"There." Spike blinked as the offending light which had been shinning into his eyes for the last few seconds was mercifully removed. Only then did he relax his grip a bit from the edges of the counter which had been serving as a makeshift examination table. He blinked again, and the doctor's face came once more into view.
Speight, he reminded himself; her name was Doctor Speight. There was a small smile on her face as she put the flashlight she was holding into her pocket. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Spike gave a half-hearted shrug, not really wanting to say anything. Truth be told he just wanted this whole examination over with already.
"All considered, I'd say you're a pretty lucky young man," she continued, not seeming to notice his reaction.
He didn't feel lucky. Sure, the throbbing pain in his head had finally gone away by the time the plane landed, which was good. That it had yet to return made things better as well. Even so, it seemed all that had done was give way for his mind to focus again on that nagging feeling, the one which Spike was beginning to think would never leave. It hung in the air, that feeling which told him he that he was missing something.
That something was wrong.
There were still a few flashing spots in his vision. Spike squeezed his eyes shut as the doctor continued talking, pinching the bridge of his nose until they went away again.
"- for how long you were out there, it's actually pretty remarkable." She was saying. "Two cracked ribs which should heal up fine, none of the lacerations on your arms and legs festered which is good. Even the graze from the bullet was shallow. Not out of the woods, yet everything should heal, so long as you rest."
Spike blinked again, finally bringing everything back into clear focus. To his surprise he found the doctor was not looking at him. She was focusing a rather poignant glare towards Davenport, who had insisted on being present during the examination and was standing across the room.
Under her gaze Davenport's face fell slightly. He shifted to stand a bit straighter yet nothing more was said. Spike didn't have to know the exact history to understand there was a reason for that look. He wondered just how many times he had been here, how many missions he had partaken in, and how many injuries he had endured.
You've been through worse than this… Hadn't that been one of his first thoughts while out in the mountains? Spike looked back down at his arms and legs, studying the various bandages which now covered them. A sudden feeling began to bloom. He wanted to rip off the bandages. He didn't want them there, didn't want the reminder he was hurt or weak. Because he wasn't weak.
He took a moment to look around again at the room serving as their makeshift medical bay. The room was cold and sterile yet there was a sense of it being well-worn and lived in as well. Home, the others called it. While Spike would not have gone that far with its description, he could say that here he felt familiar, and could – would – draw a sense of comfort with that feeling.
His eye caught sight of the console which he was sitting beside. His mind flashed, quick and strong, of the same surroundings. Except it was somewhat different. The console and walls covered in shiny silver and red tinsel, a small tree blinking in lights resting on top. A rather corny song playing softy, singing of yuletide carols.
Taking it all in as a red haze faded away, and something else, words which he couldn't make out even as they obscured all else in his vision.
He was on the ground. Then pain, radiating from the side of his face. Adam standing over him, Davenport and Bree nearby, both with looks on their faces of shock. Adam with a stupid grin, boxing gloves on his hands.
Putting it together… the idiot had punched him… in the face… Red… anger…
Pain. Not his face, but his hand...
"Spike…" Davenport's voice suddenly came, low yet forceful, right beside his ear.
Spike blinked again, his focus pushing away the memory to bring him back into the present. He followed the sound to find Davenport had moved away from the wall and was standing next to him, a hand grasping firmly on Spike's arm.
How had he missed it? Spike sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. He was about to say something, tell the older man to move back and let go, when Davenport motioned him to look down. Spike did to find his uninjured hand was now on Doctor Speight's, gripping it tightly.
"She's not going to hurt you," Davenport's voice remained steady, almost as a whisper this time. "Let go."
Spike did, still staring at his hand. He hadn't realized what he had done. He had just wanted the pain to stop. What had happened? He opened his mouth yet closed it again, unsure what he could say.
"Sorry," Davenport said. Even without looking, Spike could feel the man's eyes on him as if silently willing him to echo the word. Instead he stayed silent. He didn't want to apologize.
"It's alright." Doctor Speight said instead. There was a slight shake to her voice. Good. She had deserved it.
She had?
"Well, that was… " Davenport cleared his throat. "That was my fault. Spike is rather… jumpy about sudden movement. You were saying?"
Doctor Speight nodded. Still she kept her distance as she continued to speak. Davenport took a few steps back as well. Spike continued to look at his hands as they talked. One of the bandages was now loose; maybe the doctor had been trying to fix it. That would explain the sudden pain he had felt. Spike adjusted it himself.
There was a bit of faded bruising around the many; that was the problem. He continued to stare, as if to will them away, before pulling on the sleeves of his shirt so it covered his hands. Satisfied, he shifted his focus away again, looking around the room.
"Mr. Davenport?"
Spike blinked again, realizing she was talking to him. It was strange being called such a formal form of his name. Last name; Davenport was his last name. It seemed silly, yet his mind was still seeming to wrap itself around the concept. "Yes?"
To his surprise the doctor didn't seem annoyed by his lack of paying attention. She was giving him a small smile again. She then turned back to Davenport, exchanging a glance.
Davenport straightened. "I'll tell Bree you're ready for her. If that's-"
"We'll be fine" Doctor Speight answered his unfinished question.
There was a silence as Davenport walked to the door and opened it. He gave another shared look with the doctor before his eyes shifted to look directly into Spike's. "Come see me when you're done here, okay? We'll be upstairs."
Spike nodded.
Only after he had left and the door was closed again did Doctor Speight look back at Spike. Leaning against the cabinet she had been standing in front of and placing her hands into her pockets she spoke. "Penny for your thoughts."
Spike shrugged.
"I'm not mad. I know you didn't mean it."
Except he had. The thought again came so quickly he was stunned by its presence. Even as the action had been purely instinct, he realized that deep down he had wanted to hurt her, to make her hurt. But why? Because she had caused him a little pain?
Yes. Because no one caused him pain and got away with it. He noticed how the doctor was keeping her distance now, staying out of his arm length. She was avoiding where he could touch her. There was comfort in that realization. He felt himself relax as it came over him. He felt better not at knowing he had caused that reaction from her, but in knowing she wasn't close, was keeping her distance.
Silence hung in the air again. The doctor was putting away things, taking her time. Finally she spoke again. "You want to know about your memories, don't you?"
Spike bit the inside of his lip. He did, but did he really want to ask?
"Wish I had an easy answer for you," she continued, "It's not exactly my field of expertise, but what I can tell you is that healing of the mind is a more complex matter than healing of the body. You've been getting glimmers, correct?"
He caught himself before nodding. "How-"
"Donald told me on the phone before you arrived."
Of course he had. Spike frowned, slightly annoyed by this, yet remained silent. As if sensing this she added. "To be fair, I had asked."
Spike looked away again, this time to the other side of the room. His eyes caught sight of three large chambers of glass which stood upright near the far wall. As if spurred by the exchange just moments before, his mind flared up again, conjuring something he had seen before. Bree standing in front of the glass, calling to him…. No, not to him. She wasn't saying his name but something else, something he couldn't hear. He punched the glass and her face fell. He could see her pale as she stepped back…
He blinked again, looking down at the floor. "How long?"
It was the only question he could think to ask. To his continued annoyance Doctor Speight shrugged. "Days? Weeks? There are even cases of it taking years. It really depends on too many factors to be sure. Since you don't remember the circumstances surrounding it, one could only guess as to the cause."
She took a step towards him. "Some people close their minds away from traumatic events. Even something like a car crash can cause it. The mind misfires, and the memory is stored in a place where it can't readily be found. Many times, it results in the loss of memory of the incident, but sometimes, the events are traumatic enough that the entire mind, essentially, hides from what happens. I know it feels like the end of the world, but remember it's not."
She put her hand on his shoulder. "The more you're around people and places you know the easier it will be. I know it won't feel like it, but it helps." She gave him a kind smile. "You want to know who you are, and you are remembering-"
Spike nodded, not willing to ask or say anything else. There was nothing else he could say; not really.
"I know it sounds impossible but just keep going. Head upstairs. Eat. Sleep. Live your life. Don't force it. As Yoda says, "Do, or do not. There is no try."
Spike felt his face furrow. "Who?"
Doctor Speight let out a small chuckle. "Nevermind. And now this is where I become a regular old boring doctor. No heavy lifting or other strenuous activities for the next few weeks. I gave your- Donald the rundown as well, and wrote it down for him. Here's an extra copy," She handed Spike a sheet of paper. "I'm sure he's already lost it."
He couldn't help but chuckle at that. Spike took the paper, then slid off the table and began making his way to the door. "Thanks."
She smiled again. "You're welcome. Now if you excuse me, time to move on to those two siblings of yours. Seems someone did quite a number on them."
He probably should feel guilty or wince at the sentiment yet Spike found his lip curling slightly instead. Another contradicting aspect of his existence to add to the pile.
Spike paused a moment as the door closed behind him. Now where? The room he was in now was much smaller, probably a storage area by the looks of it. No one else was here. Probably at any moment either Adam or Bree would walk through the elevator – wait, there was an elevator here? Yes, it led upstairs, to the main house.
Okay then. He should go up there, go get Bree or Adam. Spike hesitated.
Like the room he had just been in, he had a sense that he knew this place, this room. There was a sense of familiarity within it. Not a feeling of comfort or safety, but familiar in a way which told him he must have spent a good deal of time here. Spike looked around, making his way slowly to the various consoles and other objects which occupied it.
At first he was careful and slow, not wishing to disturb anything or to intrude. Only after a minute did it hit him just what he was doing, and he mentally reprimanded himself. This was home, wasn't it? How could he disturb his own home?
Because he didn't know the rules here. He didn't know what belonged to him and what belonged to the other occupants. Didn't know what he was supposed to do or where to go or anything like it.
Just do your normal routine, that was what the doctor had told him. Except he had no idea just what composed of a normal routine for him. So Spike continued to look around, being careful to not touch anything. It was a short task really; there wasn't much of anything in the space. Still he took his time, unsure of his own hesitation.
There was nothing else to do really. He needed to head upstairs.
Beyond the doorway at the other end of the room was another set of doors. A small panel with buttons was beside it; the elevator. Spike pressed the up button and stepped inside.
Voices greeted him at the top. He stopped suddenly at the sound.
"He is a part of this team," Davenport was saying. "And helping each other is what a team does. Am I clear?"
Spike took a step forward, out of the elevator and into the small hallway before him. There was a bend at the end of it, and just beyond it what looked to be an open living area and kitchen, which was where the others were standing. Bree and Adam had their backs to him, while Davenport leaned over a counter, looking towards them. Spike ducked so his body would be out of sight.
"Can we then discuss the giant elephant in the room then?" Bree asked.
"Where?" Adam's head whipped around.
Bree rolled her eyes. "Not literal, Adam. I meant it makes no sense. If everything was disabled then it shouldn't be here."
What were they talking about?
"Actually it makes perfect sense," Davenport answered. "There must have been a threat of some kind to initiate it before the disabling of your chips."
Chips… the 'techno-crap' that man at the waterfall had been talking about when Spike had awakened. He leaned forward slightly to hear better, being careful not to move too much into view.
"But that happened before we were separated," Bree said quietly. Davenport sighed deeply and rested his hands on the counter, resting his chin onto them. "Mr. Davenport, how could the app initiate if his chip was disabled?"
"A mis-fire, perhaps." Davenport said quietly.
"Then just disable it." Bree suggested. Spike felt a grating of his chest at the hopefulness within her tone.
Davenport sighed again. "The program isn't wired like that. If we removed the chip while the Commando App was still engaged it could cause irreparable damage."
Commando App… The words circled around his brain a moment. It felt distantly familiar, although frustratingly so with no context. A thought floated across the forefront of his mind for a moment.
Red and letters… his vision blurred… danger and threat… gotta get out…
"So that's it? We're just stuck with it?" The animosity within Bree's voice snapped him out of this thoughts.
"Unless I find a way to repair the chip without causing anything to go wrong or the app is disengaged, then yes." Davenport stood up again. "Right now the best thing we all can do is focus on what we can control. I know it's frustrating, but we don't have all the information and acting upon what little we do have helps no one."
"But-"
He heard a small sound of something cracking from next to him. Only when he looked towards it did Spike notice that he had instinctually been gripping hold of the doorframe. The small cracks in the frame demonstrated how fiercely he had been gripping hold of it.
He ought to feel bad about damaging it like that. Instead he felt the anger bubbling up again. He felt that urge again from his gut, the one which urged for control. It screamed at him to march into the room, to demand answers, to threaten.
Red. Kicking and thrashing, yelling and demanding and gain the answers…
"You want to come in here so we can discuss this more Spike?"
He actually jumped at the sound of his name. He must have made more noise than he intended. Crap. Straightening himself out again, Spike stepped forward, asking the first question which came to his mind, the one he needed answered most.
"What's the Commando App?"
