A snippet from my NaNo, oh, yes, it's CROSSOVER fanfiction, GADS Spike lay in his hospital bed, counting the holes in the acoustic ceiling tiles above his head. He had gotten up to four thousand, six hundred and thirty-seven when he heard someone come in the room. He shifted his focus to see that it was Thompson, thankfully not in the wake of that miserable bastard legally known as Barleigh. This girl seemed like a nice sort, why she�d subject herself to having to tolerate Barleigh�s misogynistic behavior was beyond him, a thought that amused Spike as he had previously thought that he was a misogynistic one himself. With an effort, Spike pulled his mouth shut so he at least wouldn�t look like a drooling moron in front of her. Flashing Spike one of her beatific smiles, she asked, �How are you feeling today?� Spike raised his right hand and made a see-saw motion: comme si, comme sa. �You�re doing much better. I think we�ll have to get you up and out of that bed soon.� Spike rolled his eyes as Thompson removed the splint that held his left arm. Immediately, the arm tried to draw up, but not as much as it had before. Thompson smiled again, made some notes in her chart, and then began to massage the arm. Spike�s eyes drifted closed, thinking how if this girl would only speak Esperanto and wear a diminutive costume and then fling herself into a vat of green gelatin to wrestle with another similarly dressed female once she�d finished massaging his arm, then all would be right with the world. �And how is our favorite slugabed today? Still enjoying taking up space where a really sick person could be?� Spike opened his eyes to see Barleigh lounging in the doorway. With a frown, working his mouth in order to keep it closed, Spike gave the lame doctor a right-handed one-finger salute. Barleigh scoffed and said, �Now if you�re going to be nasty, at least do it right. Use your left hand.� Spike ignored him. Barleigh came forward and smacked the splint on Spike�s left leg with his cane, making Spike wince. �Use your left hand!� Spike glared at the doctor. �Barleigh . . .� �Hush, little grasshopper. Do not interrupt the Master. Flip me off with your left hand, you reprobate, or I�m dumping you out of this bed.� �Barleigh!� �Good God, no one pays attention to a word I say. I could be reciting Uncle Tom�s Cabin and no one would ever notice. You, doctor, hush. This is my patient. Now you, patient, make your statement.� With every ounce of effort Spike had, he rolled his left hand over, and managed to make his middle finger stand a little bit prouder than the other ones, and Barleigh�s expression softened. �Very good. It�s a start. You�ll be playing the violin again in no time.� Spike slapped the bed and shook his head. �Not the violin, then?� Spike brought up both hands to his chest and did a fingering motion � the right hand did scales perfectly, while the left hand barely made a motion. �Clarinet?� Spike blinked. �Figures. Only the Nancy boys played clarinet. Thompson, reduce his morphine and let�s get him on Percoset so he won�t be so drugged out all the time.� �Percoset? Not Vicodin?� �Leave the Vicodin for me, silly girl. Percoset for him.� And Barleigh stumped out of the room.
|