All About Spike - Plain Version
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CHAPTER 6 - ANGEL
The splitting headache woke Spike up. He groaned and weakly reached back and touched the lump. It was probably a concussion, he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. At least he didn't seem to be bleeding any more; the bandage on his neck was dry. He wondered if he was dying. Humans were pretty fragile and if pain was any indication, he should be dropping off any minute. Ironic. He had gotten into this whole mess in order to get rid of the chip and here he was, still stuck with a blinding headache.
It was hard to keep his eyes open. The black eyes that he had half expected when the guard had broken his nose seemed to be developing right on schedule. He rubbed his face and for the first time noticed the wool hat. Oh yeah, he had been trying to pull it on earlier. When it touched the lump, his head had exploded and he had fainted. Fortunately he had been huddled in a dark closet and no one had seen him.
He was beginning to remember where he was. He had wakened up in an ambulance. Two attendants had been working on his neck and he almost bit one in his original panic. When he had realized where he was, he had croaked out an apology. It took a moment or two to persuade them to not strap him down. He had watched in groggy fascination as they stanched the bleeding in his chest before he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
He had wakened again on a hospital gurney. Someone had inserted an IV into his arm and he looked up dreamily at the blood bag. He wondered vaguely what flavor it was. Then he remembered the lawyers. They would probably be tracking him. If he stayed here, they would find him. He yanked out the IV and struggled off the gurney. The room spun and he almost fell to his knees. It took a few tries but he finally staggered into an elevator and rode to another floor. He remembered trying to find a disguise and looking for someplace to hide.
He obviously had succeeded. Here he was, huddled in a closet. And apparently he had found some clothes to drape over the blood covered sweatpants. He had a cap, a coat and, he winced in discomfort, a pair of shoes a bit too small for his feet. He sniffed the coat. Essence of street people. It was rank, but if he was trying to hide, nothing was more invisible than a homeless person. He couldn't remember picking up the clothes, but his instincts still seemed to be working. For once he was glad that his human sense of smell was duller than his vampire senses.
It was time to escape. Cautiously he slipped out of the closet into a dark, empty hospital room. Two steps later, he wondered if he was going to be able to stay on his feet. The concussion and blood loss had left him feeling lightheaded. He took a deep breath. It looked like skipping out of the hospital and hot-wiring a car so he could drive back to Sunnydale was out. Go to plan B.
What the hell was Plan B? The room had a connecting bathroom and he stumbled and washed his face, trying to clear his head. He stared at the laundry mark on the towel.
L. A. General He was in Angel's territory. Back in the beginning of this whole mess, some lawyer had wanted his help to fight Angel. It was time to call the Ol' Poof and find out what the devil was happening. If they were mad at Angel, why had they come to Sunnydale and staked him?
He shuffled through the halls until he found a nursing station. At first he tried chatting one of the birds up, then realized that with filthy clothes and a face that looked like it had been in a meat grinder, his masculine charm might not be at its best. He tried the pathetic routine, (which actually matched what he was feeling at the moment) and talked her into giving him a telephone book and let him use a phone.
He found the number and a few moments later heard a clear feminine voice. "Angel Investigations. We help the . . ."
"Let me speak to Angel," he interrupted.
The voice hesitated, then, "Who shall I say is calling?"
What was he supposed to say now? If he gave his name, there was enough bad blood between them that the Angel would never come to the phone. Considering that the Poofster had set Dru and Darla on fire , he probably wasn't in the mood for a family reunion. "Tell him that it's . . . Randy Giles and this is an emergency."
There was silence on the other end. Finally, "Angel speaking."
When Angel spoke again, his voice was filled with loathing, "Spike?"
"Some of your lawyer friends made me human. What the hell is going on?"
The other end was quiet. For a panicked moment, Spike was afraid that his sire had hung up. It was a relief when Angel spoke again. "What are you talking about?" He could hear his sire's deep distrust.
"I told you. I 'm human. If your lawyer friends catch me, I get to go back on an all blood diet again. I need a little help here."
"Where are you?"
"In a hospital. LA General."
"I can be there in an hour. I'll meet you in front of the main entrance."
"Spike . . ."
"If this is a trick, if you're working with Wolfram and Hart, I'll kill you myself."
Now the challenge was to stay conscious for an hour and make it to the lobby. He stumbled through the halls, quietly cursing the tight shoes. There were a few signs posted but they were hard to read until he got close. His eyes were lousy to begin with and the swelling made it worse.
His eyesight was good enough, however, that when he went down the elevator, he recognized the hulking figure of Tweedledee standing in the lobby. He hastily pulled the hat a little further down and retreated. The Wolfram and Hart people had arrived.
He tried three different exits, so that he could circle the building and approach the main entrance from the outside. Two had goons guarding them. The emergency room exit had two goons and the witch hovering around them. Finally he decided to risk the direct approach. Most people didn't notice the homeless. Maybe he could slip by.
Tweedledee (maybe it was Tweedledum, he couldn't really tell) was walking away from the lobby doors towards a drinking fountain. Spike shuffled inconspicuously forward. He wished there were more people around but it was late and only the emergency room was crowded. He reached the door and stepped through, breathing a sigh of relief. Angel was nowhere in sight.
Then a huge hand grabbed his shoulder. "Gotcha." He heard Tweedledee's deep chuckle.
Spike tried to twist away. He tried to fake an American accent, make his voice higher and different. Anything to make the bodyguard let go or at least loosen his grip. "Hey! What'cha doing. Lemme go! I didn't do nothin'."
It was pretty pathetic and not surprisingly the guard didn't let go. Instead he twisted Spike's arm behind his back, threatening to dislocate the shoulder. Then, holding the smaller man helpless, he took out a cell phone. "This is Schiller. I found our escapee right by the main entrance. At least I think it's him. You might want to send someone to verify." He twisted the arm a little harder and Spike promised himself that if he did get turned, this bastard would be the first item on the menu. The two moved over to a shadowed area.
After several moments of prolonged pain, a dark haired woman in a business suit stepped out. She spotted the two in the corner and came over.
"What do we have here?"
"I think this is the subject we're looking for."
She took off the hat, gazing at the tangled hair. "Take off the coat."
The goon let go of the arm, clamping the neck instead. He stripped off the coat, leaving Spike shirtless in the cold, clad only in the blood streaked sweatpants. The lawyer's eyes searched the blonde's body, smiling as she gazed at his muscles. She reached out and touched the slash on his chest. "It's our boy." She flipped open her cell phone. " The subject has been captured and identified. Send transportation to the main entrance.
A moment later a dark car pulled up in front of the trio. Spike struggled and swore as his arm was twisted even more. The door on the driver's side opened. Angel stepped out. The vampire started around the car and saw the woman. "Lilah!" he shifted into game face.
Spike took advantage of the woman's distraction and lashed out with his foot. Caught off guard, she tumbled backward, dropping the phone. He twisted, trying to escape the bodyguard's grip. Suddenly Angel lurched forward and the guard let go, backing up hastily.
"Spike, get in the car," his sire growled.
Spike scrambled over to the car and let himself in. As he looked back, he saw the vampire walk over to the woman, kicking aside her cell phone. He towered over the fallen woman, bloodlust in his demon visage.
Spike looked on, puzzled. Was this Angel or had he reverted back to Angelus? He looked deadly. The woman looked up, a small smile playing on her face. The vampire glared down at her as she gazed defiantly up, then he spun and returned to the car, slamming the door. They drove away.
Spike rubbed his arm and watched the speedometer climb. He considered saying something, then gazed at the ridges on his sire's face and decided, for once in his long existence, to keep his mouth shut.
Continued in CHAPTER 7 - AT THE HYPERION HOTEL
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