Title: Watching
Author: Meredian
Email: mere_dythe@hotmail.com
Summary: A random angst thing in my "Like a Wind" 'verse. You can find
the stories here:
http://www.angelfire.com/al/LadyBathory/likeawind.html
Rating: Um, PG, maybe
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, but Joss'. I mean no harm.
Note: Just let me ramble. Just nod and smile. For 'Nat, 'cuz she'd
appreciate this... maybe...

*****

How can he sit there, watching us research, the same old helpful Giles
heís always been? How can he stand to be in the same room as me, without
coming and holding me?

Because I know heís watching.

I can feel his eyes taking me in.

I want to do the same, but I canít. I canít look. I mean, hello? Iím not
exactly known for keeping things hidden below. So fine. I wonít hide.
Iíll look. But not at him.

Iíll look atÖ Oz.

Sure, itís easy to try and pretend that blonde hair is his, to pretend
that every sip of soda is actually one of tea. And the hands turning the
pages are those of a librarian instead of a guitarist.

Oh, oops. Oz saw. New target.

Willow. Looking at her is easy. I can stare at her and remember what it
was like to kiss her, to touch something so like Giles.

Damn it, Oz saw me again.

Canít look at Buffy. ëCuz all I see when I look at her is Angel, and
that would be too much. Itís bad enough that I canít have the man I
loveÖ I donít need to think about leather clad vampiness at the same
time.

If only I could look at him.

But if I did, Iíd want to touch him. And I canít.

I justÖ canít.

*****

The back of his neck is so marvelous. Itís truly amazing how beautifully
the dark hairs lie, undisturbed.

How Iíd like to disturb them.

But at what price?

To think of what *they* might do to him, should I give in.

I canít condemn him. I can go on. Iíve learned.

Jenny.

My father once told me that a Watcher should avoid love at all costs. He
had, and was a happy man. My mother and he were friends, friends thrust
together by the Council.

Itís better that way. A Watcher isnít meant for love.

After Jenny, I should have known.

They look so intent, lost in their books, trying to find an answer for
this most recent problem. Iíve seen this a thousand times over. But
never through this haze of pain.

I donít know what I shall do when the new Watcher comes. For this pain
is addictive.

And if I was pushed from these walls, kept from being able to at least
look at himÖ

Mustnít think that way.

Each hair is so perfect, so delicate.