Title: Play Ball
Author: Pattyanne
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters
belong to me.
Rating: NC-17

Summary: Hospital smut. Spike Richardson
is the star pitcher for the San Francisco
Demons He's hit by a car, and winds up as
one of nurse Buffy Summer's patients.

AN: This won't be a long one, I promise, and I
AM working on the next chapters of ATP and
BED. I just needed to clear my head with a
little pointless smut.

Feedback: I'll cry if you don't.

***********************************




The First Inning: Batter up!


"Hey, there! Are you waking up for me? How are you
feeling?"

There was an angel standing beside him. Dressed all
in white and heart-breakingly pretty, with a glowy kind
of aura back-lighting her. Definitely an angel.

Which, unfortunately, could only mean one thing. For
some reason....he was dead.

"Don't go back to sleep!" the angel ordered sternly. "It's
past time for you to wake up. Come on, now. Open your
eyes."

This was a pretty bossy angel.

"I mean it! Open them up!"

**I don't want to....**

"Talk to me!"

**Go away....**

"Tell me your name!"

**Why don't you KNOW my name? Are YOU new
here, too?**

"Wake up!" the angel shouted, clapping her hands
sharply together right next to his ear.

**All right, already! I'm awake...**

Taking a deep breath, Spike forced his eyes open a
crack. "Stop yelling at me," he grumbled, shocked at
how weak his voice sounded, and equally surprised
to see that his right leg was suspended in mid air.

Oddly enough, his surliness seemed to make the angel
very happy. Her face was instantly transformed by the
prettiest smile he'd ever been graced with. She was
obviously a professional.

"I'll stop yelling," she said, 'if you'll tell me your name."

"William," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "William...Tho-
mas....Richardson. But...most people....call me Spike."

"Well, Spike...I'm very happy to meet you. Want a drink of
water?"

He nodded, which turned out to be a huge mistake as it
made him momentarily dizzy.

The angel smiled and helped him lift his head, offering
him a drink from a green plastic cup. He took a small sip,
then laid his aching head back down.

"Spike...do you know where you are?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, in as friendly a tone as
he could produce.

"Are you sure?"

Pesky angel.

"Sure I'm sure," he said, summoning up a smile for her. "I
mean....it's not really the way I've always pictured it, but
who am I to question the Lord?"

Angel-face laughed. Beautiful, heavenly laughter. Like
bells...like crystal...like....like angels laughing. He
immediately searched his fuddled mind for something
else amusing to say, just to hear her laugh again.

"Who indeed?" the angel said. "Are you in pain?"

That question gave him a nasty start. His eyes widened
in alarm. "Should I be?"

The angel, who appeared to be sporting a name tag
on the front of her white robes, shook her head. "No,"
she said. "You're pretty doped up."

"Excuse me?" Doped up? Doped up on what? On dope?
On drugs? They're pushing drugs in Heaven?

What the hell was happening? This was insane. There were
no drugs in Heaven. He had been dragged to Sunday School
and Church for most of his childhood and early teens, and
none of the ministers had ever mentioned a drug problem in
Heaven. Not once. Angels, yes. Angel dust, no.

Well, this was certainly disillusioning. And who said they
could give him drugs anyway? He hadn't even used drugs
when he'd been alive. Hellishly ironic, considering that it was
mostly fear of of being killed by them that had kept him
away in the first place.

And it hadn't been for lack of offers He was...had
been...in a profession where drugs were plentiful
and easy to come by.

Nearly everyone he met had something on them that they
were willing to share. But the promise of the high just wasn't
enough to block out the common sense his parents had
drummed into him all his life, not to mention the regular
screenings performed by the team doctors.

All that, coupled with the fact that he had seen too many
of his friends die painfully unnecessary deaths long before
their time, had kept him straight and clean.

And now...THIS had happened! Dead in his prime,
drugged against his will, and....strapped to a bed?

**What the hell kind of Heaven are they running here,
anyway?**

"Heaven?" the angel asked, smiling sweetly. He must
have spoken that last thought out loud. "You think you're
in Heaven?"

Oh, no. This was just getting worse by the second. Dead,
but not in Heaven.

The alternative was unpleasant, to say the least.

"You mean...I'm not?" he asked meekly, hoping perhaps
to hear that he was in Heaven's waiting room and would
be called in shortly for his interview with God. Here's a
magazine to read while waiting.

"Of course not," Angel-face laughed, a little too gleefully,
he thought.

Of course not. OF COURSE NOT? Well, what precisely
was THAT supposed to mean?

And why would she say it that way, as if the whole idea of
him ending up in Heaven was simply too ludicrous to
imagine? Maybe he hadn't been saintly in his earthly life,
but he certainly didn't consider himself a candidate for
eternal damnation.

How in the hell had he landed in hell? He'd led a good
life. He'd never deliberately hurt anyone. He hadn't cheated
on any of the women he'd been involved with. He didn't steal,
lie, run red lights, drink to excess, duck out on his bills, or
park in handicapped spaces.

He'd always been kind to animals and the elderly, had
made regular charitable donations, remembered to return
library books on time, paid his taxes and called his mother
every Sunday.

Jesus Christ! He hadn't even lost his virginity until he was
nineteen!

This was completely unfair. What kind of arbitrary
criteria did this bunch have set up to earn admittance
through the pearly gates? Had he failed some sort of
unknown test or something?

And as long as he was asking questions....since when
did Hell have angels? And...and windows...with a stunning
view of San Francisco Bay....

Where was the inferno, the screams of the damned, the
little devils jabbing you in the ass with pitchforks?

He looked beseechingly up at Angel-face. Maybe this was
some kind of left handed blessing from the Almighty. Perhaps
it was God's way of saying, "Well, William, you haven't
been TOO bad, I suppose. Now, I AM sending you to hell,
make no mistake, but I'll let you take one of my angels
along for company."

Spike tried to push himself into a sitting position, and
almost blacked out at the blast of agony surging up and
down his left arm. He was surprised to see it wrapped in a
pressure bandage and strapped snugly to his chest, but
before he had a chance to open his mouth, his arm said,
"Nope!" and collapsed out from under him, dropping him
back onto the pillow with an unpleasant thump that sent
another bolt of pain screaming through his head.

**Okay, NOW it's beginning to feel like Hell...**

"Why would God let me break my arm and then
give me a headache on top of it?"

"Spike...listen to me. You're NOT in Heaven."

"I know," he groaned, placing his right arm over his
eyes.

"You're not in hell, either."

He moved his arm down an inch, peering up at
Angel-face. "Pardon me?"

How could that be true? Heaven and Hell were pretty
much the only options. It was one or it was the other.

"You're not dead, Spike. You're in the hospital."

The relief he felt at not being dead was quickly over-
shadowed by the fear that he soon might be. In the
hospital? Why?

"Why?"

"You mean why are you in the hospital?"

He nodded gently, not wanting to jar anything loose.

"You were hit by a car."

"Oh. Badly?" Big mouth, had to know!

"Not as badly as you could have been."

Angel-face, whom he now identified as a nurse,
wrapped her fingers around his right wrist, a move
that delighted him until he realized that she wasn't
holding his hand, she was taking his pulse.

"You sprained your left wrist, your right leg has a
hairline fracture and you have a whole bunch of cuts
and bruises. None of those things are too serious on
their own, but YOU also managed to get yourself a
nasty blow to your head."

She was silent for a moment, counting.

"You've been unconscious since you were brought in,"
she added, taking an electronic thermometer out of
her pocket. "Open up, please."

He obeyed, not wanting to do anything that might
make her leave the room. The gadget beeped almost
instantly, and she checked the results, writing them
down on what he assumed was his medical chart.

Sliding the chart into it's slot on the wall, she
turned to him with another one of those killer
smiles. He smiled back at her.

"You rest now," she said, heading for the door.

What!? His smile disappeared.

**Say something, you idiot! Don't let her leave!**

"What's your name?" His voice cracked slightly.

**Oh, that was well done. Sound like a thirteen
year old boy. THAT'LL impress her!**

But she stopped and returned to his bedside.

Now that he didn't have to be concerned about the
disposition of his immortal soul, he was able to con-
centrate fully on her.

Angel or not, she was pretty enough to be one.

She had beautifully clear skin that never saw harsh sun
or wind. Her teeth were even and white, and she had
grass green eyes with tiny flecks of gold in them. Her hair
was a lovely honey brown mass, tied back from her face.

The uniform she was wearing didn't reveal much about her
figure, but he didn't care. He could live a long and happy
life just gazing into those amazing eyes of hers.

"I'm Buffy," she said, extending her right hand. "Buffy
Summers."

He accepted her hand with what he felt to be pathetic
weakness. "I'm pleased to meet you, Buffy. I'm Spike
Richardson....although I already told you that, didn't I?"

Spike watched her face this time, to see if she recognized
his name, but all she did was release his hand. That kicked
the slats right out from under his ego.

"I'm pleased to meet you, too, Spike. But now, I have to go
and let the doctors who've been treating you know that
you're awake. There's also a man in the waiting room who
came in with you last night, and he's been driving everyone
nuts asking when you'd wake up."

Oh, swell. He made a face. "Do I really have to see him?"

Nurse Angel-face looked surprised. "You mean you don't
want to see him?"

"Not particularly."

"Isn't he a friend?"

"No," Spike replied glumly. "He's an agent."

"Oh. Well, if you're sure you don't want to see him
then I can probably get rid of him. Shall I try?"

Spike nodded. "I'd appreciate it."

She smiled. "Okay, then. I'll take care of it." Once
again, she turned and headed for the door.

Spike felt his heart seize up. "Are you coming
back?"

"Of course I'll be back," she assured him as she
walked out the door. "You're my patient."

He settled back into the pillows, grinning like an
idiot. His own little 'Florence Nightingale' would be
coming back.

**Sure she will,** he thought smugly, spotting the
call button. **I'm her patient!**

He couldn't wait!


TBC...

(Um...has ball player been done before? I tried to
come up with something original, and I like base-
ball, so....here it is)

Title: Play Ball
Author: Pattyanne
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters
belong to me.
Rating: NC-17

Summary: Hospital smut. Spike Richardson
is the star pitcher for the San Francisco
Demons He's hit by a car, and winds up as
one of nurse Buffy Summer's patients.

AN: This won't be a long one, I promise, and I
AM working on the next chapters of ATP and
BED. I just needed to clear my head with a
little pointless smut.

Feedback: I'll cry if you don't.

***********************************


The Second Inning: The Wind Up




Buffy tried hard to concentrate on her other patients. She
only had three, and they certainly deserved the same
attention she gave to the patient in room 205.

But there was just something about him. He was just so
darn appealing, and funny....with a great smile. Every time he
smiled, it transformed his already handsome face to a sweet
little boyish look that she would have a difficult time resisting.

She delivered meds, took vitals, and changed dressings on
her other patients, making polite conversation, but feeling no
urge to stay and talk with them once her work was completed.

Checking in on room 205, she found that her patient had
fallen asleep. This definitely intensified the 'little boy' look
she'd already noted. His face was pale, with only the slightest
hint of a tan starting. He had a mop of light brown curls that
were tipped at the end with the results of a previous bleach
job that he was letting grow out.

Even though his eyes were closed, she could remember
well what a startling shade of blue they were, and how they
sparkled when he smiled at her.

She had the oddest feeling that she'd seen him before,
but wasn't quite sure where. He had to be from out of
town since he was apparently not used to San Francisco
traffic. Not too many locals landed in the emergency
room for being hit by a car. They knew how to dodge
taxis and cable cars.

This general appeal that he had for her had made her feel
surprisingly protective of him...and a bit defensive.

She had dealt with the agent in the waiting room briefly and
firmly, ready to switch from 'Nurse Nice' to 'Nurse Nasty' if
she needed to.

Buffy had explained that although Spike was awake and lucid,
he was still very weak and in no way ready to have visitors.

Although clearly displeased, the agent gave her a business
card with both his office and home phone numbers on it, de-
manding to be called immediately when Spike was up to it.

She'd examined the card before slipping it into her pocket. It
had a cream colored background and chunky black lettering
stating that it belonged to one 'Alexander Harris', who was a
member of the 'Rosenberg, Osbourne, and Harris Sports
Management Group' .

Well, that explained a lot. Room 205 had an agent who was
extremely concerned about his health and well-being, so that
meant he must be some sort of professional athlete.

Shift change was coming up, but Buffy found herself oddly
reluctant to leave, certainly not without telling Spike goodbye.
She bought a can of soda from the machine in the nurses
lounge, then sat down to work on her charts.

At exactly 10:45, a call bell sounded. She knew without even
looking at the board that Spike was pressing that bell.

As she headed for room 205, she saw an aide coming from
the opposite direction. Putting on a bit more speed, Buffy
managed to cut her off at the doorway.

"I'll take care of it," she assured the girl. "He's just ready for
his pain meds." Another light went on down the hallway.
"Why don't you take that one?" Buffy suggested, pointing
at it.

Upon entering the room, she saw that Spike had raised the
back of the bed and was sitting up a little. He smiled when
he saw her, but she could see the strain behind the grin. He
was hurting.

"Are you in pain?" she asked.

"A bit," he replied, obviously trying for casual nonchalance.

Buffy had prepared the injection over an hour ago, and had
been carrying it in her pocket. "Well, I'll fix that for you."

"You really ARE an angel," he said softly.

Her cheeks turned light pink. "That's probably the nicest
thing anyone's ever said to me," she replied as she tore
open an alcohol swab and cleaned a spot on his arm. After
administering the injection, she recapped the syringe and
put it back in her pocket.

"The doc was in a few minutes ago," he informed her. "He
said something about maybe starting an IV?"

Buffy grabbed his chart, noting the time of the injection,
then studied the doctors instructions. "Hmm...yes. It's so
you can administer your own pain medication. They'll put
the proper dosage in the machine and then you just push
the button when you feel you need it and it'll give you just
the right amount."

Remembering the business card, she pulled it out of her
pocket. "I got rid of your agent," she said. "For now. But
I'm under orders to call him the minute you're ready for a
visit."

"Oh, God...was he terribly rude?"

"Nothing I can't deal with," she said. "But my shift is
almost over and I won't be able to..."

"Please don't worry about it," he said quickly. "I've been
dealing with him for a while now. I wouldn't want to keep you
here when you should be going home..."

It was a pathetically obvious lie. He didn't want her to go
anymore than she wanted to leave. He was just too polite
to ask.

Buffy glanced up at the clock. "Listen, I'm going to go and
clock out now," she said, "but I'll come back and sit with you
for a bit if you'd like some company."

His face brightened up considerably, and she nearly had
to catch a breath when she saw again how amazingly hand-
some he was.

"I couldn't ask you to...." he began.

"You didn't ask. I offered. Be right back."



*************************************************

**She sure keeps her promises!**

Spike was feeling mildly high from the pain medication,
and he was pretty sure he was sporting an idiotic grin
when Buffy walked back into the room in less than five
minutes.

"I'm back," she announced, dropping a handbag and
sweater on one of the chairs by the window.

"I see you. A vision in white. My very own angel-nurse,"
he murmured

Buffy noticed the slight slurring of his words. He must have
a low tolerance for pain meds, which probably meant that
he didn't use recreational drugs.

Another check in the plus column. He was becoming too
good to be real.

Spike could hear how he sounded, but he couldn't seem to
restrain his tongue. He wanted to talk to her, to hear her
voice, and he didn't really care how stupidly he was coming
off.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm. Every time you walk into the room, I get a little
bit better."

Buffy tried to disregard his blatant flirtation since he was
as high as a kite, but she couldn't resist it. He was too
cute for words. And the way his blue eyes sort of matched
the hospital gown was darling.

"Are you wearing someone else's uniform?" he asked.

"What? Why would you think that?"

"Because it says 'Elizabeth' on your name tag."

"Oh, well...Elizabeth is my given name, and the hospital
requires me to use it."

He grinned appealingly. "I like 'Buffy' better."

"Me, too. It's a nickname I picked up as a baby. No one
here uses it."

His head tilted a bit. "Can I use it?"

"If you like."

"Oh, I do," he said. "A lot." Actually, he was elated. A
secret name. One that only he called her. God was good.

She scooted the other chair closer and settled into it.
"What shall we talk about?"

Spike ignored the question. "Are all nurses as pretty as
you?"

"Every last one of us," a loud voice announced as a tall
and heavy built nurse walked into his room, completely
banishing any intimate glow he'd been carefully establishing
with Buffy.

This must be the shift change, he thought glumly.

**Well, this just won't do at all. This isn't MY nurse.
She's too big and too loud. My nurse is small and
delicate, with a gentle voice. She's an angel. So,
off with YOU, loud one. And don't even THINK about
touching me on your way out the door!**

But Buffy, his angel nurse, was actually smiling
at the unwelcome interloper. "Hey, Elena. How've you
been?"

The other nurse pulled Spike's chart off the wall and
flipped it open. "Over worked and under appreciated,"
she said. Scanning the chart briefly, she placed it
on the bedside table and looked at Spike. "So, how
are you feeling, blue eyes?"

"Not at all well," he replied irritably

Buffy smiled. He was practically pouting.

Elena reached for his wrist with a shrug.

"Is this really necessary?" he demanded.

"Do you think I'd be doing it if it wasn't?" Elena
asked, looking at her watch and lobbing the ball
neatly back into his court.

The instant he opened his mouth to answer back,
the woman inserted that blasted thermometer. Spike
was about to take it right back out when Buffy grabbed
his hand.

"She has to take your vitals when she comes on duty,"
she explained quietly. "Take them and chart them. Now,
behave."

She softened her words with a gentle squeeze of his
hand, which pretty much took all the fight right out of him.

If his angel-nurse wanted him to sit still and submit to
this harpy's attentions, he'd do it for her.

Anything to make her happy. She could parade every
nurse, doctor, technician, orderly and janitor through
the room if it pleased her.

"So how come you're still here?" Elena asked Buffy.
"Aren't you three to eleven?"

Buffy nodded. "Yes. I'm actually off duty. This is a...a
personal visit."

The thermometer beeped, and Spike nearly spat it out
of his mouth.

Elena charted the results. "Yeah? Is he a friend of
yours?" She wound the blood pressure cuff around
Spike's bicep and began inflating it. "Funny that he
wound up in the hospital where you work, huh?"

"Hilarious," Spike muttered, rolling his eyes. "Are you
done?"

Elena chuckled. "Be nice to me, cutie. We'll be spending
a little time together and I have all the sharp instruments,"
she warned him, scribbling in his chart. "Has he had his
meds?"

"Yes he HAS, thank you very much!" he snapped.

The woman hadn't been an RN for twenty-five years
without learning how to deal with a fractious patient. "All
right, then." She replaced the chart in its slot. "Call me
if you need me."

"Oh, you can count on it," Spike called after her. Turning
back to Buffy, he smiled. "Alone at last."

She couldn't hold back her laughter. "She's right, you know.
You should be nicer. You're gonna need her."

Spike shrugged. "I'll send her some flowers. I WILL,"
he insisted at her skeptical look. "I'd swear it on my
mother's grave but she isn't dead so it wouldn't be
binding."

Still smiling, Buffy leaned back in the chair, giving him
a speculative look.

"What?" he asked, grinning back at her.

"Nothing. Well, it's just that....I keep thinking I've seen
you somewhere before."

"Maybe you have."

"Yeah, but where?"

Spike shrugged. "In your dreams?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, brother."

"Sorry. I meant to ask if you followed the sports
page."

"No. Why? Are you in them?"

"Yeah." He tried not to sound too braggy. "I play for
the Demons."

"Oh, the baseball team?"

"Heard of us, have you?"

Buffy nodded. "Of course I've heard of the team. Just
never heard of you."

"Ouch. There goes the old ego. Thanks ever so, angel
nurse."

She made her 'poor baby' face. "I'm sorry."

Spike took her teasing in good spirit. "Well, I'm fairly new.
Only been there one season, so...."

"Well, what position do you play? I don't know a lot about
baseball, but..."

"I'm the pitcher," he informed her. "Maybe you...."

She snapped her fingers suddenly. "Oh, now I remember.
I saw you on the news."

"Yeah?" he grinned happily.

"Didn't you break some sort of world record or something?"

Delighted that she knew about this, Spike shrugged with a
small amount of modesty. "That's right. I pitched two con-
secutive no-hitters last season."

"Wow....that's a good thing, right?"

"Damn right," he replied emphatically. "No one's ever pitched
two consecutive no-hitters before. Closest anyone ever came
was Nolan Ryan back in 1973, and his were two months apart."

She looked impressed, which pleased him no end.

He pointed at a small closet. "Are my clothes in there?"

"Um, yes." Buffy opened the closet door and pulled out a
plastic bag. She placed it on the bedside table and opened
it up. "What's left of them, anyway." She extracted a black
tee shirt and a pair of jeans. "It looks like they had to cut your
pants off in the ER," she told him, glancing back into the bag.
"Apparently you weren't wearing anything underneath them."

"Nah. Never do," he replied. "Is my jacket in there?"

"Yes," She pulled it out.

"Look in the right pocket."

Buffy did as he asked. Her hand emerged from the
pocket holding a baseball.

"That's the ball from my second no-hitter. I pitched a
perfect game. Go ahead...ask me what a perfect game
is."

She had to smile. "Okay....what's a perfect game?"

"A perfect game is when a pitcher throws 27 straight
outs. See, you can walk batters and still pitch a no-hitter,
but not a perfect game. In the whole history of Major League
Baseball, there've only been 16 perfect games."

The animated way he was talking was really adorable. He
was so proud of his accomplishment, but he didn't seem to
want to be all 'boasty' about it. The more wound up he got,
the more she found herself attracted to him.

"Well, I'm impressed," she said, putting his clothes back in
the closet. "But maybe you should let me lock up the ball
for you. It sounds like it might be valuable."

"It is," he nodded. "You wouldn't believe how much I've been
offered for it."

"Then I should definitely lock it up."

He tilted his head again in that adorable way. "Tell you what,"
he said, "why don't you have it?"

"Me?" she asked, surprised. "I couldn't do that."

"Why not? It's my ball. I can do what I like with it."

"Because....well, because you hardly know me. Why
would you want to give me one of your perfect balls?"

The comment hung in the air between them for a moment,
then they both laughed at the same time.

"I meant...I mean...." Buffy said, her cheeks turning red.

"I know what you meant," Spike said. "Look, if you don't
want my balls..."

"Stop that!"

"What? You mean you DO want my balls?"

"I'm getting a stitch in my side," she gasped. "Now stop..."

He took a deep breath, and waited for her to stop laughing.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You didn't just laugh yourself
back into pain, did you?"

"No. I just...well, I need to...use the...you know," he said,
glancing pointedly at his lap.

"Oh. All right. Do you need the bed pan or the urinal?"

Now, HIS cheeks turned slightly red. "Just the urinal."

She handed it to him, then pulled the curtain closed around
the bed and waited.

"Um...angel-nurse?" His voice sounded a bit strained.

"Problem?" she asked.

"Just a small one."

She peeked around the side of the curtain, then nearly
gasped out loud.

**A small one? Sure as heck doesn't look like a small
one to me!!!**



TBC......
(Very soon. I'm actually rolling pretty well on this one)

Let me hear from you, peoples!

Title: Play Ball
Author: Pattyanne
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters
belong to me.
Rating: NC-17

Summary: Hospital smut. Spike Richardson
is the star pitcher for the San Francisco
Demons He's hit by a car, and winds up as
one of nurse Buffy Summer's patients.



Feedback: I'll cry if you don't.

***********************************


The Third Inning: The Pitch



Clinical detachment. It was something that all
doctors and nurses had to practice. Let the guard
down, let the emotions show, and you'd spend
too much time sobbing in an analyst's chair.

Buffy had actually been taught that. It was a part of
her nurses training, and she'd been fairly good about
practicing it the way it had been preached. Somehow,
she had managed to find a comfort zone, a place in
between the points of 'not caring at all' and 'caring
far too much than was good for sound mental health'.

Then, Spike Richardson had landed in her life,
and clinical detachment had flown right out the
window.

His charm, good looks, and blatant flirtation had
completely disarmed her, and mixed in with all
that was a powerful amount of physical attraction.

Simply put....the man was adorable, in more ways than
one. How could she possibly be expected to not notice
it, or disregard it, when it was coming at her like a
freight train?

And she could pinpoint the exact moment her
detachment had taken a powder; when she'd been
called in by him for assistance with the urinal.

The instant she'd moved back the curtain and beheld
his rather charming predicament, it had begun to
slip. When her eyes had moved down to the 'trouble
zone', it had picked up the pace.

For along with all the other goodies he possessed, the
ones visible when he was fully dressed, he also
happened to be extremely well equipped in a way
most men only wished they were.

In order to keep herself from staring like some over-
sexed baseball groupie, Buffy had gone right into
'stern nurse' mode, all business and practical concern.

Quickly deducing that his problem lay in the fact that
he was performing the necessary maneuvers with only
one good hand, and 'spillage' had occurred...not a lot,
but enough to be uncomfortable...she had acted.

After dumping the contents of the urinal into the
toilet, she had filled a plastic basin with warm, soapy
water and cleaned him up, then fetched fresh bedding
from the linen closet and changed the damp bed sheet.

By the time she'd finished with the chores, his pain
medication had begun kicking in and was making him
drowsy. He fell asleep right before her eyes, and she'd
gathered together her belongings and left, briefly stopping
at the nurses station to inform Elena of his output.

It was nearly one in the morning by the time she'd
arrived home, but she'd been oddly hyped up and had
trouble getting to sleep.

Now, when it was nearly time for her shift to begin,
she was nervous.....and a little excited....at the prospect
of seeing him again.

It seemed that clinical detachment had deserted her
for good.


********************************


She pushed her card into the time clock slot, waited for
the loud 'chunk' sound, then removed it and slipped it
back into its place on the board. With one last look in
the mirror to check her appearance, she stepped out of
the lounge.

Without even turning her head in the proper direction,
Buffy knew that there was something going on in room
215.

Loud voices, raised in the tones of affectionate teasing,
rose from the end of the hallway.

"What in the....."

Anything else she'd been about to say was forever
lost when a small hand tapped her shoulder and she
turned to see one of the daytime LVNs grinning at her.

"Elizabeth!" the girl squeaked. "Do you know who we've
got in 215?"

"Um, yeah...." Buffy peeked at the girls name tag. "...Amy."

"Have you seen them yet?"

Buffy frowned. Them?

"Them? Who's them?" she asked, heedless of her poor
grammar.

Without her really being aware they were doing it, her
feet began moving her along towards room 215. She
tuned out Amy's babbling voice and concentrated on
the noise coming from Spike's room.

Once she got there, she had to push her way into the
room past at least a half dozen young men who
looked to be in the same age bracket as her patient, or
maybe just a little older.

Two other nurses were in the room as well, and the
flirtatious banter was being lobbed back and forth like
tennis balls.

"Angel Nurse!" she heard Spike say loudly, and she
pushed her way through the crowd of young men towering
over her. "You're back!"

"Uh, yeah....of course I am." Buffy tried to do a head
count to determine how many of these boys she was going
to have to eject from the room.

"Here." Spike held out his arm, still grinning. "Go ahead
and take my pulse. She does this every time she comes in
the room," he informed his friends.

Absently, Buffy placed her fingers around his wrist and
counted. When 15 seconds passed, she grabbed his chart
and made a note of it.

"Guess who these guys are?" he challenged her.

Buffy's eyes skipped from one man to the next. "Oh, I'll say
that they're probably the rest of the team."

"That's right!" he said brightly. "Yeah....that's Xander...
Xander Harris, he's the catcher. And that one there is Riley
Finn....best first baseman ever. That's Nick Newmar, our
shortstop, Alan Powell...he plays second, and that one there
is Jack Calvin....he's on third. Then there's....hey, where did
Elliott disappear to....he's our...oh, there he is...Elliott Hodge.
We stick him way out in deep left field so he can sleep
through all the games."

"Up yours, Richardson," an amused voice stated.

Loud laughter rang out in the room.

"Everyone....this is B....this is Elizabeth. She's my very
own angel nurse." He pointed one finger at Nick. "You
stay away from her."

"What'd I do?" the shortstop asked, placing one hand on
his chest and trying to look innocent. He made his blue
eyes wide, and gave Buffy a lop sided smile. "Nice to
meet you, Elizabeth," he said, pushing a mop of wavy
blond hair back. "Don't let the kid run you off your feet,"
he added. "He's not as hurt as tries to make out."

"Well, actually...." Buffy began to speak, but was cut
off by the third baseman.

"Probably stepped in front of the car on purpose,"
Jack said. "Just to get a little time off." His eyes, a
deeper blue than his teammates, gave off a boyish
sparkle that was difficult to discount. When you combined
it with medium length sable brown hair, his attraction
factor carried quite a kick. He looked to be a little
younger than the others, and Buffy couldn't help
smiling back at him.

The second baseman, Alan, leaned back against
the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "You
taking good care of our star pitcher?" he asked, his
dark grey eyes moving up and down her body with
frank admiration.

Here was one who knew exactly how attractive he
was, Buffy thought. Those eyes were sharp, and didn't
miss a thing. The other two nurses in the room were
practically sighing as they took in the blond hair, the
nicely built chest and the impressive height. In a room
full of tall men, he was the tallest.

"Well, I'm TRYING to," Buffy replied, placing her
hands on her hips and shaking her head. "I'm not sure
all this racket is helping," she scolded.

"Uh-oh!" the one who'd been introduced as Xander
piped up. "I think we're in trouble, guys."

One of the afternoon aides walked in, dressed in a
white blouse and peppermint candy striped pinafore,
carrying a plastic pitcher of ice water and setting it
down on the bedside table....a table that already had
a water pitcher on it, Buffy noted, to go along with
the one on the other bedside table...and the two
on the small counter by the sink.

Spike Richardson smiled and said 'thank you', even
though the mission of mercy was highly unnecessary,
nothing more than an obvious ploy to gain admittance
to the roomful of handsome baseball players.

Dawn, as the girl's name tag proclaimed her to be,
blushed a light shade of pink and smiled. Her light
brown hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail,
with a couple of wisps escaping the elastic.

Buffy caught movement out of the corner of her
eye, and she turned to see a man she hadn't known
was there stand up suddenly. Although fairly tall, this
one appeared to be markedly younger than the others,
no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, and she
wondered what position HE played.

"Hi," he said, gazing at the pretty teenage girl
with an enraptured look in his eyes.

Dawn returned that gaze back at him and murmured,
"Hi.."

Seeing that the two kids were slightly tongue-tied,
Spike helped them out. "Um....this is Sammy," he
said, gesturing at the gawking boy. "He's our bat
boy."

Which would explain his relative youth, Buffy
thought.

"He's a bit older than they usually are," Spike
went on, "but he kept showing up at the park every
day, begging for the job. Drove our coach crazy
until he finally gave in."

Sammy's cheeks flushed a little, but he didn't seem
displeased. With his dark brown curls and eyes like
melting chocolate, the reddish tinge looked good on
him.

Buffy waited a moment, then tapped the girl on her
arm. "Do you think you could start collecting the lunch
trays?" she asked, trying to control her smile. "It won't
be long until they'll need them in the kitchen for dinner."

Dawn's blush increased. "Oh, I'm....yeah, I'll go and...and
do that right now. Sorry...I just...um..."

Sammy practically fell over his own feet trying to
get to the door. "I'll help," he volunteered, making the
guys in the room snicker and nudge each other.

Buffy found the situation very sweet, and if one of them
dared to make any kind of off color remark, she was
fully prepared to box that person's ears but good.

She leaned out the door and watched as Dawn moved in
and out of rooms, sliding the trays back onto the cart that
Sammy pushed along the corridor for her.

Turning back into the room, she saw Spike smiling. "Cute,
isn't it?"

Buffy had to agree.

************************************


Deciding to give them all a few more minutes of visiting
time before she kicked the team out, Buffy went about
tending to her other patients.

Once she had all her medications delivered and treatments
performed she charted the results and then made her way
back to 215.

Although she would have supposed that a young man who
seemed to be so popular with his teammates would garner
a great deal of sympathy for his injury, she was a little
surprised to hear them all treating it like it was hysterically
funny.

It took her a few minutes to realize that this was simply
their way of conveying emotion while letting their friend
know that he'd be just fine, and that they would do what-
ever was necessary to help him along.

Finally, she had to go back and eject them from the
room. Visiting hours were over, and she'd noted on
her last brief stop that Spike was looking tired and
uncomfortable.

They all left, promising to return soon and asking her
where the pretty nurses had all gone off to. Buffy waved
her hand in the general direction of the elevator,
suspecting that they wouldn't be hard to find.


******************************************


She walked back into room 215, and found Spike
had fallen asleep. Making a brief attempt to tidy up
the room a bit, she tossed out paper cups and half
empty soda cans, gathered up the pages of a news-
paper with a leading story on the accident and
frowned when she saw that the driver of the car
had been arrested for being under the influence.

Buffy hated people who got behind the wheel of
a car when they'd been drinking. She'd worked in
the ER long enough to see the horrible results of
such actions, usually visited upon the innocent party
while the guilty one suffered no more than a few
scrapes and a bad hangover.

She was closing the blinds against the glare of the
late afternoon sun when she heard a voice, slightly
slurry from sleep.

"Do you date patients, angel nurse....when they're
all better?"

Every nerve ending on Buffy's body jumped to life.

"Would you date me?"

She had never dated a patient. Not once, and she'd been
asked many times. It was an iron clad policy that she'd
adhered to with strict determination, the same way she
did when it came to dating men she worked with.

No. Never. Dating a patient was a bad idea, and
she never even considered it......

Turning around slowly, she met his intent blue
gaze, opened her mouth, and said....."Yes."



TBC.....

Title: Play Ball
Author: Pattyanne
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters
belong to me.
Rating: NC-17

Summary: Hospital smut. Spike Richardson
is the star pitcher for the San Francisco
Demons He's hit by a car, and winds up as
one of nurse Buffy Summer's patients.



Feedback: I'll cry if you don't.

***********************************


The Fourth Inning: The Swing!



He grinned back at her, charming her right
out of ANY future notions of detachment.

"You mean it?" he asked, his blue eyes as
anxious as a child's. "You'll go out with me?"

Slipping her hands into the pockets of her
sweater, she moved to stand closer to the
bed. "What you asked before, about me dating
patients? I really don't. It's just....it's not a good
idea to get involved that way. And I shouldn't..."

"But you will," he interjected. "You said it. Can't take
it back now."

"I know." She sighed. "And I don't want to take it
back."

His grin became even more boyishly cute. "Because
you like me?"

"Yes," she said, laughing just a bit. "I like you."

"And we should get to know each other better?" he
added.

"I guess so." She took a closer look at him and noticed
that his eyes were a little overly bright, almost glassy.
That observation sent her right into 'nurse' mode, and
she placed her hand on his forehead. "You're a little
warm."

"You're telling ME!"

"No, I mean it," she said, pushing away the hand that
was trying to grab hold of hers. "I'll be right back."

"I'm fine...don't go....come on, angel nurse.."

She shook her head and ordered him to be still
until she returned with the thermometer.

When the gadget beeped, she wasn't surprised at
the result. "You're running a fever." She made a
quick note in his chart. "I have to put in a call to
Doctor Phillips."

"Oh, not him," Spike complained. "I saw him this
morning. He has cold, clammy hands." He gave her
an appealing look. "Can't YOU just take care of me? I
mean, it's not serious, is it? I feel fine."

"Probably not," she said. "It's not unusual to run a bit
of a fever after a surgical procedure, but I still have
to let him know about it and he'll okay treatment."

"What sort of treatment?"

"Most likely acetaminophen and a tepid bed
bath to cool you down some."

That information perked him right up. "A bed bath?
Given by angel-nurse?"

Buffy tried hard to subdue her smile. "Yes."

"Call him."


*********************************

Ten minutes later she returned to his room,
placing her supplies on the bedside table.

"Are you in pain?"

"No," he shook his head. "Not a bit. Is it bath time?"

"Medicine first." She handed him a small cup
containing two white tablets, and his water. "Take
them, please."

He swallowed them down obediently, watching her
fill a plastic basin at the sink. She placed it back on
the table, then pulled the curtain all the way around,
cutting them off from view of anyone passing by.

After adjusting his position, she placed thick towels
around him to prevent any of the water from dampening
his bed. "Lean forward a bit," she instructed, then untied
the fastenings of his hospital gown and let it drop around
his waist.

Trying to ignore the hard, well cut muscle of his chest
and abdomen and concentrate on her job, Buffy dipped
her wash cloth into the lukewarm water, then picked up
his left arm and washed it from shoulder to wrist, being
careful not to disturb the wrappings around the sprain.

"Can I ask you a question?" Spike's voice was soft, and
a little husky.

"Yes." Buffy repeated her ministrations on his right
arm.

"If you never date your patients....why would you
date me?"

She shrugged. "Don't know."

"You said you like me," he reminded her. "Why?"

"Are you fishing for compliments, Mr. Richardson?"

"Yes."

She smiled. How could she not, with him being so
darn adorable? "Does it matter WHY I like you?"

Now it was his turn to shrug. "Not really. As long as
you do."

"Good."

"But tell me anyway."

Running the cloth gently over his shoulders, Buffy
considered her answer. "Oh...because it was cute
when you thought God had thrown you into hell and
slammed the gate after you."

He chuckled. "I was really out of it, wasn't I?"

"You were," she nodded. Taking a deep but silent
breath, she re-dipped the cloth and placed it on his
chest.

"Well," he persisted. "Is that the ONLY reason?"

Hardly. "No."

"What else?"

The washcloth moved over the flat disc of his
nipple. She felt the sensation make him tense up
a little as he inhaled sharply.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" she evaded. Looking up,
she caught him staring at her hand on his body.

"I...I wouldn't describe what I'm feeling as pain, no,"
he said quietly, glancing back up at her.

Buffy's hand went perfectly still for a moment when
their eyes met. "Did Doctor Phillips explain what
he did in surgery?" she asked, continuing to smooth
the tepid washcloth over his skin as she attempted
to distract herself by changing the subject.

There was a short pause, as if he was giving careful
consideration to his next move. "Yeah. He said it wasn't
a terribly bad break. He put a pin or something in. Said
it won't keep me out of the game, but I'll probably miss
the first part of spring training."

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. "You're very fortunate
that it wasn't worse."

"I know. If I couldn't play ball anymore...." He let the
sentence trail off.

Buffy picked it up. "If you couldn't play ball any-
more...what? What would you do?"

He thought for a moment. "I dunno," he finally
said. "S'pose I'd have to figure something else
out that I like just as much. Right now, playing
ball is pretty much what I like best. And I'm
damn good at it."

"Modesty is SUCH an endearing trait," she mur-
mured, continuing to apply her cloth.

"But false modesty is annoying and pretentious,"
he countered with a cocky smile. "Don't you
think you're a damn good nurse?"

"Yes...but I don't go around SAYING I'm a damn
good nurse."

"It's not the money, you know. There's already
more of THAT in the bank than one person could
ever spend."

"And there it is again."

"What? I'm not bragging. It's just a fact."

She scooted down a little, then pulled the
blankets off his uninjured leg, making sure he was
properly covered in the right place. "So, it's all
for the love of the game?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded. "Well, that and the babes."

"Excuse me?"

"Girls love ball players. Hey, I'm teasing you.
Don't stop."

A spurt of laughter parted her lips. "I think you're
a little bit incorrigible."

"I'm VERY incorrigible." He watched her drop the
washcloth into the basin and reach for a dry towel.
"What, it's not finished already, is it?"

"'Fraid so."

"But you were just getting to the good part."

Buffy gently patted his leg dry, then whisked the
towel lightly over his chest. "Sorry about that."

"Well, I don't think I'm clean yet."

"That wasn't the purpose of the bath."

He grabbed her hand and placed it on his brow. "Do
I feel warm to you?"

"Not really, no."

"Oh, come on, angel nurse. A fever doesn't get
cured THAT fast," he insisted.

"It was a low grade fever," she said.

Spike grinned. "Well, if THAT'S all that's holding
you back I can send it sky high."

Before Buffy could even think of a reply, he
tugged on her hand, bringing her closer, cap-
turing her lips beneath his.

Although her hands were flat on his chest, she
couldn't even begin to try and fend him off. His
mouth was warm and tasted faintly of apples and
cinnamon, a flavor left over from the dessert on
his lunch tray.

When she felt the first light touch of his tongue,
she realized it wasn't him she might need to
struggle against, but the burgeoning desire she
was fast developing to climb into bed next to him,
to press herself against hard muscle and firm, bare
skin.

His slipped one hand around the back of her neck,
deepening the kiss even further, murmuring some-
thing against her lips that she couldn't understand.

Breaking apart for air was almost painful.

Panting, he pressed his forehead against hers and
closed his eyes. "You're amazing," he whispered,
"and I want you."

Buffy had no defense for it. "That works out nicely,
then. I want you, too."

"Buffy...angel...." His hands rubbed up and down
her shoulders. She could feel their warmth all the
way through her sweater.

"We...we have to stop," she said weakly. "You'll have
a relapse."

"No, I promise I won't. Don't stop."

The husky quality of his voice begging her to stay
close was madly compelling. She was literally one
kiss away from sinking into it without another thought,
when the PA crackled and she was called back to the
nursing station.

"I'll be back," she promised, dragging herself away
and gathering up the bath supplies.

"When?" he whispered, trying to catch hold of her
again.

"As soon as I can."

*********************************


He let her go with as much good grace as he could
muster up. Much as he would prefer to be the sole
focus of her attention, he understood that she had
other patients.

Right before she left the room, he spoke up. "Buffy?"

She hovered in the doorway for a moment, waiting.

He'd always been a great believer in saying exactly
what was on his mind, in spite of the fact that this
philosophy had been known to backfire on him at
times. "I feel something," he said, laying one hand
on his heart. "Right here...you know?"

"I know," she smiled. "Me, too."

After she was out the door, Spike leaned back in
his bed and stared at the ceiling, his arms behind
his head on the pillow. **A swing and a hit!**

Life was good.


******************************


"I only have a minute."

Buffy dashed back into the room and through the
closed curtain. She sat down on the side of his bed
and they picked up where they'd left off.

Their kissing was much more urgent this time, harder
and fiercer.

In the hallway, a call bell buzzed. "That's for me,"
she said, kissing him one last time and slipping free
when he tried to tighten his hold on her. "I'll be back."

Part of him wanted to protest this loud and long,
but common sense advised him to hold his tongue
and release her.

That scenario was repeated several more times
during Buffy's shift. She moved through her duties
with smooth efficiency, returning to his room in
between each one for what amounted to an
abbreviated make-out session.

She pulled away from him at one point, looking
concerned. "I'm sorry, is this bothering you? All
this starting and stopping?"

With a negative shake of his head, he shrugged.
"I'll take what I can get."

Buffy gave him one more kiss. "Good. I'll be
back."

"I'll be here."

"Very funny."


**************************************

"It's almost time for....for shift change."

"Oh, don't tell me that," Spike protested, moving
his mouth down the soft column of her throat.

Buffy instantly lost her train of thought, but
retained enough sanity to move away when she
heard Elena talking to someone in the hall before
coming in.

"Staying late again tonight, Elizabeth?"

"I'm just getting a bit of overtime."

"Who okayed overtime?"

"Um...well, no one. It's....well, he wants some
private duty nursing, and the holidays are coming
up, so....I took the job."

"Did you chart his vitals?"

"Oh, yes," Buffy replied, hoping the other nurse
wouldn't check to see for herself.

"Fine with me, then. Less wear and tear on my
support hose," Elena said as she left the room.

Spike grinned hugely at Buffy. "Does that mean
you have to do whatever I say?"

"Only in your dreams."


***************************************


"Buffy....honey....as much as...mmm...as much as
I love doing this..." The last word made his voice
break when she bit down gently on his ear lobe.
"....it's getting late and...I wouldn't you to...be too
tired....to work tomorrow." Each comment was
punctuated with a kiss.

"Don't worry." she pulled away. "Tomorrow's
my day off."

No angel-nurse tomorrow? He hated hearing that,
but he forced himself not to complain. "Is it? And
what does angel-nurse do on her day off?"

"Oh...different things. I have two days off each
week, but they're not always in a row. So...one
of them I usually devote to the necessities of
life...running errands, going to the market, house
cleaning, that kind of thing."

"And the other one?"

"The other one I usually devote to me. I'll go
shopping, get my hair done, maybe a manicure.
Sometimes I spoil myself and go to a day spa
for a massage, a sea weed wrap and a facial."

"Now, THAT'S something I'D like to do for you."

"What, the facial?"

He chuckled deep in his throat. "The massage.
I'll leave the girly stuff to the professionals."

"Hey, a facial isn't just for girls. Plenty of men
get them, too."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"


********************************



TBC....
Next...The Fifth Inning: First Base!