Angel glanced around the room at the many faces of the "Irish" patrons of Willie’s dive. They were fall down drunk on green beer and singing obnoxiously to the third version of "The Wild Rover" he’d heard that evening. It made him pretty ill to think that this was what they thought of the Irish.
In the old days it was nothing like this. He sat down at the bar and motioned to Willie to get him a round. Well, come to think of it, it was kind of like this, but without the green beer. He remembered the last St. Patrick’s Day he’d spent as a mortal. Yes, he was drunk and singing like these people- but somehow it was different. There was more of a homey atmosphere or something. Maybe it was because he had actually been home.
He remembered he and his friend Danny O’Brien downing more than a few at the old pub in the center of his town. Actually it was more of a village. He was momentarily snapped back to reality as Willie set down a Guiness and a shot of Jameson’s in front of him. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, but Willie waved him off. "On the house, Angel old pal. After all this is your day, being Irish and all."
Angel nodded in thanks, downed the shot and chased it quickly with a long sip of the dark liquid. Yes, it was his day indeed. The day he was made into the vicious killer he had once been and now fought to suppress.
It was like it was yesterday- they walked out of the pub ready to go grab a couple of pieces of his father’s silver, and Danny had passed out in the street. He’d walked around the corner and seen the woman who would change his life forever. Darla. Only moments before he had been buying rounds and toasting the day. It was all so clear. He even remembered the last toast he had given: "I, Angelus Liam O’Rourke propose a toast to everyone here- may you live long and healthy lives and may the road always rise to meet you!"
He took another sip. Long and healthy indeed. They would have, if he hadn’t gone back in there but 2 hours later and slaughtered most of them. Of course, that was after he killed his family. Sometimes, most of the time, this was the hardest day of the year for him. Worse than their birthdays, anniversaries, or any other holiday. St. Patrick’s Day- the day he was damned.
He thought of the latest events of his life. How the only person in the world as important to him as they had been was shutting him out of her life. All because he did what she asked him to. He knew it must have been hard for her to watch him revert to the killing machine he had been a year ago, and just as hard to watch Faith drape herself all over him while he pretended to like it. It had been hard to do. And now she was hurt, she needed her space.
Well, what did he expect- a joyous happy reunion? His life, especially the parts with Buffy, was never going to be easy. He had accepted that. Sometime he just wished he hadn’t rounded that corner all those years ago- it would have been easier for all of them. He looked at the glass in his hand, which he had aimlessly been sipping at. It was almost empty. He waved at Willie again, needed to feel the numbness of another round.
He stumbled toward the mansion. What street was it on again? Crocker? Crawford? Well, wherever he was it looked familiar. He spun around as he heard rustling in the bushes behind him. "All right- c’mon out if you want to fight!", he slurred.The bushes parted and Buffy stepped out from behind her cover. "Hi Angel."
"You spying on me now?"
"No. I was patrolling, and I saw you walking home, and I just wanted to make sure you got there okay."
"Well, thanks, I guess. Can you just point me in the right direction?"
She held up her arm, pointing to his left. "Thanks." He started to walk away, than stopped and turned. "Buffy, I know you need your space, but I just want to tell you something."
She stepped a bit closer, steadying him. "What’s that?"
He took a deep breath. "I love you, and I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you ever. Ever."
She looked down, almost embarrassed at his sentimentality. "Thanks."
He went to go again, but turned one more time. "Oh, and one more thing- Happy St. Patrick’s Day."
He smiled, and moved to leave, but suddenly collapsed to the ground. Apparently the amount of liquor he’d consumed had finally gotten the best of him. Buffy shook her head at his celebration of his nation’s holiday, them moved to his motionless body. She kissed him on the forehead, and smiled "I love you, too, Angel. Happy St. Patrick’s Day." She put her arms under his and began to drag him to the mansion.