TITLE: "Thoroughly Jossed" (1/1)
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis
EMAIL: mc@verticalcrawl.com
SITE: http://verticalcrawl.com/fic
DISTRIB: My site, list archives, fanfiction.net. Or just ask.
FEEDBACK: Yes'm.
SPOILER: Totally. For "Intervention".
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Spike/Xander
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.

* * *



*hiss*

"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 strungled 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 scrapping softly under his fingers.

Xander wrung the cloth over the pale chest, cold water dripping
to thin the blood there.



1/1



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