Title: African Rains
Fandom: BtVS
Rating: PG
Characters: Xander
Beta(s): Unbeta'd but Proofread
Prompt(s): tamingthemuse prompt #235 : Ombrophobia
Disclaimer: Joss owns 'em, I just borrow them to do weird and whacky things, with then give 'em back!
Summary: It's easier even when it rains...
I can't stand the way it feels. Hate the way it seeps through the patch and soaks into the socket, makes it itch so badly it's all I can do not to wrench the damn thing off and scrub at the ruin where my eye used to be.
I hate and fear what it does to my vision. Oh believe me, I know that everyone flinches away from the rain; absolutely everyone squints to protect their vision when the water is driving so hard from the sky that it's like a sheet of silver grey, covering everything in front and behind you in a watery curtain. But now, when I do it, I'm effectively blind. A soaked patch, a squinted eye and I'm more of a liability than I ever was back in Sunnydale.
Perhaps that's why when the gang offered me a job in Scotland fixing up the new Slayer headquarters and fighting the good fight I turned them down. I couldn't face it anymore. It rained so often, so heavily in Scotland – I spent most of my time huddled up inside whatever building we were occupying at the time. How do I explain that I can face-down vamps and demons, giant snakes and Hellgods, but a thunder storm sends chills up and down my spine? How do I turn around to a woman who died twice to save the world and a witch whose powers are unmatched and tell them that I'm scared of water dropping from the sky?
So I said no – told them I wanted to go wandering, took the chance to fly off to Africa and find the new Slayers. Oh it rains over here – thunderstorms that simmer under my skin and call to parts of me that I thought were long gone. There are times when I sit in my tent – fat droplets slamming into the canvas, battering at the hardy material that is my only protection from the elements and think of how things used to be. Remember what it was like when I was back in my basement. When Anya was still alive and we were just falling in love; when seeing Giles polish his glasses was a familiar, happy thing rather than a demonstration of his weariness; when Willow and Buffy were not so – well, sharp and there was softness and affection there to cushion their strengths. When being the token human wasn't quite as painful as it finally became.
It's easier here. I can't hurt anyone here. Won't be the cause of a mis-step, no one so busy protecting my back that they leave themselves open. How can I risk being the cause of something happening to one of my best friends in the whole world? I already cost the woman I love her only chance at a human life – the thought of Anya, fighting off those Uber vamps and losing her life has wrenched me from sleep more times than I can recollect. I won't risk doing that again, can't stand the thought of being to blame.
There's no one out here I can hurt but me. So, it's not so bad out here on my own. Even when it rains.
fin