Green-Eyed Monster
By A.M. Glass
Copyright: Jan. 8, 2000.
Rating: ĎUí
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Fox Studios, Mutant Enemy, et al, have something to do with ďBuffy The Vampire SlayerĒ. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred. The story along with any/all original characters are the sole property of the author and can not be used without expressed permission first.
Thanks: To Tracy, for once again providing me with her kindness in betaing my story for me.
Authorís Note: ITíS NOT A SONG STORY. Just had to state that up front, I had to prove to myself that I can actually write stories without the benefit of a song. Which makes me think back to the story I sent to Tracy prior to this one. Thatís a song story, I wonder if you could call this babbling? Itís somewhat angsty... <-- is that a real word? Anyhow, on to the story...


Itís completely irrational this feeling of being Ďput outí, so to speak, whenever he shows up at her apartment. Iíve told her that I love her, but with distance being a factor at this time; of why we canít be together, Iím rather irked whenever he goes to see her.

Of course sheís told me time and time again not to worry. ďHeís just a friend.Ē

I wish I could believe that as wholeheartedly as she tells me. I can only say for certain that the green-eyed monster has reared its ugly head once more.

I want nothing more in the world right now than to be with her. Iím not going to say that my whole life revolves around her, but itís damn close.

I really must remind myself, that Saturday nights are the nights they get together; to watch television, go out to dinner, mundane things really. But the moment she excuses herself to answer her door; while Iím waiting on the phone, Iíve already muttered his name with complete distaste.

I know that as soon as she picks up the telephone receiver, my time with her is at an end. And much to my chagrin, I act like a complete ass. Iíve never whined before, except when James intrudes on what I perceive to be my time with Willow.

Itís at times like these when I question my decision to go back to England for a class Iíve been talked into giving. At first, I adamantly refused to go, spouting some nonsense or other, when the real reason was, I didnít want to leave Willow.

Not for a single moment.

I could list all the things that had kept us apart, but the truth was, we werenít ready.

I believe we both knew that there was something between us, some intangible feeling that we both recognized whenever we were alone. The very air was filled with a tension, as we fought against the steady undercurrent of desire we could sense. There were times when we were able to console ourselves with brief touches or my favorite, hugs.

To have felt her arms around me, even if for a moment, filled me with a quiet joy. Something I could recall with a fondness that made me ache with want for more. I would not call these guilty pleasures, as I felt no guilt. The hugs were freely given and received with love.

I cannot adequately express the utter desolation, the emptiness I felt when I thought she had been turned. Itís been nearly eight years since that incident, but I still have nightmares about that time. I donít think I would have let her go had she not mentioned that she could not breathe, due to the bear hug I had placed her in. It was all I could to do as I tried to pour all my love into that embrace. Hoping she could feel how happy-- that word, I find is less than adequate to express myself-- I was that she was alive.

I wanted her...

I wanted to make sure she was alive, really alive. I needed to run my hands over her body, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath mine. I needed to feel her breath on my cooling skin.

I needed too much.

I pulled away.

I had to let her live her life, even if it took her away from me.

Donít mistake my intentions, I loved... love her with a passion that at times frightens and blinds me. She has the power to destroy or save me with a single phrase. And as I sit at my desk, occasionally glancing at the telephone, while writing my thoughts down, I realize I must do this. Or end up making a complete fool out of myself by picking up the phone, ringing her up and lord help me, demanding that she ask James to leave.

I trust her, I do.

Itís me I donít.

Weíve begun, to my delight, to seriously discuss our relationship with one another, in a purely non-life threatening, save-the-world-from-utter-destruction manner. And to that point, weíve done things that in no way remind us of what we do to assist Buffy. We stay away from places we would normally frequent; the morgue, the library and various cemeteries.

We are quite content to go to the movies and have dinner, or rent a video and cuddle with each other in her apartment.

I know that if I was still in Sunnydale, two things would be an absolute given:

First, I would be with Willow.

Secondly, I, or most likely Ripper, would thrash James within an inch of his life for even considering being with Willow in her apartment-alone.

Ah, as luck would have it, I have a telephone call. Perhaps this will manage to alleviate the melancholy I seemed to wallow in.

Giles placed the pen down and picked up the telephone receiver. ďHello?Ē

ďI love you, try not to forget that,Ē he heard on the other end of the line.

Looking down towards his journal, Giles closed it firmly. ďNever,Ē he replied smiling.

The End

 

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