Author: Ashley
Title: Traditions
Summary: Future fic. B/A Buffy remembers a friend. AR Rated PG.
Enjoy!
A/N 2: this is my way of trying to integrate my Ioan Gruffudd obsession with my Buffy one.

The key in the lock alerted Buffy to the fact that she ought to have turned off the television a long time ago.

She couldn't help it; sexy English guy movie night was a tradition. Even if the other person that participated wasn't so interested in guys anymore. Or actually not even watching with Buffy.

She sniffled again, and hastily cleaned up the last of the kleenex that she had deposited on the floor during the movies. Snapping the light back on, she smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as her husband came into the living room.

"Hey, baby…uh, what's happening?"

She walked to him, taking one of the two cups of coffee out of his hands before she kissed the tip of his nose.

"Nothing. Tradition is all. How are you? How is Ewan? Is your work getting there?"

"He's good. The project is going well; he thinks the designs will be ready by Friday. He said to tell you hello."

"Well hello back," she said, sipping the mocha. "Ah, how did you know?"

"I have an impeccable sense of what you need, Buff, you know that," Angel said, laughing at his wife. "Besides, I take it some comfort might be needed? What did you watch?"

He sat on the couch, picking up the dvd boxes.

"Let's see…King Arthur, Croupier, Solomon and Gaenor…oh honey, you know that one makes you bawl for days! Didn't we give this to Dawn?"

Buffy stuck out her lip, a perfect pouting expression that always made him want to kiss it away. He leaned in to do just that, but something on the coffee table caught his eye.

"Oh," he said, his voice sobering. "I had forgotten about this. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

He picked up the framed picture, casting his mind back to the day it had been taken.

Willow and Buffy at Buffy and his wedding. Buffy resplendant in her cream gown, Willow glowing in her green one.

"I miss her too," he told his wife, and kissed her temple. She leaned in to him, and he put his arm around her.

"We had this thing, way back in high school," Buffy said, her voice cracking only a little. "When either of us was feeling down in the dump-y, we would have 'sexy English guy movie night'. Giles always said we were depraved, but it worked. So we started doing it once a year, no matter what we were up to in our lives. Today would have been the twentieth year. She was so young, Angel," she whispered.

"You all were," he replied, holding her closer.

"I lost so many friends. So many people died, Angel. Just for being loyal to the slayer. I don't know if I can ever live up to that sacrifice," she said, her face buried in his neck. He shook his head vehemently.

"They did it willingly, Buffy. They knew what they were up against, and they chose the right side. We have to honor them by doing the best we can, now. Willow would be so happy to see what you've made of yourself."

"Do you think so?"

"I know so, love. She wouldn't want you to suffer needlessly…or wallow in misery over her death for the rest of your life. Don't do her memory wrong."

Buffy looked at him. "I love you, you know that?"

"I do. And you don't know how lucky that makes me feel," he murmured back to her, their foreheads touching.

"I think I do…if it's anything like I feel now."

She kissed him then, wrapping her arms around his neck, allowing him to pull her onto his lap.

He sighed after a few minutes, sinking his fingers into her hair, short now, but still golden.

She ran her fingertip over his brow, touching the bones of his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the laugh lines around his mouth.

"We are pretty lucky, huh?" she said.

"Damn skippy, as a friend used to say," he answered, and she laughed. Sliding off his lap, she took another sip of her coffee, and picked up the framed photo.

"I miss her, every day. But keeping this, and doing things to remember her by helps a little. A little bit more, each day."

"I'm glad, Buffy," Angel said, taking her hand in his, twining their fingers together.

"Now, what do you have left to watch?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You serious?"

"You bet."

She grinned, then picked up a dvd, walked to the player, and popped it in.

Returning to the couch, she curled up next to Angel, and commanded him to switch off the lights.

When the title came up, he groaned. She just smiled into his arm.

"Isn't Ioan Gruffudd Welsh, not English?" he said, in a last desperated attempt to stave off the torture he was going to have to endure for the next two hours.

"Close enough," she said cheerfully. "Besides, Paul McGann's English, and so is Jamie Bamber."

He rolled his eyes, regretting the day he ever bought her Horatio Hornblower on a whim.

Buffy sat in the dark with her husband and watched sexy English (and Welsh) guys run around and fight each other, remembering her friend.

She thanked Willow's memory silently for the power of tradition.

End.