Mad World--Chapter 55

[pepperlandgirl]

Chapter 55

Spike was in surgery for over six hours as the doctors pieced his leg together again. The bullet had missed the femoral artery, but had shattered the bone and tore through the muscle.

~*~

Buffy called Glory as soon as she reached LA. Her only concern was to find shelter and get herself situated. She locked the fear, confusion, anger and sick despair away to examine on a later date, when she could deal with it.

She would never be able to deal with it. It lasted until she reached the city limits, and then she began to feel overwhelmed.

Glory was thrilled to hear from her; even more so when she heard that Buffy was already in town. She gave her detailed directions that Buffy didn’t think to write down. Maybe the emotions were as carefully locked away as she had hoped. Occasionally a wave of horror would over take her--What have I done? What did I do?--and when that happened, she was forced to pull into a gas station or a supermarket parking lot and remind herself to breathe.

Buffy didn’t know what she regretted the most. Shooting him or calling the ambulance. She didn’t even know if she did shoot him. She didn’t remember aiming. She didn’t remember anything except the horrible sound of it the report echoing and echoing and echoing and still echoed in her head.

She didn’t remember what he looked like, there on the ground, and thank God for that. She remembered the blood, but surely it wasn’t all his. He would be fine. Did he look pained? Did he look angry? What color were his eyes? She didn’t know, and where the fuck was Glory’s place? Am I driving in circles? Haven’t I seen this store before? Haven’t I ran this light already?

She slowed down. It wouldn’t do to be pulled over in a stolen car with a suitcase full of blood stained money. She collected her thoughts, turned down the radio that she had blasted in the attempt to drown her thoughts, and focused on the road. She was familiar enough with this part of the city that she was able to set herself in the right direction.

“Left…left…straight…right…” she mumbled under her breath…couldn’t let this overtake her. Had to put it behind her and move on because there was nothing else she could do. Spike had meant to leave her…he had meant to abandon her without any money and without a place to live after he had…he had planned it and there was no reason to dwell on it…

Somehow she managed to get to Glory’s only an hour after she had called. She looked at herself in the mirror and wished she had make-up. She looked pale, sickly even, and there were dark bags under her bloodshot eyes. Her lips were thin. Her hair was a mess, and good God were those tear stains on her cheeks? She needed to freshen up before she met her future boss, but she just didn’t have the time.

Glory lived in a plush penthouse near the center of the city. Buffy felt distinctly uncomfortable as she walked through the lobby to the elevator. Normally it wouldn’t have bothered her, but she was not looking or feeling her best and it seemed like every single person was staring at her. Am I bloody? I stepped in his blood didn’t I? Did I touch him? I can’t remember…

Glory greeted her with a warm hug, as though she was an old friend and not a new employee. Buffy didn’t appreciate the contact and nearly pulled away, but forced herself to stand still until Glory backed off and held her at arm’s length.

“What happened to you?”

“What?”

“You look awful.”

“I…I’ve been driving all night.”
“You should have just come with me last night.”

Buffy blinked. Did I just meet her last fucking night? What? “I thought you wouldn’t be in town…”

“I had an emergency…I planned on going back to Sunnydale tomorrow. Do you need to freshen up?”

“A…a shower would be good.”

“I have some clothes.”

Glory provided her with clothes, underwear, a toothbrush and a clean, fluffy towel. By the time Buffy had taken a shower so long the hot water had run out, she felt much better. The water had washed away the blood—or the memories of the blood. The steady pounding of the water against the wall replaced the echo of the gunshot. She carefully avoided the sight of the tattoo. Every time Spike’s face invaded her thoughts, she focused on Warren. She was fine when she shot Warren. Didn’t feel a moment of regret…she had shot Chris without a second of thought and never gave it a second thought.

This is no different. He’ll survive and if he doesn’t, so the fuck what? He deserved worse and you know it. Or did the memories fade with the bruises?

No, the memories hadn’t faded with the bruises.

The clothes Glory had given her were made of silk. They were soft and luxurious and Buffy sighed when the material slid across her body like a soft caress. She combed her hair until it dried, shining and straight. She practiced smiling in the mirror. She pinched her cheeks until the color returned. She took in her surroundings—the bathroom was almost bigger than her apartment had been.

It made her feel good. Smart. Like she had made the right choice. This had been the chance she was waiting for, the opportunity she needed. When she returned to Glory, her face was lit with a genuine smile.

~*~

When Spike came out of surgery, Willow was waiting for him with a case report. There were three bullets. There were three guns. There were only two men. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the third person was. She had the fingerprints on the gun. Even so, she didn’t make a move until she talked to Spike. If it had been anybody else, if he had been found anywhere else, if he had been with anybody else, she would have done it without a second thought. But this was obviously one of his games, and she didn’t know the rules he had been playing by.

The doctors wouldn’t let her see him. The afternoon crawled and visitor hours ended and she still wasn’t allowed to see him. Finally she pulled her badge and intoned with firm formality that she was on official police business…

Spike was awake when she came in, though they had told her that he wouldn’t be. He had a stronger constitution than they counted on. Willow sat down the chair next to the bed silently, clutching the folder with the ballistics report tightly in her hands. She thought about joking…Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in Mexico by now? but knew that it would fall flat on deaf ears.

“Spike,” she finally started, softly, “I have the report…”

“Oh.”

She placed on his uninjured leg beneath his hand. “If you’re too doped up to read it, I can tell you what it says.”

“No.”

“I know who was there…do you want me to put out a warrant for her arrest?”

“No.”

“I have to…”

“No.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No.”

“I only have a few minutes…it’s past visiting hours…I’m going to come back tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

His voice didn’t hint at any pain, or anything at all. Quiet, monotone, he didn’t even look at her. Just the drugs…he just came out of surgery…he shouldn’t even be awake…nothing wrong with him. He’ll be fine.

Willow fidgeted for a few more minutes and then excused herself for the night. It was clear that Spike didn’t want company. She’d let him rest and then broach the subject of the file again when he felt better.

After she left the room, Spike looked at the closed file for a long time. He didn’t want to know. He picked it up and threw it across the room. Loose papers and pictures went flying, littering the clean floor. He didn’t care. About any of it.