An Englishman in New York

A/N: I was a bit evil and left it at a small cliffhanger. No worries, I'll update tomorrow. ^_^


I Grieve


Xander and Anya had been the first of her friends to leave, presumably to have passionate sex fueled by grief and the need to feel alive. It had taken longer to convince Willow and Tara that it was all right to take Dawn to their apartment, but they left not long after. That had only left Angel, who had remained by her side in silence until she had finally pleaded with him to give her time alone. That had been over an hour ago, and still she remained by the grave, where her mother would spend eternity.

Finally, Buffy stood beside her mother’s grave, alone at last, unshed tears glistening in her green eyes as she replayed the events of the day in her mind. She had said her final farewells to her mother’s body, stood stalwart at her sister’s side throughout the ceremony, and politely acknowledge the well-wishers. Now it was over; now she had no idea what to do. This was what she had been dreading, the aftermath.

She recalled her most recent failed attempt at cooking and how she and her mother had laughed about it; she remembered how her mother had received flowers, flowers she would never watch wither, from the man she had been seeing. She remembered when her mother and father brought Dawn home from the hospital, her brief but intense surge of jealousy that her mother’s attention would belong to another, and her subsequent fascination with the tiny bundle in her arms.

Though Buffy was lost in her memories, she sensed his approach as clearly as if he had announced his presence on a bullhorn. Instinctively, she held out her hand for his, some semblance of warmth returning to her when he clasped her hand in one of his own.

“Sorry it took so long,” Spike said quietly. How she took that statement was her choice; he meant it in a million different ways.

“How did you know?” she questioned, not yet looking up from her mother’s grave.

“My scar hurt. I sound like Harry bloody Potter, I know, and then Angelus called,” he retorted with a hint of bitterness.

“Angel called you?” She spun around to look at him and gasped at what she saw. His hair, normally platinum and furiously slicked back, fell in a mass of raven-dark curls that made him look even paler than usual. His uniform of black on black had been replaced with a dark gray suit.

“I-it was for the, um, the funeral,” he explained, gesturing to his ‘poncy boy’ getup. “Yeah, he called me, but I felt it before I knew. I already had a plane ticket.”

Somehow, she believed him, and she nodded slowly, brushing one of the ebony curls away from his eyebrow so that she could trace the scar there with her thumb. “What happened to your hair?”

Shrugging, he said nonchalantly, “Got sick of bleachin’ it and let it grow out. Looked like a skunk, so I dyed it black.”

“I like it,” she said quietly.

“Thanks. Do you… wanna get out of here, pet?”

Shivering slightly, Buffy nodded. He’d called her ‘pet,’ the same way he always had, and it was half-comforting. “I don’t want to leave yet. It’s quiet here, but I just can’t be here… here.”

He silently ushered her away from the grave to one of the flat crypts on the edge of the cemetery. When she sat down on the stone surface, he removed his coat and draped it around her shoulders before sitting beside her and lighting a cigarette.

“I told Angel not to call you,” she said after a long pause.

“So ‘e told me.”

“What else did he tell you? The truth, Spike.”

“Said that if I was worth the air I breathed and knew what was good for me I’d get my arse back to the States. Said… you needed me.” The last part was little more than an uncertain whisper.

“I did. I do.”

“You’ve got me,” he replied, forcing himself to meet her eyes. He remembered how full of life – life and pain – they had been the last time he’d seen them. Now, only the pain was visible.

“For how long?” she asked flatly.

“Forever.”

“Wh-what about your father?”

“Movin’ ‘ere,” he said cautiously. “To LA. Mum… Joyce, she called ‘im when she was sick and said that… that if anything happened to her, would he please take care of her girls.”

“I knew Mom called him, but… Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, I know. I told ‘im I thought somethin’ had happened and bought the tickets, and then the phone rang and it was Angelus. Pet, Buffy, if Dad had told me that your mum was sick, you know I would’ve been here the next day. You know that, right? Buffy?”

“Yeah, I know.” She settled her head on his shoulder to breathe in his reassuring scent. As always, he smelled of tobacco, whiskey, and some foreign spice she could never name. “Can we not talk about Mom?”

“We can talk about anything you want, luv.”

“How… how’ve you been?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve been all right, y’know? I’ve been missing you somethin’ fierce and… Christ, I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

Sensing his trepidation, Buffy took one of his hands and gave it a firm squeeze as she said, “I missed you, too.” A moment later, she added, “Riley left me.”

Scoffing, Spike muttered, “Yeah, well, always knew he wasn’t a few fries short of a Happy Meal. What happened?”

Blushing, Buffy wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and die of humiliation when she remembered how she’d found Riley in the alley. “It-it’s embarrassing, he… Faith saw him with a hooker, and when we found him, she was…”

“Blowin’ him,” Spike finished.

“Yeah, and he never let me do that because he said it was degrading to women, but I never pushed the issue, and then he was like, ‘Why do you have to be so curious, can’t we just be together?’ I don’t… I wasn’t enough,” she whispered.

This, she thought, I missed this most of all. I can tell him everything.

“Did it feel degrading when you did it for me?” he asked bluntly.

“Wh-what? No! It felt… I felt powerful.”

“Luv, it wasn’t that you weren’t enough for him,” said Spike, “it was that you’re too much for someone like him, someone who has to be in control all the time, to handle. You said it yourself, you felt powerful. He couldn’t see that it’s give and take. ‘S’why he had to use a hooker.”

And for the first time, Buffy understood. It was why Angel had left, as well. He wanted to be able to protect her, but he protected her to the point of coddling her, and Riley had done the same. Parker didn’t even count; he was a colossal mistake, but Spike… Spike was right, it was about give and take. Somehow, the one with the least experience in the matter was the one to make sense of it all. For the time being, all else was forgotten.

“Buffy?” he asked nervously when she said nothing in response.

“Yeah?”

“You did that thing where you don’t say anythin’ and it was bloody strange,” he said lightly. “Did you hear what I said? It’s not you, it’s him.”

“And Angel. It was Angel, too, if you’re telling the truth. He never treated me as an equal. He’s so careful with me like he thinks I’ll break and… He told me to use him.”

“What?”

“The other night – the night Mom – the night it happened, he was talking like he wanted us to get back together and he told me to use him, so I… I kissed him, and it felt wrong.”

“Oh.” She’d kissed him?! In all fairness, he had been surprised to find her alone, having full expected to arrive at the cemetery to see her with Angelus. “Wrong?”

In response, Buffy pressed her lips to his, and Spike proved her point for her by instantly cupping the nape of her neck and deepening the kiss. As always, he kissed as though the world was ending and the meeting of lips was imperative. Mewling appreciatively, she traced the contours of his mouth and was rewarded with something that sounded vaguely like a purr. At length, they broke apart, both taking in deep gasps for air.

“That,” panted Buffy, “felt right. With Angel, it was different. Too gentle when I needed it to be…”

“Rough?” Spike offered.

“You. I needed it to be you. You knew,” she whispered.

“I always know what you need, pet,” he answered. The words had sounded much more confident and cocky in his mind, but when he spoke them, they were almost a reassurance. He wasn’t disappointed when he saw a flicker of life return to Buffy’s eyes.

“Show me.”