Session 45

It was a familiar and yet strange sensation. The distant sound of a voice. He could barely make it out, more sounds than words. Were they talking about something important? He was curious, but so tired. No part of his body was listening to his desires. Something wasn't right.

Am I breathing? A slow panic set it. For some reason he couldn't feel that sensation. Oh crap … am I dead? That would be a serious bummer.

"Here we go. That's a good sign." A hand pressed against his shoulder. "Easy Spike. You're alright. You're breathing. Don't get ahead of yourself, just take it one breath at a time."

He couldn't open his eyes. When he tried to swallow there wasn't much moisture. Tongue like sandpaper, it registered slowly that his throat burned. He couldn't stop the coughing fit that resulted from the failed attempt.

"It's ok. Don't try to speak. Your throat is sore because you were intubated until recently."

Intubated? What the heck … why did … gah … what happened? His world floated in a hazy blur. Memories in a disorganized blend drifted on the edges, snatches of discussions, something about a procedure? What had been real, what had been a … what had they called them … a hallucination? He tried to move and instantly regretted it. Damn his head ached, worse than a hangover.

The hand shifted, tucking into his own limp hand. The voice, male, familiar … but not too familiar. "Spike, if you can hear me I want you to squeeze my hand."

Hand … yes … not that one, the other one, the one touching the other … thing … yeah, that one. It took far too much concentration to shift the proper fingers, but the pressure increased. He still struggled to open his eyes, it wouldn't happen easily, were they swollen?

"Good, good. Ok, let's try this. One squeeze for no. Two for yes. Can you do that?"

Once more it taxed him, but he pumped the hand twice.

"Great. This will work for now. Be honest with me, are you in any pain?"

Hell yes! Spike squeezed twice. Why is this happening? What's wrong? Why can't I fucking communicate?

"Got it. Is it your head?"

Again he answered, a bit more desperately.

"Anywhere else?"

One pump.

"That's to be expected. Ok, here we go, we'll just add this to the cocktail. That should do it. Give it a few minutes to kick in." The fingers rubbed his hand, but remained in constant contact. "You can open your eyes when you feel up to it, but don't be in a rush. It's ok if you just want to lie there for a bit."

That's it … that was all he wanted. That, and something to sooth his sore throat. But he couldn't figure out how to convey that detail. At least now he could feel himself breathing. That was a relief. Things were coming back gradually.

"Damian," a voice called out, a fair distance away. Jet? Yes that was Jet. "Is he ok?"

The voice that had been addressing Spike answered, "Coming out of this heavy of a coma takes a bit of time. I know this looks rough, but it's about what I expected. We'll go at his speed."

The hand was still in Spike's, a line of communication … yes and no was all he could say. He twitched his fingers, yes.

"Hrm? Is that kicking in?"

He confirmed it wishing he had more coordination. Maybe now that his head ached a bit less, he could open his eyes. A tiny crack, he edged them open into the shards of light piercing the darkness. Yes, the lids were puffy for some reason. Blurs at first, for several painstaking blinks. His vision congealed into what looked like a typical stark hospital room, equipment around him beeping and making odd arrays of medical noises he was far to familiar with.

That guy, the doctor … Damian was his name, sat next to him. That was the hand holding his. Spike tried to swallow again and coughed miserably at the irritation.

"Here." Letting go of Spike's hand, Damian held up a cup. "If you can coordinate it, you can take small sips of this." Very carefully he lifted Spike's head and placed the cup against his cracked lips.

A mouthful of water flowed down his parched throat, the raw flesh burned from the sensation. But he took several small sips at Damian's coaxing, swallowing each one carefully. A slight relief, but a relief none-the-less.

"There we go. Just take it easy, now. There is no rushing anything. Can you see clearly?"

He twitched his hand in a firmer yes.

Relief crossed Damian's features. "Ok, now for the big question … how many are in this room?"

Huh? That's an odd question. Ohhh wait, that's right before there were odd things coming out of the dark assaulting me. Slowly, without moving his head, he let his eyes wander around the room raising a finger on his right hand for each one he saw. At last he held his hand up firmly displaying the count.

Damian took a step back. "Five?" He looked over his shoulder at the others. "Ohhh no."

Yes, five. You, Jet, Faye, Ed, and … this wasn't something he could get across he realized as his vague pointing gained him nothing. In a gravely voice he croaked out, " … Ein … "

All eyes turned down to the little dog dangling from Ed's grasp. The corgi grinned at his name, panting happily. Ed danced on her feet. "Spike's back in the reality!"

But Spike didn't celebrate as he was racked by a cough. Once he stopped, gasping for breath, Damian held the cup for him. "I told you, don't try to talk yet. Your throat's gonna need a bit more time."

He shut his eyes, just breathing. Now he felt the bandages around his head. That's right, they'd told him in the brief snatches of lucidity that they were going to do a procedure. Something about reconnecting stuff in his head, that that was why he'd been reduced to such a malfunctioning mess. He tried to lift his other hand to explore the mess.

Jet caught the rogue gesture and eased his hand back down to the bed. "Don't, pard. Just lie there and take it easy."

Carrying Ein closer Ed grinned and laughed. "Spike-person can't move cause his brain juices would go swish swish swishy."

That was a disturbing thought sending creeping sensations across his skin. Spike eyed her wearily and mouthed, "Please stop."

Faye edged in beside Ed, forcing a smile. "Edward, how about we hold off on the details til Spike has had a couple days to recover, ok?"

"But it's true."

A little too sweetly she whispered, "That doesn't mean we need to tell him that right now. He's still a bit pale."

Ed giggled, "And a bit green."

Somehow that didn't surprise him. His eyes wanted to close.

"He's looking a bit wiped out, maybe we should let him rest."

Even before she got the phrase out, Spike groped for her wrist, his weak grip closing around it and stopping her even through his fingers slid off of her skin. The annoying beeping on the monitor increased.

She gazed down at him, her own hand brushing his trembling fingers. "You don't want us to leave?"

Carefully he shook his head against the pillow, once was all he could manage. Yes, his eyes were closing but …

"Easy, easy. It's ok." She looked up to Jet and nodded. "Don't worry. We'll stay if you want us too. Is that what you want?"

More than anything! I don't want to wake up without seeing one of you—the real yous, and not some nightmare version! He hated how he shook when he brushed his fingers against her wrist twice. But at the moment talking wasn't worth the effort.

She reached forward, touching his shoulder. "Alright. Sleep if you want to. We'll be right here when you wake up."

Damian pushed a chair over toward them. "We know what we need to know, Spike. It may not feel like it, but you're doing well. All you need to do for the moment is just rest. Later on when you've cleared the sedative, we'll take a scan and see how many more infusions we'll need to do. But for now, sleep if you're still tired."

That he was—exhausted was the word. Infusions? What was he talking about? Infusions of what? For the moment he couldn't really ask. That would come when his throat felt better and he could get more than one word out. He had a feeling that would be a while.

It still seemed odd every time Faye entered the building accompanied by the staff. But they couldn't stay there all the time, even if they wanted to. Each night they went back to the ship leaving Spike in the care of the staff. Each morning one of them came back. Today it was her turn. She entered the room with the escort to find Spike laying on his side staring out the barred window at the sparkling bay. The sunlight gave a cheery feel even to the low lit room.

The orderly glanced up and smiled, quietly shifting toward the door, he excused himself. Good, that means Spike's stable today. The steady beat on the monitor tracked his pulse. Spike's heart, she paused for a moment registering that for the first time.

Walking up to the side of the bed she took a seat in the chair. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

Spike didn't move, but he rolled his eyes her way and heaved a sigh. He was always pale these days, but at least he wasn't green-cast any longer. The dark circles beneath his eyes didn't change, nor had the need for the bandages around his head. The hair tufts bothered her, but she refrained from tucking them in, not knowing where the incisions were.

"That good, huh?"

"I can't move at the moment. Strict instructions. Have to lie still." His voice was still rough, but at least now, several days past the procedure, he could talk without coughing if he kept it to just above a whisper. "They finished the next infusion about an hour ago."

She lifted an eyebrow. That explained the large bandage adhered on the back of his neck. "That's the second one then. Not too bad, you're awake this time."

"I wish I wasn't." He moaned. "They stuck a needle the length of my finger into the spine at the back of my neck. Even though they numbed it, I still felt the damn thing over the hours it took. Won't even know how well this works for a few more days."

"You'll be out of this bed in no time."

He shut his eyes. "You have no idea how much I want to make that happen."

"After the scan, did he tell you how many more infusions did he think you'll need."

"Two bloody more of them, with a couple of days in between each one. I can't get up until this whole thing is finished."

"One step at a time." She looked out at the bay. "At least you have a nice view."

"If you don't count the bars," he grumbled.

Holding up a bag she winked. "I have something that should make you feel a little better." She tugged out a container and popped it open. "Since you're able to eat whatever you want, look what Jet made." Inside she had a full dozen sugar cookies frosted with amusing designs. "Jet frosted these ones. I did these two, and these smilie ones are by … "

"Ed." He chuckled without moving.

"I swear nothing bothers that kid."

He closed his eyes slowly and sighed. "If only … somethings do, she's just real selective in who she talks to."

That brought Faye up short. Carefully she nudged the cookies aside revealing a special one, a blue frosted pinwheel, a small fingerprint in the corner. "She wanted to make sure you got this one."

A bit of moisture built in the corner of his real eye. But he didn't say anything.

"I'll uhh … I'll just leave them here for you when you can at least sit up a bit more." Carefully, she set the tin on the side table.

Her hand gripped her bare upper arm. "Spike … how much do you remember from before? I mean, how much has Damian told you about what happened?"

His weary gaze studied her for a long moment. "It's hard to make sense of most of it … but I know a lot of what I was seeing and hearing wasn't real. I'm aware that I lost touch with reality … and yes, even though it's all blurry I remember what I experienced. Why?"

Slowly, she leaned forward and touched his hand resting on the blanket in front of him. "The procedure, the one that brought you back into reality? Do you know where that came from?"

Silence stretched out. Beneath the bandages, Spike eyebrows knit in a clear effort to sort out what she was implying. So … no one had told him yet. He seemed with it enough not to flip out.

"Ed dug deep into the internet in an effort to find a way to heal the damage … and she found … " Faye took a deep breath as Spike's hand trembled in her grip, " … she found your parent's research."

The bruised eyes stared at her in quiet shock. For a moment she thought he'd stopped breathing before he took a catch breath.

"Spike, that's what Damian used for the procedure. A compound your parents discovered and called stardust."

Again, nothing but breathing as he lay there, not even looking at her anymore as his eyes drifted. Maybe it was too soon after all. Gently she shook his hand. "Hey, you alright?"

"I … they … my parents?"

"Oh no, I broke him!"

He shut his eyes for a moment, squeezing her hand. "No, I'm alright … just—how? How did she find it? I thought it was long gone."

A sentence! That was a relief! She grinned and squeezed his hand back. "It's Ed. Who knows? But she did find it, and unlocked the key to decoding it. Believe it or not, it was in the lullaby you taught her. I thought you'd want to know."

Now he blinked, cocking a brow. "Really?"

"Mmm hmm. So it seems like even if Morpheus had found their research it would have remained coded unless he knew that old lullaby."

"Something tells me through what I can remember of them now that they never would have shared that with that asshole."

A sweet image appeared in Faye's mind, a toddler version of Spike swaddled in bed with his mother singing him to sleep. She began to hum the melody softly.

"You still sing off-key."

In mid measure, Faye stiffened, her expression souring. "Ooooooh you—!"

Spike flinched. "Careful! I'm serious! I'm not supposed to move right now. Don't hit me."

Waggling a finger, she eyed him. "You are lucky, buster!"

See You Space Cowboy