A Loss of Pride by Mabel Marsters

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Chapter 6: It’s Too Much…

The doctor closed the door softly behind him as he left the room. He shook his head gently as he walked away. He hated this part of his job – the part where he really could offer no hope of a ‘happy ever after’ for the patient. In fact he was amazed that he was still alive. He regretted telling the man’s friend about the consequences should the patient wake up. Why give him more to worry about? But the look on his face had prompted him to tell the truth. However, as he settled in his chair in his small office, he thought it would be merely a matter of time before Spike Williams died. What a waste of a life? The streets were getting more dangerous each year. Heaven knows what sort of weapon had been used on him. It appeared to be something akin to a spear.

The surgery that had been undertaken had been to remove his spleen which had been ruptured and was the primary cause for the catastrophic blood loss he’d suffered. A kidney had also been damaged but had been saved. The broken arm had been repaired with a plate and several screws. The head injury was also of concern, a depressed fracture of the skull. All in all things were looking very bleak indeed. The doctor questioned his decision to work in the ER. Bad news was more often given out than good. He sighed and poured himself yet another coffee from his machine – it was going to be a long night.

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Angel sat with his head in his hands. He could barely look at Spike; it hurt too much to see him like this. Even when technically dead, Spike was always so full of life, annoyingly full of life most of the time.

Spike’s right arm had been broken at the elbow and was encased in a plaster cast from shoulder to wrist and held up in some sort of a sling. Angel glanced at Spike; his face was relatively unscathed and he looked more peaceful than Angel had ever seen. Had he given up? Was he fighting to live?

A nurse walked in, startling Angel. She quietly and efficiently checked Spike’s vital signs, wrote them on his chart, and then left. Angel picked up the chart when she’d gone. There had been no change. But surely that was good? If he were going to die wouldn’t he deteriorate first?

“Come on, Spike, don’t give up. Don’t throw away your gift,” Angel murmured.

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Four weeks passed. There was little change but Angel could tell by the way the doctor looked as he checked him over that he was amazed by the fact that he was still alive at all. They had taken him off the ventilator a week ago as he could now breath unaided, but other than that Spike remained unconscious, unmoving. Not dead but not really alive either.

Angel had barely left his bedside - only the need for food took him away from Spike. The nurses didn’t know how he hadn’t succumbed to exhaustion, but being a vampire, the odd catnap in the chair was enough to keep him going.

As time had passed Angel kept thinking about telling Buffy but so far hadn’t had the courage to ring. They hadn’t spoken since before the big fight.

He took Spike’s left hand in his, as he often did.

“Oh God, Spike. Wake up. I miss you,” he whispered.

“Let go of my ‘and, yer great poofter.” A weak, tremulous voice replied.

“Spike!” Angel reached out and pressed the buzzer to alert the nurse.

“Peaches,” said Spike wheezily, “I mean it, gerrof my ‘and.” But he squeezed it tightly before he allowed Angel to let it go. “So, I’m not dead then?”

“No, not dead. What were you thinking, you idiot, taking on those Polgara on your own?” His relief at Spike waking up and being lucid made him snarl.

Spike closed his eyes at the memory. He thought he would have been killed. He wanted it. He’d have died a hero once more, saving innocents.

“Welcome back,” said the nurse as she walked briskly in, “The doctor will be here soon. Are you comfortable?”

“Wot?” said Spike. She was too loud, talking too quickly.

“Are you in any pain?”

Spike thought about it for a moment, gathering his jumbled thoughts. He tried to bring his right hand up to rub through his hair, it wouldn’t move. He panicked.

“My arm! I can’t move it,” he said desperately.

He turned his head and sagged against his pillows with relief when he saw it was encased in a plaster case and held steady in a sling.

“Oh.”

He smiled weakly and looked at Angel in embarrassment. He was puzzled when Angel wouldn’t meet his eye. He was just about to ask him why when the doctor walked in.

“Hello, Mr. Williams. Glad to see you’ve finally decided to join us again.”

“I’ll be back later,” blurted Angel as he bolted for the door. He couldn’t stand to hear what the doctor was going to say to Spike.

Spike’s heart nearly stopped. What had gotten Angel so emotional?

“Are you in any pain?” asked the doctor.

Spike stared up at him. “Why do yer all keep asking me that? No, I’m not in pain. That’s good, right?”

The doctor hesitated.

“That’s not good?” asked Spike, his voice wavering.

His breath caught in his throat as he suddenly remembered the bone skewer emerging from his abdomen. It hadn’t hurt then either.

“Oh Christ, no.”

He stared at his blanket-covered legs. He tried to move them but nothing happened. He glanced back up at the doctor.

“I can’t…they won’t…”

“Just try to remain calm, Mr. Williams.”

“Spike,” he corrected automatically.

“Spike, you were very seriously injured. You defied the odds by not dying…”

“Wish I had,” interrupted Spike bitterly.

“Er…your spine has been damaged but the picture may not be as bleak as it first appears. Further surgery now you’re awake is an option. We won’t know things for certain until we do more tests.”

“Wot else do yer need to know? I can’t fucking move my legs, isn’t that enough?”

The doctor didn’t react to his outburst. “The tests,” he continued patiently, “will tell us more about whether it will be permanent or not and to what extent if it is.”

“So I might…they might…?”

“We’ll know more in the next few days. Just try to rest now and I’ll be back shortly to get started on some of them, okay?”

As he left the room Spike closed his eyes.

“Not again. Please, not now that I can’t heal.” He tried to push himself up into a sitting position but with only one arm he found he couldn’t manage it.

“Bollocks,” he sighed.

He lay back against the pillow and the tears that had threatened since he’d first tried to move his legs began to fall silently down his cheeks.

“It’s too much.”

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Just less than an hour later the doctor reappeared. He smiled sympathetically at Spike who promptly decided that he hated him.

“Now Mr. Williams…”

“My soddin’ name’s Spike,” he snarled.

“Okay, Spike. I need to run a few basic tests. Is that all right?”

Spike nodded. What else could he do?

The doctor pulled the bed covers off of his legs. Spike looked at them curiously. There wasn’t so much as a bruise on them.

The doctor ran his hands over them, every now and then asking if Spike could feel anything. Spike had very faint feeling in them when the doctor pricked his skin. But no reflexes in his feet were found when the doctor tested them.

“It’s still early. We’ll start physiotherapy tomorrow and see what happens in the next few days. We’ll also do more x-rays of your spine to see if the fractured bones are pressing on the spinal column.” The doctor didn’t add that the operation hadn’t been done as yet because they had thought that he wouldn’t survive.

Spike just nodded, not meeting his eye. He noticed a tube poking out from beneath his hospital gown; as he watched a clear yellow fluid flowed down it. He followed its path to a bag suspended at the side of the bed.

“Fucking hell.”

He reached down with his left hand, realising that it led to a catheter in his penis.

“I can’t even tell when I’m having a piss. Oh Jesus. Does that mean…? Will I be able to...? No, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.” He squeezed his eyes shut as more tears pricked at them.

“As I said before, it’s still early yet, and things may still improve from what they are now. I’m sure that you will still be able to father children but …”

“I won’t be able to shag, will I?”

The doctor winced at his choice of words. “It is too soon to draw any conclusions. There are drugs now that may help in these situations but the future may not be as bleak as you see it at the moment. Just take one day at a time, Spike. I’ll leave you to rest. Just press the buzzer if you need anything.”

Spike didn’t reply and kept his eyes downcast as the doctor covered his useless legs with the blankets. He was almost at the door before Spike spoke.

“Can you help me to sit up, please?” His voice was quiet and his cheeks flushed pink with shame at being so helpless.

“Certainly, the bed will raise up. Here are the controls.”

He showed Spike what buttons to press and the top of the bed elevated until Spike was sitting up. The doctor left the remote control for the TV on the table near Spike’s left hand.

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