I can't believe I did this... I am so embarrassed... Thank you SO much, Erin, for reminding me that I had posted this elsewhere, but not here at ffnet. eeep!

This is a Spike chapter, written by me (Kat). It's rated PG13 for a little cursing and some mild sexual innuendo.

As always, thanks to our reviewers, who really keep us going. Especially Erin, this time!

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The Big Picture

Unlike most doctors, Emil Chan didn't bother consulting with his subordinate about his patient's progress. He went directly to the readout and studied it. He was pleased with what he saw. No sign of brain damage from the head injury, thank God, and for the rest, thank cryotechnology and his own skills. Then he saw something that finally made him speak to Dr. Hammond. He whirled and stomped over to her. "The patient was awake?"

She lifted her eyes from her book and blinked at him. "Yes, doctor. For a short time."

"You were supposed to call me if there was any change!"

"Oh. I thought that meant any change for the worse."

Stupid woman. "How did he seem?"

"Tired, of course, as to be expected from the extreme blood loss and the medications. He wasn't awake long."

His fist clenched, crushing the printout. "Was he coherent? Alert?"

"Yes, doctor. And hungry. He did take some water."

"And held it down?"

"Yes. No trouble. Then he went back to sleep. I didn't think that was worth waking you for."

"Did he speak at all?"

"Yes, doctor."

Once again Chan held his patience with difficulty. "What did he say?" he asked, enunciating every word.

"The expected. He was aware, and wondered where he was and how he'd gotten here."

"And what did you tell him?"

"Not much. Only what I knew, which is that this is an ISSP facility and that you are his doctor."

He began to relax, but only slightly. "Did he tell you his name?"

"Yes. At least I assume it was his name. Undercover agents have a lot of aliases, right?"

"Undercover agents?"

"For the ISSP. Isn't that what he is?"

What a comfortable lie that was! "Something like that, yes. You didn't recognize the name, then?"

"Why would I? It was an odd name, though, which is why I assumed it was an alias. Spike something. Segal, Steegal, something like that. Is that correct, or is his mind wandering?"

He watched her carefully when he said, "His mind isn't wandering. It's Spiegel. Spike Spiegel."

"That was it!" She gazed up at him as if expecting a pat on the head. "Sorry, Dr. Chan. I should have written it down, but I was sure I'd remember it."

He sighed. "If he wakes again, I want to know immediately. You don't talk to him, you call me, no matter when it is. Do you understand?"

"Of course. He probably knows classified stuff I'm not cleared for, right? I'll be sure to do that, doctor." She set down her book and yawned. "Am I off-duty now?"

"Yes. Go on to bed."

As soon as she was gone, he contacted Hitchcock. Hitchcock listened to his account without a single interruption. His first question, when Chan was through, was, "You believe she's that ignorant?"

"You don't know her. I had her when she was in medical school. Her head was always in the clouds. Totally patient-oriented, no larger perspective, mediocre academic skills. If she's ever so much as watched the news once since her father died, it would surprise me greatly. I told you, that's one of the reasons I recommended her for this."

"Well, keep an eye on her anyway. Start making surprise visits. Roberts and I will do the same."

"I will. You want me to wake him so you can talk to him now?"

"Don't be an idiot. We're going to be working for him, remember? We do it all on his schedule. Let him sleep. Just get me immediately when he does wake up."

"What about Cho-Zhou?"

"He'll wait, too. He's not an impatient man. But I think I'll drop a word in his ear that Spiegel is recovering well. I don't want him to become an ambitious man. We can't trust him."

"Can we really trust Spiegel?"

"From what I heard, he honors his mentor. We can trust him as far as we did Mao Yenrai, I believe."

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The next time Spike opened his eyes, the face bending over his was bony, Oriental, and male, topped with thinning grey hair. "You're not half as pretty as Gwen," he observed dispassionately.

"Perhaps not, but you know the saying, handsome is as handsome does. I'm the doctor who saved your life."

He yawned. "I'm sure I'd be more properly grateful if I knew why."

"That's quite simple to explain, really. But I'd rather let someone else do it for me." He crossed the room to a commset and told someone named Hitchcock that Mr. Spiegel was awake.

Mr. Spiegel, huh? Looks like I'm getting a little respect around here. Now, I wonder why I don't feel exactly flattered?

The man returned, looking smug. "I'm Dr. Emil Chan, your physician. You're recovering very nicely. Even better than I anticipated. But then, you've got a powerful motivation, right?"

"Other than simple survival instinct, you mean?"

Chan chuckled as if Spike had been joking, which he hadn't. "Is there anything you need to make you more comfortable?"

"Yeah, a few things. First, I want to sit up."

"Easily accomplished," Chan said, and adjusted the bed. "What else?"

"Food. A lot of it. I'm starving."

"You aren't ready for solid food yet."

"That's what Gwen keeps saying. My stomach says I'm ready."

"Your stomach is only in its proper place because of my surgical skill," he said sharply. "If you eat and throw up, you might rip stitches and do yourself a grave injury, perhaps a fatal one. You'll have to trust me on this."

Well, shit. "Soup?"

"I suppose clear soup would be all right."

"Egg drop soup."

"We'll see."

"And I want my clothes."

"Your clothes were damaged in the fight beyond even expert repair."

"Then I want someone else's clothes."

"I'll see to it. Anything else?"

"A cigarette. In fact, a whole pack. And don't forget the lighter."

Chan was shocked. "You can't smoke in here!"

"Gwen said that, too. Any reason why the stuff in here that might blow up can't be taken out? If I don't get a smoke soon, I'm going to get really cranky."

This demand was more difficult for Chan to accept, but he did. "I'll have it taken care of. You'll have to give us a day or two."

"A day or two?" Spike repeated wrathfully.

"This lab equipment can't be moved easily."

"I don't know if I can handle another whole day, never mind two."

"I'll get it done as quickly as I can," Chan promised.

This was getting really interesting. What did they need from him that was so important, they were willing to give him pretty much whatever he wanted? Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "What about all these tubes and things? I feel fine, and they're bugging the hell out of me."

Chan scowled, pushed further than he liked already. But he gave in and checked the readouts on the column next to the bed. "Do you feel well enough to walk?"

"Absolutely," Spike lied.

"Then I'll have Miss Hammond take you off the machines this evening."

"Miss Hammond? I thought she was a doctor."

"She is. I should have said Dr. Hammond."

The lack of interest in his voice told Spike as much about where Gwen stood in this man's estimation as the use of the word "Miss". His hunch was right, Gwen was definitely expendable, at least to Chan. And that pissed him off at this guy even more. Nor did Chan help his mood any by spending the next few minutes telling him – in far more detail than he ever wanted – about how he owed his life to Chan's surgical genius.

The door to the lab was open, and the two men who entered did so in almost complete silence, startling Chan, whose back was to them. Spike became instantly more alert. Chan was a jerk, but these two were trouble. If anyone slid him into that grave with his name on it, it would be these guys. The older one was of average height and built square as a brick, with a brushy haircut that emphasized his squareness even more. His eyes were dark and completely expressionless, like a black mirror. The other was taller, about 20 years younger, lanky, with too-long brown hair, and he might have been taken for a scholarly dolt except for his eyes. There was expression in them, all right, the rabid light of the fanatic. Both men had that indefinable air of tough self-sufficiency that marked Jet, and Spike guessed they were ISSP officers.

They introduced themselves simply as Bart Hitchcock and Jeff Roberts. No titles or ranks. Hitchcock pulled up a stool and made himself comfortable. Roberts hovered in the background, and Chan faded away toward the other end of the room. That made things pretty clear. Spike gave his attention to Hitchcock, who was beaming at him like a long-lost son. "You have no idea how glad we are to be able to welcome you back to the land of the living, Spike."

So I'm 'Spike' to this guy, huh? "No more glad than I am to be here," he said cheerfully.

"Is there anything you need? Anything we can get you to make your recuperation more pleasant?"

The tour-guide chirpiness of the offer sat oddly with those blank eyes. "I already went into that with Dr. Chan. But I had one question he couldn't answer. Or wouldn't."

"Let me guess. You're curious about why the ISSP would extend itself like this for you."

"Yeah, that's the question, all right."

"The answer – or part of the answer – is that this isn't an officially acknowledged ISSP operation. You understand."

"I figured that part out."

"These facilities are ISSP, on ISSP property, but officially they are considered derelict."

"Pretty nice place for a derelict."

"All the amenities," Hitchcock agreed. "The funding, of course, comes from the Red Dragons."

The Dragons? Why do they want me alive? Well, lets play along and see where it leads us. "Yeah, it would," he agreed, keeping a cocky smile in place. "The ISSP never has any cash. So… who's in charge now, since I whacked their boss?"

"Until you recover, a gentleman named Cho-Zhou. Do you know him?"

Until I recover? What the fuck? Then his brain caught up. So that's their game. They're syndicate cops, and they think I killed Vicious to take over the clan. Now that he thought it over, it was logical. Shin had believed he was going to take over from Vicious. Apparently Shin hadn't been the only deluded one.

And of course Hitchcock and company were expecting him to be very grateful to them for all this care. It definitely made sense. "I know Cho," he replied with a nod. He did, too. Cho-Zhou was a cold and ruthless son-of-a-bitch, but he was a bean-counter. He was the man responsible for all the syndicate's monetary operations, brought to power with Mao Yenrai. Spike hadn't realized he was still around. The man must be 80 if he was a day.

"If you know him, then you know that leadership doesn't sit easily on him."

"It wouldn't, no."

"He'll come here, when you're ready to see him, to discuss any details you want to know and to give you the picture of where the syndicate stands. There is some disarray, but not as much as there could be. Cho-Zhou is holding on for now."

"That's good. He's an organizer, all right. But hasn't somebody told you by this time that my fight with Vicious was personal? Even your own reports must have said that."

"We assumed it was, in part. Vicious was indiscriminate. Killing without mercy is a gift, but without sense? That's a liability. He made a bad enemy out of you, and he got what he deserved."

"And you never just assumed that's all it was?"

Hitchcock smiled thinly. "Not for a minute. In fact, we were expecting you to make a move sooner or later, once Vicious took the Van out for you. Naturally, we're encouraging outsiders to believe your attack was purely personal. Leaking details of the story about the woman, things like that."

He meant Julia and Julia's death. For a moment, Spike was glad he was still feeling weak, or he might have blown the whole thing by getting right into this asshole's face.

"We're not sorry to lose Vicious," Hitchcock was going on. "He would have brought the whole syndicate to ruin. Believe me, all of us will be happy to get behind you instead of him."

"Well then, why weren't you chickenshits behind me when I took Vicious out?"

"You moved too quickly. And we never expected you to actually storm him in his own stronghold. I'll say one thing for you, you've got guts."

"Yeah, Chan's been telling me all about them."

"I like your sense of humor."

Then why aren't you laughing? "Who else in the ISSP is in on this? In fact, how many are on my future payroll? I'll need a list." He might get something useful out of this conversation yet.

"Cho-Zhou will have all that information for you. As for this specific operation, and where you are hidden, we three – Roberts, Chan and I – are the only ones in on the secret. And we'd like to keep it that way. I refer specifically to Dr. Hammond. She is a major security risk and should be told nothing. She believes you are an undercover agent for the ISSP – yes, go ahead and smile, but she is naive. That's convenient for now. Naturally, she won't be allowed to leave here. We'll handle that, of course, when you no longer need her services."

Gwen's not going to appreciate this. But he had an opportunity to help her, and he was going to take it. "I might need her services even more when I'm healthier, if you know what I mean," he said suggestively.

Hitchcock's brows rose about one millimeter. "You like her?"

"What's not to like? She's got the best ankles I've ever seen, and a nice tight little butt under that white coat. Not much on top, but then you know what they say, more than a mouthful is a waste."

Roberts smirked. Hitchcock smiled. Spike could almost read their disgusting little minds. Keep the future boss happy with whatever he wanted, including sex, even if it was with a lady, a professional woman, a young and naive one. Hitchcock said, "I'll see to it that she understands your importance in our organization." Euphemisms seemed to come naturally to him. He should have been a politician. "Well, do we have an understanding?"

"Yes. I think we do." More than you realize, buddy.

"Good! Is there anything else we can do for you right now? After you feel well enough to speak to Cho-Zhou, and the two of you determine that you are ready to begin taking the reins into your own hands, we will, of course, provide you with links and equipment. We can get you anything you need."

"Thank you," he drawled. "That's very cooperative of you."

"Just remember that when you talk to Cho-Zhou."

"Naturally." He smiled. Hitchcock smiled back. Spike wondered which of them looked more phony.