Something was wrong.
But because of Angel, It took her a while to realize it; he kept the blinds down on their apartment's one small window, and he stopped wearing his watch.
When she finally snuck a peek at his cell phone, she realized two things: they hadn't left the apartment in two weeks and he was avoiding a lot of people — like everyone. He had missed calls from Jenny, Connor, Giles, Dawn, Spike, Willow, Jesse, even Oz and Xander and a girl named Darla.
Something was going on with him, and he clearly didn't want her to know about it.
Over the past two weeks, her voice had gotten stronger, but it was the only thing that had. She still couldn't walk or grip. He fed, bathed, dressed and moved her everywhere. He spent nearly every moment helping her; he deserved her trust, didn't he?
Despite her recovering voice, she didn't ask about the missed calls or food deliveries.
She didn't ask when she could see her sister or her friends. Instead, she gave him the only thing she could: answers to his questions. She told him what she remembered of graduation day and how she'd gotten the TRO paperwork.
Multiple times a day, he asked what part of her body hurt, and she told him. She told him whatever he wanted to know.
It was another week before she saw his cell phone again . . . there were 17 missed calls and no calls out. He wasn't just keeping her away from the outside world; he was keeping himself away from it.
He didn't talk to her about life outside the apartment, but he did talk to her. While he helped her stretch, he reminded her what Dr. Post said: that for every day she'd been in a coma, she'd need one week of recovery. At 145 days comatose, she was looking at 3 years of impaired mobility.
Angel asked her to be patient –and she was. She pushed herself but not so hard she suffered unnecessary setbacks. And she didn't push Angel for anything. Eventually, she'd be able to walk without him and when she could, she'd venture outside this apartment and see the world she'd been missing.
She couldn't imagine going three years without seeing her sister, but she'd be walking well before then. Besides, time had become a strange thing for her. Minutes alone felt unending, but several days with Angel felt like an afternoon, a week felt like weekend and a month?
He'd made a world inside this apartment, and part of her never wanted to leave. A light knock startled her interrupting her musings.
She stopped her sit-ups and stared at the door.
Angel didn't look at her before standing to answer it. He opened the door and blocked it in the same move.
"No need to scowl. Friend not foe." Will shouldered his way in and smiled at her. He opened his mouth and closed his mouth with a tight smile.
"Hi Will." She sighed, "I can hear you."
The tension fell from his face. "That should make this babysitting gig a right smooth ride then."
She frowned at Angel who returned to her side.
He helped her onto a chair. "We don't need you."
"Weasel Willy is getting impatient. Talk him 'round or quit outright, but say what you have to in person. You're running out of bridges to burn."
Angel filled a glass with water. "If you're here does that mean Wood will be too, or is he waiting at the club?"
"Oh, get off, you git. I've known about this hidy-hole longer than you 'ave."
"How?" Angel set the glass in front of Buffy.
She looked up. "I told him."
"I know what Lorne's renting it for too. For that low sum, I wager you can hole up for a while yet. But when you need cash, it's best not to have employers hating you." Spike pulled a chair kitty-corner to her and plopped down. "It's not a trap. It's a favor." Watching Angel sigh, he smirked. "Dramatic wanker."
Angel looked down at her. "You gonna be alright?"
She nodded. "You?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "It's a quick drink with the boss not a bloody death match."
Ignoring him, Angel crouched before her. He stroked her bare knees and squeezed her hands. "Straight there and straight back."
He stood abruptly and shoved his feet in some shoes. He grabbed his leather jacket and his keys before returning to her. He pressed a light kiss to her for head and glared at Spike. "Don't let anyone in."
"No keggers then? Raucous orgies?"
His nostrils flared. "Keep your phone on and answer if I call."
With his middle finger, Spike saluted him. "Yes sir."
Holding back laughter, Buffy snorted.
Angel opened the door and looked at her one more time.
She couldn't identify the emotion in his face before he looked away closing the door behind him.
"Fancy another thumb war?"
She stared at the door. "How much trouble is he in?"
"None that I'm aware of."
"That detective hates him."
"Doesn't change the fact Angel hasn't broken any laws — at least not since I've known him." Spike leaned forward. "There's no warrant for his arrest and there's not gonna be. Your beau played by the rules."
"But he's afraid . . ."
"Keeps ya cooped up and locked in does he?"
"The police aren't gonna find the guys who did this." She looked at him. "They were professionals."
"If they were caught already, Angel would be acting the same." He pat her knee. "Too many close calls love."
"Because of the coma?"
"And your dad."
She frowned. "Angel said he never even visited."
"He tried once."
She shrugged. "It's a public place. He wouldn't have—"
"Brought a gun?"
Her mouth dropped.
"He showed up at Sunnydale General. The only reason he didn't shoot you where you lay was because you'd already been transferred."
"But if he had . . . maybe he wouldn't have. . ."
"No pet." He squeezed her knee. "Your mum was already . . . He showed up after. . ."
Her gaze returned to the closed door. "He left that part out."
Spike sat back in his seat. "And you're asking me questions you should be askin' him."
"Be a pal and open that window for me." She nodded behind her.
He strode over and did just that – pulling up the blind and lifting the latch. "Figured tight quarters would have you two runnin' out of things to talk about right quick. A month without telly and you haven't scratched the surface. How's that happen?"
"Habit I guess." She pushed on the table and started to stand.
He hurried to her side. "Where we headed love?"
"Out."
"Fair share of stairs between her and there."
"Too many." She slowly turned towards the window. "Give me a boost."
His darted between her and the high glass. "Crazy bint."
"Quick breath of air then we slide back the way we came." She started climbing the wall while he supported her weight.
"A bit scantily clad, love?"
"Pfft." She glanced down at him. "T-shirt and shorts is totally covered."
"Those are boxers pet."
"Prude."
He squeezed her tush as he pushed her up.
Squealing, she scrambled out the window frame. "Warn a girl."
His hands slid down her legs and lifted her further out the window. Then he started climbing out himself. "Satisfied?"
Panting, Buffy sat back against the alley wall. "How's Adam?"
He snorted. "Course you'd ask about the big lug. He's fine. Kids are fine; keep askin' when you're coming back. Less fun without you I guess."
"I miss them too."
He sat back against the wall beside her. "Your librarian came by lookin' for you — well Angel. I take it lil' bit isn't on the approved visitors list."
"No one is." She shrugged. "You showing up here unnerved him."
Spike kept his voice neutral. "Phone privileges?"
"I haven't asked." She stared at her hands. "It's like solidarity or something. He's not ready for others, so I'm waiting,"
"Like he did for you — last year."
"Yeah."
Looking at the street, he propped his arm on his bent knee further hiding her from view. "You two should pry more and hide less."
She sighed, "We are what we are."
"It's not good enough pet." He looked at her. "While you were out, he asked me questions he should've known the answer to — same as you are now. You cut him out long before you dumped him. You kept him separate from everything broiling inside you." He frowned. "You gonna let him live like that? Go along with his pretending while something's burnin' him up?"
Her eyes misted. "There's only one thing I can do to help." She swallowed and cleared her throat. "And I promised him I wouldn't."
"What's that?"
"I promised not to leave him." Her gaze fell to the pavement. "But how can I stay knowing the cost is his sanity?"
He muttered, "I suppose you'll need a getaway driver then."
"I'll crawl and hitchhike if I have to."
"You need out, you call me, understand?" He dug into his coat pocket and passed her a small phone. "It's prepaid. Don't let Angel know you have it."
She held it in her lap reverently. "You got this for me."
"I don't care what choice you make. I just need to know you have one." He handed her the charging cord.
"Did his boss actually want to see him?"
"Probably."
She smirked. Glancing over, she saw him smirking to.
"Gotta car 'round back. Say the word; we're gone."
She reached over and laid her hand over his. "And how are you doing? How's your mom?"
"She passed." He turned his hand palm up told hers. "Wish I could say she had a moment of clarity at the end, but no such luck. Her last words to me were a crude pickup line." He stared at their clasped hands. "Is that better or worse than no words at all?"
Her thumb stroked the back of his hand. "I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."
"Tending to you and Dru kept me busy, distracted." He shrugged gently. "And now you're back."
She sighed, "Now I'm back."
He tried to smile. "She mentioned you once. She wanted me to bring back the tart blonde so she could show you a thing or two."
"Tart the same as slut?"
"Yet Dru was the epitome of purity. Mum was always asking her what the angels were sayin' — like Dru could tune into their frequency or some shite. I thought Dru was just humoring her, but the slightest buzz, and Dru goes off about the stars whispering to her."
"And some days you believe her — at least, part of you wants too."
"Less and less with every passing day . . . she's shaggin' her sponsor."
"You don't know —"
"She told me." He scowled. "Came right out and said she didn't love me anymore. She wants other people — any other people."
"Tart."
He barked a laugh. "I want to burn her alive as much as I want to follow her everywhere and beg until she take me back. What's that make me?"
"I think the official term is cuckold."
His shoulder pushed hers as he chuckled, "Bitch."
"Stalker." She pushed him back.
"Cripple."
"Pussy." She elbowed his ribs.
He rubbed his side. "Best get you back inside before your warden returns."
"And kicks your ass."
He turned around to face the window. "Gettin' down will be a bit of tricky business."
"It's just falling. Easiest thing in the world."
"Try not to break anything on the landing, yeah?"
Rolling her eyes, she crawled to her side. "In ya go, you worry wart."
He slid through the window and dropped as light as a cat. He stood and stretched his arms towards her. "Your move love."
With eyes open and without pause, she pulled yourself over the windowsill and fell onto him and the floor.
"Ooaf. Glad to feel your gaining weight."
She rolled off him and tried to push herself up. "Get ready to carry my fat ass cuz I'm about wiped." She collapsed beside him panting.
He reached over and rested his hand on her thigh. "Got a story for the bruises ready?"
"I'll fall in the shower later."
"That should cover it." He pat her leg.
"Angel says I'm a bad liar."
"Proof that practice doesn't make perfect."
Still clenching the phone and charger, she started scanning the room for a hiding spot. "Any tips?"
He sat up and glanced around the space. He held out his hand for the contraband. She gave it over and watched him walk towards the kitchen counter.
"Make sure it's worth it." He opened one of the bottom cupboards and tucked the phone and charging cord far against front corner. Spike's whole arm disappeared and reappeared empty. Angel would never look there — for anything; no one would.
He strode over and deftly lifted her onto the chair. "Lying to someone you trust is slippery business. The more you lie the more you expect to be lied to. The truth gets harder and harder to recognize."
"You ever lie to Dru?"
He sat across from her just as before, as if her stunt never happened. "Only about things I hadn't admitted to myself yet."
"If you two couldn't make it, I don't know what hope there is for the rest of us."
He smirked. "I feel the same about you two." He rocked back in his seat and looked around the room again. "So, what do you do for fun around here?"
OoOoO
Opening the door to their apartment, Angel found Buffy and Spike right where he left them, sitting at the kitchen table. They were holding cards with a pile of cigarettes between them.
"Welcome back mate."
Buffy stared at her hand. "Everything go okay?"
He set his keys and phone on the counter. "It was fine." He sat in the armchair, the only other chair in the apartment and watched their poker game.
"I had to borrow like all of your cigarettes."
"She hasn't lost many. Even won you a few of the better brand."
Angel nodded, "I'd have guessed she'd lose on purpose to get rid of them."
"Not in your girl's nature to lose."
Proving his point, she lay her cards down: straight. Seeing his nothing-hand, she slid closer to the pile.
"Don't smoke them all at once love."
She turned to look at Angel. "Shoulda played for patches or gum, but he didn't have any."
Angel shrugged. "I'm out too."
Spike passed her the empty box so she could repack the pile of singles. "Coulda always played for cash."
She smirked. "Feel free to buy them back."
"May your lungs turn as black as your heart." He stood and threw on his coat. "With the babysitting portion of the evening is over, I'm gonna find what trouble needs stirring."
"I'm keeping your cards."
He ruffled her hair. "My cards, my smokes –you rob me blind woman." He nodded at Angel on his way to the door. "Fresh air does you good Peaches. Remember that."
Angel stood to lock and deadbolt the door.
Hearing the clicks, Buffy asked, "Play with me?"
He filled the empty seat and started shuffling without a word. He cut the deck and pushed half towards her and pulled the other half close to himself. He drew a card from his pile and lay it face up: 3 of clubs.
Under his hard stare, she heard her heart thrashing inside its bone cage.
She drew a card from hers and lay it down: 7 of hearts.
He nodded. "Go ahead: ask your question."
She swallowed. "What are you thinking right now?"
"That Spike wanted to see you alone and you won't want to tell me why."
She swallowed again and watched him draw another card from the pile: ace of spades. His gaze flicked to her pile.
She slowly flipped over her next card: 4 of spades.
He tilted his head slightly. "Let's call aces low."
She picked at the edges of her card. "When were you going to tell me about my dad?"
"What about him?"
"After he killed mom, he looked for me."
Expressionless, he answered, "I wasn't."
She turned over another card. So did he.
Jack versus Queen: his turn to ask a question. "You and Spike ever fuck?"
Her eyes widened, "no."
As he reached for another card, she covered his hand with hers. "I've only fucked you. I've only kissed you." She squeezed his hand. "You're it for me."
He stared at his hand under hers. "Why'd he come?"
She stared at their hands too. "To make sure I wasn't being held against my will." She felt his start. "Angel, no one's heard from me. No one's heard from you." She tried and failed to catch his gaze.
"What'd you tell him?"
"That I want to be here with you. I want to be wherever you are." Hearing his grunt, she pulled back. She gathered the playing cards and returned them to the carton. Leaving the cigarettes behind, she stood to put the cards away.
He grabbed her hand. "What's that?"
She followed his glare to her scraped knees. Keeping her hand relax, she quietly ordered, "Let. Go."
He didn't. He used his other hand to brush up the leg of her shorts revealing more abrasions. "Were you sparring?" His grip tightened and he bared his teeth a bit.
She yanked her wrist against his thumb breaking his hold. Before she could step back, he was standing and grabbing her bicep.
She yelped, "You can make bruises, but he can't?"
"Yes." His hands tightened keeping her pinned. "If you need to vent and rage against this fucked up situation, use me. Fight me."
She brought her arms in and around jostling and loosening his grip. "I wasn't fighting Will; we were talking — outside. You know, outside, that place you never want me seeing again but haven't said why."
"You went out . . . In my underwear . . ."
She rolled her eyes. "I sat in the alley for like five minutes. It's no big."
"And how many people saw you go to the alley?"
"No one." She squeezed his forearms. "I climbed out the window and back in. Will helped — hence the scrapes." She watched him breathe out a sigh of relief. "I've tried to be patient — like you've always been for me, but I'm ready to beg and bribe you to talk to me." Her lips wavered in a half smile. "I've got $50 in cigarettes right here. Not bad for a crappy liar."
He ran his hands up and down her arms and stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair. "Spike was right to check on you. The fact he's the only one who could, proves it."
"What do you mean?"
"No one knows where we are. I didn't want anyone coming here, and you're right: I don't want you leaving — ever. I know that sounds crazy, and maybe I am now." He scoffed. "I probably am."
Stepping forward, she pulled his hand away from his face and held it. "Talk to me. Is this because my accident wasn't an accident."
"Yes – no." He started to step back, but she wouldn't let him. "I think you were hit by someone who knew your dad; he wanted you to die that day."
"Makes sense." She stroked his cheek whispering, "He'd sent enough threats; time for action."
"I told the police about the packages he sent, but they wouldn't investigate."
"Mom would've covered for him anyway. Maybe Dawn wouldn't have, but the psych hold undermined her credibility as a witness."
"I begged them to put a guard at your door, but I couldn't even get visiting hours stretched. I had to leave you there every day not knowing if you'd survive the night."
"Hank's dead now. Whatever he had over them, whatever he promised them doesn't matter. No one has any motive to follow through. It's over."
"Maybe." He shrugged. "The driver wasn't the only threat . . ."
She pulled his hand to her face and kissed his palm. "Can we talk about this sitting down? I'm all ears and no legs."
Not even glancing at the chairs, he reached for her hand and led her to the bed. He positioned her at the head of the bed propping her up with pillows. He sat further down against the wall.
She held out her hand. "Why so far away?"
"You're going to hate me for telling you this. I'm going to hate me…"
Her hand slowly fell to her lap.
He stared at the space between them. "Spike told me about Dru's time in rehab . . . how during detox, orderlies would grope her and –I thought she was lying, manipulating him into breaking her out. Maybe she was, but still, I started researching abuse in residential facilities. Cases with quadriplegics or coma patients scared the shit should out of me — neglect, mutilation, pregnancies – multiple pregnancies. I couldn't let that happen to you. I couldn't –"
"Angel."
"I practically lived in your room. I washed you every day looking for marks." He looked at her. "I never found any."
"I – thank you."
"Doesn't mean it didn't happen." His gaze fell back to the bed. "It wasn't just criminal stuff. Before Joyce stopped paying her insurance premiums, she wanted your feeding tube removed." His face scrunched. "And she wasn't alone. The idea of you lying there indefinitely bothered your family and friends –mine too. I wasn't your husband. I couldn't fight her legally." He picked at the bedspread. "I threatened her. If she asked the doctors to starve you, I said I'd burn her and your dad alive."
Buffy gasped.
"She knew I meant it."
Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
His words kept flowing. "That's when I started planning to get you out of there. All I thought about was making you safe. Nothing else mattered . . . not even Dawn."
She opened her eyes.
"She left Golden Hills early after a patient attacked her with a knife."
Her eyes watered. "Is she okay?"
"Physically, yes. Giles brought her home with him; that's all I know. I never checked up on her. And in all my conversations with insurance companies, I never brought her up."
"But Giles, he's –"
"Doing everything that should be done. He stepped up when I didn't." He looked at her. "No one was trying to kill her and she can defend herself."
"But I'm getting better now. I'm not helpless."
"So old fears take the place of the new."
She frowned. "I don't understand."
"You've seen the missed calls. Did you listen to voicemails?"
She shook her head.
"Your case was never closed, but now that you're awake, the police are finally investigating. Detective Wood left messages for me and everyone we know. He wants you to come into the station and look at pictures." He shook his head. "I remember being the only one who cared who hit you — talking to witnesses, researching Hank, but then you woke and they died and the details of that night came out. . ."
"There's more?"
"Their last fight was different." He rolled his lips trying hold in the words, but they broke through. "He barely touched her. Neighbors didn't hear yelling or crashes — just a short scream and a single shot. He came home that night planning to kill her. If he'd found you, he would have killed you too."
She raked shaking hands through her hair. She held her head as if holding it together. "What does this have to do with me getting better?"
"You would've been in that house. Knowing how dangerous he was, you wanted to be there. If you could have put yourself in the line of fire that night, you would have."
Her chest tightened. "You think the coma saved my life."
"Tell me you would've called the police instead of confronting him. Tell me you would've run when you saw the gun. Tell me you wouldn't take a bullet for her or anyone else he shot at."
She didn't answer.
His gaze dropped to the blanket between them. "You terrify me."
Her hands fell from her head to the sheet.
Slowly, she crawled across the bed and straddled his lap.
His mouth opened, but devoured his words with a kiss. Firm and intent, her lips drew his soul to the surface. Her hands caressed his neck and scratched his scalp.
His hands roamed under her shirt and shorts.
Their kisses and touches weren't about giving or savoring. They took all they could from the other because they needed; they needed so damn much.
Catching her breath, she kissed along his jaw and ear while he sucked on her neck.
He bit a path to her shoulder making her gasp and hold him closer, tighter.
"Angel."
He thrust his hips up as she ground down.
She started to rock against him and yelped. Her nails dug into his neck before she slid off him.
He rolled with her leaning over her. "Buffy?"
She pressed her face into the bed. The bedspread muffled her groans.
With his hand on her back, he felt how deep she was breathing. Knowing she wouldn't or couldn't answer him, he rubbed her back and waited anxiously. He felt her sob and firmed a kiss against her shoulder. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what was happening.
Gradually, she became silent and still –save for her breathing.
He scooched down to lay close beside her. Still rubbing her back, he asked, "Should I call Dr. Post?"
She rubbed her face against the bed. Finally, her body released its tension. Tilting on her forehead, she lifted her face to look at him. "It's my calf." She brusquely wiped her tears. "The weight or angle pissed them off." Her hand fell to the sheet. "You're right: I don't know my limits." She sighed, "Never have."
"Doesn't mean you don't have them."
She smiled sadly. "Ditto."
He reached for her hand clutching it tight. "I would do it all again and more. To have you here, I would've done anything."
She kissed his knuckle. "Marry me."
His hand tightened around hers.
She kissed him again and he shuddered, "Yes."