Stupid, stupid, stupid! Damn it, he’d known better than to believe Dru when she’d called him her one and only. It hadn’t stopped her from cheating in the first place, so why would it this time? Damned woman and her eyes, and her coos and her infidelity. He’d been a one-woman man from the beginning, knowing what type of world Dru lived in, and yet she’d still slept with that poofter ‘Chaos.’ And then laughed about it.

He needed a drink. A strong one. No, that wasn’t true. He didn’t need a drink.

He needed Buffy.

Buffy with her pretty hazel eyes, Buffy with her snarky attitude and her wide, soft smiles, and the understanding way she’d run her fingers through his hair… Buffy with hair like sunshine and skin that was soft as silk. He needed her. Needed his best friend.

Spike hadn’t seen her in over a year though. Didn’t mean he never talked to her when he got the chance. Hell, he spent more money on long distance phone calls and webcam chats that lasted for six hours then he did on the stupid school he’d been given his scholarship to. Though not until he’d discussed it with Buffy first, made sure she was okay with the idea of him being half-way across the world.

He should never have left Sunnydale. Never should have left his girl to face her senior year of high school without him around. He could have been a freshman at UC Sunnydale, which was just a 20 minute drive away from her house. But he’d wanted to try England. He’d been offered the scholarship, and he’d wanted to try it. Poncy William had been known for his smarts, after all. Not the looks though, cause what woman in her right mind would want to date a senior who still wore tweed and had glasses that had been out of style since the Victorian Era?

But then, Buffy had always thought him cute. Had told him so on a number of occasions, actually, whenever he’d been hit by a sudden depression because of his lack of finesse. She’d even gotten the entire cheer leading squad to withhold dating privileges from the jocks for the entire time they’d insulted him. Typical for his girl. Buffy had never believed in high school stereotypes, and had refused to hang out with anyone who tried to get her to think otherwise.

Mind, that was before he’d gotten suspended after fighting when some idiots had insinuated his girl was anything less than the lady she was. Buffy was one topic that had brought out the Spike in William even from the beginning, and the school populace had never dared speak a word against her again. Not when he was in hearing distance, at least.

Spike chuckled then, remembering Buffy’s reaction when he’d told her about his new persona. He’d been in England by then, had already met and been corrupted by Dru. Not that Buffy had ever thought much of her. She’d never told him why, and he had thought it odd the one and only time mentioned it. It was unlike Buffy to be judgmental, and she had never seen Drusilla in all the time he’d been with her.


FLASHBACK

“It just doesn’t make sense to me, Spike.” Buffy’s frown over the webcam was pixelated, her legs drawn up to her chest, held in place by her arms as her chin rested on her knee. “I thought you were into girls like Cecily. When did you get a fetish for vampires?”

“Oi! Don’ go knockin’ on Dru, Summers. She’s a goddess, she is.” Buffy needed to like Drusilla. He couldn’t do this if his girl didn’t like her. “Made a man out ‘f poncy ol’ William, she did.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, and she reeled as if he’d slapped her before her eyes narrowed in dark suspicion. “What do you mean, made a man out of you? Will—“

“’S Spike, luv.” He ground out sourly.

“William.” Damn. She had that look on her face. The one that meant she was getting defensive, usually of him. “I’m not talking to Spike, I’m talking to Will. You know, that guy whose my best friend that I’ve known since I was, like, six?”

He smiled. “Seven.”

“Whatever.” Knew he could get a grin, though it was gone the next second. “It’s my best friend I wanna talk to.”

He felt his heart clench in his chest, panic bringing a desperate edge to his voice. “Buffy, ‘m still me. I’m still your Will.” He wasn’t even thinking about Drusilla anymore, didn’t care to either. She could call and dump him tomorrow, and it wouldn’t be anything compared to what he’d feel if Buffy dropped him. “Nothin’s gonna change that, pet. Nothin’ in the world.”

The other blonde sighed, quirking her lips before the unhappy smile disappeared. “I know. I just…” She wouldn’t look at him, was staring off to the side.

“Buffy?” He couldn’t remember seeing her like this, ever. “Love, talk to me.”

“I don’t like her, Spike.” She wasn’t looking at him, so she didn’t see him wince. He didn’t like this, not one bloody bit. “And I don’t mean that she’s helped you come out of your shell. I just don’t like her. I don’t like that you seem to think she’s made a man out of you when there was nothing wrong with you in first place.”

Spike growled, defensive, in the back of his throat. “Yeah, like poncy William was such a cool guy.”

“William is a Great. Man. And you’ll have to excuse me for refusing to think otherwise.”

END FLASHBACK


That was the one and only time Buffy had ever expressed her displeasure with his choice of a girlfriend. But she’d listened when he talked about her, given him advice when he’d asked for it, had been honest without being conceding from the beginning about whether or not she thought Drusilla was cheating.

Silence had always been Buffy’s answer.

Course, then she’d met Peaches, and nothing could have prepared him for that reaction. For days, ‘Angel’ was all she’d talk about. How tall he was, how broad shouldered, how mysterious, how mature. Angel, Angel, Angel, Angel. Sodding, fucking Angel. Stupid wanker probably wasn’t even that good-looking. Definitely not good enough for Buffy. No man in the world was good enough for his girl.

And really, it would have been nice to have some idea as to where all this anger had come from. It wasn’t as if Buffy hadn’t dated before, and while he’d always believed in his “break her heart, I’ll break your neck” theory, something about this particular bloke got under skin. Made him scowl at angel statues, had him seeing red at just the thought of him anywhere near his girl. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he still had no idea what the wanker really looked like. Course, Buffy still hadn’t seen Dru, and Spike had been dating her far longer than Buffy had been dating Peaches.

Not that it mattered. It was still him Buffy spent most of her free time talking to, and she barely got to see Angel anyway, with him being a college junior.

Gah. Hate, hate, hate! Stupid wanker.

He missed his girl, missed her something fierce. Missed hugging her, missed sitting with her, missed sitting on her bed and laughing at cheesy Disney movies. Missed belting out the lyrics to old songs, missed falling asleep while they watched the stars, missed waking up with her in him arms. Missed kissing her hair and stroking her cheek, missed cuddling with her and holding her and antagonizing her and fighting with her and God, he missed—

He missed loving her.

Spike paid no attention to his sudden onslaught of tears. He had no need to. But the heaving sobs where new. Those hadn’t started until the other night. No idea what had triggered them, except that he had officially left Drusilla, and Buffy had been right. She was always right, and bugger all, he needed her. Needed her badly, because the tears wouldn’t stop until he saw her again.

“Buffy…”

When she opened her eyes, it wasn’t to a painful white or the recognizable smell of a hospital room. She didn’t see the worried faces of the doctors clamoring around her, didn’t hear the voice of her mother and her boyfriend calling out to her.

There was no pain, where she was. No hurt, no nothing. Just a vast, endless sea of wheat, and a sky straining to be just the perfect shade of blue. Envious, it seemed, of the eyes that did not see her now. And look, just there. A cloud, wispy, gossamer as it spread like the finest, clearest white silk to a sky that knew no end. But there were no lips curling around them, no petal soft flesh lifting upwards to form an adoring smile.

The wheat, though… It grew from the ground, beneath her. It was a piece of the earth, a measure of support from the soft soil that bore it. And the ground was compliant, but resolute. It would grow what was asked, but only if it was needed. Truth was a hard thing to bear, but the ground did so with pride. It would be ignored then, because it refused to grow what was wanted. But if paid attention to…

The ground never bared anything more sweetly then when it was tended to by a loving hand.

The sun was warm, she decided. And as she stretched her white, red-stained clothes beneath her, she muttered aloud, “If only William could see me now…”

*~

“Joyce, I don’t think now is the time for this.”

“Then what other time would you suggest, Hank? Because that’s my baby girl in there, and nothing’s changing! Something should be happening, and it’s not! My little girl needs to open her eyes, and she’s NOT!!”

“Don’t shout at me, you know I had nothing to do with this!”

“…”

“Get that look off your face, Joyce. She’s not just your daughter, she’s mine to!”

“Maybe when it’s convenient for you, SURE—!!”

“You DARE to—!”

“ENOUGH!!”

“…”

“… Angel, we—“

“NO! No, I don’t want to hear it! Ever since she was brought in, all you two have done is argue, and blame each other, when you both know that neither one of you is at fault!”

A gulp of air.

Restraint.

Pain, so sharp and to the point it made him weak at the knees.

“… Have either of you even gotten in touch with him yet? Let him know what’s going on? That his best friend might not wake tomorrow? Or the day after, or the next day, or the next?!”

He hated this.

It should be his voice she woke to, his touch that was responded to.

But even with as much as it hurt, he loved her too much to sit back and watch.

“Make the call.”

“Angel—“

“Make the God damned fucking call, Mr. Summers. Or so help me, I’ll break one of your bones for every minute you refuse to.”

And he would do it, too.

She wouldn’t die because of his anger, his rage, his jealousy.

She would live, because the world was nothing without her in it.

She had to.

She had to.

She had to.

*~

It had been at least two weeks, with no word from her. Not a damned word. No phone call, no letter, no e-mail, no messages in their web-chats. Nothing. Not a sodding fucking thing.

Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, just that it was something. One thing that had never let Spike down before was his gut instinct, and it was the same feeling that drove his mind now. He’d tried getting a hold of Hank and Joyce, but they either never answered or hung up before he could get a word in.

It was almost pathetic really, that if he’d had the Peaches’ number, he’d have called him to. Just to ask about his girl, because he hadn’t heard from her in two weeks, and he was going out of his mind.

It was dark in his room, though his closed curtains where the cause of that. It helped him think, made it easier to concentrate on keeping calm.

Not that keeping calm was an option, but he had to try something.

His phone buzzed from its place on his dresser, and he fell off the bed in his effort to reach it before the third ring. “Buffy?!”

“… Is this William?”

A male’s voice, and not one he recognized. “Name’s Spike, mate. Who’s this?”

“Spike? But the number was listed under William Pratt.”

Spike sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes. “Yeah, s’me. Now who the bleeding hell is this?”

“Angel. This is Angel. Look, William… Spike, whatever your name is—“

“It’s Spike you bloody poofter, ge’ it straight!”

“Whatever!” There was a pause from Angel, and a small period of static indicating a deep sigh. “Something’s happened.”

There was a sinking feeling in his gut, like a rug had been yanked out from under him. Something was roaring in the back ground, though he couldn’t be sure what. “Lemme guess, Buffy broke it off with you. So sorry mate, but ‘m not the one to call ‘bout how to get her back, ‘cause frankly—“

“She’s in the hospital! There was a shooting at her father’s company, and was caught in the crossfire. She’s unconscious, she’s… Buffy’s in a coma. We thought… I thought… Maybe, if she hears your voice, or something, I don’t know, maybe she’ll wake up. It’s like… It’s like she’s dead, and the doctors aren’t sure when she’ll wake up—“

‘No no no no NO!!! She’s just fine, put her on the phone! Let me talk to my girl!’

He hung up the phone, his grip around it tightening by the second, until the plastic broke in his hand. With a barely discernible hiss and a swoon, he dropped the plastic shards to the ground, ignorant of his now bleeding hand. His insides felt cold, as if someone had torn him open and shoved buckets of ice inside him. It would account for the sudden heaviness of his body, and the way his skin didn’t feel right. He wanted to scratch at it, tear himself limb from limb, because nothing felt the way it was supposed to. Nothing was right, and his mind refused to register his closed eyes as he fell to his knees in despair.

*~

Angel cursed silently, snapping the phone shut and chucking it at one of the chairs. With an aggravated sigh, he sat in the other chair, running his hands through his hair before holding his head in them. Abruptly, he looked up, his eyes shiny with tears as he gazed at his girlfriend.

She was so pale… As if the walls had sucked out all her color. Buffy’s face was unmarred, hey eyes closed as if sleeping. There was no movement behind her eyelids, and he wasn’t sure if that was normal. Should her eyes be moving? But coma patients couldn’t move as they slept, he knew that, which meant they probably shouldn’t be. But didn’t coma patients dream? He’d read that somewhere…

It didn’t matter. Angel sighed again, reaching out to take Buffy’s hand in his. Her skin was chilly. He thought it was because of how cold the room was, but he couldn’t be sure. And moving the blankets was out of the question, because then he might jar her arm, and she was so delicate the IV needle might move, and he wouldn’t know what to do…

This place was driving him insane, and he didn’t know what it would take to stop it.