these hospital walls are the palest of white
here in this desert they're reciting my last rites
the smell of these halls
brings temporary comfort
as the oxygen flows through my blood – the Ataris

Dr. Thompson recognized Jet before he saw her. From down the hall, she saw the older man, bald, with a wild beard and a cybernetic arm, walking in her direction. Next to him was a young woman, probably even younger than she, with black-violet hair, pale skin, and haunted eyes. Dr. Thompson wondered idly how the woman fit in to this group. She had assumed that Mr. Black was possibly a relative, whereas Barleigh made the loud assumption that Mr. Black was the "sugar daddy" in the relationship. Once Dr. Thompson got a better look at the yellow hot-pants-belly-blouse outfit that the woman was wearing, she figured that not only Barleigh, but also Kennedy and Stevens, would appear out of nowhere to be utterly gallant to the woman.

But she also looks familiar, thought Thompson. I know her from somewhere. "Mr. Black?"

Jet looked up in her direction, and came closer. "Dr. Thompson?"

"Yes, hello. I wanted to give you . . ."

Without warning, a grizzled, tall doctor appeared at Thompson's elbow, with his full attention on Faye. "What she means to do is actually find out who you are, Miss."

Faye blinked. "Faye Valentine."

The tall man leaned on his cane and narrowed his eyes. "And your relationship with the patient is . . ?"

While Faye searched for a simple term that described her relationship with Spike, Jet scowled at him and put a protective hand on Faye's back. "Business partner. Friend. My question is, who are you?"

"Oh, Dr. Barleigh, at your service, we've had quite a bit of fun with your friend back there. Lousy patient, though. Keeps having strokes. Makes me think he likes them."

Thompson interrupted. "Mr. Spiegel's only had two strokes."

Faye said softly, "Isn't that quite enough? Or actually, two too many?"

Barleigh tilted his head from side to side. "Oh, it may be two too, or to to, or even a tuu-tuu, which if it were pink, would be completely utter on him. At any rate, as you, Mr. Black, are the daddy here, we need to talk about the future of Spike's care."

Jet was getting annoyed, and Faye could tell by the squeeze of his hand on her shoulder, potentially leaving a bruise. "If by daddy you mean power of attorney, then, yes. Can we see him?"

"Oh, sure. I'll just run ahead of you." And the doctor turned on his heel and began to limp down the hallway. Thompson rolled her eyes and gave a small sigh.

Jet raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're not going to apologize for him."

"He is a very good doctor," Thompson said with a small smile.

"He's an ass," replied Faye.

Thompson nodded. "Yes, that too. Follow me, would you?"

The three walked down the hall, with Thompson quietly explaining the number of procedures that had to be performed on Spike. Besides the two strokes, he had suffered nearly a complete loss of blood, which led to hypoxia and possible severe muscle damage. He currently had loss of motility on his left side and his mouth. Several small sections of intestine and bowel had to be removed because of damage, but luckily, they managed to avoid a colostomy.

"Thank heavens for small favors," muttered Jet.

"We're not sure of the amount of brain damage due to the strokes and deoxygenation. He does seem fairly alert, when he's not sleeping. We know he's in terrible pain, and the narcotics keep him pretty well out." By this time, they had approached Spike's room, and were standing outside the window. Thompson continued, "He's also currently on a ventilator, like I said over the comm."

Jet and Faye looked in at Spike, and they both had the same thought – That doesn't look like Spike at all. It can't be him. Jet rubbed his face in dismay, and silent tears fell from Faye's eyes. They had both been with Spike when he'd been badly injured before, trussed up like a Christmas goose from fighting Pierrot and Vicious. But this – never like this.

For Faye, the most disturbing thing she saw was that his hair was gone. His trademark fluff of wiry, misbehaving hair had been shaved away, and there were several long jagged lines of staples, a drain to relive pressure, and monitors taped to his skull. As if the woman doctor had read Faye's mind, she said, "We have to monitor his intracranial pressure and his brain pulses with each heartbeat." Faye bit her lip. She could not tear her eyes away from his head, which looked so delicate and fragile. Spike didn't have a tan, especially, but when compared to the paleness of his bare skull, which looked like fine china, so pale and so white, Spike almost looked brown as a nut.

Jet was most disturbed by the rigid plastic shells that Spike's left arm and left leg were strapped into. His grandfather had to wear those things too, in an attempt to keep the limb from curling inward and atrophying. Jet remembered how much pain they caused his grandfather, how the old man had begged them all to "just take them off, just for a little while", in a petulant whimper that Jet had never before heard from his towering bull of a grandfather, the Ganymede's handsomest, strongest man. Jet never quite recovered from seeing his childhood hero reduced to such a state, and now he had to go through it all over again, having to watch over this younger man who deserved a better life than the one he currently had. But whose fault is that, Jet? Yours? Spike made his own choices, Jet told himself. And then another voice piped up, but Spike made you his power of attorney. It's now your job to do this. Because that's what he wished for. "Damnit," Jet said to himself as he rubbed his face again.

Dr. Barleigh had been leaning on his cane, watching these two people struggle with their emotions. It would be a lie to say that he wasn't completely intrigued by this man who lay on the edge of death and these two people who apparently cared for him. What kind of a relationship do these three have? And is it on film? Hopefully, yes. Barleigh then thumped the end of his cane on the floor and said, "Oh, come on! We cleaned him up for you and everything! Go and see the man!" Jet and Faye still showed reticence to enter the room where Spike lay quietly with his eyes closed. Finally, Barleigh harrumphed and stumped into the room, shouting "Wake up! You have visitors!" When Spike didn't stir, Barleigh slapped his cane against the side of the bed, and shouted again, "Wake up! You're getting a new alarm clock or I'm getting a bullhorn, because having to do this all the time is tiring, young man!"

Spike jerked awake. He couldn't even sigh with annoyance because of the even breathing caused by the ventilator, which annoyed him even more. Spike glared at Dr. Barleigh, who was a monster, a demon, cast down not to hell, but to his hospital room to drive him mad with the torture that he made him endure under the guise of "patient care." A lesser man would have been driven to tears by now, and Spike felt he was becoming a lesser man with every passing hour. Then, in a low decibel Spike previously thought impossible by the lame doctor, Barleigh said, "You have visitors." And then he stumped out of the room, at the same time ushering Jet and Faye in.

Spike's vision was still sleep-muzzy, and it took him a moment to focus on who was in the room. Then, finally, when he saw who it was, he closed his eyes again. Christ in a sidecar, he thought. They'll never, ever leave me alone. Damn them. Damn them all and their shiny instruments and their "caring" and their fucking Hippocratic oath. Damn these two as well, because I wasn't supposed to be like this, a fucking vegetable. Jesus Christ, Jet, if you can hear me, put a fucking bullet in my head so I don't have to see that look of pity on your ugly mug. And Faye . . . goddammit, Faye.

Of course, Jet hadn't heard, and he pulled a chair close to the bed and sat. Faye hovered near the door, and then quietly left the room. Jet saw her leave out of the corner of her eye, and was not surprised in the least. Jet took a breath and said, "So, striped cat with a million lives. How many lives did you lose this time?"

Faye was leaning against the wall a ways down from Spike's room, her face in her hands, trying to do her best not to lose it altogether. It would be so much easier for her simply crumple to the floor, to just lie down and not get up again. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see doctors Barleigh and Thompson glance down in her direction as they talked softly to each other. Faye assumed that Barleigh was talking about her, the way his eyes kept flashing back to her. But Faye no longer cared about what people said or how they looked at her.

Faye's knees began to give way, and she slid down the wall, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Thompson snapped something acidic at Barleigh, and Faye could hear her approaching footsteps.

"Miss Valentine?" Faye didn't answer, but she heard Thompson sit on the floor next to her with a sigh. Something bumped the back of Faye's hand. Faye lifted her eyes up briefly to see a small pocket pack of tissues, which Faye took between two fingers. "I'm sorry," said Thompson. Thompson expected Faye to be weeping, but when Faye lifted her head, her eyes were dry. Faye gave a shuddery sigh and said, "That can't be him."

"I know he probably looks very different from what you're used to. Unfortunately, I don't have much of a frame of reference. We started on the case after he'd been started in the ER."

Faye continued to stare at the wall across the hall from her. "Who shaved his head?"

Thompson blinked. "I think it was one of the ER nurses. He was bleeding profusely from his head when he got here."

"What happened to his hair?"

Thompson frowned at Faye. "I don't understand."

"Did you just throw his hair away? How could you do that?" Tears sprang into Faye's eyes.

"Faye, I'm sorry. I'm sure that his hair has been swept up and disposed of." Faye dropped her head back down to her knees. Thompson went to put one of her cool hands on the back of Faye's neck, expecting a complete breakdown. But Faye gave another sigh, and lifted her head and leaned it against the wall. Her eyes were closed and her jaw was set in determination to not cry. Then Thompson flashed on a slide she'd seen, several years ago, while in medical school. "I know who you are."

Faye opened her eyes and slid them towards Thompson. "What?"

"You said your name was Faye Valentine, but I couldn't remember who you were until just now. You were in cryogenic sub-sleep after the gate accident. We studied your medical file in school."

"That must have been entertaining."

"I thought it was fascinating, but at the same time, I felt . . ." Thompson stopped herself short of saying I felt sorry for you. "I didn't like the fact that they used you like that, as a study subject, without your consent. I felt even worse when I heard that the medical laboratory stuck you with the bill, when it wasn't even your choice." Faye didn't reply. "What always confused me was why. Science for science's sake isn't exactly ethical. Like all the testing on dogs and such."

"I guess, with the gate accident, I just fell into their laps."

Thompson nodded, and then asked, "How did you meet up with these guys?"

Faye looked back at the wall. "I . . . just fell into their laps, too."

Thompson smiled at Faye. "I have to go check on something. Will you be okay?"

Faye laughed derisively. "Will I ever?"

Thompson gave Faye's hand a squeeze, and then got up, walked down the hallway, rounded a corner and disappeared. Faye looked in the direction where Barleigh had been standing, but he was gone as well. Faye was alone, crying, in a corridor, again.

Back in Spike's room, Jet was looking down at his feet and shaking his head. Then he chuckled and said, "You are nothing but a god-damned son of a bitch. We had pretty much written you off, and here you go, strutting your way back in. And even better, you write me up as your power of attorney so that I'm forced to stay involved with your crazy-ass life." Spike opened his eyes, and his brow furrowed. He slid his eyes sideways to look at Jet, but Jet was looking at his hands. "That call we got in the middle of the night, we didn't expect it to be from the hospital looking for permission to put you into surgery. We figured it was the ISSP asking for us to come identify your body before we zipped you into a body bag and threw you on the never-never. Furthermore . . ."

Jet continued speaking, but Spike wasn't listening. He was wondering about the power of attorney thing that Jet had mentioned. He had no idea of what Jet was talking about. If anyone had been my power of attorney, it probably would have been Vicious or a higher-up in the syndicate, or even Mao, for chrissakes. I never signed any damn paperwork that names Jet. Spike began to concentrate all his will on speaking to Jet, to ask him what the hell he was talking about, when he suddenly felt as if his windpipe closed down all together.

The monitors blared into life, and Spike's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Jet leapt from his chair, roaring for someone to come, quickly. Faye stood up, looking panicked. Stevens and Kennedy were closer than Thompson was, and the two men dashed into the room, with Barleigh stumping down the hall. Stevens and Kennedy began talking their medical mumbo-jumbo, shining lights into Spike's eyes as he lay there, looking for all the world like he was having another seizure. Barleigh made it to the door, yelling, "Now what?"

"Just have to remove the tube," Kennedy said, over his shoulder.

"Ah. Well. That's good, then," replied Barleigh.

"That's good? That's good? Christ, man, it looks like he's dying over there!" shouted Jet.

"Oh, keep your voice down, Daddy. He's breathing on his own, but he's fighting the ventilator. Therefore we remove the tube, ipso facto; PDQ, QED." Stevens held Spike quiet while Kennedy pulled an impossibly long tube from Spike's mouth, who then began to choke and sputter. Stevens pulled an oxygen loop over Spike's head, telling Spike over and over to calm down and breathe.

Spike began to settle, and tears squeezed from his eyes as he tried to get his breathing under control. Faye was in the doorway, and she made a ball and socket of her hands and pressed them to her mouth. Jet finally realized that he was breathing in time with Spike, as if he could control Spike's intake of air if he breathed in the same pattern.

"See? Now that's the amazing thing about the human body. It's so much smarter than we are. Crisis averted, damnit, back to the clinic for me." Barleigh shuddered and left the room.

Stevens and Kennedy were settling Spike back in, looking so utterly unconcerned that Jet found himself filling with rage. Jet snapped, "What else are you going to do for him?"

Stevens said, very calmly, "We're doing what we can. We're controlling his pain level, he has no infection, and we're monitoring all his vitals. There's not much else we can do right now but wait for any change."

Jet dropped his head and sighed. Of course, the doctors were right. Then he heard Stevens say, "I know you."

Jet raised his head. "Me?"

"Yeah. You were a cop. You arrested me once."

"Perhaps. Forgive me if I don't remember."

"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I was just a kid, running with a gang."

"Looks like you're doing better for yourself."

"I'm not going to give you credit for it, though." Jet grinned and dropped his head again. "Are you still a cop?"

Jet shook his head. "Bounty hunter. All of us are."

Stevens frowned. "Is that what happened to him? Bounty gone way bad?"

Looking at Spike, Jet answered, "You could say that." Spike's eyes were closed again, but his breathing was even. Presumably, the doctors had pumped up his morphine a bit, and Spike was once again asleep. Kennedy told them that Spike could only have visitors for ten minutes or so, but they could see him again in a few hours. Faye nodded, looking down at her feet. Jet, who appeared to be infinitely better at things like this, patted Spike's hand and said, "We'll be back later. Hang in there, kid."

Faye and Jet left the room, leaving the doctors to check over a few more things. Faye and Jet walked a few feet down the corridor, when Thompson came back from around the corner. She held a small plastic bag in her hand. Faye held out her own hand, and Thompson pressed the bag into her palm. "We'll stay in touch on Spike's condition," said Thompson, and then she went back into Spike's room.

Faye opened her hand, and in the small bag, were a couple of locks of Spike's hair.

Faye finally lost control and began to weep. Sighing, Jet pulled her into his arms, wanting to weep himself. Jet tried, oh how hard he tried to remain in control and not be completely alarmed by what he saw, but he couldn't help his revulsion when the tape and tubes were removed from Spike's mouth, exposing how his mouth had been distorted into an uncontrollable comic-book leer. Like Jet's grandfather's face had done, near the end.