A/N Betad by seapealsh and dawnofme
Banner by dawnofme

This is my first fanficion - posted Aug 07 on ff.net and elsewhere. I thought I'd dust it off and post it here. Posting TWO chapters per day - so make sure you don't get muddled! The one with an odd number is the second one:D




Chapter Seven


Out of Hospital


The next morning Giles paid Spike’s medical bill, wincing at its size. Couldn’t have done this in England, could you? Where the treatment is free.


Four hours and about eight properties later, Giles found the perfect house. It stood on a good sized plot in a secluded avenue. Two stories high, with lots of trees that provided privacy and a back yard that was surrounded by a high wall, so no neighbours could see in. He signed the lease on the spot. It was furnished sparsely but was clean and comfortable enough.


He found Andrew back at the hotel. He’d bought clothes for Spike and also all the provisions they needed for moving into the house.


*~*~*~*


For Spike the day passed slowly. Helen had called in before her shift but he’d still been asleep and so he’d missed her. When the nurse came with his pills, he pretended to take them, but spat them out as soon as he was alone. For the first time since the coma, he was actually drug free. He was a bit nervous about not taking them but he felt things were finally dropping into place and he needed his head to be a clear as possible. So he repeated his subterfuge each time his meds were offered. Images still burned in his mind but he’d started to slow them down and put them in order. The one thing he didn’t think about, if he could help it, was his heart. He just didn’t know what to make of that.


Helen decided not to go to see Spike after work. She wanted to get hold of the physiotherapist before he went home, to get a list of exercises that Spike could do to improve his left leg and general fitness.


*~*~*~*



Spike was lying on the bed when he heard footsteps coming towards his room, accompanied by a strange squeaking noise. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet dangling just short of the floor.


The door swung open and the first thing he saw was the explanation of the squeak, a wheelchair pushed by Andrew, with Giles and Jake following behind.


The doctor approached Spike.


“Well, Spike, it’s time for you to go. Are you still sure this is what you want to do?” he asked.


Spike nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Without the drugs dulling his senses, he’d spent the afternoon feeling agitated and restless but he made sure he hadn’t shown it to any of the nurses. He’d had enough of the four walls of this room and longed to be out of it.


“You know you can reach me here at anytime if you’re worried,” said Jake, directing his words to Giles. He looked back at Spike. “Right, all you need is take your meds - they won’t knock you out, get changed into something a little more suitable and you can go. Everything else has been done.”


Damn it, no way will I be able to spit the tablets out with Jake there watching. Spike reached out and took the little cup containing the pills and the glass of water. Resisting the urge to throw both back at Jake, he put the pills in his mouth and swallowed them down.


“Why the chair?” he asked. “I’m not a total bloody cripple.” He struggled to keep his voice even as he remembered the time that he had spent in one after Buffy caused a church organ to crash down on him and his ex lover, the vampire Drusilla. He’d hated that bloody chair! Buffy! He swiftly put her out of his mind.


“Hospital policy,” answered Jake. “Our rules mean we deliver you to the door in this.”


“Oh, okay. Suppose that’s all right then.”


Andrew stepped towards him.


“I got you some clothes. I hope they’re okay. I mean they’ll make do ‘til you can get out and about and get what you want.”


He offered a couple of bags to Spike, who took them and put them on the bed.


“Ta,” he said. “Can I have some privacy then?” he added as the three men just stood there.


“Of course, of course,” blustered Giles and they left Spike alone in the room.


Spike took hold of the heaviest bag and tipped its contents onto the bed, next to where he sat. Out fell a long black leather coat. It was battered and scuffed and it looked like there was still some of his blood on it. It had a tear on the left arm, which corresponded to where the break had been. He picked it up and held it close to himself. God, the memories it evoked! All of a sudden he was glad he’d taken the drugs to blunt things down a bit. He’d had it for thirty years and had barely gone a day without wearing it until now.


He put it back down on the bed and saw that there was a pair of black boots too, higher than ankle length, again familiar and equally as battered.


He opened the second bag, worried as to what Andrew might find suitable for him, but he needn’t have. It held a pair of black jeans, a black T shirt and a black long sleeved shirt, plus some underwear.

Thank God for that. I wouldn’t have put it past the boy to have bought pink!


He changed into the clothes, grunting with the effort of reaching to put the sock on his left foot, the injured leg not able to bend far enough. He eventually got it on and stood up, sliding his feet into his boots. He decided not to try to fasten them, appalled at how weak he felt. He picked up his coat and limped to the door that was still ajar.


He stepped through it and out onto the ward. Andrew hurried over to his side with the wheelchair.


“Your chariot awaits, kind sir!” he said with a theatrical bow.


Spike smiled at him and sat in it gratefully, knowing that the way he felt at the moment he’d not be certain of making it to the door of the ward let alone the exit door of the hospital.


Andrew pushed the chair and Giles walked beside Spike.


“You’re okay?” he asked, putting a hand on Spike’s shoulder and trying not to grimace as he felt the bones sharp beneath the cloth of the shirts.


“Yeah,” said Spike, hands fiddling with the coat on his lap. He was starting to feel a little woozy as the drugs kicked in.


They left the ward and walked along the corridors to the elevator. No one spoke, each lost in their own thoughts. When they got to the hospital’s entrance, Giles left Andrew with Spike whilst he went to bring the car round for them.


Andrew prattled on, telling Spike about the house they were going to. Spike just let the words wash over him.


“Helen!” he exclaimed, cutting into Andrew’s diatribe. “Helen didn’t come. Why didn’t she come? I need...I want…”


“It’s okay,” soothed Andrew. “She’s coming to the house tomorrow night. Don’t worry, she hasn’t abandoned you.”


“Good,” said Spike, his hand absently strayed to the cheek that she’d kissed the night before.


Giles appeared at the entrance with the car and got out to help Spike into the back seat. Spike leant his head back on the rest and closed his eyes. The movement of the car and the flashing of the street lamps as they drove along made him feel nauseous.


Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in the driveway of what would be their home for the next few months. Giles and Andrew helped Spike into the house. He leant on them heavily as they walked up the three steps to the front door, his limp pronounced. They guided him to the sofa and he sank back in its cushions gratefully.


“Are you up to telling us what happened to you before the hospital?” asked Giles. “Did you see what happened to the others?”


Spike visibly flinched as a sharp shaft of pain went through his heart. He was glad of the drugs’ anaesthetising effect as he remembered his lost friends. He and Angel had always argued but they’d known each other since 1880 and shared lots of times, good and bad.


“They’re gone, they’re all gone,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how the bloody hell I survived at all. I was sure I was in Hell, laid there attached to machines, feeling my heart beating. Didn’t know what to think. Then I clocked that nurse and things got even more mixed up. I dunno whether it was the drugs or me, but the memories got the better of me and I guess I just kinda gave up.” He looked embarrassed.


He went on to tell Andrew and Giles of Angel’s plan to take on the senior partners, knowing they’d wreak revenge on the team. He told of the army of demons that fell on them in the alley, of Angel being turned to dust by the dragon he tried to slay. Gunn was cut down by a demon’s axe. Illyria fought like a wildcat, fuelled by her grief at the loss of Wesley, until the fatal blow was struck.


“Last I remember,” continued Spike. “I was fighting a Veragos demon who had a bloody great sword. He swung it at my head and that was it ‘til I woke up in the hospital. What’s going on with me, Giles? I can’t take much more. I’ve died in the Hellmouth only to be spat out as a ghost, then I’m corporeal again, now this! How come everyone else is dead and my bloody heart is beating? Why wasn’t I a pile of dust if I was dead?” He sagged back into his seat, exhausted by the effort of talking.


“You weren’t dead, Spike. An unconscious vampire would appear dead with no breathing or pulse. Your wounds weren’t fatal,” said Giles.


“I thought I was going to starve. I couldn’t really ask for some blood when I was in there now, could I? Don’t suppose you’ve got some? This vampire with a soul and now a sodding beating heart needs sustenance.”


“We’ve been thinking about that since we found you,” said Giles. “I don’t think you’ll be wanting blood unless it’s running out of a rare steak.”


He handed Spike a small square object.


“What do you make of that, Spike?”


With a puzzled look he took it from Giles. It was just a piece of wood in a frame.


“What do you mean?”


“Turn it over."


He did, his eyes widened with astonishment, and his hands trembled, nearly dropping it.


“Well, what do you think now, Spike?” asked Giles with a smile.


After a pause Spike replied, “I think I need a bleeding hair cut - I look like a poofter!”


All three laughed. Once they’d got their breath back, Spike, a grave look on his face, said, “Does this mean…?” He couldn’t finish.


“You’re human!” exclaimed Andrew. “We don’t know how but that’s what you are. You’re human again.”


“So how come you collected me at night then? If I’m all human, why didn’t you let me go out into the sun? Why did you make me stay there all day?”


“We weren’t sure we’d get the chance alone to tell you, and since they’d said you’d fought them rather than go into a beam of sunlight we decided it was best not to do it there. Let’s face it, Spike, you were acting pretty odd,” said Giles.


“Yeah, well, you’d act bloody odd if you’d been unconscious for three months then you have everybody going on about getting your heart beating when it hadn’t beat in 120 years! I thought I’d gone mad again." He grinned ruefully. "I suppose I did for a bit.”


He couldn’t resist looking at his reflection. He’d forgotten how intensely blue his eyes were. He’d bleached his hair since punk rock had hit the scene in the seventies, but had never seen it. Now, after three and a half months, it grew in two-tone unruly curls. His cheekbones were accentuated by his hollow cheeks. He took in the scar on his forehead. He’d been able to feel that he had a scar in his eyebrow since he’d killed his first slayer but now the scar stretched from his left eye up to his hairline.


“So if I’m not so weak due to being starved of blood, what’s going on? Please don’t tell me this is how all you humans feel?”


“We humans,” corrected Andrew, with a grin. He couldn’t believe it – Spike was alive, properly alive.


“I think,” said Giles, “that perhaps some of the weight loss is due to the stress your body’s been under. The metabolism probably went a bit haywire at having blood pumping through its veins after a century’s break. You were badly injured, Spike, and since you were in a coma your broken leg hasn’t regained its strength due to inactivity. Hopefully we’ll get you a lot fitter than you are now, but it may take time. You no longer have a vampire constitution that comes complete with speedy powers of healing. Now lets get something to eat and go to bed - you look exhausted.”


“You’re not wrong, Rupe,” said Spike. “Look, I know we’ve not always, well, ever, seen eye to eye and I am glad of your help, but why, exactly, are you helping me?”


“You died saving the world. I think some payback now is in order, don’t you?” said Giles, adding to himself, and to make up for doubting you and trying to kill you.


Spike looked at Giles and Giles knew that he knew exactly what he’d been thinking. They briefly nodded to each other and that was it. There’d be no further mention of past ills by either one.


Andrew had been busy in the kitchen for the last few minutes and soon reappeared with three juicy steaks complete with salad, which they rapidly polished off. Not long afterwards they retired to bed. Spike refused a sleeping pill. Give him his due, when Spike set his mind on something he did it with determination, and he was adamant to get off the drugs once and for all.