DISTRIB: My site, list archives, . Or just ask.
SPOILER: Totally. For "Intervention".
DEDICATION: Oh, Joss. Joss, Joss, Joss. You got it right, babe. Kinda.
NOTE: I'm tired. This could be laced with typos and bad grammar. Heck, it could be written in French and I would barely notice at this point. I just felt this quiet, almost comforting angst. Really short.
"Ssh... Lay still... I'm almost done." The cloth came away bloody again, and Xander swallowed the lump in his throat. He rinsed the soaked material, and leaned in closely again, careful, ever careful.
His patient was quiet. No cocky talk to hide behind, no self-pity. He laid silently under Xander's ministrations, good eye closed, body tensing up under pain he didn't want to feel. Ever.
No fair. No fair at all. Tortured, and they still hated him. Xander found it increasingly hard to lie for their benefit.
He kept his voice barely above a whisper, eyes trained on what he was doing. "It came up."
A soft moan as the wounded vampire struggled to bring his wandering focus on the form perched beside him. "What did?"
"You. And me."
"It did?" God, even his voice. Broken.
Xander couldn't bring himself to look at his face. "They don't care. It got brushed off. It always does."
Spike studied the man next to him, then let his head rest back on the hard surface beneath him. They were safe. The idea was absurd to anyone.
He reached out blindly and found the comforting warmth of a thigh, the material scraping softly under his fingers.
Xander wrung the cloth over the pale chest, cold water dripping to thin the blood there.
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