Word Count: 420
Warning: I can't believe I've written something as schmoopish as this. I mean it! And in my first Spander snippet. *sigh*
batmanvinnie looked it over - thank you! - but I've changed it since then.
And yes - I'm an EFL : )
For the Spander moodring: anxious
He was not good at this hospital “visiting hours” shit.
What if he came over as an utter poof?
His demon was screaming at him what a wanker he was. He should get outta here and come back after midnight and scare the nurse on duty for good measure. There was a reputation to uphold. His.
Spike stared into the ugly painted wall in the corridor and punched it twice for good measure. It made the door beside his fist shudder weakly.
Yeah, he was love’s bitch all right. But his boy, his mate-to-be if he still would have him, was hurt. Worse; it was his fault that Xander was in hospital.
Spike shook his fist and watched the porridge-colored bits of concrete and dust fall from his knuckles, then pushed the door open. The awful hospital smell of chemicals, decay and rot was finally mixed with the scents from the right human. Sweat, blood, and…
“…Brought me flowers, I see.” His Xander, pale looking, needle sprouting, and bandaged, widened his eye and blinked towards Spike’s hand. “Roses?”
“Yeah, well…picked’em meself.” He tried to saunter over to the bedside but his duster wouldn’t quite cooperate. “ere.”
“Picked them yourself? Roses? From a newly dug grave?”
“’m evil pet. There’re limits to how far I can go. Got you flowers, didn’t I? ”
“It’s the thought that counts. But I will thank you when you have brushed the dirt off my bed, removed the little card saying...We are sorry for your loss, which I guess is appropriate with the eye and all by the way, and found a vase for them.”
Bloody hell! He had forgotten the soddin’ card. Would Xander think he mocked the loss of his eye? “Pet…I’m…uh.”
“Yeah, blood breath, you’re being yourself. Now get rid of the flowers and come and give me a manly hug.”
“Hug? Won’t the bloody nurses...I mean…that’s my boy!”
Seconds later he was back and surrounded by Xander’s warmth.
“And before you start with the guilt trip, evil undead, no; it was not your fault, and no; there’s nothing to forgive, and yes; I will be your mate…if…” Xander’s heartbeat stuttered against Spike’s ear.
“Pet?” Spike sat up. The edges of the bandage around Xan’s missing eye was curled and wrinkled. He smoothed Xander’s hair back from his forehead and traced the gauze-covered emptiness with a finger.
“If you’ll still have me, Spike.”
“Mine.” Spike said. There was more, but that could wait.