Now…on with the angst!
“Close enough.”
Spike watched helplessly as she continued to wash him. He couldn’t move his bloody limbs, but he wanted to push her away so bad he could taste it. Or was that the salty bile that rose in your throat before you puked?
He lurched forward and vomited, the orangey liquid covering his stomach and apparently, Betty’s arm.
“Oh, that was pleasant,” she said, dipping her arm into the water to wash off the offensive stuff.
Coughing, he managed to mutter an apology. Although why he was apologizing to a woman who was currently employed by his bitch ex-wife, he couldn’t say. She was probably here to spy on him. They must have run out of lies to tell so now they were trying to dig up other things to make him look like a bastard.
“Get the bleedin’ hell away from me!” He lifted a slippery arm and attempted to push her away from him.
“Okay, buddy, I’m trying to help you if that somehow escaped your attention. Now sit still so I can get this washed off of you,” she told him, batting his hand away.
What kind of game was she playing? Hadn’t he suffered enough?
Squirming, he tried to escape her touch. Instead of effectively eluding her though, his back slipped down the porcelain side and went under the water.
He was drowning. His body wouldn’t move and try as he might to get to the surface; he continued to float along the bottom of the tub. It’s what you asked for. You want to die, so jus’ quit fightin’ it.
Buffy tried to grab his slick body, but he was thrashing so much he kept slipping from her grasp.
Reaching over, she quickly pulled the plug to the drain and watched as the water swirled down. There hadn’t been that much water in the tub, Buffy had known better than that, so it drained in a matter of seconds leaving a shivering Spike curled up in a fetal position.
“I’m starting to think maybe you’d like me to just let you kill yourself.”
Spike didn’t reply. He just continued to cough and sob, his body shaking uncontrollably on the bottom of the bathtub. His skin had ceased being yellow, but was now taking on a bluish tone.
Buffy shook her head as she reached over and turned the taps on again then grabbed the removable showerhead, testing the water on her wrist. Beginning at his feet, she worked the warm water over his skin until she reached the top of his head. The water was helping to bring some color back to his skin, but she knew that she had to get him out of the tub and into some warm clothes.
Turning the water off, she stepped into the tub and moved to lift him up. He started to fight her again and she grabbed his chin, making him look at her.
“Look, I’m not giving you what you want, so cut it out. You are going to help me get you out of this tub, Spike. Then I am getting you dressed and we’re going to the hospital. Capiche?”
He was pissed. But that was good. Anger was good. Anger meant he wasn’t ready to lie down and die yet, not when so much of his attention was being focused towards hating her.
Blue eyes stared up at her defiantly, but he didn’t argue with her.
They got out of the tub, Buffy helping him step over the high edge. She grabbed the towels and started drying him off then wrapped two of them around his shivering frame. Taking one of the unused washcloths, she tied it around his still-bleeding hand.
After leaving the bathroom Spike was helped onto the bed. She went searching for some clothes, knowing his wardrobe was on the opposite side of where Dru’s used to be. Pulling out some black sweats and matching sweatshirt, she went back to Spike to help him put the clothes on.
She stopped mid-tug and glanced up at him. “Underwear?”
He gave her an are-you-kidding look and motioned for her to continue dressing him by shimmying his hips.
This had to be the strangest experience she’d ever had. It would certainly make for excellent tabloid fodder if they ever got a hold of the story. Weird and wacky celebrity adventures were all the rage now, not that they’d ever gone out of style in the first place.
Getting him down the stairs had been tricky, but they managed to descend without falling or twisting any ankles. She got him outside and into her car. Throwing the car into gear, she tore down the driveway and out the gate.
The ride to the hospital was made in silence. Spike had huddled himself on the front seat with his head resting against the window.
He was in a sorry state. Buffy knew that he would take his split from Drusilla hard, but she never thought he would have gone as far as he did.
She couldn’t help but think that Dru wasn’t worth his pain and wanted very much to tell him such, but she didn’t think he would appreciate it very much. As it was Buffy and he weren’t exactly on the most solid ground themselves at the moment. She was probably the last person he wanted to get advice from.
Pulling into the emergency entrance, she parked the car. “Spike, I’m going to run in and explain the situation to them. You just sit tight.”
If he heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it.
Sighing, she took the keys and hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid while she was inside. She rushed through the automatic doors and to the admittance desk.
“Um, I have a, uh, friend that needs to be admitted,” she told the nurse.
The nurse gave Buffy a puzzled look. “Well, where is your friend? He’ll need to be present to admit him.”
Resting her forearms on the desk, Buffy leaned forward as closely to the nurse as she could. “See here’s the thing. He’s Spike Giles,” she whispered, her eyes darting from side to side to make sure no one had heard her.
“Oh!” The nurse’s eyes got wide.
“And I’m not asking for any special treatment, its just he has been kinda in the news lately and he’s really not in the best state to be dealing with anymore excitement, if you know what I mean.” Buffy watched as the nurse nodded her head in agreement.
The nurse stood up and bent over to her. “Look, go and get him and by the time you get him in here, I’ll have worked something out.”
“You are a saint-” Buffy glanced at her name badge. “-Miranda.”
Miranda beamed at her before shooing her away from the desk.
Buffy walked back out to the car to find that Spike hadn’t moved an inch since she’d left him. She opened his door and helped him get to his feet. They moved slowly towards the ER entrance and once inside, Buffy directed them towards the admittance desk again.
Miranda must have been waiting for them because as soon as they came within five feet of the desk, she was there helping Buffy get him into one of the examining rooms.
“The doctor shouldn’t be long. I told her that it was kind of urgent that Mr. Giles be seen,” Miranda told her after they had gotten Spike situated on the padded examining table. “In the meantime, I’ve got some paperwork that needs to be filled out.”
Buffy took the clipboard from Miranda’s hand and gave it a once over. “I think we can manage that. Thanks, Miranda. I owe you one.”
Miranda left the room and Buffy sat down in the chair next to the examining table. “Okay, Spike, I’m gonna need your help on some of this.”
He glared at her. “I thought you were supposed t’ know all o’ that stuff already.”
“Oh, god! He speaks!” She feigned shock, but couldn’t contain her smile. “Point of fact, blondie, I know all of ‘that stuff’ about Dru, not you. Now are you going to help me or not?”
When he didn’t answer her, she decided to ask him anyway. Stubborn ass. “Let’s see here. Full name, birthdate, address, uh? Oh, here’s one I don’t know. Any allergies to medication?”
“No.”
“Emergency contact?”
“Xander Harris. 230-555-7245.”
“Are you currently taking any medications?”
He sneered at her. “Jus’ alcohol t’ numb the pain.”
“Okay, that is so not funny. Would you like a black eye to go with your alcohol poisoning?” She told him, turning her attention back to the forms.
“Why do you even care? You and bloody Dru probably planned this whole thing any’ow.”
Slapping the pen down on the clipboard, she turned to him. “What are you talking about?”
Spike pushed himself to sit up. “Oh, you’ve got t’ be fuckin’ kidding me! You know exactly what ‘m talkin’ ‘bout! You and Dru plannin’ my demise then my bloody humiliation or was it the other way ‘round?”
Her mouth was gaping open as she stared at him incredulously. “Me and Dru? I didn’t plan anything with her. I didn’t have anything to do with any of this.”
“Oh, right! ‘cause you two weren’t inseparable for the whole of three years,” he told her, slapping his hand against his thigh.
“Uh, hello. She paid me to be and her beck and call. What else was I supposed to do?”
He nodded. Well, that explained everything. “So you’re doin’ it for the money, then.”
Throwing her hands up into the air, she replied wildly, “Doing what for money?”
“Tryin’ t’ bloody do me in. The both o’ you!”
“Um, okay. Yeah, I’m trying so hard to kill you that I saved your ass from drowning in your own puke. How evil of me!”
She has a point there.
Oh, shut up! Nobody asked you!
“So you admit it then,” he accused lamely.
A bark of laughter left her. “God, you are as crazy as she is! Why did I even bother? I don’t need this crap from you, Spike; I already got enough from her.”
She turned on her heel and made for the door.
Suddenly, the door opened and a petite brunette woman walked in. “Is everything okay in here?”
“Uh, fine. Just fine,” Buffy lied. “Are you the doctor?”
“Yeah, hi. I’m Doctor Winifred Burkle and you are?”
“Betty,” Spike spat out.
Betty rolled her eyes at him then turned her attention back to the doctor. “Actually, my name is Buffy. Buffy Summers.”
Huh? Buffy, eh? Well, it was an easy mistake to make what with them both sounding so similar and all. Buffy. Betty. Who knew?
Spike watched as the doctor shook her hand, and then moved over to the examination table.
“So, Mr. Giles, what seems to be the problem?”
“Besides his recent alcohol binge and the whole trying to kill himself thing?” Buffy retorted, staring daggers at him.
“Is this true, Mr. Giles?” Dr. Burkle asked him with obvious concern.
Oh, buggar. “I, uh, well, that is, um-” Instead of trying to continue, he just held up his hand with the blood soaked washcloth tied around it.
Dr. Burkle grabbed his hand and unwrapped the cloth. After studying it, she said, “well, you have done a number on this, haven’t you? Did you break something in it?”
He didn’t honestly remember. The days had gone by in a blur of alcohol induced haze. He could have flown around the world and won the Miss America pageant for all he knew.
“Well, I’ll have to clean it up,” the doctor said as she made her way to the medical cabinet over the sink. “Oh, darn it! I’m out of Hydrogen Peroxide. I’ll have to go and get some. Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”
“Hey, doc. Don’t worry, you can always siphon the peroxide from his hair. I’m sure he’s got more than enough to spare,” Buffy said, a sweet smile on her lips that was anything but sincere.
Dr. Burkle gave her an odd look before smiling back. “Um, okay.”
Once the doctor had left the room, Buffy flopped down into the chair and scowled at him.
“I don’t know what you’re glaring at, you’re not the one about t’ be poked and prodded,” he told her.
She folded her golden arms over her breasts. “Well, whose fault is that? No one pointed a gun to your head and made you drink half a liquor store.”
“Why do you bloody care anyway? Dru is your responsibility, not me. I don’ even know you.” He placed his hands on either side of him, bracing himself on the table.
Buffy was quiet for a minute before she stood up and walked to the door. As she got ready to walk out, she turned to him. “I care because what Dru did to you was wrong and you deserve better than to waste yourself on somebody like her. And you may not know me, but I know you well enough to say that you’re a good man even though you just treated me like shit for the last two hours. I wish you the best, Mr. Giles.”
And with that she was gone.