*****

So, that's Buffy's mysterious Angel.

Okay, I'd been hoping that he'd be hideous. I know girls go for the whole enigmatic thing, but I'd be feeling a hell of a lot better right now if he had a hunchback, or rampant facial warts or *something*. She never mentioned that he was so� buff. Oh yeah. That's a good-looking man alright. Move over, Xander, here comes Mr. Handsome to take your place. Hello again, d�j� vu, hope the traffic wasn�t too bad.

I suppose I should have expected it. Buffy isn't really geeky sophomore material. Tall, dark and not failing math seems much more her type. I'm sure that looks barely even come into it. Sure, it helps if a guy has decent dress sense if he's going to insist on you wearing his clothing, but I doubt the whole buff thing rates a mention. And, if I slip any further into denial, I'll be deciding I can dance.

Yup, that's an idea. Impress her with my brilliant skills on the ol' dance floor. If I'm lucky, mystery man will laugh himself to death. I bet he's a great dancer. Typical. It's almost as though the rest of the world tries to show me up on purpose. I have my merits. You may have to dig a little deep, but they're there. Of course, wave something enigmatic in front of a girl's eyes and there doesn't seem to be much cause for excavation.

Perhaps I should try being a little more mysterious myself. I can wander in and out of people's lives pontificating about imminent dangers. Hell, I think I've even got a black leather jacket somewhere in the back of my wardrobe. It'll take some time, but eventually I could learn to wipe smiling from my facial vocabulary. The whole tall, dark and handsome thing could be a little more problematic. Tall? Fine. Dark? Check. Handsome? Okay, here we run into the fatal error in my fiendish plan. Because this guy is *really* hot.

Oh, hell, who am I kidding?

Of course Buffy has the hots for the guy. Who wouldn't? Give it a moment and Willow will probably be heading on over there to contribute to the puddle of drool at his feet. I couldn't blame her if she did. There are people in this world destined to be dribbled over, and then there are those of us fated to be doing the slobbering. A girl like Buffy deserves a guy like him.

Even from way over here, I can tell there's something magnetic about the man. It's as though I'm not so much seeing him as feeling his presence and I'm not sure that I like the feeling. I want to hate him for being everything I'm not, but I can't even accomplish that. I want to despise him simply because she loves him.

But I can't.

I can't hate him any more than Buffy can, can't even look away. And there's some weak message pounding in the back alleyways of my brain but I'm not up to acknowledging it. Not now. These things take time and denial's such a comfortable habit to hide beneath. A sarcastic comment, a twist of the lips and I'm moving on, safely shrouded by the worn masquerade.

After all, I'm nothing more than the person they see. What's the point of pretending, what's the point of trying, when I'll never be him? When I'll never *have* him� not that I'd want him anyway.

D�j� vu? Meet denial. I'm sure you'll both get on famously.

{fin}