Adaptive Approach

[madimpossibledreamer]

They weren’t particularly cryptic, xander...

Main Points:
Buffy/Dresden Files Crossover
Chapter Summary: Steel's crush is out in the open.
Word Count: 1367
Rating: Teen

 

         “Wait, you have been flirting with me for literal years and it never occurred to you to, I dunno, actually ask straight out?” Suddenly all the glances and weird, cryptic conversations between Willow and Baron Steel make sense. They both knew, and neither of them bothered to tell me, and I’d spent all this time thinking he’d had a crush on Willow.
         “I was attempting to find the correct approach.” Okay, that was it. He made it sound good, what with that voice of his, but that dry sarcasm scraped over my skin like rough sandpaper and I had had enough.
         “Oh, because you know so much about me!” Distantly I realize that’s the sound of breaking glass. Well done, Xander, you’ve broken a lightbulb. Great control over your aura. Well done. I get to revel in a brief glimpse of uncertainty in his eyes before I step forward in the dim light, poking him in the chest and crowding him against the wall. Somehow I even think I pulled off the menace, though that’s probably just the ‘wizard about to boom’ rather than anything about what I did. I’m generally not the intimidating one. “News flash, Steel, there’s a reason I had my last name changed. My dad was a drunk abusive asshat. It runs in the family. As in, family reunions would’ve been improved with some good old fashioned torture. You couldn’t walk without tripping over isms and phobias. Mom was too drunk to protect me, most days, and most days I forgive her just trying to lie low and survive that house and some days I get upset about how the universe isn’t fair. I slept outside in a sleeping bag on most holidays because it was an improvement and this was a town with an active vampire population that would eat people. I’m not sure what protected me because I hadn’t figured out magic by then and that house definitely didn’t feel enough like a home to generate its own threshold. Certainly not enough to protect me outside. I’ve been doing my best to drown every single little squirming misogynistic fragment I can find and Willow helps out gleefully. It doesn’t help that our first mentor was a creepy old man and I think both he and Puppet Willow tried to erase every trace of my bisexuality, when we were at his mercy, and I’m sure there’s stuff I don’t remember when I was there.” I open my mouth to continue on that stream when he lifts his hands in surrender and metaphorically takes the wind out of my sails.
         “My apologies. I’d only managed to find the alcoholic and abusive portions of your childhood.”
         I gape. He manages a grin, though it looks a little strained. Anger and worry, I’d guess, though there’s only subtle hints in his eyes.
         “You’re scary,” I say, after I restart my brain, and his smile turns more natural.
         “Why, thank you.” It wasn’t a compliment. “I assume that involved a lot of internalization?” Okay, yeah, no. I’d seen this guy in the middle of a battle, taking down opponents with no remorse, but this bit, where he actually lets out the concern for me? This is the scariest I’ve ever seen him.
         Of course, that probably has to do with aforementioned internalization, other trauma, my lingering trust issues, my fear of love, my insecurities…you get the picture.
         “Why me?” I ask. It comes out more plaintive than I’d like, but there’s a little part of me, a little flame, that first appeared when I stepped into the club, and it still burnt on though tiny and easily snuffed out. The hope that I was normal, that I could have this.
         “Are you looking for an itemized, logical list? Something to convince you that my vulnerability isn’t somehow yours?” Ground I’m more familiar with, aside from the slightly lost tone in his voice. “Or, perhaps, poetry? I’d ask if you wished me to bare my soul, but we’ve already been there.” Yes. Yes, we had. “I could justify as much as you want after the fact, but the fact of the matter is, it’s an affair of the heart. You cannot logic pathos.”
         I close my eyes and swallow, and start as I feel a hand grasps mine, squeezes reassuringly, and drops away. I open my eyes to see his face. And it’s not pity I see, or judgment, or any of the things that I’d expected. It’s compassion.
         “I didn’t expect you to be insecure, but then, probably I should have. Let me reassure you have a number of attractive features, and I’m not simply speaking of your appearance. If it was simply that, I find Miss Rosenberg attractive enough, but she isn’t you.” So it’s more than just looks. That’s good, because, well, I’m not exactly a catch. Steel’s gorgeous. I mean, I’d talked about his eyes and cheekbones and muscles enough. “Perhaps it’s a cliché, but every good gangster movie needs a ‘wiseguy’, and unfortunately, I don’t have many that dare talk back.”
         “Willow will do that,” I venture, trying to dig up the name of his bodyguard I never seem to remember.
         I’m bad at names, so I tend to nickname people. Which is a habit made worse because I’ll especially do it to people I don’t like. It took me a while to get Angel’s name, and before that I’d just been calling him Deadboy, because it was accurate, funny, and annoyed him.
         “Or Wood?” I finally drudge up, as he waits patiently.
         He continues gently. (He’s only ever been gentle with me, huh? Poking fun, sure, but—hey wait that explains the whole time he was being protective when I was being maudlin—) “Miss Rosenberg will do so, true, but only when pushed. Sarcasm is not her expression of choice. You offer your words freely. As for Robin, loyal as he is, he is straight, and I am hardly desperate or unwilling to overlook one’s personal preferences.”
         He pauses and thinks before he continues. “You have passion for much that you do, and it’s refreshing. Being around you, I can largely let down my guard, which is the closest to relaxing I’ve come in years. You have a similar love for this city, and together I daresay we can keep it intact, no matter the obstacles. Perhaps most importantly, you’re not trying to take advantage of me—yes, Mr. Kaplan, I have my own insecurities, which makes me far more understanding of yours. Your moral compass would prevent you from just using me. Also, you might worry about your insecurities, but I find them rather refreshing. They, shall we say, awaken the romantic in me, because reassuring you, growing your confidence, they are both worthwhile pursuits I enjoy. I like a good courtship, and would hold no hard feelings should you decide my area of business is a deal-breaker—I am very aware of how conflicted you are about it. If I can make you even a little happier, any effort on my part was worth it.”
         I blink. The Pretty Boy really is a gentleman. “You don’t even care if we end up together,” I venture, a little confused by the statement.
         He pauses before he answers, like that’s worthy of thought. Like I’m worthy of thought. “That’s not the way I would put it, no. Rather, hmm. It’s not a requirement. I would be happy enough to know you’re happy. Mr. Kaplan.”
         I don’t even know how to deal with...all of this, so my brain sidesteps it. “You’re not kidding about being a romantic.”
         He shakes his head, still smiling fondly. “I’m not, no.”
         “I...need to think?” It’s all I can get out right now.
         “As always, your ego astounds,” he teases me, and I now get that it’s not because I’m a good target.
         Well, wait, no, that’s not the case. He probably thinks I am; it’s just not for the reasons I’d thought at the time.
         “You will have all the time you need,” he promises, and I get the feeling he’d actually fight for me to have that time, which is just...weird to think about.