needsaparrot | Xander's Workshop, MCA Roof, Early Sunday Evening

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Xander's Workshop, MCA Roof, Early Sunday Evening

It'd been one of those weekends. If by that you mean "those weekends you dream about and then wake up promising yourself never to touch runny cheese at a college mixer ever, ever again."

Still, he had a guest, of sorts, and he might as well show her that he did something besides Apartment Managing, without showing her the other thing he did besides Apartment Managing. Which was why they were currently in the elevator heading for the roof of the building.
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[OOC: for the parental unit! B-word-person also welcome laterwards, if desired.]

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And he was likely to for a long damn time. Yeah, he could get through one weekend faking his way uncomfortably through it, but every time he saw her for the rest of his life?

Xander held it in his hand for a moment, not actually slipping it back on. "It's about not having time to stop for goggles when your hometown's about to get sucked into a sinkhole," he answered. Because he wasn't about to try to explain what had really happened. That was close enough to the truth.

"What?" Because that sounded like, like, she didn't know what. Didn't want to know what. Jessica got closer to peer into Xander's face, looking for something to reassure her. But that eye-patch, and, yeah, he'd been there at the end and he hadn't called later and... "Xander?"

Which... made him twitch. It was one thing with Bridge, who knew him inside and out anyway, and had seen it before he'd ever actually seen it. Still, Xander stopped himself from putting the patch on, though his grip on it tightened.

"Grade A farm-fresh acrylic. The paint-job's actually pretty good; it's just the motion that's off."

Jessica clamped her jaw against a quick wave of nausea, suddenly remembering him as a little kid, and a couple dozen repetitions of It's funny until someone loses an eye for this or that joke or something stupid with rubber bands, and God, this is worse than the gay thing, for not telling them about it.

But maybe he felt like he couldn't? Or just didn't wanna deal with them when it happened? Because Tony's not so good with sick people, and she... well. And that had to hurt, so much, and she's crying, shit, this is all wrong. Wrong. "Does it hurt? Still?"

Crap. It wasn't like he'd never seen his mother cry before, but there was three or four too many and his dad proving that Xander didn't get the smart mouth from some recessive gene somewhere, and there was... well, this.

If it were Dawn or Willow or Isabel, he'd know what to do or say to make them laugh, or just be able to reach over for a hug when there wasn't anything else to say, but here he was stuck awkwardly wrapping an elastic strap around his fingers tight enough to cut off circulation.

"No, it doesn't hurt. Well, sometimes I get headaches, but that's--" More about nerve-pressure and bone-damage, and hey whaddya know, there are some things he's not dumb enough to let himself get into. "--no big deal."

"Yeah?" And she wants to believe that, so hard. She wipes at her eyes, which just don't stop tearing up, and now she'll never be able to think of crying without thinking of Xander, no, don't think that now, it'll make it worse. See, he's fine, he's not crying. You can do this. Jessica gulped and said, "So, so, that's a prosthetic. I didn't ever guess. Nobody could tell. I promise." Trying to find something else to say to help. "And it's good that you can still do this, this carpentry, hunh?" Oh, God, what if he'd had a job where that would've put him in disability forever? "And Bridge knows? And he doesn't care?" In which case, she wasn't gonna say one more thing about him being too young for Xander. Nope. She might even give the kid a hug, sometime.

Some part of that string of questions was more than Xander could take, and he let the band untwist from his fingers, reaching up to slip the patch back on. "Bridge wouldn't care if I came back missing a head, I think. Assuming I could still operate without a brain, which plenty of people have assured me I've got a lot of practice at."

"You're not stupid," Jessica says automatically, picking up on the thing she can follow in the rest of it. She rubs at the tears again, and sniffs, trying to smile. "Half the time I can't follow what you're saying. You've never been stupid." The rest of it sinks in, and she gives him a hopeful look. "Yeah? You two. He... you're happy? You're not-- you think this is gonna last?"

This, at least, was something Xander could talk about without feeling like his words were getting tangled around his tongue. Also something he couldn't say without smiling. "He's the best thing I'll ever have, and I don't remotely deserve him."

"Awwwww." Jessica patted his cheek-- the one without the eyepatch, of course, and smiled at him through the sniffling. "That's good. That's really good." She sighed, nodding. "I hope you're right. I really do."

Xander sort of felt like he should bristle at the doubt there, but he didn't really have the energy, and the fact that it seemed like she meant it, and not in a backhanded way, threw him enough to keep his reaction to a simple, "Thanks." Well, no, not simple at all. Just short.

Jessica bit her lip, then said, "There's just one-- naah, forget it. You're happy. You don't have to be anything else, right? You have a good job. You have something you like to do. And Bridge, who's a good kid. Nothing else matters, right?" She's saying it to remind herself of that. If she's got any other disappointments with Xander, that's not something he has to fix.

He was something else, but again with the not getting into the whole Scooby-Watcher-Slayerhelper thing. Not today, anyway. So there's this girl and she kills vampires and by the way so does Buffy and yesterday when we were out slaying weeds I got to watch Dawn turn Mel's brother to dust so he wouldn't eat her...

"What else is supposed to matter, Ma?"

Jessica twisted her hands together, not wanting to push, and he's got the eye-thing, and... but if there's even a little chance....

"You think, maybe, in a few years, Willow would be okay with doing that surrogate thing for you guys?" she blurted out. "Maybe? I mean, I don't want grandkids now, I'm only forty-four--" Forty-eight. "--but, I kinda hoped, and maybe Tony, maybe he wouldn't mind so much, if..."

"I don't really give a flying frak what he minds," Xander answered, this time not cutting off the bristle, though it wasn't directly at her.

"Don't be like that. He's your father." Jessica frowned, then looked down at her hands, trying not to cry again. And muttered very quietly, "Even if he is an asshole."

"Don't need reminding, trust me." Of either. Xander sighed and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down over the eyepatch strap.

"I don't know about Willow," he said finally. And... there were pictures. He'd even shown them to Bridge's parents, but Bridge's parents got the time-travel thing and were, well. Bridge's parents. There were a million reasons not to mention Bronwyn to his mom, enough so that he didn't have to look too close at which one was steering his answer. "But yeah. We've talked about it."

"Yeah?" Wiping the last tears from her eyes with her fingers, Jessica gave him a hopeful look. "Really? That's good! Yeah." She sniffed back a few more tears, looking around the workshop. "This is all really good." Except for his eye, no, don't think about that again, not 'til later, right. She bit her lower lip hard to keep herself from crying again, and gave Xander a shaky smile. "You've done real well for yourself. Better than T-- some people."

If he believed more than half of what she was saying wasn't about taking something home to needle his dad over, Xander would... what? Stop acting like he was trying to prove just exactly how different from Tony he wasn't, when it came to being an ass?

"Thanks," he said again, but this time he reached out to hug her. "It means a lot that you think so."

Surprised, Jessica hugged him back, thrilled but hoping it didn't show. Ages since he'd done that. She hugged as hard as she could, maybe to make up for all the stuff about her kid that she Just Didn't Get. Maybe never would. When it finally broke, she smiled at Xander, and said, her voice only a little shaky, "You're a good kid. You know that?"

He did. Sometimes. Xander couldn't remember the last time he'd heard either of his parents say so, though. "You only say that because I haven't sent you my therapy bill yet," he answered breezily, pretending his throat wasn't unexpectedly tight.

Jessica laughed and rubbed at her eyes, then patted him on the shoulder again, before saying, "And don't forget the haircut. You'd look so professional. Match your job, and all this stuff." The smile didn't dim, though. Somebody might think she was proud of him, if they were looking for it.

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Xander's Workshop, MCA Roof, Early Sunday Evening

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