Roll Me Away
By: Valkyrie
Disclaimer/Summary: See part one.
A/N: Okay so I promised an end to the angst, but it won’t be right yet. Sorry!
“On a prayer,
In a song,
I hear your voice
And it keeps me hangin’ on.”
Garth Brooks~ ‘When You Come Back To Me’
At the same time Buffy was standing in front of her home for the first time in two years, Spike was stepping off a bus in L.A. He took a breath and grimaced. Smog. One thing he had always hated about big cities. Good thing he wouldn’t be here long. He waited patiently with the other passengers for the chance to grab his bag from the luggage area beneath the bus before heading to the ticket counter inside the depot. When he was informed that the next bus to Sunnydale wasn’t running until tomorrow morning, he cursed mentally. With a resigned sigh, he purchased a one-way ticket and asked for the directions to the nearest decent hotel. Ticket in pocket, and directions to some place called The Hyperion, he caught a cab.
Two hours later, he had showered, changed, eaten and was back on the street looking for a bar. His mind was going at warp speed trying to come up with a plan for seeing Buffy again, and when he stepped inside a shop for a pack of smokes he was oblivious to what was going on. With his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor, he was stunned to feel a gun against his temple as soon as the door closed.
“Bad timing, dude,” Spike’s eyes snapped up to take in the thug standing next to the counter. He cast a quick glance around him and saw the cashier behind the counter, a young woman with a baby standing near the magazines on his left, and middle aged man lying unconscious on the floor, a huge bruise starting to form on the side of his face.
Spike immediately raised his hands in the air, “Easy, mate. I don’t want any trouble.”
The other robber stepped around in front of Spike, keeping the muzzle of the revolver leveled at his head, “Too bad for you then, buddy.” He motioned with his head for Spike to move towards the counter, “Slowly, man…wouldn’t want to have to shoot ya.”
When he reached the counter, the man standing there started gesturing at the cashier, “Keep it coming, gramps. Money in the bag, let’s go.” Spike watched as the cashier started stuffing everything in the drawer into a brown paper bag. Everyone was quiet, the only sounds being the rustle of the money and bag and the scared breathing of the cashier, until the baby started to cry. The man watching Spike, turned to the mother, “Shut the brat up!” The mother jumped but immediately began soothing the child, whispering and cooing to no avail. The baby began to wail louder and the guy shifted his aim to her, “Lady, if you don’t stop the brat’s screaming…” He trailed off with a glare.
“I-I-I’m s-sorry…h-he’s hun-hungry,” The woman stammered, fighting tears.
“Let ‘em go,” Spike spoke up.
“Nobody asked you. Keep your mouth shut,” The man taking the money said.
His partner took a step towards the woman and child, “I don’t care if he’s dying of starvation, just shut the fuckin’ kid up!”
What happened next was a blur to Spike. He heard the gun cock and the woman’s voice pleading. The baby screamed louder and Spike jumped at the gunman. His partner shouted a warning and the gunman turned and fired all at once. Spike felt an unbelievable flash of pain and then nothing. The last thing he heard before the world went black was the woman’s scream.
* * * *
“What have we got?”
“GSW to the upper abdomen. BP 90 over 50 and dropping.”
“Has he been conscious at all?”
“Few minutes when we loaded him, but out since then.”
“Right…Take him to Trauma One.”
“Jesus! What hit him? A shotgun?”
“Cops said it was a .44, point blank. He tried to be a hero.”
“BP 80 over 40…”
“Let’s cut these clothes…Carrie…I need suction, clear this out. Call the bank…I want four units, O neg, on the infuser…we need to get his BP back up.”
“We have a name for this guy?”
“Um, yeah…Bradley, William Bradley. ID says he’s from New York. No sign of anyone to contact.”
“Hey Doc! If he comes to we need a statement from him.”
“Later Detective. Carrie, more suction…two more on the infuser. Damn! I can’t find where he’s bleeding from in here. Wait! Okay, got it. Bullet hit his large intestine. Clamp! Carrie…thank you. All right, he’s clamped off. Bleeding slowing.”
“BP rising…90 over 50…”
“Call O.R.”
“100 over 60 and holding.”
“Great work…get him upstairs.”
* * * *
Voices floated around him and he tried to focus on what was being said, but the concentration caused his head to pound. He tried to remember what had happened and where he was, but that hurt too. He saw light behind his eyelids and smelled a slight tint of bleach. Taking deep breaths to control the blinding waves of pain becoming apparent throughout his body, he cracked one eye.
“Hey there sexy! Welcome back,” The throaty voice he’d heard floating around him coalesced into the form of a nurse. She smiled at him with red lips and winked, “Betcha feel like you got slammed by a Mack truck, huh?” He forced himself to nod, but when he tried to speak nothing came out. “Hold on…here, take a sip.” He took a small drink from the straw she placed at his mouth and nodded when he was done.
“Thanks,” Was that his voice? God he sounded like shit. “What…Where am I?”
“L.A. Regional Medical Center. You tried to play hero and got popped for it.”
“Popped? The robbers…Shit,” He groaned. “How long?”
“Since they brought you in? Three days…they kept you sedated after surgery,” She gave him some more water while she answered.
“Three days? Bloody hell! And wait…surgery?”
“Yeah, the bullet ripped through your large intestine…think they actually removed part of it. Missed the vitals, but it was close. A few centimeters in any direction and I don’t think you would have made it,” She said seriously. “In the future…remember, playing the hero isn’t always the smartest maneuver.”
“He was gonna shoot her. A mother…her kid was crying. I just reacted…didn’t think.”
“Obviously,” She said wryly. She saw his eyes start to drift closed again, “You need to rest…you need anything when you wake up, call for me. Name’s Faith, okay?”
He nodded and his eyes closed…rest was good. He needed to get back on his feet. He still had to get to Sunnydale.
* * * *
It was another week before he was considered healthy enough to be released. Faith had been kind enough to pick up his bag from The Hyperion before one of her shifts, so he had his own clothes to wear out. His stomach still hurt like a son of a bitch, but the codeine they gave him helped some and the rest he hid from the doctors. The cops had come and gone. Twice. Neither of the robbers had been caught yet. The mother with the crying child had stopped by the day after he had woke up. This time she had been the one in tears as she thanked him. Now, he had signed his release papers and was ready to go, with one exception.
“No way, Faith! I’m not getting in that soddin’ chair,” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared.
“Hospital policy, Blondie,” She responded with a smirk. “Door to door service, now sit your cute ass down. The sooner you sit, the sooner you’re out and on your way to what’s her name.”
“It’s Buffy, and no.”
“Whatever…and yes! Damn it, William,” She grabbed his arm as he tried to move past her. He glared again at the use of his given name. “Yes, I said William…come on, man. This is my job…deliver drugs, clean up bodily fluids…and every once in a while play chauffeur to sexy bleached blonde idiots with a stubborn streak. I have no reservations what so ever about manhandling you into the chair and restraining you. Hell, I might even enjoy it, but one way or the other, you ain’t leaving this place unless I wheel you out myself…so SIT!” She jerked him by the arm and pointed at the bane of his existence.
“You’re a sadist, you know that right?” He grumbled as he finally sat down in the wheelchair. “Probably have the whips and chains and paddles, too.”
“You have no idea, gorgeous,” She laughed as she pushed him towards the elevators. “If that dream girl of yours ever cuts you off, you come back and look me up. I’ll give you a personal tour of my collection.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, pet,” He joked. “Seriously though, thanks for the back up with the white coats.”
“No prob, Spikey,” Faith smiled. “I know you’re itching to get out of here and find your girl. I may be a sadist, but I’m still a girl and I think this Buffy chick is pretty damn lucky. Hope she realizes that.”
“If anything, I’m the lucky one, or at least I will be if she still wants me.”
“If she doesn’t, she’s an idiot,” The elevator doors opened and Faith pushed him through the lobby and out to the drive. A cab was waiting and she handed Spike’s bag to the cabbie before turning back to her patient, “Good luck, Spike. I really hope it works out.”
In an impulsive maneuver, Spike reached out and gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Me too, luv. Thanks.”
“Hey!” Faith stopped him before he got in the cab; “I dropped my number in your wallet. If you need anything, or just need to talk, call me okay?”
He nodded, “I will.”
Faith watched as the cab drove away… ‘Damn, that girl had better realize just what she’s got in him. Lucky bitch!’