The Girl Across the Hall

by: Fashiongrrl

Chapter 1: Doctoring

"Um, hello?" he said, looking down, unsure of what to do. Well, he was sure that he wanted to open his door, run inside, and climb into his bed for a few hours of stolen sleep in the life of a med student. But apparently that wasn't going to happen, and it didn't seem like the polite thing to do at this hour.

"Hi," came the very pathetic and very drunk reply.

"Is everything all right?" Spike asked the girl.

"Hey! You talk funny!" she said, giggling and sobbing at the same time.

Spike nodded his head and without missing a beat he replied, "Yes, most people tell me that."

"Are you from South Africa? Dave Matthews is from there. Do you know him?" she mumbled.

"No, I'm English. But we talk funny too," Spike replied.

"Dave Matthew is a boy. Boys are stupid. Why are boys stupid?" the blonde said to no one in particular, a childish pout crossing her face.

"I think it's genetic?" was the best reply Spike could muster at this hour, trying to wrack his brain for her name. Betty? Beth? Bertha? He chuckled silently at the last one, knowing full well it was wrong, but the name sounded hilarious to his sleep-deprived mind. "Um, Buffy?" he said, a little unsure.

She looked up, the hallway lights reflecting off her mascara and tear stained cheeks. She furrowed her brow and bit at her bottom lip, playing the same name game in her mind as Spike.

"Spike," he said, trying to alleviate her confusion. "Are you all right, luv?" he said, setting down his bag and kneeling beside her.

"Angel," Buffy sobbed.

"Yes, er... honey?" Spike quipped jokingly, hoping to quiet her sobs.

"Nooooo..." Buffy whined. "Angel, the ... jerk... no, the dumbass who was supposed to be my one true love," she said, sarcastically spinning the last few words. She leaned her head back against her door, licking her lips, trying desperately to remember where she was in her alcohol-induced haze. "Cordelia, the whore from ... Kappa Stupid Ugly!" She struggled to sit up, pulling her blonde hair from her eyes, before animatedly waving her arms around. "You date a guy for, like, 3 years, right?" she said, turning to look at Spike.

"Uh, yes," was all he could reply. But he had a distinct feeling he knew where this was going.

"He says he's studying for tomorrow's Sociology midterm. So you go over there to surprise him with take out because he's working so hard. Then you realize his door his locked, there's no Sociology final, and no frat brother in the fucking house will look you in the eyes," she spat out. She continued, mimicking Angel in that strange, falsetto voice women always use to mock a man, "Ooooh, Buuuuffffyyy, we're just frieeeeeeeendssssss, no worries, babe. She's my friend from classsssssss!" Buffy sat straight up and looked at Spike, "CLASS MY ASS!" she shouted, pounding the floor with her fist for emphasis.

"Hush now. You'll wake everyone up," Spike said worriedly, putting a hand on her arm. "C'mon now, luv. Let's get you inside. You look like you've had enough troubles for one night. No sense in getting the cops up here."

"Why? It doesn't matter anymore," Buffy sighed dramatically. "I don't care!"

Spike knew better than to argue with an inebriated person. He quickly put her things back into her purse, grabbed her keys, and put arm around her back, pulling her to her feet and supporting Buffy's weight. "Up you go, luv!" She moaned and buried her blonde head against her shoulder. Despite the smell of alcohol on her breath, he could still smell the faint scent of her strawberry shampoo. Unlocking her door, he pulled her inside and switched on the light.

"Oh no!" Buffy grimaced, making a face.

Spike knew that face all too well, having made it on several occasions before and having watched several of his patients make the very same face. He moved quickly, opening the door to what he hoped was the bathroom, and holding Buffy's head over the toilet just in time to see her empty what seemed like her entire gastrointestinal tract. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she gagged twice more, and then sat back on the floor sobbing. He flushed the toilet, and helped her to her feet once again. Spying a cup on the vanity, he filled it with water and held it to her mouth. "Sip and rinse," he instructed her. Luckily she was coherent enough to follow his commands, but the tears of shame and pain continued.

"I'm sorry! That was so gross!" she sobbed, embarrassed.

"It's all right, you can't help it. Don't worry, I'm an expert at holding back hair," he said trying to get a smile out of her.

At first she was confused, and then eyeing his blue-green hospital scrubs Buffy put two and two together. "Thank you," she said, smiling meekly.

"Do you think you can stand long enough to brush your teeth and put on your pajamas?" he asked, looking her over. Clearing her system of some of the toxins seemed to calm her down.

She nodded, brushing tears from her cheeks.

"Good girl, I'll be just outside if you need me." Spike found the kitchen and started examining the contents of her shelves, hoping to find something toward off a hangover. He settled on making her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, hoping the carbohydrates would help blunt some of the effects of the alcohol, and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Not knowing the contents of her medicine cabinet, he quickly ran across the hall to his own apartment to find some multivitamins and Advil. He'd seen Tylenol in Buffy's cabinets, but knew full well that Tylenol and alcohol were the right prescription for liver damage.

Spike re-entered her apartment as Buffy was leaving the bathroom, clad in a pair of sky blue "Yummy Sushi!" pajamas. She seemed a little dizzy, but slightly improved from when he'd found her a half hour ago. "I threw up again," she frowned. "I hate throwing up."

"That's good, it means your body is trying to purge itself of all the alcohol. Um, do you have classes in the morning, luv?"

She shook her head, "I have Fridays off this semester... um, I think. Is today Thursday?"

"It's Friday now."

"Okay, I have Fridays off probably," she replied very absentmindedly. "But Angel has class on Fridays! But apparently not sociology," she said, a fresh stream of tears threatening to spill.

"Fridays off! Lucky! I remember those days in undergrad," he laughed quickly, hoping to distract her. He glanced at his watch. "Bloody hell, I've got to be back in the hospital in 5 and a half hours," he said to no one in particular.

It slowly dawned on Buffy that she was standing in the middle of her apartment, accepting help from an almost complete stranger who most likely had his own life to lead. It had also crossed her mind that he could be a psycho, serial killer, but he'd been so nice so far, she decided to take her chances. "I'm so sorry!" she whispered softly.

"It's all right," Spike said with a grin. "Taking care of sick people is my job. Come now, we've got to get something better in you ... ah, in your stomach ... er, what I mean is you should probably eat something before you go to bed. It'll help absorb the alcohol left in your stomach. Here," he said, trying to gloss over his Freudian slip as he handed her the sandwich he had made. He couldn't help it, with her makeup scrubbed off Buffy looked very pretty. He realized that wasn't the point at this hour, but he was male after all. Luckily she hadn't noticed him misspeak.

She accepted it gratefully as she sat down on the couch. Buffy picked at it, tearing it into small bites, but attempting to eat slowly. She heard his stomach rumble as he handed her a bottle of water. Buffy looked up at him, "You should eat something too. I'm sorry, you must be tired." Her speech was still a bit slurred, but her thoughts were starting to come together a little more.

"No thank you, it's all right. I'm fine," he said, being polite.

"Please? I don't want to eat alone," she said, looking up at him with big dewy green eyes.

"Thanks," he shrugged. Too tired to argue, he made himself a sandwich, and sat next to her. Finishing, he went to the counter to retrieve the Advil and vitamins.

"Are you allergic to any medicines?" he said, pointing to the bottle of Advil.

"No," she replied.

"How much did you drink?" Spike asked, before opening the bottle.

She looked up at him slightly embarrassed, "Two and a half beers."

"Two beers! You're a bloody lightweight!" he joked.

"And a half!" she added. "I don't drink very often," she mumbled.

Spike laughed despite himself. Here he was, exhausted, in the middle of some rather attractive girl's apartment, and he was still playing the doctor role. He and his friends joked constantly that basic medical questions were ingrained in them, and it was true. Once you got sucked in, you could never escape.

"Now, Buffy, you might have a nasty headache in the morning and I'm guessing your stomach may be upset. So, make sure you drink plenty of water. Finish that bottle and drink this one too," he said, handing her a second bottle. "Alcohol dehydrates. And here, take these and in the morning you'll be right as rain," he said, handing her a vitamin and two Advil. Judging by her size, he was sure 200 mg of ibuprofen would suffice normally, but in this case he was hoping the two tabs of Advil would stave off the headache. She'd sobered up to a decent extent after expelling the contents of her stomach, but the after effects of her intoxication might come back to get her in the morning.

"Are you a doctor or something?" she mumbled.

"You flatter me but I'm nowhere near that important. I'm a medical student," Spike said.

Buffy looked at him a moment, before shrugging and taking the pills. "Close enough."

"Will you be all right tonight?" he asked.

She shrugged, "Sure, why not. I've already made a fool out of myself, I don't think things can get any worse at this point."

"The important thing is that you're safe," Spike said, soothing her fears with a practiced voice. "Keep a bottle of water by your bed, and be sure you lock the door after me."

"Yes, dad," Buffy grinned.

"Hey, you never know what kind of beasties lurk out there," Spike joked, getting up to leave.

"Or what kind of nice people are out there," Buffy commented quietly. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," he said, making his way across the hall.

"I'll ... I'll see you around, um... Spike," Buffy said before shutting her door.

Spike just nodded as he shut his front door. Finding his way to his bedroom he collapsed in his bed. Glancing at the clock, it read 1 am. Normally an early bedtime for him, but late considering he was on an Ob/Gyn rotation, running himself ragged with the early and late hours. Only five more hours until it started all over again. He shut his eyes and curled up in a ball, hoping for his usual quick onset of sleep, but the last few thoughts flashing through his mind were of the blonde girl across the hall.