"So ... do you want to talk about it?" Janine asked Kylie casually, while she cut the vegetables. Slimer pouted; he ate just about anything but broccoli.
Kylie stirred a pot on the stove for a minute before finally answering, "Yes. But I honestly don't know how to." She looked up at Janine. "Why are we fighting like this lately? I mean, things were going so great for a while, but now we're worse than ever! At least before when we fought, it was ... I dunno, nicer? Does that make sense?"
Janine nodded, and urged her young friend to continue. Sometimes all a person needed was to keep talking in order to be able to sort out their problems.
"When we fought, it was over stupid things, and we'd apologise, and that would be that. But now ... we both take everything so personally! Like tonight, the ghost we were fighting shot some sort of energy-beam at me. Now, I could have ducked it, but he goes and pushed me down. He's always doing that, and it drives me crazy! But I know he's not doing it because he thinks I can't take care of myself; he does it because he cares about me, and doesn't want me to get hurt. So why can't I let him? I want my guy to look out for me, and here when he does, I shoot him down! What the hell is wrong with me?"
Janine smiled understandingly, but didn't say anything.
Kylie didn't even wait to see if Janine would. "You know, he's right, we did always used to tease him. But we did it because he's always saying things like 'I'm a scientist, man', always trying to make himself look big. It just made it that much easier to make fun of him; he set himself up for the fall. But ... I guess he did it to impress us. And it's just like he said, now he has a talent that we don't, and I guess we can't adjust to his new role. I look at him, and I still see this lovable goofball. Gods, listen to me! Janine, did I just love him because I thought he was less than me? That's not love, that's pity!"
Janine saw she had better say something at that point. "You know that's not true, Kylie. Maybe you did pity him, but that's not why you fell in love. Think about it. What do you love about Eduardo?"
"I ... I don't know ... He makes me laugh ..."
"Do you laugh at him, or with him?"
Kylie shrugged. "... A little of both, I guess. But ... when I'm sitting there, and I'm thinking 'I am so in love with him', it's usually when I'm laughing with him. Or when he's just holding me, and I know he loves me too, I can feel how much he does."
"And when he rescues you during a fight, don't you worry that he might get hurt?"
"Well .. yeah, but he is a werewolf, it's not like it would be easy for him to be ..."
"But he could be. And when you would tease him before, wasn't it at least sometimes because you were upset with him for doing something stupid and putting himself in danger? Sometimes we express our anger in strange ways, and while it seems we're being cruel, we're really saying 'Hey, I care about you and don't want to lose you!'"
Kylie leaned against the stove, looking thoughtful. "I never thought about it that way before ..."
But Janine wasn't done. While she'd assuaged Kylie's own guilt, she knew the girl needed to understand where Eduardo was coming from, too. "And when you yell at Eduardo for 'saving' you, whether you need it or not, he probably feels like you're telling him he doesn't have a right to worry about you, which in his insecure mind would mean you don't love him. I think Eduardo's spent a lot of his life with people who have told him he isn't 'good enough' in one way or another, and that's why he gets all macho all the time. He's trying really hard to prove them wrong."
Now Kylie was looking a bit guilty again. "And you're not so different!" Janine added hurriedly. "You've had to take care of yourself since your Grandma Rose died; as much as you say you want Eduardo to look out for you, I'm sure you don't appreciate the suggestion that you aren't capable of holding your own -- especially since you're not exactly a stranger to feminism!"
Kylie smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I guess you're right -- about all of it."
Janine smirked. "Of course I am." It's good those psych classes came in handy for something ...
Angel sat in his leather chair, in his cold office, wishing he had body heat so that he could at least warm up his seat. He'd fought a loosing battle with the thermostat, having long since given up on ever being comfortable. He had a sneaking suspicion that the cold wasn't a natural one, given his office was at Wolfram and Hart, a place that actually had a vault of contracts with "the Devil".
This was one of those rare, quite moments. He used to think it was nice to have a chance to think, to catch his breath (even if he didn't actually need to breath). But now it only gave him an opportunity to remember were he was: working for the most evil law firm on the planet. No, having something to do -- anything -- to keep his mind occupied was much better.
He was swinging Spike's amulet like a pendulum, ruminating on the fact that the words "evil" and "vile" meant similar things and used the same letters, when Lorne walked in.
"Heya, boss-man. Heard you all had a bit of a run-in tonight ..."
"Yeah. Fred's okay, though, and Gunn managed to kill our target."
Lorne moaned, "I was afraid of that ..."
Angel gave him a pained look. "Don't tell me he was a client ..."
"Well, no, but one of our clients did want him captured alive ..."
Angel rubbed his temples. "I don't know how much more I can do this, Lorne. I miss the days when I knew who the bad guys and the good guys were, and I could actually do something about it. Now every time I turn around, my hands are tied up in paperwork and technicalities!"
"Hey, now, big-guy, you remember what Gunn told you? How we've done more good in a few months than you had the entire time you ran Angel Investigations? And besides, it was never a cut-and-dry case of good and evil. Now you're just better able to see the consequences of your actions. I'd say you're more ahead of the game than ever!" Lorne slapped Angel on the shoulder supportively.
"My god, is he moping again?" Spike walked through the office wall. He needed to stop thinking about his own misery, and the easiest way he'd found to do that was give some to his grandsire. The way he saw it, Angel had always been a few steps ahead of the game; it wouldn't hurt the man to be knocked back a few pegs. And maybe, just maybe, Spike would finally catch up. He "sat" on Angel's desk. "For a man on top of the world, you sure like to spend a lot of time in the gutter."
Angel didn't even give bother glaring. "No, that would be you tonight. Well, at least it's a step up from the basement."
Spike bristled. When had he gotten so bad at trading insults with Angel? "Oh, that's right, kick a man when he's down, Angel. Big man that you are. Letting a lady fight your battles for you."
This time Angel did glare. "What are you talking about?"
Spike stood up. "Fred. You had no business letting her come along!"
Angel scoffed at that. "You don't know her that well, Spike, she can take care of herself."
"Oh, like she did tonight? She's not a Slayer, Angel --"
"And neither are Gunn or Wes. We all take risks. She wanted to come along, she's proven herself in a fight before, and I am not in the habit of treating women like they are inferior. This isn't the Victorian era anymore, William, men in this century don't make women stay at home and care for the kids!"
Wes, who had been standing in the doorway while Angel went on his tirade, stepped the rest of the way inside. "I'm sure that's not what Spike meant, Angel. You're right, he doesn't know Fred like we do, but I remember a time when you weren't keen on letting her fight with us either. And in light of tonight's incident, I'm all for encouraging her to stay in the lab. She didn't really need to come with us."
Spike crossed his arms. "Glad someone sees things my way."
"Besides, if she stays in the lab, she can spend more time working on finding a way to make you corporeal again, can't she?"
Spike was startled. "What? Well, yeah, that would be nice, but that isn't why I --"
Wes ignored Spike's protests, and handed Angel a file. "Anyway, I came in here to tell you that I think I may have found someone to help us with our little ... infestation." He glared pointedly at Spike.
"Whoa, wait, you say that like you're going to get rid of me, instead of help me!"
Wes gave Spike an amused look. "Relax. The man I'm speaking of is an ex-Watcher, and an expert in the field of paranormal research. I'm sure if anyone can help you, Egon Spengler can." He turned his attention back to Angel. "He's in New York. I already called him about coming to see us, but he's refused -- something about having to take care of a werewolf. He will however, see us there. I believe if you take the amulet with you, Spike should be able to travel there."
Spike looked hopeful. "Road trip? When do we leave?"
Xander tried not to stare at Willow and Kennedy as they said their "hello"s. The scene produced an unpleasant sea of hormonal and emotional turmoil within him. This was his best friend -- he wasn't supposed to think crude thoughts like the ones he always did when she kissed her girlfriend! Especially since that kind of thinking had landed them both in trouble before. And thoughts of love and kissing always tended to make him think of his own failed relationships, which in turn led to thoughts of Anya. They'd agreed to go their separate ways before the final battled, but he'd still cared deeply for her. And now she was dead, and he grieved.
But no one really knew that -- well, except Andrew. Xander knew the others never quite "got" him and Anya in the first place, but Andrew had befriended her in the short time he'd known her. Since her death, Xander and Andrew had spent more than a couple of moments helping each other through their mutual grief; the geek might be a bit annoying, but in this particular instance there was no one else to confide in. So Xander kept his grief hidden from the others; it was hard enough talking to them when they treated him like a broken eggshell. No one even seemed capable of looking him in his one remaining eye when they talked to him.
Of course, even with his missing eye, Xander could see that he wasn't the only one hiding their pain. He knew Buffy missed Spike, even if he didn't really understand it. He tried not to think about it, frankly -- the thought of Spike and Buffy together was as awful to contemplate as imagining his own parents together. Besides, if she wanted to talk about it, she would, wouldn't she? She had to know Xander was there for her.
Of course Xander didn't take into consideration the fact that Buffy didn't speak to him about her grief for the same reason he didn't speak to her about Anya; she knew he couldn't really sympathise.
"Hey, Will," Xander greeted Willow, after she finished her extended lip-lock. She gave him a big hug, and immediately fell into a story about a spell her Circle had tried.
Kennedy, looking a little miffed, shrugged after a moment, and went to talk shop with Buffy, Faith, and Robin. Whether she was ignoring Andrew's attempt to strike up a conversation or she really didn't notice him, didn't really matter. Dawn was busy talking to Giles, and Andrew once again found himself standing in the familiar place in his life -- alone and friendless.
Xander wasn't the only one who had a knack for seeing things. Since no one really spoke much to him, often all Andrew had to do with his time was observe. For instance, he could see Xander and Buffy's pain, recognizing it for what it was because he himself missed both Anya and Spike. But he didn't really have anything in common with the Slayer; at least he and Xander could talk about movies and comics and other "geeky" things. And deep down he knew he pretty much annoyed everybody -- or at least, he used to. He wondered if anyone had noticed the efforts he had made in the last two months to be unobtrusive (of course, if he were truly successful, that would mean they wouldn't take not of him one way or the other). Having seen death and destruction -- really seen it, not fantasized -- he had finally begun to mature.
He had made another friend, too. With all the Former-Potentials-Now-Slayers gone, and therefore having no one in her age range to relate to, Dawn had taken to spending time with him. In fact, she was to be his "seat buddy" on the plane to New York -- she even said he could take the window seat. Andrew resolved to try his best not to get too obnoxious, a task that was already difficult simply because of how excited he was to be going to the Big Apple (they had barely stopped in the city on their way to England). In fact, in order to keep himself from wearing out his welcome, he had picked out topics to talk about that would require her to talk more than him, and allow him to practice his listening skills. First on the list: getting her to admit she missed Spike as much as he could tell she did. And maybe, with enough effort, he would get everybody to admit how they felt deep inside about both Spike and Anya; it seemed that they were determined to hold on to their old perceptions of the deceased demons, which hindered them from being able to accept that they had eventually come to like beings that had been evil. If he could get them to see the good in Spike and Anya, who had died heroes, then maybe they could come to see the good in Andrew, too.
"British Airways is now boarding flight 666 for New York" came the voice over the intercom.
Andrew stuck his copy of "Freud, Jung, and Fromm: a Comparative Study" in his pocket and gathered up his bags, trying not to think about the possible portents of their flight number.