A Loss of Pride by Mabel Marsters

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Chapter 9: Crossed Wires

As Buffy sat on the plane for the last leg of her seemingly endless journey to Los Angeles, she wished that Dawn had been able to travel with her. She was increasingly nervous about seeing both Spike and Angel again, especially since there was obviously something going down for Angel to have called at all. It wasn’t until she finally landed that she realised that she had no idea of where to find them. The offices of Wolfram & Hart were out; they’d been left abandoned since the big fight closed them for business. She stood there feeling a little lost until she remembered the hotel where Angel had run his detective agency.

“What was its name?” She thought hard. “The Hyperion, that’s it.”

She walked to the row of cabs and climbed into one. When she told the driver her destination he looked over his shoulder at her.

“The Old Hyperion you mean? Are you sure?”

“Yes, positive,” replied Buffy firmly.

“Okay, but I’m not sure that it’s open anymore.”

“I know - a friend of mine is the …er…caretaker. I’m just meeting him there,” said Buffy, trying to find a plausible reason to go to a closed down hotel.

“Right, the Hyperion it is.”

Not long afterwards they pulled up at its front door.

“Are you sure your friend is here? It’s not a great neighbourhood for a little lady like yourself to be in.”

“Yes, he’s here. Thank you.”

She paid the fare and waited until he had driven away before she approached the door. The place was in darkness and dusk was falling. She rapped on the door as loudly as she could but got no reply. After a brief hesitation she gave it a swift kick and went inside as the door splintered and swung open.

“Angel? Spike? Are you here?” she yelled, her voice echoing in the foyer, “I guess not,” she added, as only silence replied.

She walked up the stairs and made her way along the corridor of the first floor. She was drawn to a door about halfway along on the right hand side. As soon as she opened it she knew that it was Spike’s room even before she spotted his collection of black jeans and t-shirts. She breathed in deeply, catching a hint of his scent, something that she never thought she’d smell again. God how she’d missed it. She went to the bed and lay down, placing her head in the depression left in his pillow.

“Oh Spike, where are you?” she sighed, regretting listening to Dawn and not taking the time to call Angel back. She couldn’t even call Dawn; she was away for a few days on a residential college course.

She got up and went across the hall and into the room obviously used by Angel. Her heart missed a beat when she saw Spike’s duster thrown on the back of a chair. She picked it up. Spike was never without his coat so what was it doing here?

“Oh my God.”

She put her fingers through the tear in the back of it; it was covered with dried blood.

“Where are you?” she screamed in frustration.

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As Angel sat huddled amidst the crates in the hold of the cargo plane bound for Rome he regretted the fact that he no longer had access to the super fast jets with vampire friendly glass in the windows.

One thing he had done before that final battle was that he’d siphoned off some funds, figuring that he could put it to better use than Wolfram & Hart could. Before he’d left LA he’d dropped in at the hospital to check on Spike. He hated to admit it but he was relieved that Spike was being prepped for surgery on his back and so had been unable to see him. Angel went to talk to the doctors about Spike’s continuing care. He wanted to tell them that money wasn’t an issue and that he had to have the best it could buy in every respect.

They had told him that the best option would be for him to go to a specialist nursing home for his rehabilitation, whatever the outcome of the operation. They were certain that he’d do better mentally as well as physically away from the isolation of his hospital room. Being with others in the same situation would help him and family were encouraged to stay with them there too. Angel had told them to organise it and had left a huge wad of bills to cover the costs, pushing aside their protests that they didn’t deal with the financial side.

“So give it to those who do,” he’d growled, “Just make sure he gets the best.”

Angel wondered how the operation had gone. He hoped that Spike was all right. He’d talk some sense into Buffy and with her by his side Spike would surely get better.

He heard the change of tone of the engines and knew they were coming in to land. He’d lost time between the legs of his trip by having to ensure his arrival was in darkness. He waited impatiently until the doors were opened and then sneaked out silently, unseen by any ground staff. Before long he was knocking on the door to Buffy’s apartment. When there was no answer he yanked the door handle up and put his shoulder against the door, half falling inside as it flew open. Angel thanked the stars that no de-invite spell had been issued since he’d tried to see Buffy the last time that he had been in Rome. He glanced around the apartment. In one bedroom he saw that clothes were missing from the closet and some were strewn carelessly on the bed and floor.

“Shit!”

He vamped up in frustration. He should have known that she would come to find Spike. He should have waited for her in LA. He questioned the motive behind his decision to come to Rome. Try as he might he couldn’t help but think that it was so that he could avoid seeing Spike. The expression on his face when he’d refused to bite him was something that he didn’t think he could bear to see again. He reached for the telephone and dialled the Old Hyperion.

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Spike started to come around after the delicate operation the surgeons had performed on the affected vertebrae in his spine. He felt weak and nauseous from the anaesthetic. He groaned as his left hand fisted into the bedclothes. He felt a hand cover his.

“Angel?” he whispered.

“No, it’s just me, Laura,” said the nurse who’d been observing his recovery, “but you’re okay.”

Spike felt so alone. Angel had obviously abandoned him altogether, not even seeing how the operation had gone. Did he even know that he’d had it? He gripped the nurse’s hand, desperate for a little comfort. In all he’d ever experienced he had never been as frightened as he was now. He opened his eyes and glanced up at the nurse whose hand he was still holding. She reminded him a little of his mother.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” he said as another wave of nausea flooded over him.

“You won’t. That’s why we didn’t let you eat anything before surgery. It’s a reaction to the anaesthetic. Just close your eyes and rest a while longer, you’ll feel better when you wake up next time,” she soothed.

His eyes felt heavy and so he did as she suggested and drifted off to sleep again. When he woke some hours later he was aware of two things. He had pain, quite a lot of pain and he felt the urgent need to urinate. He fumbled for the buzzer near his left hand and pressed it to summon help. The nurse who responded to his call was the one that he’d seen earlier.

“You look a little more awake now,” said Laura softly.

“I need to take a piss, the um…has the…” He waved his hand to indicate the catheter, “um…come out?” He was too embarrassed to meet her eye.

“It was removed before the operation, the reason being that we had hoped it wouldn’t be needed afterwards.” Spike glanced up at her. “The fact that you can feel that you need to urinate is probably telling us something, don’t you think?” She smiled at him and passed him a metal object resembling a bottle.

He looked at it for a moment and then realised that up to now he hadn’t felt anything in that department ever since the Polgara had skewered him.

“Does that mean…? I can…? Oh God.”

He stopped as he struggled to choke back tears, taking in the implications of what she’d just said to him. He’d regained control of his bladder. He’d hated being incontinent. At least now he had a little of his dignity back.

“Er…I can’t while you’re here,” he said quietly, cheeks colouring slightly.

Laura smiled at him, “I’ll just go and get the doctor then.” She squeezed his hand and left him alone.

Spike put the bottle under the sheets and relieved himself, sighing as he did. He put the bottle on the bedside table and thought how much you take things for granted all the time until you can’t do them. He looked at his legs and found that he daren’t try to move them. He was terrified that there’d be no change. He wondered if the pain he felt now was a good sign? Or had things gone even more wrong? He felt close to panicking when luckily he was distracted by the arrival of the doctor.

“Hello Mr. Williams. How are you feeling? Laura tells me that you now have bladder control?”

Spike nodded. He found it uncomfortable when they just talked in such a matter of fact manner about what he could or couldn’t do.

“We hoped that would be the case. The damaged vertebrae were pressing on your spinal nerve but it wasn’t severed, which is a very good thing indeed. I just want to do a couple of basic tests. Is that all right?”

Again Spike just nodded.

“Can you please try to wiggle your toes for me?” asked the doctor, once he’d pulled the bed covers off Spike’s legs.

Spike closed his eyes-he couldn’t look. He tried to move them, but he wasn’t sure whether he had or not as he couldn’t feel it. The doctor noticed his closed eyes.

“You may want to see this,” he said gently.

Spike glanced up at the doctor for a second before looking at his feet. The toes on both of his feet were moving, only slightly and the right moved less than the left, but they were moving. Spike stifled a sob and rubbed his left hand across his face.

“Does that mean…?” he mumbled.

“It means that we’ve relieved the pressure and hopefully as the swelling reduces you’ll get more feeling and movement. It’s too soon to know for sure how much you will improve but this is the first step on what will be a long road to recovery, Mr. Williams.”

Spike looked at his feet again. “Stupid to feel so happy about being able to wiggle my toes when I still can’t lift the soddin’ things off the bed,” he thought, “But like the Doc said it’s more than I had before.”

“It hurts,” said Spike, reluctant as always to show weakness.

“I’ll increase your medication. The nerves are protesting at being squeezed for so long.”

“Thanks,” replied Spike.

The doctor didn’t add that the operation would have been done immediately if it had been thought that he would survive. He glanced at Spike before leaving and wondered how he had managed to pull through. What had made him able to defy the odds that were stacked against him?

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Buffy raced down the stairs when she heard the telephone ringing. She followed the sound into the office but as her fingertips touched it, it fell silent.

“Damn.”

She stared at it willing it to ring again. To her surprise it did. She grabbed it.

“Hello.”

“Is this Angel Investigations?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Er…yeah,” “Still calls it Angel’s huh? I bet Spike just loves that.”

“Can I speak to Spike please?”

“No, he’s not here.” “Why the hell is a woman calling for Spike?” Buffy thought jealously, “Soon find out.”

“Oh…um, well unless he gets in real soon it will be too late,” continued the woman, sounding a little distressed, “He told me to call if the Niarrol demon threatened me again and the creature’s outside now trying to get in. He told me that he’d kill it for me.”

“Why is it trying to get in?” asked Buffy curiously. It wasn’t a demon she was familiar with.

“It wants to take our baby back to its dimension for it to be given as a ritual sacrifice and I can’t let him do that. Please get Spike to help me.” She started to cry.

Buffy knew that until Angel and Spike came back there was nothing she could do. So she decided that a bit of demon slaying was just what the doctor ordered.

“Give me your address and directions and your demon problem will be solved.”

Two minutes later, armed with an axe and a short sword from the weapons room, Buffy jogged out of the hotel. She’d left a note on the desk in case the two vampires came back while she was out. She didn’t hear the telephone starting to ring as she closed the busted in door as securely as she could.

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Angel put he phone back down in frustration – it was busy. She must be there. He redialled – still busy. He growled, eyes flaring amber. He was exhausted from the journey and hadn’t eaten in over a day. He sat on the couch and counted off five minutes before trying the hotel again. This time it rang but no one answered. What if Buffy hadn’t gone there at all? It could have just been someone leaving a message.

“Why didn’t I leave a freaking note just in case? Should’ve known that she couldn’t stay away from him.”

He decided that there was nothing more he could do until he had some sleep. He couldn’t face sleeping in her bedroom and so settled for the couch. It wasn’t long before he was asleep.

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Buffy plodded back into the hotel a couple of hours later. She had duly despatched the Niarrol demon once she’d established the fact that it was really a demon, because on first sight it looked a lot like Johnny Depp. In which case Buffy couldn’t really understand why the woman had been so worried – child sacrifice aside, of course. However, one swift punch to the nose and the glamour faded, revealing its true appearance, which was more like a large ape.

“Eew! What sort of woman would have sex with that?” shuddered Buffy in disgust.

She made short work of killing it. Thankfully the body had disappeared as it hit the ground so she hadn’t had to worry about disposal. It was always a bonus when that happened.

She went back up to Spike’s room, too tired to shower, and lay on his bed fully clothed, savouring the fact that the blankets had been near to his body not so long ago. She was soon fast asleep.

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Spike couldn’t sleep. He felt restless and would have been pacing about the room if he could. The fact that he couldn’t didn’t help his state of mind. Despite the increased medication he was experiencing shooting pains through his lower back and legs. He could still barely move his toes but could now feel the bed covers on his legs. They felt like they were too heavy, that they were crushing him, although he knew that was impossible. As another shaft of pain hit him he gritted his teeth and started to wonder if no movement and no pain was a better thing than hardly any movement and lots of pain.

A nurse walked into his room.

“Still awake?”

“Yeah,” replied Spike, rolling his eyes, “Stupid question.”

She checked the chart at the bottom of the bed then glanced up at Spike, noticing the sweat beading on his brow.

“Are the meds not helping with the pain?”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” replied Spike, “It’s getting worse.” “Bugger pride, I can’t take this all night.”

“I’ll go and get a doctor. I won’t be long.”

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later she reappeared with a doctor following her into the room.

“Mr. Williams, I can’t give you any more pain relief but I can give you something to make you sleep. How does that sound?”

“Sounds bleeding great,” sighed Spike.

The doctor smiled and deftly injected the sedative into Spike’s vein. Spike sank back into the pillows, gratefully welcoming oblivion.

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