Thinking Back
by Starla
E-MAIL: fuzzylittlepackrat@hotmail.com
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: A Vague Disclaimer is nobody’s friend. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sanddollar, and the WB.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Ok, Ok. This isn’t Riley bashing, really. I’m sorry. It is a pro B/A piece though. It’s basically Riley being all depressed. It’s what popped into my head. Feedback - Please.
SUMMARY: Angel comes back to Buffy. After Riley is dropped like a hot potato (potato. Hee Hee.), he thinks about his relationship with Buffy.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

When I was a kid I loved the Star Wars movies. I must have watched them all a million times. Luke Skywalker was my hero. I used

to have the dolls, and a really cool light up fake light saber. I didn’t wan’t to be like him;

I wanted to *be* him.

As I get older, I’m beginning to think I am.

No, no, don’t call the men in white suits. I know who I am. But sometimes, I see parallels between him and me.

We are both nice, polite guys.

We both fell in love with the beautiful, brave princess.

We both lost the princess to the tougher, darker stranger.

Ok, so maybe Buffy isn’t my sister, but it’s still depressing. I was going over my relationship with Buffy in my head today, trying to work out where I lost her.

I came to a frightening conclusion.

I never had her in the first place.

When I spoke to her, sometimes I noticed her eyes drifting to the shadows, her green eyes searching the blackness.

When she’d look back at me, her eyes would fill mith a deep disappointment, a sadness I couldn’t comprehend. I’m not sure I really

wanted to.

Sometimes when I held her, she’d stiffen up, as if my touch made her guilty.

When I asked of her past, she’d change the subject.

When we patrolled together, her eyes would linger on the gravestones, and then her eyes would take on a faraway expression that I

wasn’t used to seeing in my girlfriends.

I’m used to being foremost in a girl’s mind. It sounds conceited, I know, but it’s the truth. The girls in Iowa...

They were different than Buffy. Everybody is different than Buffy.

I remember, once, I asked Buffy about a leather jacket hanging in her closet. She flinched and got all defensive.

I found out later it belonged to *him*. Or used to anyway.

This guy. Angel. What kind of name is that, anyway?

I remember watching as he approached Buffy in the graveyard one night. I remember her face contorting in anger. I remember the anger slowly melting away from her face to be replaced by a brilliant smile.

She never smiled for me like that. Her eyes never lit up for me. I never felt like her heart beat for me, and me alone.

She kissed him.

Not the sort of kisses she gave me, hot and strong and passionate.

There was passion, yes. But it was simpler. Sweeter. More heartfelt. More loving.

Love.

She loves him.

She told me as much when I confronted her. No hesitation. Without thinking. She loves him.

I can’t comprehend it.

I’ve *never* failed. Until now, It seems.

Trust in the force my ass.

Han Solo gets all the girls.

END

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