against his bare arm, the bell's ring dying down and faces like ghosts turning so slowly that it might be a dream. This is what it was like last time. Clump of insiders, shocked and wide-eyed.
But Giles. Giles is here, not over there, not hurrying away.
"Hey."