Facets of Emeralds: Facets of Emeralds
by Barbie Girl
A\N: Hugs to my beta, Morganna!



Facets of Emeralds



She's not insensitive, you think, she just doesn't understand. That's all. She doesn't know that to load Buffy down like a pack mule or even suggest such a thing is rude. You watch her carry another box begrudgingly up the stairs, pitching in though she doesn't want to, doesn't have to. You try to hold on to that image, that thought, banking it for later. One day when you notice how she doesn't smell of vanilla you will pull it out, turning it over in your mind and you will see that she loves you and that will be enough. And you will love her back. What choice do you have?

You sigh. "How is it that she can always make me feel SuaveXander's left the building?"

Riley stands beside you, packing up the last of your toys, games, and things of youth never to be unpacked. They will sit in their boxes in a closet, they are child's things, and there is no place for them in your apartment. It's an adult's apartment. They will never be brought out. Childhood is gone.

Riley is a good guy. You like him, maybe there are moments you want to choke the life from him but all in all he's a good guy. "You two have your friction, but ... she digs the whole package. It's obvious." He's being charitable; you can see that, yet his words are honest. Somewhere you know Anya loves you, why else would she be carrying boxes for you?

You glance quickly to the stairs, and before you know it the words finally bubble up, swelling too fast for you to control and before you know it there they are, hanging in midair. "Still, I do envy you sometimes." Riley looks to you with a start. Dangerous ground. Back pedal, back pedal. " I mean for the sanity. Not that I'm still into Buffy." You shouldn't have mentioned her name, a cover, a lie, quick. "Not that I ever was." There. He's smiling. No harm done. Your mask is still firmly in place.

Friends. That is your cover. That is your lie. You get to sit beside her, chase away her demons, train with her, talk with her, laugh and joke with her because you are her friend. You're not the boy still harboring a school crush, you aren't in love with Buffy. You don't dream of her at night. See her face where Anya's should be. You're her friend; that's your mask.

Sometimes you feel it slipping, some inconsequential nights at the Bronze or a party. She smiles, and you dance, and you try not to close your eyes and inhale a whiff of vanilla that clings to her hair. You try to douse the flame her fingers ignite unknowingly. You try to shield your eyes, look everywhere but at her. Once the song is over you can look at her; she will be out of your arms and the mask of friendship firmly in its place. Just her friend.

You listen as Riley says how lucky he is, how Buffy splits him into two. You nod, you're a good friend, you don't rip out his throat. That's your seat he's in. You were supposed to be guy normal, not him. You were just waiting in the wings for the moment when she needed a regular guy, you blink and missed it, and before you knew it he had your spot in the game of musical chairs. But you like him. He's a good guy, you doubt he will ever make Buffy cry. Which is why you want to attack him with a 2 by 4. Because you missed your spot, he's in your seat and he's not leaving. So you nod, listening to him talk about the magic that is Buffy. He stops for a moment, a quiet smile upon his lips, and you think at least he knows how blessed he truly is when he adds, "But she doesn't love me."


*****


You probably shouldn't have told him, maybe you should have told him more. Stunning Xander into speechlessness is never a good sign. But you can't think about him right now. She is next to you, smiling, glowing, smelling of vanilla and hope. Her lips graze yours and you know this is heaven. Your heartbeat races as she sets you on fire with a simple kiss. And you can't do anything but bask in her radiance.

But it's only for a second, and then you watch her slip away. Slowly noticing Xander, packing up a few of his things, and he tells a joke, one that you don't get, one with the words Snyder and Mayor, and she laughs, lighting up the room. You smile politely, that’s what you do when someone tells a joke. Buffy tries to explain it, Xander piping in with a few more comments that make her giggle and whack him playfully. And you pretend to understand, but you don't and you doubt you ever will. And you stand alone, as they joke and carry boxes up the stairs.

You're not a fool, you know Xander has a thing for her. Maybe he even loves her. You know that as much as you like Xander and as much as he likes you that your friendship is limited. He's jealous of your relationship with Buffy and you of his. He wouldn't understand if you told him that, that your jealous of him. But you are, and you can't help it.

He wouldn't see how making her laugh with a few inside jokes compares to what you have with her. He thinks you guys have intimacy, and you do, in a way. But not true intimacy. Xander knows her, he didn't hear stories of her life, he lived them with her, she leans on him. She trusts him. She trusts him in an open way; she doesn't tuck her thoughts away from him. You have her body, Xander her mind, and Angel her heart, three facets of the same emerald each envious of what the other possesses.

Emeralds, you think. And with that you carry up the last box making a mental note about a possible Christmas present. Emeralds would be nice.


The End


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