I Can't Feel a Thing

[madimpossibledreamer]

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Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: It was only a matter of time that everyone else found out about the other lingering effects of Halloween, the ones that sometimes leave him near-breathless with the pain, the ones that mean he has to recharge for days after something major.  Even knowing that, he's not as prepared as he should be.
Word Count: 1407
Rating: Teen
Background Jesse/Xander in that Xander is oblivious

         Xander expects the silent treatment, when they find out, which he gets from Willow. And a lecture, which he gets from Giles. Buffy’s reaction, though, catches him off guard, and it hurts him the most.
         She’s disappointed. Like she’d expected better. He hadn’t really thought she’d think of him at all. She was the hero, still. Though maybe that was unfair, putting her on that pedestal when he was the first to mention he hadn’t liked the responsibility, how it made him so removed from others.
         He’s already near the edge of his tether. Keep going, and it’ll snap, and it’ll be him stuck with the consequences. Nothing new, really. The question as to whether it’s worth it is an easy one, this time. No way out but through. He’s definitely off the mission, so spending his energy on this isn’t a waste. He’ll pay for it later, with Jess serving as slightly irritable nursemaid—and why not? It’s not as if he’d asked to care for—well. Xander’s tempted to use the term invalid, but that’s his temper talking. He’s trying to be better about giving himself the kind of understanding he’d give to others, mostly because Mrs. McNally had asked it of him. At least with Willow ignoring him, hurt, it means she’s not likely to volunteer. He’d joked about Willow relieving Jesse of his duties, now, and had been taken aback and slightly grateful that the resulting glare was pointing in his direction and not in Willow’s. An odd tension has been building between the two for a while now, and he doesn’t understand it, but doesn’t have a chance to puzzle it out in this state.
         He’s already prepared to hide out at the McNally’s and a forced period of relaxation. The slow, very occasional slog through homework, whenever he feels he isn’t pushing it too badly (something he almost invariably miscalculates). Might as well spend his flagging strength on this, particularly after having to sit through Giles’ lecture.
         “Why would you lie about this for so long?” Just a question. Disappointment. And, from the sound of it, she’s also blaming herself for this. Which is part of why he’d been holding back—not just that she’d feel responsible for Servalan, but also some sense that she’s responsible for everything that happens. Responsible for making sure nothing bad happens, ever. He’d say that was a ridiculous sentiment if he hadn’t been intimately familiar with the notion himself.
         He shrugs, caught off guard, and as usual his default response is making a joke out of everything. “I wasn’t lying; I just didn’t tell you about it.”
         “Xander.” She doesn’t take that as an answer, as she shouldn’t.
         He sighs, preparing to actually take it seriously. “I thought you might freeze me out, and more than anything I want that to not happen because I don’t know what to do with myself if I don’t have a purpose. More to the point, I didn’t want you or Angel to feel guilty for something you couldn’t help.”
         She objects to that suggestion, just as he’d expected. “But I’m the one who gave the order.”
         “Servalan is,” Xander corrects, actually beginning to sound properly angry. He reels himself in. “Oh, it’s not as if I’m giving you too much credit. I’ve known from the start. Some part of you and some part of Angel wanted to shut me up.” He pauses to let that sink in, then when Buffy is sufficiently pale starts anew. “But neither of you actually wanted that to come to pass and hurt me. If I held you responsible for an outside force requiring you to act on fantasies meant to remain that way, then I’d have to hold myself responsible for the hyena incident. That yes, I know I said I don’t remember, because I’m really, really embarrassed about it, and given that you really didn’t want to talk about it either, I figured that either you wanted to forget it happened or knew I was lying and wanted to give me the out or both.” After a thought, he adds, “I’m surprised you even gave me the time of day, after that. But then, you were desperate for friends, even after we treated you in a rotten way.”
         She shivers a little, but rather than continuing to react she forces herself to take a step back, breathing deeply and centring herself. It’s admirable, really, control he couldn’t manage. “How do I help?”
         She’s understandably a touch alarmed at the tears, but engulfs him in a hug. “Ease up on the super-strength there, Xena, eh?” he whispers. Rather than jumping back, she just does exactly that. He wouldn’t usually complain, but this isn’t the usual circumstances, and his muscles will hardly thank him for any of this later.
         He’s exhausted. Exhausted, but not displeased. “Promise me you won’t shut me out. I’m working out how to manage this whole thing. Being able to be useful within my limits means a lot to me. If I’m declared useless, it might well break me.” If he can do nothing, then what is the point of him? He wouldn’t dare be this honest if she could see his face, but he can just say it quietly into her shoulder and not have to see her pity.
         “I’ll let you keep helping on two conditions: you won’t argue if I kick you off because you look like you’re dying.” She waits for him to argue before giving the second condition. She knows him too well, now.
         “I’ll do a quick assessment and if I can manage, I’ll tell you, but either way I’ll accept your judgment,” he tells her. He can practically see her roll her eyes—but an internal assessment is probably in most cases going to be more accurate (assuming he bothers to do one), so she doesn’t outright dispute it. “And the second?”
         “Don’t try to hide how you’re doing, especially when you’re helping out.” That’s a bit of a surprise.
         “Jesse asked for the same thing. I’m starting to think I’m missing something,” he complains. Buffy pulls away just enough to stare at him, which pretty much confirms his suspicions but doesn’t get him any closer to solving the mystery. “Fine, fine.”
         “You’re not suffering through this alone, right?” she clarifies. It’s kind of nice letting her hold him, for reasons not limited to the fact that she can support practically all of his weight without even really noticing. A version of himself from two years ago would probably be jealous, even, but that’s gone, now. He’d heard the guys in the locker room mocking the ‘headache excuse’, possibly made a few remarks himself, but now he gets it. The thought of sex now makes him feel vaguely nauseous, but that might just be the fact that everything at the moment makes him feel vaguely nauseous. A nap sounds very good at the moment—a nap and naproxen. Though he knows he’s not going to be getting anything done the instant he stops trying to hold out.
         “Nah, Jesse declared himself my keeper. He complains about it enough I thought he’d jump at the chance for another to take over, but he didn’t seem to like the suggestion much.” He’s not making light of his help, or the McNallys; he is truly grateful. It’s more...he doesn’t want to make too much of being a burden. At least wanting to not showcase the self-pity in the light of day.
         She pulls away fully, waking him up slightly, and looks shocked. “I cannot believe you are that clueless.”
         “Believe it?” That doesn’t help. “You wanna take pity on a poor oblivious bloke and give me a clue, maybe?”
         And now she’s internally laughing at him, going by that smirk. “You’ve got enough problems.” She raises her voice. “Jesse, stop lurking and come out to help.”
         “I’m sure Xander’s about to assure us both he doesn’t need it.” He smiles, one of Avon’s less pleasant smiles. “Did it live up to your expectations?”
         “I figured it’d be a shitshow. It could have been worse,” he shrugs, ignoring Jesse crowding, eager eyes ready for the second he falls, with long practice. “I might melt into your couch, though.”
         “Well, with Avon’s knowledge, matter separation shouldn’t be too tough of a nut to crack,” Jesse tells him. It’s more reassuring than it was probably meant to be.