An Englishman in New York

A/N: This chapter was a very difficult one to write. I decided to skim over the whole Buffy finding her mom incident because of a recent death in my own family that is still a bit too fresh. If you really, really hate seeing Angel be a nice guy, just skip the chapter.

Thanks so much, Shelly and Aisling, your feedback is always encouraging.
Pixiecorn, I actually do have it in me, you'll see!
Rachel, thanks a lot! The more I write, the more nervous I get!
Spikeslilchit, thank you! Don't cry!
Emma, LMAO! Spike has to be a big, fat butt because he's Spike! You know how he is. He comes on strong and then it's like, "Oh shiiiit!" He'll get better, promise.
Spikealicious, thanks a lot! I have been using quite a few lines and things from the verse, but unlike in Joss-land, there WILL be a happy ending, damnit!

Angel

Buffy stood silently on the front porch, her once-luminous green eyes filled with sadness as she watched her mother – the body – being loaded into the medical examiner’s van. She would have to tell Dawn now; she would have to explain to her little sister that their mother, who had seemingly recovered from the operation, was gone forever.

In the end, she had failed her mother. When she should have immediately called the paramedics, she had shouted for her to wake; when she should have performed CPR, she had babbled into the phone about whether or not she should make her mother warm. She would never forgive herself. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she never heard the one-familiar pattern of footfalls, nor did she feel the large hand as it settled on her shoulder.

“Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

“Angel?” Turning, Buffy flung herself into his open arms and sobbed for all she was worth. When he had gotten there, how he had known, why he was there, they were all questions that she would wait to ask. All that mattered was that he – that someone – was there for her.

Angel instinctively rested his cheek against the crown of her head as he had done what seemed like centuries ago. “Willow called me,” he explained, his voice soft and as calming as ever. “She and Tara have gone to pick up Dawn.”

“H-how did you get here so fast?” she stammered, unable to comprehend what he had said. “I have to go get Dawn.”

“Police escort,” he replied patiently. “Buffy, Willow and Tara are picking up Dawn from school, all right? Dawn is safe with them.”

“O-okay… Mom! They’ll take her to the hospital and she’ll be alone!” she raved, pushing at his broad shoulders in a vain attempt to chase the van as it backed out of the driveway. “They’ll take her where it’s cold and dark and she’ll be all by herself!”

Refusing to loosen his hold on her, Angel folded his arms around her securely, giving an inward shudder at how thin she had become. He knew that her selfless care-giving of her mother and sister had taken a toll on her, one far worse than she would let on. “Shhh… She’s not alone, sweetheart. You love her, don’t you? Just answer me.”

“Yes,” she said pitifully. “She’s my mommy, of course I love her.”

“Listen to me, Buffy, just listen. Where she is right now, all that she can feel is warmth and sunlight and love. That’s all she’s ever going to know. There’s no pain where she is, no malice or judgment, no illness or despair,” he murmured soothingly against her ear.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“I know.”

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Several hours later found Buffy in the family room surrounded by her friends. Dawn’s head on her shoulder, she stroked her sister’s hair comfortingly while Angel mirrored the gesture with her own golden locks. Tara, ever-reassuring, merely sat quietly across from her, her warm hands resting on Buffy’s knees as though she could draw out her pain. Willow stood behind her with her hands on her girlfriend’s shoulders, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. No one stirred when the tell-tale sound of the front door being opened broke the silence.

“We’re here,” Xander began as he entered the room, his gaze landing on Angel. His jaw clenched, but he made no comment on the man’s presence. “I’m sorry it took us so long.”

“Xander punched a wall, and when that didn’t make him feel any better, we had sex and he cried the whole time,” Anya said bluntly.

Buffy actually smiled at her friend’s words, and for once, no one scolded her for speaking so openly. “Did that help, Xan?”

“A little.” He held out his arms for Dawn, who immediately flung herself at him. “Is… did you get things… taken care of?”

“Angel was there to help,” said Buffy quietly, giving him a grateful smile.

“So this is Angel. He’s large and glowery, isn’t he?” Anya blurted out, looking confused when both Willow and Tara appeared horrified by her words.

Large and glowery? Nonplussed, Angel shook Anya’s hand. “You must be Anya.”

“Well,” Xander announced, “this is uncomfortable. Who wants to go for pizza?”

“I do,” Dawn said softly. Above all, she wanted to get out of the house, a house that no longer had her mother in it.

“I’m not in a pizza mood,” said Buffy.

“Neither am I,” Angel agreed.

“If you’re planning on having therapy-sex with Buffy and then leaving her, think again, Mister,” said Willow fiercely. “Be-because I know some spells and you might wake up with your hair on fire.”

At Buffy’s looked of shocked amusement and Angel’s wide eyes, Tara blushed faintly and settled a hand on her girlfriend’s arm. “Let’s just go get something to eat,” she said reasonably.

“See? My honesty is a good thing,” Anya added, “I would have said the same thing if Willow hadn’t said it first.”

“Let’s just go eat.” Xander led Dawn outside as quickly as possible, sensing that the girl was on the verge of screaming and pulling her hair out.

“Are… Will you be okay?” Willow asked in concern, glancing between Buffy and Angel.

“Yeah, I’ll be as okay as I can be. Go on.”

“W-we’ll come back soon, okay? We can stay here on the couch.”

“Tara, I’ll be okay, you don’t have to do that.”

“We’ll d-decide later,” the woman answered as her red-haired girlfriend led her from the room.

“It was nice finally meeting you,” said Anya, following the Wicca pair out of the living room. “He looks even more like a Greek sex-god in person.”

“Anya!”

Chuckling nervously, Angel pushed a lock of golden hair away from Buffy’s face, saddened by the dark circles under her eyes and the pale tint of her lips. “You should try to eat something.”

“I puked earlier,” she replied, “I don’t think I can keep anything down.”

“Okay, then we’ll just sit here.”

“Okay.”

Drawing the tiny girl – no, she’s a woman now – against his side, he tucked his fingers under her chin, stroking gently as though she were a cat. “Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?” he asked reverently.

“No.” His words reminded her of Spike, and her heart clenched when the name returned to her thoughts unbidden.

He had forgotten how beautiful she was; he hadn’t allowed himself to remember how much he loved her. “Buffy, that night at the prom, you were so brave. You were just a girl… then, and now you’re a woman. You’re almost twenty years old. It’s hard to believe at times.”

“Angel, this might not be the best time to do this, I’m kind of needy right now,” she said warningly.

“I can handle that,” he said seriously. “Use me.”

Those two words were all Buffy needed to hear. Swinging one leg over him, she straddled his lap and kissed him furiously, the same way she had kissed Spike, not the way she had once kissed him. He cupped her cheeks and tried to gentle the kiss, but she would have none of it. After a moment of the chaotic tangle of lips and tongue, Buffy climbed to the side again, staring at her hands. They had once fit together so well…

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I told you I was needy.”

Angel nodded his understanding and kissed her cheek lightly. “It’s okay. We can do whatever you want.”

“What I want is to have my mom back,” she said in a small voice.

“I know.”

Suddenly, she added, “This… us… this will never work again.” She met his gaze apprehensively, lackluster green eyes locking with solemn mahogany pools.

“I know,” he said again. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“No,” she replied.

“Buffy –”

“No,” she repeated. “It’s no one’s fault. People change, Angel, and some people stay the same. I’ve changed. I’m not the girl you knew.”

“You’re definitely not a girl,” he agreed, pondering the sudden change in the direction of their conversation. Still, if it would distract her from the loss of her mother, he would talk nuclear physics and bore her to tears.

“Th-there’s someone else, and even if he’s not here, he’s here,” she made her point by settling her hand over her heart.

“He’s not here? What kind of an idiot could leave you?” At Buffy’s pointed look, he added, “Don’t answer that.”

“It’s complicated. His mother… she was murdered and he had to go back to England to make sure his father doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“Do… do you have a number where you can reach him?” Angel asked quietly.

“It’s okay,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her limp blonde hair. “I don’t want to bother him.”

“Buffy, if he ever cared about you –”

“Angel, can we please not do this?” she begged.

“Right,” he said apologetically. “We’ll just sit here.”

"Okay."