FIC: B/W "STILL STRUGGLIN"

[Red Willow <nick_elodian@xxxxxxxxx>]

Hey there, this is my first post of fiction to this particular list. I Hope you find it
interesting. This short story will be separated into 3 parts, though it may lapse into a 4th or
so.. i guess it just depends on how overloaded my brain is..... please feel free to criticize...
... BTW.. I'm enjoying all the stories immensely!... thanks!


Title: Still Struggling
Author: Willow_Red
Email: St8sboroblues@xxxxxxxxx or nick_elodian@xxxxxxxxx
Disclaimer: All characters and references to belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and all them
other folks <G> I'm just using them to make my own little fun. However the story belongs to me
only. You may post or distribute only with permission from and credit to me.
So just ask <G> And if you don't like the idea of Willow and Buffy together then... why are you
reading this?
Rating: PG-R (as it might progress from one to the other)
Pairing: Willow/Buffy
Summary: Buffy struggles over her feelings for Willow. This is part one in a 3 part (though
possibly more) series. Thoughts will be expressed in < and > brackets... This covers some info
from Season 2-4 (right before "Something Blue" to be exact, although the rest will go beyond
that...)
Hope you enjoy. Feedback? I thrive on of feedback.



+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I'm fully aware of my heart beating now.
The quick thudding in my chest, my hands, my neck, just under my...
<No> I think and turn around again, looking out the window at the dark shadows crossing the lawn.
Looking out there, anywhere but in here, eyes darting, searching for a target that holds my
attention, holds it longer than her... But my eyes drift to the faint reflection now staring at
me. I study her soft features evident even now in the cold hard glass of my prison. I hurt for
her. My hands clenching beside me I can't help but hurt for a touch that will never come, lips
that I will never taste.. an ache that we'll never share. I close my eyes. <This is not supposed
to be happening... > Oh but it is. <You've got it bad girl.>
I bring my hands to my face, covering my eyes then slowly wiping away the beads of sweat that
have formed on my brow. <Go to her> I hear that familiar voice tell me. <She wants you to> it
taunts. <NO> I shake my head breaking up my own thoughts that torture me endlessly. I turn
around again looking at her laying there in that bed, snug in her own little world of dreams I
want so desperately to be apart of. I take her in, inch by sexy inch. Even my own eyes betray me
. I'm finally able to look away as I sit on my own unslept in bed across from her.
<If only I could've just gone with her being a ghost for Halloween. But no... not me. Big
bad Buffy had to try and talk her into wearing that little.. getup.. that little... those legs
and that stomach... those boots... ...stop it! > I trace my gaze over her bare skin just visible
enough in the predawn light. A bare arm that disappears at the elbow underneath her pillow where
her hair spills in red locks of absolute perfect softness. I follow that arm up to the shoulder,
where her short sleeve pajama shirt has been pushed up. Then down my eyes go over the soft fabric
to her waist, where again, her shirt is askew and I sigh ever so lightly at the small patch of
skin visible now directly above her waistline. Her left leg and arm are thrown around her
comforter in sleep, innocently unaware of my eyes on her. <What i wouldn't give to mimic her
position. I would wrap my leg and arm lovingly around her body, and bury my face in her hair.>
That hair. Oh that beautiful head of red hair. I've smelled that hair. I've touched it,
threading my fingers through it in wonderment at its softness, wanting to feel it slide across my
face and body. Remaining silent however. Staying among the safe shadows of friendship. <I was
just braiding her hair.>
I run a hand though my own hair thanking all the gods I know must exist that she's not facing
me. The urge to kiss those sweet lips would be too much to bare. <I should have kissed her.>
Yes, that not so distant Halloween with those boots and skirt and that midriff, revealing her
tight stomach. <Don't keep doing this to yourself> I never noticed her before then. Mousey
little Willow. My pal, sure, but come on. And then, standing in front of me, practically shaking
with nervousness. I called her a dish, and I meant it. I was wowed. And briefly, right before I
heard the doorbell ring, I felt something that was familiar enough spread from my abdomen to my
thighs and up, up to.. and then... there are just no words to describe how much different that
warmth was that time. <thank god for Xander>
<Look what you've done to me. I can't stop thinking about you. Do you know how hard it is
wanting to jump your best friend for two years? No. Of course you don't Will.> No, she doesn't
know what it's been like struggling with these feelings. With everything that's happened with
Angel and, and <Parker! What was I thinking??> She comforts me and I need it, but still... I
respond more to her touch than my own feelings...
It hurt to the bone when Angel left, especially after all we went through. It hurt something
awful. I felt like I couldn't breathe. In all honesty though, It was her I mostly thought of.
No matter how much I hurt over Angel, I sought comfort in Will's arms and that's where I felt
safest. Yeah, I couldn't breath. I was hurting and helpless from losing Angel and I couldn't
breath because I was so close to her. There I was crying my eyes out, really hurting, but I was
with her, I mean we were really holding on to each other and all my senses became alive for a
brief couple of moments before I slightly pulled back, reminding myself of why she was comforting
me. I felt bad. Ashamed even. But briefly, I felt her. All of her. I could smell her, and not
just her soap or that great herbal shampoo she uses. No. I could smell her, that perfectly Willow
smell. I heard her too. My ears were alive with the sounds of her heartbeat, her breathing, and
her sighs of compassion. I think I loved her then. I mean, the full realization of who she was
and what she meant to me. It was all so powerful, so intense.
So I buried it. Refused to acknowledge that kind of love could exist for me. Refused and
let those lustful thoughts of plain geeky Willow get to me. Geeky Willow. I shake my head,
that's just the frustration talking, trying to talk me out of my lust and love for my best friend.
<Good try. It ain't gonna happen. I've been trying it myself> Yeah, I buried those feelings,
but they keep crawling out of the grave, because they never die... <they never will>. Two years
now I've been burying those feelings repeatedly. I keep on stuffing them way down deep inside me.
I refuse to acknowledge how scared and angry I am when Willow is hurt as anything other than how
I'm supposed to be as her friend. But the truth is, my passion runs much deeper. I play it so
cool though. Played it just like Oz. Oz. I could kill him for hurting Willow like that. You
have no idea how happy I was to throw him across the room and pump a tranquilizer dart in him when
he tried to go after Will after munching on Veruca. That short enjoyment passed though when I saw
that sweet face tear streaked and Will in agony. So I went to her like I always do. Always will.
But the pain that I could see in her face from what Oz, her beloved boyfriend and my friend, did
to her pained me too. I could not... can not face how much I love her and how much it hurt that
she felt... still feels... so greatly for him and not me. There was no vampire to dust or an evil
demon of the night to behead that would solve this and take away the pain.. for either of us.
This was Oz. Sure he's a wolf three nights a month, but it's Oz. He's so different. So very
aware of his own fear at what kind of harm he could cause people, cause Willow... <But he did hurt
her didn't he? Yes yes... and so have I... haven't I?> So I withdrew from her like I always do
just when she needs me the most.
The truth is I'm scared. I'm weak ok. I've been struggling here for two years. And the
truth is, I don't know how much longer I can keep it up. She's in so much pain. I want to reach
out to her, to connect with her heart, and wrap my slayer arms around her and hold her until all
the pain and anger goes away. I don't trust myself around her though. When she needs me I run.
When she wants to help me I don't want her to because I fear for her. She doesn't think I value
our friendship <yeah, that fight at Halloween this year was a real blast wasn't it?> but I do. Of
course I do. I just don't trust myself to comfort her these days. I know I'll kiss her. I can
feel it in my gut. I'll hold her and let her cry and feel miserable, and I'll run my hands
through that gorgeous red hair of hers and lean in for a kiss and <you'll lose her and you know
it> ... so you see why I run?
I get up again and walk across to her, my legs inches from her warm sleeping body. <you're
so beautiful girl... i wish i could tell you... everything...> I begin to reach down, like I've
done so many early mornings after slaying, and stop myself just short of the heat rising off her
bare waist. I purse my lips, close my eyes, and turn away. She has no idea how long I've buried
my true feelings for her. How many nights I've come in from dusting vamps and watched her sleep
with this primal instinct to touch her, kiss her, confess everything to her in a wake of passion.
<Like that'll ever happen.... you're a fool Buffy. She can never love you like that. She likes
boys remember? And you're supposed to too>
This has become a nightly ritual since she moved in. And each night I turn to the window
wishing to be free from these restraints. I can not find release in her arms. Yet I can not
leave here. Can not leave her. I'll always be her friend, her best friend. If that means
spending these lonely nights just before dawn looking at my Willow with trembling hands and a
racing heart, trying to put out the fire that burns there (and..... ) for her, then I will.
I wipe a tear away from my cheek with a slightly trembling hand and crawl into my own bed
aware of the emptiness that has always been there and always will as long as she's not.

=====
"What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound
anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that
as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like
beautiful music"
-Soren Kierkegaard

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