Chapter 12

Sorry for such a long wait. I'm really sorry, but it took me forever trying to think up this part.

"What's going on?" Buffy stiffened. Dru and Spike were staring at her as if she'd interrupted some private conversation.

"Nothing," Dru said with a smile. "I was just bragging to Dr. Courtland that if he needed someone to show him around and introduce him to the staff, that you were the one to do it."

Buffy shook her head at Dru's exuberance. Sometimes she acted seventeen instead of twenty-five. Spike's potent masculinity probably intimidated her. Her husband had been about the same build.

Now why would I think that? she thought irritably.

She and Spike were going to be working together. In spite of circumstances, she had to act like a professional.

"I'd be happy to introduce you and show you the facilities," Buffy offered with a smile. "When ever it's convenient for you."

"Thanks. I had a short tour when I was here, and I've met a few people since I arrived, but I'm still not familiar with the Center's layout." He looked at the door. "Wanna go now?"

"Sure." She left the small box of items in Dru's office. "Follow me."

She wound through amaze of offices, pointing out the names of doctors and telling their specialty. Just being there reminded her of Angel. Maybe she should transfer.

Most of the doors were closed, so Buffy passed them, not wanting to disturb their work.

"Where are the labs?" Spike asked.

"On the second floor." Buffy paced herself to suit his pained gait as she led him through the hospital. The next hour she showed him the various floors and departments, pausing to introduce him to several different nurses and counselors.

"Two doctors on this floor are researching a new drug to treat manic depression," she pointed out. "And Dr. Wilkins' pet project is dissociative identity disorder."

"Tell me about the psych ward," Spike said as they entered the wing for the mental patients.

"We see a variety of patients here, some are outpatient and some are here for long-tern treatments and must be confined."

"Are all of the patients using research oriented treatments versus traditional therapy?"

Buffy shook her head. "Not all. The ones who are have come on a volunteer basis, or they're severe cases where traditional techniques or medications haven't been effective."

They'd reached the main floor where patients were received and assessed. "We have counselors and therapists who assess and interview patients when they first come in. Of course we take referrals from other physicians as well."

"It'll take you awhile to get to know everyone," Buffy said, sensing he was becoming overwhelmed.

"Ms. Summers," Kennedy, one of the volunteers called. "Can you come here a minute? Ms. Wells is asking for you."

"She's been diagnosed with schizophrenia," Buffy explained softly to Spike. "But she's doing much better with the new medication."

Spike followed her inside the small room. Buffy winced when she saw Glory Wells hunched into a ball on the floor, her hospital gown gaping. "Ms. Wells, what's going on?" she asked softly, kneeling beside her.

Her spiral blonde strands covered half of her face, her eyes wild. She glanced at Spike and pointed a shaky finger. "Who's that?"

"That is Dr. Courtland," Buffy said. "He's—"

"Get him out of here!" she screeched. "He's one of them!"

Buffy reached out to comfort her; afraid she'd lapsed into on e of her exhaustive states. "One of who?"

"The bad doctors," the young woman said in a high-pitched voice. She rocked back and forth, hugging her arms around her legs. "You don't know what they do in here. I do." Panic rose in her shrill voice. "Get him out of here. Make him go."

Buffy frowned. She needed to calm Glory. "Ms. Wells, Dr. Courtland is new on the staff—"

"No, I've seen him before. He does bad, bad things. Make him leave!"

Buffy stroked her back while Willow ran in with an injection. Spike arched an eyebrow as if to ask if he should help, but Buffy gestured for him to leave. As soon as he stepped from the room, Glory broke down and began to cry.

"What happened?" Willow asked.

"She was asking for me," Buffy explained. "When I came in, she was agitated."

"They hurt people, they—"the young woman began to hum. "—They hook you up to these wires and put this helmet on you and fry you. MY head, it sizzles, it—"she grabbed her head, covering her ears and rocked faster. "—I thought it was going to explode."

"Listen, Glory—"

"You got to be careful Ms. Buffy." Glory dropped he head forward like a child, emitting a low screech. "Don't tell 'em I told you, don't tell 'em," she whispered. "Or they'll kill us both."

TBC.

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