An Englishman in New York

The Soft Good-bye

“They’re going to kill each other,” Buffy whispered to Giles as they huddled together, watching Spike and Angel as they stared one another down.

The eldest Giles had arrived nearly a week ago and had taken up residence in Joyce’s room – it was only fitting that the new head of the household should have the biggest room and his own bathroom.

Angel, who had stopped by for a visit on this, the one-month anniversary of Joyce’s death, was now regretting his decision. He should have called to check up on them. Instead, he had knocked on the door and been greeted with Spike’s fist in his face. Now, the two men stood in the entrance area facing down while Buffy and Giles watched in horror.

“You should have called me sooner, you bloody poof!” Spike raved. Rather than taking his anger out on his father, who’d known of Joyce’s illness for as long as Angel, he blamed the detective.

Rubbing his bloody lip, Angel retorted, “I didn’t even know you existed until the night Joyce died. You don’t want to provoke me, boy.”

“Oooh, scary. Let me tell you somethin’, peaches, Buffy doesn’t need you here. There’s no reason for you to come around anymore.”

“Obviously, she didn’t need you or she would have called –”

“Both of you shut up!” Buffy interrupted, coming to stand between them.

“If they don’t kill each other,” muttered Giles, “I might lend a hand.”

“He started it!” Spike and Angel cried simultaneously.

“Oh, my God! Are you both twelve?! Spike, Angel was just coming to check up on Dawn and me; you didn’t need to hit him. Angel, call first, okay? You can’t just randomly show up anymore,” she said as gently as possible.

Spike sulked, Angel brooded, and Buffy, suddenly delighted by the situation, doubled over with laughter while Giles looked on with a mixture of reluctant amusement and horror.

“What’s so funny, pet?” Spike glared at Angel when the man wrinkled his nose in distaste at the nickname.

“You two! It’s just… I have to admit it, it’s kind of nice to have men fighting over me, but enough is enough. We’re… we’re okay, Angel. Thank you for coming by,” she said as she hugged him briefly.

“Yeah, thanks for comin’ by, now let lost,” Spike muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me,” Angel snapped, “But Buffy didn’t ask me to leave yet.”

“Okay, that’s really enough,” she said firmly. “No, wait… Angel, you’re not leaving until you and Spike sit down and have a pleasant conversation like human beings.”

“What?! Pet, no, come on! I’ll be good.”

“Absolutely not. I have… err… cases that need to be looked over.”

Buffy folded her arms over her chest and pointed to the family room wordlessly. With a collective sigh of resignation, the men followed her unspoken command and shuffled into the room as though being led there on invisible leashes.

“Yes, well, as fascinating as all of this is, I really must finish unpacking.” With that, Giles all but flew up the stairs and locked himself in his bedroom. Once alone, he dissolved into a fit of laughter.

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Meanwhile, Buffy poured a glass of scotch for both Angel and Spike in the hopes that the alcohol would keep them from killing each other, instructing both men that they both had to be there – unharmed and alive – when she returned from picking up Dawn from school.

“So…” Spike said pointlessly as he heard the front door close.

“So,” Angel repeated, taking a long drink of scotch. He eyed the bottle Buffy had left sitting on the table and found its presence comforting.

Following Angel’s gaze to the bottle, Spike voiced the other man’s thoughts. “She didn’t say we couldn’t just drink ourselves into oblivion and not talk.”

“No, she didn’t,” the brunette agreed, finishing his drink in a single gulp. He refilled his glass and the politely offered the bottle to Spike.

“What did she see in you?” he asked as he took the bottle from the Brooding Menace.

“I ask myself the same question every single day.”

Scoffing, the newly raven-haired man lit a cigarette, studying his rival. Yeah, he was taller, more solidly built like Captain Cardboard had been, and yeah, he did have the whole woe-is-me appeal, but… Eugh. “I should kill you for breakin’ her heart,” he said finally.

“You wouldn’t. Buffy would never forgive you,” Angel replied, though he wasn’t entirely certain why the woman still loved him. He had broken her heart, he’d made all the decisions for them, stolen her innocence, and she still loved him.

“I know she’ll always love you,” muttered Spike bitterly as he refilled his glass for the second time. “I’m not anyone important like you, I’m not a cop. I don’t go out helping the helpless and that rot, but I do love her.”

“I know.”

“Will you cut it with the cryptic bullshit, already!” Spike shouted. “What, do the girls think it’s sexy? Bloody Hell…” He needed another drink! He drained his glass and refilled it, passing the bottle to Angel when the man reached for it.

“Actually, I just don’t have that much to say,” he admitted in between gulps of his scotch. “The things I’ve seen… they don’t make for pleasant conversation.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Spike agreed. He found that his hatred for Angel wasn’t at the same intolerable level once he had scotch in his system, which led him to the only logical conclusion he could make. He needed to drink more.

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Buffy and Dawn were greeted by the sound of singing and muttering, and the younger Summers immediately burst into laughter.

“I thought you said they were going to kill each other,” Dawn giggled. “They don’t sound angry.”

“They’re drunk,” said Giles, who was pacing the length of the living room, the one room both Dawn and Buffy refused to go into unless they had to, the room their mother had died in.

Groaning, Buffy hurried into the family room to find Spike and Angel sitting on the couch – together and relatively unharmed – singing Eleanor Rigby at the top of their considerable lungs.

“Look at all the lonely people!!”

“Where’d they all come from?” Angel slurred.

“Hey, where’d you come from?” Spike asked, the words running together.

“I said you needed to talk, not drink yourselves silly!” the blonde shot back angrily, snatching the nearly empty bottle.

“We’re not drunk, really,” Angel said slowly, as though that would make him sound less drunk.

“Who are you to judge us and tell us we’re abbreviated?” demanded Spike.

“I think you mean ine… enebra… drunk,” Angel offered.

“Honestly, Buffy,” said Giles as he stepped into the room. “I had no idea what was going on or I would have put an end to it. I went upstairs t-to… hide, and the next thing I heard was a rather pitiful chorus of Yellow Submarine.”

“Hey! We sounded good!”

“You sang the wrong words.”

“Oh.”

Angel giggled. “You gonna let your old man talk to you like that?”

“What? No! Hey!”

“Okaaaay… I think I would rather be at school,” Dawn muttered under her breath.

“Giles. Coffee. Now.”

“Right, yes, of course,” the Englishman said, hurrying into the kitchen to make coffee.

Two pots of coffee, a box of crackers, and innumerable bathroom visits apiece later, Spike and Angel sat at opposite ends of the couch, both looking humiliated and oddly green; each silently vowed to never, ever drink again.

“Who wants to explain what the Hell went on?” Buffy asked sharply.

“I will,” Angel replied. “It was my fault.”

“Errr… Angelus, I drank more than you did, so…” Spike let the rest of his words trail off, his eyes widening. He’d been about to defend the ex!

“No, let me finish. I started it by talking about you, about how you were when I first met you. Spike was… I guess jealous –”

“Bloody Hell! I’m not jealous of you!”

“Jealous of how innocent you were then,” Angel continued, pinning Spike with a firm stare. “And I ruined that. I made you doubt yourself, and I’m sorry.”

Buffy nodded her understanding and then turned to Spike. “Well?”

“I hate to say that the wanker’s right, but the wanker’s right. I just got a little… jealous,” he bit out the word as though speaking it pained him, “that he got there first. With you bein’ my… bein’ the only one, it just pissed me off that he was your first.”

“You’re mad at me?”

“No,” Angel corrected, and at Spike’s confirming nod, he continued. “He’s angry with me, and he should be. You both should be.”

“I can’t believe you love this nancing ponce.”

“So that’s what this is about?! Can you honestly tell me that you don’t still love Drusilla?”

“Well, no, but I don’t love her the way I –”

“The way you love me?” Buffy offered. “Spike, I will always love Angel, but I don’t love him the way I love you.”

“You shouldn’t love me at all,” Angel whispered. “After what I did, I don’t deserve any place in your heart.”

“You don’t,” Spike agreed. “And neither do I, but we’ve both got one. It’s more than we deserve, so we should…”

“We should just be men and accept such a gift. It truly is the greatest gift a woman could bestow upon us.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have said it in such a poncy boy way, but yeah.”

“Hey, you two, I’m still here,” Buffy said with a teasing smile.

“Were we just…”

“Getting along?”

“Yeah.”

“Bloody Hell!”

Giving a rare, genuine smile, Angel pushed to his feet and offered Spike his hand. When the man took it, they shook hands firmly. He then turned to Buffy and drew her against his chest in a hug that was more brotherly than anything else.

“I do love you, Angel, just not… that way,” she said softly. “Not the way I love Spike.”

“I’m really happy for you. It hurts, and I’m jealous, and I don’t like him, but he’s good for you,” said Angel in a tone that was more than a little bitter. “If you ever need me…”

“She won’t,” Spike said forcefully, but without malice.

“You’re a phone call and a police escort away,” Buffy finished with a smile when she heard the beep of Angel’s radio and a voice letting him know that the car was there for him.

“That’s my ride,” he said awkwardly. Kissing Buffy’s forehead, he backed out of the room, stopping to hug Dawn, who had been eavesdropping in the hallway. “Well… I guess this is good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Angel. Have a safe trip,” Buffy said, following him to the door to see him out. She glanced at her sister and laughed softly – Dawn had always eavesdropped on her conversations when she was younger, and evidently, she still did.

“Angelus,” Spike called as Angel stepped through the front door.

The brunette stopped and glanced once over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I’ll take care of her. Til the end of the world, I’ll take care of her.”

“I’m counting on it.”