Part Nine "Flashing Lives"

***

//pinch me, pinch me
cause i'm still asleep
please god, tell me that i'm still asleep//

They say when you drown your life flashes before your eyes. Well, when Buffy's little car was struck in the center of that busy intersection, her life flashed before Angel's eyes. The parts he saw as he ran down the street, willing his legs to move faster, were the things he hadn't been able to see yet. It's funny, the things you think of in times of crisis. Angel wondered what mundane idiosyncrasies he had yet to find out about his would be lover.

Later, he would wonder what those specific things were like what she bought when she went to the grocery store, what essential item she never left without. He wondered how she took her coffee, if she liked sugar in her tea, if she drank regular soda or diet. He puzzled why he never checked the stack of CDs that sat next to her stereo, indicating they were listened to most recently. He had been so busy trying not to love her that he hadn't been paying attention to the little things.

It's amazing, the amount of time that's left to thoughts, the ones that creep in between the panic and the disorder. It seemed like it happened quickly to onlookers, but Angel thought it was painfully prolonged. His feet moved so slowly, he was certain the asphalt was sinking beneath him. When he made it to the cars, the man who hit her was out of his vehicle, peering in the shattered driver's side window. Angel butted through the gathering crowd and shoved the man aside. He looked in, resting a hand on the crushed in door, seeing immediately what the man had been staring at. Her face was resting against the steering wheel and there was blood trickling in a stream down the side of her face, mixing with her blonde hair. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911 as he jerked on the door handle.

He gave the operator a stream of words he hoped told her where he was and what was wrong as he tried to pry the door open. He slipped the phone in his pocket as he ran around to the other side to get in through the passenger side but Buffy had done exactly what he told her to do and locked all the doors. He banged his fists on the window, screaming. He punched in at the thick glass, feeling it crack, but it wasn't breaking nearly fast enough.

"Buffy!" he shouted, feeling a dull ache begin in his hands as he pounded relentlessly, "Please baby, please, wake up!"

She laid there, her pretty eyes closed to the world as her blood dripped over her eyelids, splashing on the steering wheel and rolling off onto her legs. Angel whirled around and saw the man standing there. He was in his late 50s, kind looking and a bit shaken by the incident. He couldn't tear his eyes from the car he had hit or from the lovely young girl who was not waking up. Angel stalked back around the car and pointed to the man's car.

"Open your trunk," Angel commanded.

"E-excuse me?" he asked.

"I need a crowbar or something to get this car open," Angel explained, "Now open your fucking trunk."

The man nodded, still confused and fished the keys from his pocket. He pressed a button and his trunk opened with a little thunk. Angel bent in, ripped away the covering on the bottom of the trunk and tossed his spare tire aside to get to the jack. He pulled out the metal bar attached and went back to Buffy's car. He heard sirens wailing in the background as he began striking the bar against her back passenger window. Paramedics screeched to the scene as the window broke enough for him to fit his arm through. He slammed little pieces of broken glass out of the way with the bar and reached in to release the locks. He barely noticed his knuckles bleeding from pounding on her windows before or the long, red angry lines down the arm that plunged recklessly through the broken glass.

As he got the door opened, the paramedics pushed him aside and went to work to get her out of the car. When they loaded her into the ambulance, Angel hopped in with her, leaving the police officers and Gunn to exchange information.

***

//then something bends, and then it breaks
your worst mistake
accepting enemies on bended knees;
a litany of tragedies,
you're vexed, it seems you're hexed//

When he walked into his flat, she was standing at his window, looking out over the night sky. The moonlight outlined her body, shimmering there in her white silk dress. He groaned in pain at the sight of her, while still ingrained in his mind was the memory of Buffy broken, silent and bloody being loaded into the ambulance. He crossed the room silently, knowing she heard him come in, knowing she would have known anyway.

"Your hands are red," she whispered, her lips nearly touching the glass pane. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her long dark hair.

"I know, pet," he answered, his voice muffled, "God, I know they are."

"And you've been with her," she said, tilting her head to the side to rest against his, "You've been unfaithful again."

"I'll stop seeing her and I'll help Buffy. I'll make it right, love," he choked as she turned around to face him, "Is it too late?"

"Do you love me, Spike?"

"I love you, Drusilla," he answered, gripping her narrow hips with trembling hands, "I didn't think I could love anyone, but I love you."

"She's bleeding," she said, brushing her lips against his cheek, "She can't stop it. My poor Angel can't find the wound, but you know."

"Yes," he said, "I know."

"It's time," she moaned as he pulled her into his arms. He slid his hands down her thighs and drifted along the smooth surface of her dress until he reached the bottom, draping the worn carpet on his floor. He lifted the hem, gathering the yards of fabric in his hands as her pale satin skin appeared. One more night in her arms, he told himself and then he would make it right again.

***

//i guess it's over now
because I've never seen so much, never seen so much, so much blood
in all the confusion, there's something so serene
I'm just a posthumous part of the scene
now I'm floating above looking in//

Angel went through the motions, numbly answering the questions of the nurses. They wouldn't let him in her room. Family only, they said. Critical condition, they said. He dialed the phone, called Spike, got Anya's number. Anya said she would handle everything, call everyone. Angel fumbled his thanks and leaned against the cool metal of the pay phone.

Family only, they said. Family? He didn't even know what that word meant. Orphaned at birth, growing up in the streets, he had no idea what family was. That was probably why he never thought to even ask Buffy about hers. Did she have a family? Mother, Father, brothers, sisters? He thought about lying to them, claiming to be some relative but he couldn't make his mind form the lies. He lowered his large frame into a chair and sat there with his head in his hands, staring at that horrible white tiled floor, wishing it would tell him everything would be okay.

"Angel!" He looked up and saw the redhead, Willow, rushing toward him, closely followed by Xander, Cordelia and Doyle.

"Is she okay?" Willow asked, sitting in the chair next to him. Doyle sat down on his other side, saying nothing but offering his presence as comfort.

"I don't know," he answered, "There was so much blood and she wouldn't wake up. God, I screamed and she wouldn't wake up..."

"What happened to your hands?" Willow asked, touching his bloody hands. He vaguely remembered a nurse or someone mentioning it, but he walked away. He didn't want a bandage, he wanted to see Buffy.

"The door wouldn't open. I told her to lock her doors. Always lock them," he mumbled, feeling a sob rising up in his chest, "I tried to break in the window. She was trapped in there..."

"But you got her out," Willow said, holding his hand loosely in hers. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The guy she had seen was always full of confidence and larger than life. Now he was broken and shaking. She was certain he was going to cry any second. She wasn't sure what she expected his reaction to be, but this wasn't it.

"Willow?"

"Giles!" Willow shouted, running over to jump in the older gentleman's arms. Cordelia and Xander gathered around him, as Angel watched.

"Any news?" he asked, pulling off his glasses and wiping them thoroughly before putting them back on.

"Critical condition," Angel said, rising to his feet, "They said only family could see her. She hasn't woken up yet."

"Rupert Giles," Giles said, extending his hand, "I'm Buffy's uncle. Since her father doesn't have much regard for his daughter, I am her only family."

"I'm Angel," he said, reaching out to shake Giles' hand but pulled away when they both noticed his bloody hand at the same time.

"So you're the chap," Giles said with a kind look in his eyes, "She told me about you."

"She did?"

"She doesn't talk about much else these days," Giles said, with a slight chuckle, pretending not to be nearly as worried as he was, "I'll go check on her."

"She'll be alright," Doyle said, standing at his side.

"She has to be," Angel answered grimly.

"Listen buddy," Doyle said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "Gunn's on his way. Said something about having some news."

"About the accident?" Angel asked hopefully.

"That was no accident," Doyle replied, "Someone clipped her break line while you all were inside the hotel."

***

//the wailing voice//

Drusilla demanded that Spike take her with him. She wanted to be a part of it. She wanted him to know that without her there was no "right." He was beginning to understand. The first night he met her, at Angel's art show in her gallery, he knew Angel had originally planned to take her home. Spike didn't take her home that night either. He went home with Anya, but the next day he was back at her gallery.

He never fell in love before. He didn't believe in the saps that quoted poetry and went on about eternity together. He didn't love Drusilla. Not right away. Or that's what he told himself. She was perfectly insane, partially clairvoyant and rolling in wealth. He told himself he wanted her money, that he was using her and just to prove it to himself, he shagged Anya and kept shagging her. He kept reminding himself that she was just another girl to rut, that she was mad, but in the end it didn't matter. He lost himself in her arms. In bed that night, she told him what he had to do to make things right. What his conscience had already made clear, his lover demanded.

"Is she dead?" Darla asked, looking up from the fireplace with a glass of white wine in her hand.

"No," Spike said, sitting on the couch with Drusilla closely at his side.

"Guess we'll have to try again," she mused, "Wine?"

"No," Spike said, shaking his head and hardening his eyes as he looked at the beautiful blonde.

"Don't tell me you're getting a conscience now, Spike," she said, "It's not like you did anything but keep your mouth shut. Now all you have to do is continue to keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine."

"But I didn't keep my mouth shut," Spike said, wrapping an arm around Drusilla with a smile as the door busted open.

"You fucking bitch!"

"What's the problem?" Darla said, eyeing Riley Finn gravely.

"You tried to kill her," he said, moving across the room until he was standing in front her chair, fuming with anger.

"I said I would separate her and Angel," Darla said, taking a sip of her wine, "I'm doing exactly what I said I'd do."

Riley grabbed the glass from her hand and tossed it aside. Reaching down he wrapped his hand around her delicate throat

"The deal was for me to get Buffy back and for you to get Angel! When you had that fake attack set up, you promised me that nothing like that would ever happen again. You told me you wouldn't try to hurt her again. I didn't lose her just to have her die!" he said, squeezing just slightly. He felt a hard jab and saw a small hand gun pressing into his stomach. He released her and stepped away slowly, shaking in fury.

"The plan was for me to get Angel," she said, standing from her chair, "You added the Buffy part. I don't care what happens to the bitch, as long as she's not with Angel. And for the record, I never said I wouldn't hurt her. I said I wouldn't have her attacked again. I didn't."

Darla turned to smiled coldly at Spike, "I suppose you shared the news with Riley?"

"Yeah," he said, standing up and reaching out a hand to Drusilla, "I think my work here is done."

"I don't think so," she said, pointing the weapon not at Spike but at Drusilla, "There are no happy ever afters in this story, William."

***

//when you walked
in, i said with a grin, that we were just
talking
about
you//

"You know what I find amazing," Detective Kate Lockley said, as she sauntered up to Angel in the hospital waiting room.

"I bet you're going to tell me," Angel said, standing up again slowly. Giles had just returned to tell him that the doctors were still performing tests and they were all sitting there waiting for something to happen.

"That one person can have three different last names," she said, looking down at her notepad, "And then there's the part where the same girl is hurt violently twice within a month's time, shortly after making your acquaintance and you just happen to be there both times. Don't you think that's odd?"

"I would never hurt her," Angel said, "Why do you think I hired investigators to watch over her and protect her?"

"That's the part I don't get," she said, putting a hand on her hip, "Care to explain?"

"My friend, Charles Gunn, is an private investigator," Angel began, "I've hired him to-"

"Excuse me," Giles said, stepping in and interrupting Angel, "My apologies, Angel. Detective Lockley, please allow me to introduce myself. I'm Rupert Giles."

"Giles," she answered snidely, "If you think your money will influence me-"

"Let's not get off on the wrong foot," he said calmly, "I spoke with your chief earlier this evening. I have conducted my own investigation on the subject of my niece. I believe if you speak with him, he will inform you that Angel is not to be taken into custody today."

"You have got to be shitting me!" she raged, "He is the prime suspect of this case!"

"I understand that," Giles said, nodding solemnly, "However, my niece is currently unconscious and needs the man she loves by her side. I have my own suspicions about his character, but I will not have him taken in for questioning until she regains consciousness. Once she is lucent, we will be happy to cooperate."

"I'm speaking to the chief and then I will be back to take him in," she said, before turning on her heel and stormed from the room.

"Mr. Giles," Angel said, "I appreciate what you just did, but I need you to believe me. I would never do anything to hurt Buffy."

"I'm fairly certain you wouldn't," Giles said, "But let's focus on Buffy for now."

***

//if you scream in your sleep or collapse in a heap
and spontaneously weep, then you know you're in deep//

When Angel finally was able to get into her room, with the help of Giles, he looked down at her fragile body, lying against those crisp hospital sheets. Tubes and wires trailed from her to several machines that monitored her. Losing the courage he had held onto so tightly, he dragged a chair to the side of her bed and then sat down in it slowly. He picked up her limp hand and kissed it before pressing it to his face.

Her skin was warm and she was breathing. The doctors had spoken to Mr. Giles in lowered tones but Angel had caught pieces of it. They thought she would regain consciousness soon. Brain damage wasn't likely but she probably had a concussion. The force of the wreck had been jarring enough for the seat belt to break three of her ribs but fortunately, she hadn't punctured her lung.

Angel held her hand in his and did what the doctors told him, he began to talk to her. He started with the important things, how much he loved her and needed her. After awhile, he began to tell her about his childhood and how he grew up, all the things he never told anyone if he could avoid it. As he waited for her to wake up, he told her funny little stories about him and Spike shoplifting candy bars at the corner store, about the woman who owned one of orphanages who called him her angel, about the boat they had found that tiny child in all those years ago.

***

Part Ten "Memories"

By Tango

***

//only memories, fading memories//

Dena Franklin strolled into work twenty-five minutes late from her lunch hour, which was actually more like dinner since she worked the night shift. She was prepared to try and sneak in or think of a good excuse for being late but when she arrived at the nurses' station, surprisingly enough, none of them even noticed she was late or that she was back at all, actually. They were whispering amongst themselves, gossiping about the recent arrival of a blonde girl who was still unconscious after three hours of being admitted to the ER.

"Her uncle is Rupert Giles," one of her co-workers confided.

"The Rupert Giles," another asked, "As in the rich and handsome Rupert Giles?"

"That would be the one. Have you seen her boyfriend?"

"The drop dead gorgeous artist who has been sitting by her bed? The things I could do to him! If only he would let someone look at his hands. He's bleeding all over her bed, but no one can seem to get him out of there. If Dr. Thomas sees him, there's going to be hell to pay."

"He's famous, you know."

"Really?"

"Angel? Ring a bell? His work has been exploding all over the city."

"Angel?" Dena asked, leaning over the counter, still holding her purse.

"Yes. Have you seen him? He's definitely more interesting to look at than his art, I can tell you that."

"Are you sure it's Angel?" Dena asked, "The artist?"

"You know him?"

"I use to be involved with him," Dena confided, moving toward the room they indicated. The other nurses stared at her as she moved toward the room in question. "Involved" was a pretty acceptable term for what they had, she supposed. It was more like raw, hedonistic sex in exciting places. He always thought of a new slightly public location to engage in indecent activities with her. Probably, the most thrilling event was what she thought of as "the restaurant night." He picked her up at her apartment that night and smiled appreciatively at her short skirt. He had a way of smiling that made her knees weak and a way of taking advantage of her weaknesses that could easily be added to the list of his other talents.

She kissed him in greeting and stepped out her apartment, locking the door as she always did and wasn't at all surprised when he stepped up behind her, pressing his groin against her ass. What did surprise her, however, was when he slipped his hand under her skirt and ripped away her silk panties. She gasped in surprise and turned to face him, watching his face slip in a cool smile as he tucked her panties into his pocket.

"Ready?" he asked casually as if he had been standing there like a choir boy the whole time.

"Um...yes," she said, nervous and excited at the same time, feeling unusually naked now.

"Don't worry," he said, as they stepped into the elevator, "You're going to love this one."

He took her to an Italian restaurant, plush and dim-lit, where the tables had crisp white table cloths and elegantly dressed waiters. He swirled his red wine in his glass and took a sip, rolling the liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it.

Out of all the times he had her, in different places, in a variety of ways, of all the things he talked her into doing, that evening was the most memorable. He whispered little things to her over their expensive plates, drinking more expensive wine. The things he said would have made anyone choke on their pasta had they overheard. He relished in making her more excited with each passing moment, savoring his food without even touching her hand. By the end of the meal, she was begging him to sleep with her. At that point, she wouldn't have cared if it was on the table in the middle of that exquisite restaurant or on the sidewalk out front.

The worst part of it was her own loss of dignity, her need of him to the point of whimpering across the table at him. Just a caress, just a touch would have lifted the strain but he refused. He sat there, smiling and gorgeous, his lips wrapping around his words so beautifully she wanted to lick them. He didn't touch her until they left the restaurant and at that point she was panting for him. He pressed her against the side of the building, against the rough brick.

As she made her way down the hall to look into Buffy Summers' room, she took a deep breath. She knew that if he asked her to, she would sleep with him on the hospital floor, a few feet from where her current lover was making his rounds, the Dr. Thomas everyone was so intimidated by. Dena thought that half the women he slept with and painted were in love with him. She wasn't sure. She didn't know if she loved him, but she did know she would never refuse him.

She was shocked to see the girl, beaten and bruised, lying in the bed. Dena was thinking she would look like his other women, sophisticated and voluptuous. She wasn't more than a girl, innocent and sweet looking. She shifted her eyes to her ex-lover. He was awake but seemed to be in shock. He held her hand to his lips, elbows resting on her bed, staring at her unconscious face. His face was twisted with pain and his eyes looked anguished and blank. The other nurses said he talked to her on and off and wouldn't leave her side. They kept trying to treat his wounds but he refused. He didn't care about his injuries, only hers.

Dena stepped slowly into the room, feeling like a trespasser, "Angel?"

He looked up slowly, focusing slowly, and stared at her for a minute or two before he said, "Dena?"

"Hi," she said, feeling strange in her uniform in front of him. He probably never saw her in so many clothes, "You probably don't remember that I was-"

"In nursing school," he mumbled, looking back over at Buffy, "I remember."

"She's only been unconscious for 3 hours," Dena said, moving closer, "She'll wake up. There's no reason she wouldn't."

"I'm sorry," he said, blinking back tears, which caused Dena to swallow her gasp of surprise, "I can't...I can't talk right now."

Angel jerked when she made it to his side and gently pulled one of his bloody hands from Buffy's, "Let me bandage your hands, Angel. You can't help her if you're sick too. These could get infected."

"I'm not leaving her side," he said firmly, his jaw set in determination.

"Okay," she said softly, "I'll do it right here, right by her bed. Alright?"

He nodded slowly and watched as she moved to get bandages. She blinked back her tears as she headed out of the room. She had never seen him like that, never thought she would see him care that much about anyone other than himself. He was a generous lover, unselfish and giving, but when he came to emotions, he wasn't in it for that. Seeing him there, so obviously in love with that tiny blonde girl, was painful. She never thought loving Angel was an option. He always made it seem like it wasn't and maybe he was right...until now.

***

//call it impulsive,
call it compulsive,
call it insane
but when i'm surrounded, i just can't stop//

Spike stepped forward and steered Drusilla until she was standing behind him, protecting her body with his. He'd never been the sort of throw yourself to the wolves type mate. He was more the protect yourself and screw everyone else type, but this woman he knew he couldn't live without.

"Isn't that sweet?" Darla sneered, "Protecting your crazy bitch? Doesn't matter. Before I let you walk out that door and spill everything to Angel, I'll kill you and then her. You should know by now that I don't give a fuck what happens to you, Spike, or anyone else for that matter."

"That's funny," Drusilla said, releasing a throaty laugh before resting her chin on Spike's shoulder, unafraid of the possibility of her own death, "You're going to kill people over Angel. Who's the mad one?"

"My man, Drusilla," she snapped back, "Is more important than your pathetic lives."

"Ah," Dru returned smiling and looking past the gun, into Darla's cold blue eyes, "I see. You must be irresistible to him."

"He can't stand the bint," Spike added and didn't flinch when Darla moved to point her gun at his chest, "He really does hate you, pet. Not sure why you keep this up."

"I asked for your silence, not your opinion!" Darla shouted. She barely finished her sentence before she fell to the floor. Spike grinned at Riley, holding her a small sculpture in his hand.

"Hey, that's one of Angel's," Spike commented, "Thanks for the save there, mate. Coulda been a bit slower though. She nearly shot me."

"It would have been a gift to the rest of the world," Riley said as he moved toward the doorway, tossing the small statue aside as if touching a piece of Angel's artwork actually caused him physical pain. He already felt the bile rising in his throat and he couldn't decide whether it was for Darla, Angel or himself.

"Where do you think you're going?" Spike said, wrapping his arm around Dru's waist as they followed behind, moving in their traditional leisurely fashion.

"The hospital," Riley shouted, "My girlfriend is there, in case you forgot!"

"Actually," Spike answered, "She's Angel's girl now. If you start to forget that, I'll be glad to fill her in on all the help you gave Darla in recent past."

"You don't know what I did!" Riley answered, "I didn't do anything. I said I'd help but she kept me in the dark about everything."

"You didn't tell her everything about your little pet?" Spike countered, "You didn't tell her where Buffy was going to be at certain times? Where her gallery was? What car she drove? Where she lived? You spilled all the details so that you could risk her life for a piece of ass."

"I didn't know what Darla was going to do!"

"After Buffy was attacked by Penn, you knew what Darla was capable of and you did nothing to stop her," Spike said, strolling past him and out the door, "She'll believe me. If you try and get between her and Angel again, I'll make sure they both find out about it."

"Spike," Drusilla said, whispering in his ear once they were back out on the street. She clutched his arm possessively as they walked, wearing a soft smile of pride, "She's not safe, you know. The sky, it knows, it's not clear yet. Murky things are coming."

"I'm sure they are, love," he said, pulling her closer, "But I said I'd make it right, didn't I?"

"Yes," she answered, leaning her head on his shoulder, "You'll make it right. My Spike will always make it right."

"Eventually," he muttered.

***

//isn't it beautiful to see two people so much in love?//

Buffy's eyes blinked open four hours and twenty-three minutes after the crash. Angel leaned in, holding his breath as her eyes twitched and then made a sleepy little half flutter.

"Buffy?" he whispered, squeezing her hand.

"Angel?" she said weakly and then winced from the sound her own voice, ripping painfully through her head.

"I'm here," he said, moving closer and kissing her knuckles gently, waiting for her eyes to open completely. He wanted to beg her to look at him, wanted to promise her the world if he could just see her eyes and know that she was okay.

"Where am I?" she asked, finally looking at him fully.

"Hospital," he said, pressing the buzzer for the nurse, "You were in a car accident. Do you remember?"

"The brakes didn't work," she said, "I kept pushing them but the car wasn't stopping and I went through the redlight."

"Yes," he said, nodding. No amnesia. She remembered everything.

"Angel?"

"Yes, love?"

"Can I go home now?"

***

//well, can you blame 'em?
uh, yeah//

Angel hated cops more than Spike did. Spike thought Angel would be ripping the room apart by now if he had been forced to sit there and be patient for as long as he had been waiting. Course that had been old Angel, juvenile delinquent Angel. Gunn was the only one of their group of friends who could tolerate the police station and that was because he'd had to kiss so much polyester clad ass in the past couple of years since he'd been a detective. Well, as close to ass kissing as Gunn got anyway, which mainly consisted of telling them what they wanted to hear and then doing what he wanted to do anyway. His policy was that it was better to ask forgiveness than ask permission. Not that he ever asked for forgiveness.

Spike was reminded of the adolescent quibbles he had gotten into with Penn, Angel and Gunn as he sat in what Kate liked to call the "Conference Room." It was an interrogation room if he had ever seen one. He stared down at the cigarette burns on the plastic white table and drummed his fingers as he waited for Detective Lockley to grace him with her presence. He finally lit a cigarette and blew smoke calmly at the two sided mirror. He knew this waiting game. She thought it would make him nervous and twitchy if they stared at him like a caged animal from the other side of that glass.

Spike didn't give a flying fuck if they stared at him all godamn day just as long as he had plenty of smokes and Angel didn't overhear any of what he was about to say. If he could get through this without losing a friend, it would be a miracle. He ashed on the floor unapologetically as the pretty blonde made her way into the room.

"'Bout time, pet," he said, taking a long drag on his smoke and leaning the chair back so it balanced on two of the four legs, "Thought I was going to have to go out for a beer and come back at a better time."

"My name is Detective Lockley," she said, "And I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

"That's alright but let's get on with it already."

"You have some information about the Buffy Summer's case?"

"Oh do I," he said, dropping the chair back to resting on all fours, "Let's discuss possible outcomes of me telling you things first, love."

***

//take it from a fella
who's been around the block so many times
he knows the only parking spot that's free//

"Buffy," Xander complained as he went into her apartment a week later, with Willow following closely behind him, "I want you to be safe and all, but can you do something about the bodyguard outside your front door? Guy looks like a freight train and every time I come here he acts like he doesn't remember me."

"Tommy?" Buffy asked, "He's really sweet once you get to know him. He's just doing his job."

"He doesn't look very sweet to me," Xander grumbled. Willow smiled and patted his shoulder, "It's okay, Xand."

"Where's your crazy boyfriend?" Xander asked, craning his neck to look around the apartment.

"He went home," Buffy said, "I asked him to give us some time to hang out."

"He has a home?" Xander blustered, "He hasn't left your side since the accident. I thought maybe he gave up his own place in moved in here so he could growl at anyone who dared look at you."

"Don't be an ass, Xander," Willow said, nudging him with her elbow.

"Don't like that guy," Xander mumbled underneath his breath as he moved to sit on the love seat with Willow.

"What?" Willow asked accusingly.

"What do you want for dinner?" He amended, smiling at the dirty looks he was receiving from his two female companions, "What? Aren't you hungry?"

***

Part Eleven

DEDICATION: For Mystic, who is designing my website, which will hopefully be out soon. Thank you, Mystic! You're an angel and a talented one at that.(You guys don't want to know what it would look like if I had attempted to do it myself. It would have been scarey. Very, very scarey. *G*)

***

//it just measures up the distance//

Buffy sat alone in her apartment for the first time in over a month. She stared at her book and shifted uncomfortably as she tried to set herself at ease. She thought she wanted an evening to herself and after talking Angel into going out with his friends and convincing her own friends that she wanted an evening of alone time, she found her apartment miserably lonely.

She set her book down and wandered onto the balcony to stare out into the night. It was one of the rare occasions that stars could actually been seen over the city and she smiled at them gratefully. She thought about calling Angel, but talked herself out of it. He deserved a night out with his buddies, drinking and having a good time. It wasn't fair that he felt he had to babysit her all the time.

She ran a hand absently over her nearly healed ribcage and wondered if he would ever touch her again like he had that one wonderful night before the car accident. All the nights since then had been filled with snuggling and gentle kisses but he never let his hands wander, never tried to spark anything more. He held her like he expected her to break any moment and broke off embraces that lasted a fraction too long.

When a knock sounded on her door, she jerked in surprise and hurried back inside to answer it, thinking it must be Angel. Even though he had a key, he never used it. She was glowing in happiness and smiling brightly when she answered the door, only to have it fade when she saw Riley standing there.

"Hi," she said, looking at him questioningly.

"Hi," he said, uneasily, "Can I come in? I'd like to talk to you for a minute."

She stepped back and allowed him to enter, glad for the first time that evening that Angel wasn't there. He would not have been pleased at all about Riley's unannounced visit. She gestured to the couch and sat down in her cream colored overstuffed chair to keep the distance between them.

"I wanted to see how you were," he said, perching nervously on the edge of the couch, "I heard about the accident."

"I'm fine," she said, "Almost all healed up."

"That's good," he said, nodding slowly.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay," he said, running a hand through his hair, "Actually, I'm not so good. I miss you, Buffy. I was hoping you would think about giving me another chance."

"I'm sorry," she said gently, "I'm seeing Angel."

"I heard," he grumbled, "I'm not trying to bad mouth him...actually, I'd love to. He's used more women in this town than you would believe. I'm afraid he's going to hurt you."

"I can take care of myself," she said, raising her chin in defiance, "And I know all about his past. That doesn't mean anything to me."

"Buffy," he said, moving over and sitting on the ottoman in front of her, "I can make things right between us. I know I can. Can you just give me a chance?"

"I'm don't think so, Riley," she answered, "I don't want to hurt you, I just...I'm seeing Angel now."

"You already said that," he said harshly, "He's going to break your heart."

"He won't," she whispered.

"When he does," he said, standing and heading toward the door, "I'll be here."

"Don't wait for me," she said, trying to fill her words with as much confidence as possible.

"I have to," he said, before stepping out of her door and closing it gently behind him, "I love you."

Buffy stood up and looked at the closed door for a moment before slipping on shoes and grabbing her purse. All of a sudden her apartment seemed too big or too small or both. Either way, it was frustratingly empty. Once outside, she passed up her car with a nervous glance. It had been fixed weeks before and she had even driven it, but since the accident she avoided it at all costs. She went over to where Tommy was sitting in his car and leaned in the window.

"Hey there," he said with a smile, "Saw your ex visit."

"Yeah," she said, biting her lower lip, "Can you take me to Angel's? I don't want to stay at home tonight. I figured since you're going to follow me anyway, maybe you wouldn't mind..."

"Sure, honey," he answered, unlocking the doors as she circled the car to climb in, "You know he's out with Gunn and the guys, right?"

"I have a key," she said, holding up one of the keys on her keyring for him to see after she had climbed in and navigated her footing around the fast food containers and soda cans.

"He gave you a key to his apartment?" Tommy said, nearly shouting in surprise at her as he pulled out the parking lot.

"Yes," she said, "Why? Something wrong with that?"

"Nope," he said, shaking his head with an incredulous smile, "Uh-uh."

***

//i discovered alcohol
forget the caffe latte
screw the raspberry iced tea//

The beer was bitter, cold and heavenly as Angel swallowed the end of his first glass quickly and slammed it on the counter. Doyle, knowing his friend's torments of the heart and soul recently, smiled at him and gave him a refill on the house. He made short work of the second glass as Spike slid onto the stool next to him.

"Your dog die, mate?" Spike asked with a grin, "Or are you still suffering from not shagging your girl?"

"Bite me," Angel answered, taking another gulp of liquid assurance, thanking God that Doyle was such a good friend and quick with the refills.

"That's what I thought," he said as he accepted the whiskey neat set before him by his friend and bartender, "How long's he been drowning his sorrows, Doyle?"

"Not nearly long enough," Doyle answered with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah," Gunn offered from the other side, "I'm surprised he hasn't been here every night after Buffy's side."

"You know what the strangest thing is about all this," Angel said, tracing his fingers in the side of the frosty glass, "Is that Detective Lockley never came back to take me in for questioning."

"Really?" Spike said, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise, "Well, that is strange. Maybe they found the responsible party."

"Wouldn't they have told Buffy?" Angel mused.

"What about her uncle?" Doyle offered, "He seemed to have his fingers in a few of the pots around the city."

"Maybe," Angel said, taking another drink, "I guess I'll call her this week and see if they came up with anything new."

"And get arrested?" Spike said quickly, "No mate, maybe you should just wait for them to remember you instead of reminding them."

"If they haven't arrested me already..."

"Believe me," Spike offered, downing his whiskey and sliding it across the bar, "It's bloody idiotic to go to the police station, mate. Just watch out for your little cutie. Where is she anyway?"

"At home," Angel said, gloomily.

"By herself?" Spike asked with surprise.

"Yeah."

"Are you out of your gob?! You haven't slept with her and you leave her alone on a Friday night?"

"What?" Angel asked, almost feeling the rain pelt on him from the dark cloud he was sure was hanging above the bar, "She told me to go out. She wanted me to take some time to hang out with you jerks."

"And you listened to her?" Gunn asked, piping in again.

"Well...yeah," Angel said, "I shouldn't have?"

"You *should* being fucking the life out of the girl," Spike grunted, taking a swallow of the new drink in front of her.

"She's gonna think you don't want her," Doyle added.

"But I do want her!" Angel yelled, "She knows that."

"Does she, mate?" Spike asked, "Cause it's only a matter of time before some other nancy boy prances up and touches her the right way and-"

"No one's going to be touching her," Angel growled, eyeing his friend angrily.

"Really?" Spike said, "Hope you're right mate. Poor girl, been through all that pain and hurt, only to sit home by herself thinking about how you haven't made love to her yet."

"What are you trying to do to me?" Angel said, "She's not ready for that."

"She's not or you're not?" Spike asked.

"You don't shit about her."

"I know women, Peaches," Spike said, "And I would have thought you did by now. You've slept with half the women in this town. I bet your little blondie is wondering why you would sleep with everyone else and not her."

"No, she's not," Angel said, knocking back the rest of this beer and pleading with Doyle silently to refill it.

"Alright," Spike said, holding up his hands.

"Why do you care, anyway?" Angel asked, "You're just waiting for me to screw this up so you can slither your way into her life."

"Damn right," Spike said, honestly, "She'll need someone's shoulder to cry on."

"It better not be yours."

"You say that like you're already expecting to lose her," Doyle said, ignoring for the moment the onslaught of Friday night traffic as he drifted in and out of his friends' conversation.

"I hope I don't."

"Well, Cordy seems to think you're an asshole," Doyle said, grinning, "I keep tellin' her she's right and she just keeps agreeing with me."

"Thanks a lot, Doyle."

"Don't mention it."

***

//just try to figure out what all this is for it's the perfect time of day to throw all your cares away//

Buffy made her way into Angel's apartment and couldn't believe the stifling heat in there. It made sense that he would keep the air off since he was never there anyway, but she had already broken into a sweat before she made it to the windows. She opened them one by one and breathed a sigh of relief as fresh air swept through place, making it infinitely more comfortable in a manner of minutes.

After she opened every window in the apartment, she laid down on the couch and thought about why she had even gone there in the first place. He wouldn't be angry about her going there, she knew that, but she still felt she was violating his space. She didn't feel bad enough about it go home though. His apartment made her feel more safe and secure, like nothing would hurt her if she was there. She kicked off her shoes and curled up, falling fast asleep on his sofa.

She jerked awake an hour later when the phone rang and she ran to answer it, but paused. Deciding against it, she let the answering machine pick up, feeling slightly guilty for listening to the message that someone was about to leave. After four rings, she heard his sexy, rumbling voice speaking, asking the caller to leave a message.

"Angel," a high pitched female voice crooned, "It's Brenda. Are you there? Guess not. Call me soon, lover."

Buffy winced with the word "lover" and sat by the phone for a few minutes. She hadn't really taken the time to think about all the women he had slept with. At least, she tried to force it from her mind when it wandered in that direction. She was sure he wanted her. Well, she was pretty sure she was sure, but he hardly touched her, barely let their kisses rise to the point of passion. He said he had stopped seeing the other women, that she was the only one he wanted, but if that was true, then how come he hadn't made love to her yet?

She chided herself for her thoughts as she headed back to the couch. He spent every night in her bed, just about. There was no way he was seeing anyone else. Besides, she had been attacked and then with the car accident, she was sure he just wanted to make sure she was ready. She smiled with her reasoning. Still feeling overheated, she slipped off her jeans and laid down once more. She reminded herself again and again that he did want her, she was attractive and when he came home, she would remember that it was all true.

***

//just get on the phone
tell her you're coming home
if you need her, you should be there//

After few too many, Angel allowed Spike to drive him home and thought about calling Buffy on the way. He looked at his watch and realized she would be fast asleep by then. He groaned in irritation. What a useless waste of an evening. He spent the whole time drinking, thinking about her, defending his actions to his friends and trying to keep three of his ex-lovers from molesting him.

"Glad you're not going to see Buffy tonight," Spike said nonchalantly as he steered his car toward Angel's apartment.

"Why?" Angel slurred, thinking just the opposite.

"Cause you reek like beer, smoke and perfume from the bints crawling all over you tonight and there's lipstick on your collar."

"Jesus," Angel swore, flipping the visor to look in the mirror and taking several seconds to focus on a red smudge there just as Spike had said.

"Yeah," Spike said, with a smile "But good show with the self control. I wouldn't have made it out of there without having at least one of them. Actually, I didn't."

"Great," Angel spat sarcastically, "I'm so happy for you."

"Knew you would be," Spike answered as he pulled into the apartment complex's parking lot, "By the way, I want to borrow your motorcycle."

"You're just asking me now 'cause I'm drunk."

"Good call," Spike said, "What do you say?"

"Don't care," Angel said, knowing it was the liquor speaking just as much as Spike did. There was no way he would have agreed so easily otherwise. Spike followed him up to his apartment and walked in behind his stumbling friend.

"Hot as hell in here, mate," Spike complained, "Don't you believe in air conditioning?"

"Never here anymore," he said as he moved toward the answering machine and pressed the blinking button in the dark, anxious to see if it was Buffy, instead finding Brenda's voice there. He deleted it with disappointment as Spike flipped on the lights. He turned with the sound of Spike's whisper, "Holy shit."

On the couch, lay Buffy completely, gloriously naked except for a pair of white lace panties. Her hair fanned around her, curling over her shoulders and her full breasts were in full, perfect view. Angel nearly tripped as he moved across the room to stand in front of her, blocking Spike's view.

"Bedroom," Angel ordered, pointing toward the room in question, "Go in the bedroom."

"Why?" Spike asked, leaning a bit to see if he could get another look at her, "Are there more naked women in there?"

"No," Angel said, in a low, dangerous voice, "the motorcycle keys are in there on my dresser. Get them and get the hell out."

"Relax, mate," Spike said, strolling down the hallway and taking a deep breath as he did, still seeing her golden skin and lovely body in his mind as he went, "You're the one who keeps it so hot in here that a girl has no choice but to take off her clothes."

Angel quickly took off his shirt, intending to cover her with it, only to glimpse the lipstick stained collar. He tossed it aside and grabbed the blanket that hung on the back of the couch. It was hot as hell but he didn't care. Spike wasn't going to see one more square inch of her body. He stood there next to the couch looking down on her until Spike returned, taking his sweet time, with the keys.

"Getting undressed already?" Spike noted, nodding at his friend's bare chest.

"Goodbye, Spike," Angel said irritably.

"See ya, Peaches."

Go to Part Twelve