Fic update: That Good Night (7 of ?)
Right now I'm on vacation-so I have another chapter written already! Woohoo!
I apologize for being slow in answering comments to chapter 6. Please be assured, I appreciate the comments very much! I love feedback! I've just been in frenzied chapter-writing mode, which left me without time to answer the comments. But I will, I promise, and soon!
Thanks to yourlibrarian for beta-reading, and lots of fun plot discussions.
The details:
Title: That Good Night (part 7 of ?)
Rating: Still not sure. Definitely R; may go to NC-17.
Continuity info: This is the sixth story in the Fragments 'verse, fitting in immediately after "Before the Time of Dawn." This story is set a couple years post-NFA.
Summary: Spike is human and he's having problems. Meanwhile, Willow has just had a baby; Xander and Spike have traveled to Sao Paulo to see her, and so has Buffy.
Warnings: My posting schedule will probably continue to be erratic! If that's going to frustrate you hugely, you should probably wait until it's complete. Also, it's going to be dark. Possibly kinda depressing. Definitely angsty, h/c with lots of hurt. Character death will most definitely be threatened, and I'd rather not say what comes of it (though if you're terribly worried, ask me privately).
This update is about 4300 words; the total length now stands at about 22,300.
Previous parts are [here].
Oh, and now that this story is getting fairly long, I'm going to start doing a recap to accompany each chapter. You can skip it if you remember everything that's happened so far (or if you feel like rereading the chapters themselves!). So, here you go...
Previously in the Fragments!verse...
Spike and Xander had just returned from the year 1999 (where they had rescued the Sisterhood of Jhe, saved the world, and had awkward encounters with the teenaged Scoobies) when they found out that Willow was having complications in childbirth and that her life was in danger. They rushed to Sao Paulo to see her. So did Buffy-who arrived at the airport at the same time as them, leading to an awkward initial reunion between her and Spike.
They were all greatly relieved to find that Willow was okay after all and that she and Kennedy were now mothers of a baby girl named Tara. Buffy and Xander were quite surprised to find out that Oz was the biological father and that he lived with Willow and Kennedy; Spike wasn't surprised at all, having found out all that several months previously when Willow and Kennedy took care of him after an illness.
The next evening, while everyone else was occupied elsewhere, Buffy asked Spike to go out on patrol with her. He initially refused, since he wasn't feeling well, but changed his mind when Buffy explained that she was investigating the mysterious deaths of local children. Out on patrol, Buffy quickly revealed her not-very-hidden agenda by asking Spike why he'd hidden his resurrection from her. They talked it out, and things seemed to be working out pretty well, until Spike thought he saw Dru in a crowd. Then the night went from bad to worse: they were caught in torrential rain, they got mugged, and Spike got shot in the arm. In the aftermath, Buffy tried to kiss Spike, which certainly made for an awkward moment for both of them. Meanwhile, Spike was finding it harder and harder to hide the fact that he was getting sick. Finally Buffy and Spike had to fight three child-vampires; Buffy couldn't bring herself to dust a vampire who looked like a six-year-old girl, so Spike did it for her. Having helped her, Spike finally admitted to Buffy that he needed help in turn.
They made it home, but Spike was very much worse for the wear. Xander didn't react well to the story of the night's adventures, and things were strained between him and Buffy-but with Oz around to keep everyone focused on the priorities, they got Spike warmed up and dried off. Xander wanted to take him to the hospital to get his bullet wound stitched up, but Oz said he could take care of that at home.
And now the story continues...
Chapter 7
"I did some serious first aid courses a few years back," Oz explained as he set up his ad hoc infirmary on the kitchen table. "Military-type stuff. Seemed like it would come in handy, with the demon-fighting and everything."
"You kept that up?" Buffy asked. "After you left Sunnydale?" She'd changed into cotton pajamas with cartoon kittens printed on them. She was hanging back near the kitchen door, clearly wanting to avoid Xander and yet not be entirely left out of whatever was happening now.
"Sure. Once I knew it was all out there, I couldn't turn my back on it." He'd spread a white towel on the table, and set out a large tupperware box he'd taken from the bathroom. Now he opened the box, and Xander saw it was full of first aid supplies. "Anyway, after I came to Sao Paulo, I started volunteering in a free medical clinic a couple days a week. They need all the help they can get." He looked at the stuff he'd laid out on the table, and nodded to himself. "Okay, Xander, you can go get Spike now."
Spike was curled up on the bed. He'd taken his glasses off and his eyes were closed, like he was trying to go to sleep, but he was coughing.
"Hey," Xander said softly, sitting down next to him. "Oz is ready for you. How are you doing?"
"Been better," Spike said, without opening his eyes, and coughed again.
"Do you need the inhaler? It's in the living room." Xander brushed Spike's still-damp hair off his forehead, and laid his hand there for a moment to check for fever.
"Maybe. Yeah. Chest hurts a little." He reached up and pulled Xander's hand away. "It's just a cold, don't worry. I'm completely knackered, is all."
"So let's get this over with." Xander helped Spike sit up. The quilt fell away, reminding them both that Spike was naked underneath. "Uh, Buffy's in the kitchen too. I'll find your pajamas."
Spike pulled on the pajama pants with minimal assistance. Just lying down for the ten minutes while Oz got the first aid stuff ready seemed to have done him some good, Xander noticed with relief.
Spike made it out to the kitchen on his own feet, with just Xander's arm for support. Xander got him settled on the chair Oz had set out, and then went to the living room to pick up the inhaler.
When he returned, Oz was already cutting the makeshift bandage off Spike's arm. The scissors he was using looked all officially surgical, and he was wearing latex gloves.
"...something funny going on," Spike was saying. "Vamps don't usually turn children."
Xander handed the inhaler to Spike and then went and perched on the edge of the table at the far end, out of Oz's way. "What was that about children?"
Spike set the inhaler on the table without using it. "We were just telling Oz about the vamps we fought."
"It was like fighting little kids," Buffy said. She was still standing over by the door, with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. "It felt all wrong."
"Hold still," Oz said. "This might hurt a bit, if the bandage is stuck." He started to carefully peel the t-shirt away from Spike's arm.
"When a child gets vamped, they can never grow up," Spike said, continuing the earlier conversational thread. "Not physically, not emotionally. Which makes them really bloody annoying. Not the kind of minion your average vamp would want to saddle himself with." He looked down at his arm. "Didn't hurt."
Oz frowned slightly, looking at the exposed gash on Spike's arm. "It hasn't clotted much." He tossed the bits of t-shirt into the garbage pail he'd brought over by the table, and then took out a squeeze bottle labeled 'Betadine' and started washing off the wound.
"The little girl-I mean, the vamp who looked like a little girl-she said their leader was named Carlos," Buffy said. "And that he was-" she turned to Spike "-how old?"
"Fifteen." Spike looked at where Oz was now dabbing some kind of clear gel onto the edges of the wound with a big q-tip. "What's that?"
"Topical anesthetic," Oz said. "So the stitches won't hurt too much."
"Oh. Wouldn't have hurt anyway. Took some painkillers already."
The vague plural worried Xander a little-Spike had a tendency to ignore the recommended dosage and take however many pills he thought he needed to make the pain go away. Considering the series of incredibly stupid decisions Spike had already made tonight, a painkiller overdose would be pretty much par for the course. "How many?"
Spike rolled his eyes at Xander, like he knew exactly what he was thinking. Which he certainly did, since they'd had this conversation at least a dozen times before. "Three," he said.
Which was a technical overdose, but probably not enough to hurt him, so Xander let it go.
Meanwhile, Oz had taken a foil packet out of the first aid box. When he ripped it open, Xander saw that it contained a needle already threaded with what he assumed was surgical thread. Looking impressively competent, Oz pinched together the edges of the gash on Spike's arm and started stitching him up.
"Seems this Carlos is trying to make himself into a Big Bad," Spike said. "Making himself an army of impressionable little kiddie vamps."
"I'm going to have to fight more of them, aren't I?" Buffy said, slumping against the door frame. "Oh God."
Oz looked up from his needlework. "Kennedy and I can go out with you tomorrow night."
Buffy looked a little doubtful. "Won't Kennedy want to stay in with Willow and the baby?"
"She'll do what she has to. This sounds like it might be big." Oz tied off the thread and started wrapping a gauze bandage around Spike's arm.
"Hey, speaking of things that might be big," Xander said, "What was that earlier about Drusilla?"
"Maybe nothing." Spike exchanged a glance with Buffy. Why was he looking at her that way? Xander felt a flare of irritation; Buffy was the one who'd gotten Spike into this whole mess.
"Spike thought he saw her. But when we looked for her...," Buffy shrugged, "nothing."
"May've been all in my head," Spike said, still looking at Buffy. "But you will keep an eye out, yeah?"
Buffy nodded. "I will."
"So, hey, all done?" Xander said. Oz had just clipped the end of the bandage in place, and Xander wanted to get out of the kitchen.
"Yeah. The stitches should stay in for a couple of weeks," Oz said. "I'll change the bandage tomorrow night."
"Thanks, mate," Spike said, and started to stand up. Then he sat back down abruptly and dropped his head down into his hands. "Bugger."
Oz grabbed Spike's shoulder to steady him, and Buffy made a hesitant move like she was going to go to him but then decided not to. Xander was already around the table and at Spike's side by the time Buffy had finished her aborted gesture. He knelt in front of Spike, getting himself down to his eye level. "Hey, are you still with us? What happened?"
"Dizzy," Spike said, barely loud enough for Xander to hear. "Fuck." And then he went the rest of the way limp; Oz stopped him from toppling off the chair.
"Spike?" Xander's voice cracked. "Oh God."
"He's just fainted," Oz said. "We need to put him in a recovery position. Buffy, can you carry him-"
"No," Xander interrupted him. "I'll do it." The idea of Buffy touching Spike at this point made Xander feel nauseous.
Oz raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. "Okay, I'll help you. Buffy, go pull the covers back on the bed."
Spike was a lot harder to pick up now that he was unconscious. Oz hooked his hands under Spike's shoulders, and Xander got an arm under his waist and one behind his knees, and they carried him together. Refusing to let Buffy help had probably been kind of rash. Oh well. Xander still didn't want her touching Spike.
Buffy was standing behind the bed with its turned-back covers, looking like she really wanted someone to give her something else to do. Xander shot her a look that made her wince, but she didn't leave.
"Lay him on his side," Oz said as they got to the bed. "Right, now bend his knees."
Xander followed Oz's instructions and then pulled the blankets up over Spike-as his hands brushed Spike's shoulders, Spike's eyes fluttered open.
"Where the fuck am I?"
"Don't sit up." Xander kept a hand on Spike's shoulder to make sure he stayed down. "You fainted, and we carried you into the bedroom."
Spike closed his eyes again. "Bloody hell."
Oz moved in a little closer. "Spike, I'm gonna check your pulse. Hold still, okay?" He laid a couple fingers against Spike's neck and checked his watch.
Xander looked up and saw that Buffy was still there. "Buffy? It's time for you to go."
"But-is he okay?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"He just needs to rest," Oz said, standing up. "Let's give him and Xander some space." He waited for Buffy to leave before he followed her, shutting the door softly behind them.
Finally alone with Spike, Xander didn't quite know what to do. He wanted to hug him and yell at him and ask him what the fuck he'd been thinking, but Spike looked too fragile for any of that right now, even the hugging. So Xander just stretched out on the bed facing him and lightly touched his cheek. "I love you so much it hurts," he said softly when Spike opened his eyes.
"Sorry," Spike said, even quieter than Xander. "Didn't mean for it to hurt."
"Shhh." Xander touched Spike's lips. "Go to sleep."
***
Buffy and Oz were both sitting at the kitchen table, cradling coffee mugs in their hands and talking softly. Xander hesitated at the doorway, about to just turn around and go back to bed, but Oz looked up.
"Hi," he said to Xander. "How's Spike?"
"He fell asleep a while ago."
Oz nodded. "Good. Oh, hey, you should put this somewhere you can find it." He held up the inhaler, which had been left on the table.
Xander remembered how Spike had asked for it earlier, and then not used it. Probably because he didn't want to take it with everyone watching. Xander wondered for a moment whether he should've reminded Spike to take it. Oh well. He held out his hands so that Oz would toss it to him. "I'll put it back in his pocket later."
"Want something to drink?" Oz offered. "I already made herbal tea, but there's soda too."
Xander didn't want to sit down at the table with Buffy, who was looking at him now with troubled eyes. He was still too upset about what she'd put Spike through. But he didn't really want to go back to bed, either, because he couldn't sleep and he didn't want to disturb Spike. "I thought I'd watch TV for a bit," he said. "Maybe a soda?"
Oz got up and went to the fridge. "Hey, Spike said yesterday you're into motorcycles," he said, opening the door.
Xander smiled slightly. "Spike's into motorcycles. I'm into him."
Oz took a couple of red and white cans from the bottom shelf of the fridge, and handed one to Xander. "Ever try a Guarana Jesus before? They're pretty good."
Xander took an amused look at the logo, then popped the tab and took a cautious sip. It was kind of fruity. "Not bad."
"Anyway," Oz said, "I have a bike outside. A '96 BMW R100GS I got in Mexico. I thought you might like to check it out."
The bike didn't interest Xander much in itself, but as an excuse to get out of the kitchen before Buffy tried talking to him it sounded pretty damn appealing. "Sure," he said. "Let's make with the manly talk about cylinders and horsepower."
"Have fun with that," Buffy said kind of awkwardly, and took a quick gulp of tea to avoid meeting Xander's eye.
Oz led him out the side door, which led directly into the carport. The space was two cars wide, with one car currently missing. Oz flipped a light on and headed for the back, where there was a motorcycle-sized shape covered with a black tarp that Xander hadn't noticed before. Pulling the tarp off, Oz nodded down at the dusty reddish bike. "It doesn't look like much, but it's got me over mountains, through rainforest and desert-some pretty rough terrain. I rode down a Suvolte demon on it once."
"Did you tell Spike about that one?" Xander asked. "He has a funny story of his own about Suvolte demons."
Oz gave a little shrug. "I didn't really ask you out here to talk about the bike. I know that's more Spike's thing. I wanted to talk to you about Spike."
"Oh," Xander said, trying not to sound too immediately and irrationally panicked at the 'serious talk' vibe in Oz's tone. He leaned back against the hood of Oz's car and took a sip of his Jesus drink.
"I should explain something first," Oz said. "About why I came to Sao Paulo."
"I thought you came here for Willow."
Oz shook his head. "I didn't know she was here. Actually I'd been living here for nearly two years before I ran into her. I came here to study with a Spiritist healer-do you know what that means?"
Xander shook his head. "Something like Voodoo?" he took a wild guess.
"A little. It's a kind of shamanistic tradition, with roots in Africa. Healing through contact with the spirit world, that kind of thing." Oz shrugged. "There's a lot of charlatans, but I'd heard good stories about this one guy in Sao Paulo. Figured I'd check it out. I was still looking for a cure back then," he added.
"For a-you mean for the, uh, werewolf thing?"
Oz nodded. "It turned out he couldn't help me with that-not with a cure. But I stayed with him for a while, and he taught me a lot about sickness and healing. Besides being a Spiritist he was an actual medical doctor, and he'd also studied traditional medicine with a few different tribes in the Amazon basin. He was pretty cool about me being a werewolf. He helped me figure out how to use my abilities, instead of always trying to push them away."
Xander shifted his weight to get a little more comfortable, and looked at Oz with interest. Back in Sunnydale he'd never talked much about being a werewolf. "What abilities?"
"Enhanced senses, mostly. Especially smell. Have you heard that there's doctors experimenting now with training dogs to diagnose some diseases by scent?"
Xander shook his head. "I must've missed Animal Planet that day."
Oz tapped his fingers absently on his soda can, giving Xander a serious look. "When I was treating Spike earlier, I noticed that he smelled ... wrong somehow. Like he might be sick."
"He is sick," Xander pointed out. "He'll be lucky if he doesn't come down with pneumonia after tonight."
"It was more than that," Oz said. "Something deeper. Have you noticed anything different about him lately? Has he said anything?"
Xander's mouth felt suddenly much too dry. He took a sip of the Jesus drink without tasting it. "Maybe," he said. "He's been ... tired. I think I started noticing it a couple months ago, only I didn't really notice it, you know? He said something last week, though, while we were in Sunnydale. About feeling shitty all the time. And I've been sort of watching him, and, um. I think it might be worse than he lets on."
Oz nodded slowly. "And has he talked to a doctor about it?"
"Well, no. But he promised he would-after we go back home."
"I think maybe he shouldn't wait that long."
"Oh." Xander was suddenly intensely aware of the sound of the rain on the carport's roof.
"I can call our family doctor tomorrow. She's usually good for an appointment within 48 hours."
"Okay." The carport smelled like oil, and wet dirt.
"So, you'll talk to him?"
"Yeah." Xander's voice sounded weird to him. Hollow. Flat. Like it was somebody else talking. "I will. In the morning."
***
Xander couldn't sleep.
Spike was lying on his side, breathing quietly and steadily. Xander lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation with Oz in his head.
He hadn't said that Spike was sick for sure. Just that he smelled weird, whatever that meant. That he might be sick.
'Of course he's sick,' Xander's inner voice replied-sounding kind of exasperated with him. 'When were you going to pull your head out of the fucking sand? He's always tired, he's got shadows under his eyes when he wakes up after ten hours of sleep, and when he thinks you're not looking he moves like everything hurts.'
'He's been getting sick ever since he turned human,' Xander reminded himself. 'It's nothing new.'
'This isn't an asthma attack,' the little voice in his head replied. 'It isn't a migraine. It might all be connected, but this is something new. Something worse.'
'Hey, who says it's worse? Oz didn't say it was worse.'
'No, but he took you out into the garage in the middle of the night and told you to get Spike to a doctor as soon as possible. Oz isn't usually big with the dramatics. He must think it's serious.'
Xander couldn't argue with his inner voice on that point. He closed his eye, and tried to stop thinking and go to sleep. It didn't work.
'He's dying, isn't he?'
'No. Fuck no. He's not allowed to be dying.'
'Uh, that's not actually the way it works.'
'I don't care how it works. Spike is not allowed to be dying.'
'But what if he is?'
'Then we'll fix him.'
'By we do you mean the two voices in my head?'
'No, dumbass. This two-voices thing is just a construction for freaking-out purposes while I'm lying quietly in bed. By we I mean, oh, everybody. Willow, Oz, Giles, Dawn, Andrew, even Buffy-everybody. We'll research like it's 1999.'
***
He didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he woke up, but the digital clock said 2:37 and the last he remembered, it'd been just past midnight.
Something was wrong. Something-okay, he remembered. Lots of things were wrong. But right now? Spike was crying in his sleep.
Okay, not crying. Whimpering, sort of. Desperate, high-pitched noises. He was having a nightmare.
Xander gripped Spike's arm-which was slick with sweat-and shook him lightly. "Spike? Wake up. Love? It's not real, whatever it is. You're safe."
Spike woke up with a gasp that turned into a hoarse cough. When Xander reached out to him, Spike immediately burrowed against Xander's chest, tucking his head down like he was hiding from something or someone. He was shaking, and drenched in sweat.
"Xander," he said-it sounded like a plea.
"I'm here. You're here. It's okay." They were half-sitting up, and Xander found himself rocking Spike a little. It felt comforting.
Spike shook his head against Xander's chest. He coughed again, and then managed to say, "Dru. She's in my head."
"You had a bad dream. You're sick. You-I think you have a fever. Dru's not here. You thought you saw her earlier, remember?"
Spike coughed, and didn't answer.
The coughing was worrying Xander. "Hang on. I'm getting your inhaler."
Xander got out of bed and fumbled around until he found the light switch. Blinking in the sudden brightness, he found Spike's inhaler. Spike took a dose as soon as Xander handed the thing to him, and then let his head drop to the pillow. "Thanks," he said raggedly, and shuddered again. "Fuck. That was a hell of a dream."
With the light on, Xander could see that the sheets around Spike were completely soaked. His hair clung to his head in damp curls, and his face and bare chest glistened with sweat. "I think we should change the sheets," Xander said, aiming for calm. "And dry you off."
He left Spike lying on the bed and went in search of fresh sheets. He didn't want to wake Oz up to ask him where they were. As freaky as the waking-up-drenched-in-sweat thing was, this wasn't the first time it had happened. Xander knew how to deal.
He found a linen closet behind a door in the bathroom. He found a fitted sheet and a topsheet that looked like they'd fit the bed, and he brought them back to the bedroom along with a towel and a face cloth he'd dampened with warm water.
"Can you sit up?" he asked Spike.
"Yeah, of course," Spike said, and pushed himself upright on visibly trembling arms.
"Uh, let's do it this way." Xander quickly set a pillow up against the headboard. "Lean back. Okay." He used the facecloth to wipe the sweat from Spike's face, first, and then his neck and torso. Spike watched him with hollow eyes; Xander had a sense that Spike was seeing something other than what was in front of him. "Do you want to talk about the dream?"
Spike squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he answered. "No. It was Dru and me-it was memories, mostly. Ancient history." He ducked his head to the side and sneezed.
"Bless you." Xander handed Spike the Kleenex box from the bedside table, and felt his forehead. It seemed warm. "I want to check your temperature. How does your chest feel?"
"It's all right. It's just a cold."
"Yeah, well. We'll let Mr. Digital Thermometer decide that." Xander went over to their duffle bags, and found the little black bag that held Spike's various prescriptions. It also had a digital thermometer in a plastic case. He brought it back to Spike. "Under the tongue. You know the drill."
Spike rolled his eyes at Xander, but complied, sniffling. Xander started rubbing him down with the towel. He couldn't help noticing the bruises again-the yellowing old ones from the vamp attack in Sunnydale, and the new reddish-purple ones from tonight's adventure. God, there were a lot. He noticed the bands around both Spike's wrists, especially. "Somebody grab you?" he asked, touching them.
Spike rolled his eyes again, this time in a you know I can't talk while you're taking my temperature, you daft git kind of way. Then the thermometer beeped.
"Vamp girl," Spike said, taking the instrument out and handing it to Xander without looking at it.
Xander checked the readout. A hundred point four degrees. He felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders ease-that was a give-Spike-a-glass-of-juice-and-put-him-back-to-bed kind of temperature, not a rush-Spike-to-the-ER kind of temperature. "Okay, let me find you some new clothes."
Spike didn't have a spare pair of pajama pants, so Xander picked out a pair of his own running shorts-they were too big for Spike, but they had a drawstring. He picked a loose t-shirt from Spike's bag. "Here, do you need help?"
Spike shook his head and climbed off the bed. He looked a little shaky, but with a hand on the mattress for balance he did okay. Xander waited just over an arm's length away, ready to step in if he was needed, but giving Spike some space.
When Spike had finished changing, Xander wrapped him up in Willow's quilt-which they'd tossed aside earlier in the evening-and sat him down in the armchair. "Wait there," he said, overplaying his Stern Voice enough to actually get a smile out of Spike.
He came back with a glass of orange juice, which he'd almost but not quite spilled when he stubbed his toe on the grandfather clock in the dark hallway. "Drink this while I change the sheets," he told Spike.
Meekly, Spike did as he was told. He still had a sort of abstracted, far-off stare that Xander figured was about the dream he'd woken up from.
It didn't take long to strip the sheets off the bed, toss them in a corner, and put the new ones on. Xander looked over and saw Spike was only half done his juice, and he'd put it down on the bedside table.
"Don't want any more," Spike said, noticing where Xander was looking. "Tastes like crap."
Xander went over and bushed a hand through Spike's hair. "Try to finish it, okay? You need liquids."
Spike gave Xander a beleaguered look, but he took the glass when Xander handed it to him, and he slammed back the rest of the juice in a few gulps. Then he handed Xander back the glass, raising an eyebrow. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic." Xander held out a hand. "Now can I help you to bed?"
Back in bed under the fresh, crisp sheets, Xander spooned against Spike. He wanted the feel of Spike safe in his arms. He knew it was an illusion, but it was a good illusion for now.
"Xander, luv?" Spike said softly. "Sorry. About tonight."
"Shhh. It's okay." Xander kissed the back of his neck. "Just ... try harder not to get killed next time."
"Worked out all right," Spike murmured. He sounded like he was already falling asleep. "Not dead yet."
Listening to Spike's breathing go slow and steady, Xander nuzzled the back of his neck, and wondered what it was that Oz had smelled. To Xander, Spike smelled just right. A mixture of shampoo and sweat, with a slight lingering tang of hair dye and maybe a hint of rainwater. He felt just right, tucked up all warm in Xander's arms.
Xander closed his eye, held onto his lover, and waited for morning.
Continued in Chapter Eight
I apologize for being slow in answering comments to chapter 6. Please be assured, I appreciate the comments very much! I love feedback! I've just been in frenzied chapter-writing mode, which left me without time to answer the comments. But I will, I promise, and soon!
Thanks to yourlibrarian for beta-reading, and lots of fun plot discussions.
The details:
Title: That Good Night (part 7 of ?)
Rating: Still not sure. Definitely R; may go to NC-17.
Continuity info: This is the sixth story in the Fragments 'verse, fitting in immediately after "Before the Time of Dawn." This story is set a couple years post-NFA.
Summary: Spike is human and he's having problems. Meanwhile, Willow has just had a baby; Xander and Spike have traveled to Sao Paulo to see her, and so has Buffy.
Warnings: My posting schedule will probably continue to be erratic! If that's going to frustrate you hugely, you should probably wait until it's complete. Also, it's going to be dark. Possibly kinda depressing. Definitely angsty, h/c with lots of hurt. Character death will most definitely be threatened, and I'd rather not say what comes of it (though if you're terribly worried, ask me privately).
This update is about 4300 words; the total length now stands at about 22,300.
Previous parts are [here].
Oh, and now that this story is getting fairly long, I'm going to start doing a recap to accompany each chapter. You can skip it if you remember everything that's happened so far (or if you feel like rereading the chapters themselves!). So, here you go...
Previously in the Fragments!verse...
Spike and Xander had just returned from the year 1999 (where they had rescued the Sisterhood of Jhe, saved the world, and had awkward encounters with the teenaged Scoobies) when they found out that Willow was having complications in childbirth and that her life was in danger. They rushed to Sao Paulo to see her. So did Buffy-who arrived at the airport at the same time as them, leading to an awkward initial reunion between her and Spike.
They were all greatly relieved to find that Willow was okay after all and that she and Kennedy were now mothers of a baby girl named Tara. Buffy and Xander were quite surprised to find out that Oz was the biological father and that he lived with Willow and Kennedy; Spike wasn't surprised at all, having found out all that several months previously when Willow and Kennedy took care of him after an illness.
The next evening, while everyone else was occupied elsewhere, Buffy asked Spike to go out on patrol with her. He initially refused, since he wasn't feeling well, but changed his mind when Buffy explained that she was investigating the mysterious deaths of local children. Out on patrol, Buffy quickly revealed her not-very-hidden agenda by asking Spike why he'd hidden his resurrection from her. They talked it out, and things seemed to be working out pretty well, until Spike thought he saw Dru in a crowd. Then the night went from bad to worse: they were caught in torrential rain, they got mugged, and Spike got shot in the arm. In the aftermath, Buffy tried to kiss Spike, which certainly made for an awkward moment for both of them. Meanwhile, Spike was finding it harder and harder to hide the fact that he was getting sick. Finally Buffy and Spike had to fight three child-vampires; Buffy couldn't bring herself to dust a vampire who looked like a six-year-old girl, so Spike did it for her. Having helped her, Spike finally admitted to Buffy that he needed help in turn.
They made it home, but Spike was very much worse for the wear. Xander didn't react well to the story of the night's adventures, and things were strained between him and Buffy-but with Oz around to keep everyone focused on the priorities, they got Spike warmed up and dried off. Xander wanted to take him to the hospital to get his bullet wound stitched up, but Oz said he could take care of that at home.
And now the story continues...
Chapter 7
"I did some serious first aid courses a few years back," Oz explained as he set up his ad hoc infirmary on the kitchen table. "Military-type stuff. Seemed like it would come in handy, with the demon-fighting and everything."
"You kept that up?" Buffy asked. "After you left Sunnydale?" She'd changed into cotton pajamas with cartoon kittens printed on them. She was hanging back near the kitchen door, clearly wanting to avoid Xander and yet not be entirely left out of whatever was happening now.
"Sure. Once I knew it was all out there, I couldn't turn my back on it." He'd spread a white towel on the table, and set out a large tupperware box he'd taken from the bathroom. Now he opened the box, and Xander saw it was full of first aid supplies. "Anyway, after I came to Sao Paulo, I started volunteering in a free medical clinic a couple days a week. They need all the help they can get." He looked at the stuff he'd laid out on the table, and nodded to himself. "Okay, Xander, you can go get Spike now."
Spike was curled up on the bed. He'd taken his glasses off and his eyes were closed, like he was trying to go to sleep, but he was coughing.
"Hey," Xander said softly, sitting down next to him. "Oz is ready for you. How are you doing?"
"Been better," Spike said, without opening his eyes, and coughed again.
"Do you need the inhaler? It's in the living room." Xander brushed Spike's still-damp hair off his forehead, and laid his hand there for a moment to check for fever.
"Maybe. Yeah. Chest hurts a little." He reached up and pulled Xander's hand away. "It's just a cold, don't worry. I'm completely knackered, is all."
"So let's get this over with." Xander helped Spike sit up. The quilt fell away, reminding them both that Spike was naked underneath. "Uh, Buffy's in the kitchen too. I'll find your pajamas."
Spike pulled on the pajama pants with minimal assistance. Just lying down for the ten minutes while Oz got the first aid stuff ready seemed to have done him some good, Xander noticed with relief.
Spike made it out to the kitchen on his own feet, with just Xander's arm for support. Xander got him settled on the chair Oz had set out, and then went to the living room to pick up the inhaler.
When he returned, Oz was already cutting the makeshift bandage off Spike's arm. The scissors he was using looked all officially surgical, and he was wearing latex gloves.
"...something funny going on," Spike was saying. "Vamps don't usually turn children."
Xander handed the inhaler to Spike and then went and perched on the edge of the table at the far end, out of Oz's way. "What was that about children?"
Spike set the inhaler on the table without using it. "We were just telling Oz about the vamps we fought."
"It was like fighting little kids," Buffy said. She was still standing over by the door, with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. "It felt all wrong."
"Hold still," Oz said. "This might hurt a bit, if the bandage is stuck." He started to carefully peel the t-shirt away from Spike's arm.
"When a child gets vamped, they can never grow up," Spike said, continuing the earlier conversational thread. "Not physically, not emotionally. Which makes them really bloody annoying. Not the kind of minion your average vamp would want to saddle himself with." He looked down at his arm. "Didn't hurt."
Oz frowned slightly, looking at the exposed gash on Spike's arm. "It hasn't clotted much." He tossed the bits of t-shirt into the garbage pail he'd brought over by the table, and then took out a squeeze bottle labeled 'Betadine' and started washing off the wound.
"The little girl-I mean, the vamp who looked like a little girl-she said their leader was named Carlos," Buffy said. "And that he was-" she turned to Spike "-how old?"
"Fifteen." Spike looked at where Oz was now dabbing some kind of clear gel onto the edges of the wound with a big q-tip. "What's that?"
"Topical anesthetic," Oz said. "So the stitches won't hurt too much."
"Oh. Wouldn't have hurt anyway. Took some painkillers already."
The vague plural worried Xander a little-Spike had a tendency to ignore the recommended dosage and take however many pills he thought he needed to make the pain go away. Considering the series of incredibly stupid decisions Spike had already made tonight, a painkiller overdose would be pretty much par for the course. "How many?"
Spike rolled his eyes at Xander, like he knew exactly what he was thinking. Which he certainly did, since they'd had this conversation at least a dozen times before. "Three," he said.
Which was a technical overdose, but probably not enough to hurt him, so Xander let it go.
Meanwhile, Oz had taken a foil packet out of the first aid box. When he ripped it open, Xander saw that it contained a needle already threaded with what he assumed was surgical thread. Looking impressively competent, Oz pinched together the edges of the gash on Spike's arm and started stitching him up.
"Seems this Carlos is trying to make himself into a Big Bad," Spike said. "Making himself an army of impressionable little kiddie vamps."
"I'm going to have to fight more of them, aren't I?" Buffy said, slumping against the door frame. "Oh God."
Oz looked up from his needlework. "Kennedy and I can go out with you tomorrow night."
Buffy looked a little doubtful. "Won't Kennedy want to stay in with Willow and the baby?"
"She'll do what she has to. This sounds like it might be big." Oz tied off the thread and started wrapping a gauze bandage around Spike's arm.
"Hey, speaking of things that might be big," Xander said, "What was that earlier about Drusilla?"
"Maybe nothing." Spike exchanged a glance with Buffy. Why was he looking at her that way? Xander felt a flare of irritation; Buffy was the one who'd gotten Spike into this whole mess.
"Spike thought he saw her. But when we looked for her...," Buffy shrugged, "nothing."
"May've been all in my head," Spike said, still looking at Buffy. "But you will keep an eye out, yeah?"
Buffy nodded. "I will."
"So, hey, all done?" Xander said. Oz had just clipped the end of the bandage in place, and Xander wanted to get out of the kitchen.
"Yeah. The stitches should stay in for a couple of weeks," Oz said. "I'll change the bandage tomorrow night."
"Thanks, mate," Spike said, and started to stand up. Then he sat back down abruptly and dropped his head down into his hands. "Bugger."
Oz grabbed Spike's shoulder to steady him, and Buffy made a hesitant move like she was going to go to him but then decided not to. Xander was already around the table and at Spike's side by the time Buffy had finished her aborted gesture. He knelt in front of Spike, getting himself down to his eye level. "Hey, are you still with us? What happened?"
"Dizzy," Spike said, barely loud enough for Xander to hear. "Fuck." And then he went the rest of the way limp; Oz stopped him from toppling off the chair.
"Spike?" Xander's voice cracked. "Oh God."
"He's just fainted," Oz said. "We need to put him in a recovery position. Buffy, can you carry him-"
"No," Xander interrupted him. "I'll do it." The idea of Buffy touching Spike at this point made Xander feel nauseous.
Oz raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. "Okay, I'll help you. Buffy, go pull the covers back on the bed."
Spike was a lot harder to pick up now that he was unconscious. Oz hooked his hands under Spike's shoulders, and Xander got an arm under his waist and one behind his knees, and they carried him together. Refusing to let Buffy help had probably been kind of rash. Oh well. Xander still didn't want her touching Spike.
Buffy was standing behind the bed with its turned-back covers, looking like she really wanted someone to give her something else to do. Xander shot her a look that made her wince, but she didn't leave.
"Lay him on his side," Oz said as they got to the bed. "Right, now bend his knees."
Xander followed Oz's instructions and then pulled the blankets up over Spike-as his hands brushed Spike's shoulders, Spike's eyes fluttered open.
"Where the fuck am I?"
"Don't sit up." Xander kept a hand on Spike's shoulder to make sure he stayed down. "You fainted, and we carried you into the bedroom."
Spike closed his eyes again. "Bloody hell."
Oz moved in a little closer. "Spike, I'm gonna check your pulse. Hold still, okay?" He laid a couple fingers against Spike's neck and checked his watch.
Xander looked up and saw that Buffy was still there. "Buffy? It's time for you to go."
"But-is he okay?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"He just needs to rest," Oz said, standing up. "Let's give him and Xander some space." He waited for Buffy to leave before he followed her, shutting the door softly behind them.
Finally alone with Spike, Xander didn't quite know what to do. He wanted to hug him and yell at him and ask him what the fuck he'd been thinking, but Spike looked too fragile for any of that right now, even the hugging. So Xander just stretched out on the bed facing him and lightly touched his cheek. "I love you so much it hurts," he said softly when Spike opened his eyes.
"Sorry," Spike said, even quieter than Xander. "Didn't mean for it to hurt."
"Shhh." Xander touched Spike's lips. "Go to sleep."
***
Buffy and Oz were both sitting at the kitchen table, cradling coffee mugs in their hands and talking softly. Xander hesitated at the doorway, about to just turn around and go back to bed, but Oz looked up.
"Hi," he said to Xander. "How's Spike?"
"He fell asleep a while ago."
Oz nodded. "Good. Oh, hey, you should put this somewhere you can find it." He held up the inhaler, which had been left on the table.
Xander remembered how Spike had asked for it earlier, and then not used it. Probably because he didn't want to take it with everyone watching. Xander wondered for a moment whether he should've reminded Spike to take it. Oh well. He held out his hands so that Oz would toss it to him. "I'll put it back in his pocket later."
"Want something to drink?" Oz offered. "I already made herbal tea, but there's soda too."
Xander didn't want to sit down at the table with Buffy, who was looking at him now with troubled eyes. He was still too upset about what she'd put Spike through. But he didn't really want to go back to bed, either, because he couldn't sleep and he didn't want to disturb Spike. "I thought I'd watch TV for a bit," he said. "Maybe a soda?"
Oz got up and went to the fridge. "Hey, Spike said yesterday you're into motorcycles," he said, opening the door.
Xander smiled slightly. "Spike's into motorcycles. I'm into him."
Oz took a couple of red and white cans from the bottom shelf of the fridge, and handed one to Xander. "Ever try a Guarana Jesus before? They're pretty good."
Xander took an amused look at the logo, then popped the tab and took a cautious sip. It was kind of fruity. "Not bad."
"Anyway," Oz said, "I have a bike outside. A '96 BMW R100GS I got in Mexico. I thought you might like to check it out."
The bike didn't interest Xander much in itself, but as an excuse to get out of the kitchen before Buffy tried talking to him it sounded pretty damn appealing. "Sure," he said. "Let's make with the manly talk about cylinders and horsepower."
"Have fun with that," Buffy said kind of awkwardly, and took a quick gulp of tea to avoid meeting Xander's eye.
Oz led him out the side door, which led directly into the carport. The space was two cars wide, with one car currently missing. Oz flipped a light on and headed for the back, where there was a motorcycle-sized shape covered with a black tarp that Xander hadn't noticed before. Pulling the tarp off, Oz nodded down at the dusty reddish bike. "It doesn't look like much, but it's got me over mountains, through rainforest and desert-some pretty rough terrain. I rode down a Suvolte demon on it once."
"Did you tell Spike about that one?" Xander asked. "He has a funny story of his own about Suvolte demons."
Oz gave a little shrug. "I didn't really ask you out here to talk about the bike. I know that's more Spike's thing. I wanted to talk to you about Spike."
"Oh," Xander said, trying not to sound too immediately and irrationally panicked at the 'serious talk' vibe in Oz's tone. He leaned back against the hood of Oz's car and took a sip of his Jesus drink.
"I should explain something first," Oz said. "About why I came to Sao Paulo."
"I thought you came here for Willow."
Oz shook his head. "I didn't know she was here. Actually I'd been living here for nearly two years before I ran into her. I came here to study with a Spiritist healer-do you know what that means?"
Xander shook his head. "Something like Voodoo?" he took a wild guess.
"A little. It's a kind of shamanistic tradition, with roots in Africa. Healing through contact with the spirit world, that kind of thing." Oz shrugged. "There's a lot of charlatans, but I'd heard good stories about this one guy in Sao Paulo. Figured I'd check it out. I was still looking for a cure back then," he added.
"For a-you mean for the, uh, werewolf thing?"
Oz nodded. "It turned out he couldn't help me with that-not with a cure. But I stayed with him for a while, and he taught me a lot about sickness and healing. Besides being a Spiritist he was an actual medical doctor, and he'd also studied traditional medicine with a few different tribes in the Amazon basin. He was pretty cool about me being a werewolf. He helped me figure out how to use my abilities, instead of always trying to push them away."
Xander shifted his weight to get a little more comfortable, and looked at Oz with interest. Back in Sunnydale he'd never talked much about being a werewolf. "What abilities?"
"Enhanced senses, mostly. Especially smell. Have you heard that there's doctors experimenting now with training dogs to diagnose some diseases by scent?"
Xander shook his head. "I must've missed Animal Planet that day."
Oz tapped his fingers absently on his soda can, giving Xander a serious look. "When I was treating Spike earlier, I noticed that he smelled ... wrong somehow. Like he might be sick."
"He is sick," Xander pointed out. "He'll be lucky if he doesn't come down with pneumonia after tonight."
"It was more than that," Oz said. "Something deeper. Have you noticed anything different about him lately? Has he said anything?"
Xander's mouth felt suddenly much too dry. He took a sip of the Jesus drink without tasting it. "Maybe," he said. "He's been ... tired. I think I started noticing it a couple months ago, only I didn't really notice it, you know? He said something last week, though, while we were in Sunnydale. About feeling shitty all the time. And I've been sort of watching him, and, um. I think it might be worse than he lets on."
Oz nodded slowly. "And has he talked to a doctor about it?"
"Well, no. But he promised he would-after we go back home."
"I think maybe he shouldn't wait that long."
"Oh." Xander was suddenly intensely aware of the sound of the rain on the carport's roof.
"I can call our family doctor tomorrow. She's usually good for an appointment within 48 hours."
"Okay." The carport smelled like oil, and wet dirt.
"So, you'll talk to him?"
"Yeah." Xander's voice sounded weird to him. Hollow. Flat. Like it was somebody else talking. "I will. In the morning."
***
Xander couldn't sleep.
Spike was lying on his side, breathing quietly and steadily. Xander lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation with Oz in his head.
He hadn't said that Spike was sick for sure. Just that he smelled weird, whatever that meant. That he might be sick.
'Of course he's sick,' Xander's inner voice replied-sounding kind of exasperated with him. 'When were you going to pull your head out of the fucking sand? He's always tired, he's got shadows under his eyes when he wakes up after ten hours of sleep, and when he thinks you're not looking he moves like everything hurts.'
'He's been getting sick ever since he turned human,' Xander reminded himself. 'It's nothing new.'
'This isn't an asthma attack,' the little voice in his head replied. 'It isn't a migraine. It might all be connected, but this is something new. Something worse.'
'Hey, who says it's worse? Oz didn't say it was worse.'
'No, but he took you out into the garage in the middle of the night and told you to get Spike to a doctor as soon as possible. Oz isn't usually big with the dramatics. He must think it's serious.'
Xander couldn't argue with his inner voice on that point. He closed his eye, and tried to stop thinking and go to sleep. It didn't work.
'He's dying, isn't he?'
'No. Fuck no. He's not allowed to be dying.'
'Uh, that's not actually the way it works.'
'I don't care how it works. Spike is not allowed to be dying.'
'But what if he is?'
'Then we'll fix him.'
'By we do you mean the two voices in my head?'
'No, dumbass. This two-voices thing is just a construction for freaking-out purposes while I'm lying quietly in bed. By we I mean, oh, everybody. Willow, Oz, Giles, Dawn, Andrew, even Buffy-everybody. We'll research like it's 1999.'
***
He didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he woke up, but the digital clock said 2:37 and the last he remembered, it'd been just past midnight.
Something was wrong. Something-okay, he remembered. Lots of things were wrong. But right now? Spike was crying in his sleep.
Okay, not crying. Whimpering, sort of. Desperate, high-pitched noises. He was having a nightmare.
Xander gripped Spike's arm-which was slick with sweat-and shook him lightly. "Spike? Wake up. Love? It's not real, whatever it is. You're safe."
Spike woke up with a gasp that turned into a hoarse cough. When Xander reached out to him, Spike immediately burrowed against Xander's chest, tucking his head down like he was hiding from something or someone. He was shaking, and drenched in sweat.
"Xander," he said-it sounded like a plea.
"I'm here. You're here. It's okay." They were half-sitting up, and Xander found himself rocking Spike a little. It felt comforting.
Spike shook his head against Xander's chest. He coughed again, and then managed to say, "Dru. She's in my head."
"You had a bad dream. You're sick. You-I think you have a fever. Dru's not here. You thought you saw her earlier, remember?"
Spike coughed, and didn't answer.
The coughing was worrying Xander. "Hang on. I'm getting your inhaler."
Xander got out of bed and fumbled around until he found the light switch. Blinking in the sudden brightness, he found Spike's inhaler. Spike took a dose as soon as Xander handed the thing to him, and then let his head drop to the pillow. "Thanks," he said raggedly, and shuddered again. "Fuck. That was a hell of a dream."
With the light on, Xander could see that the sheets around Spike were completely soaked. His hair clung to his head in damp curls, and his face and bare chest glistened with sweat. "I think we should change the sheets," Xander said, aiming for calm. "And dry you off."
He left Spike lying on the bed and went in search of fresh sheets. He didn't want to wake Oz up to ask him where they were. As freaky as the waking-up-drenched-in-sweat thing was, this wasn't the first time it had happened. Xander knew how to deal.
He found a linen closet behind a door in the bathroom. He found a fitted sheet and a topsheet that looked like they'd fit the bed, and he brought them back to the bedroom along with a towel and a face cloth he'd dampened with warm water.
"Can you sit up?" he asked Spike.
"Yeah, of course," Spike said, and pushed himself upright on visibly trembling arms.
"Uh, let's do it this way." Xander quickly set a pillow up against the headboard. "Lean back. Okay." He used the facecloth to wipe the sweat from Spike's face, first, and then his neck and torso. Spike watched him with hollow eyes; Xander had a sense that Spike was seeing something other than what was in front of him. "Do you want to talk about the dream?"
Spike squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he answered. "No. It was Dru and me-it was memories, mostly. Ancient history." He ducked his head to the side and sneezed.
"Bless you." Xander handed Spike the Kleenex box from the bedside table, and felt his forehead. It seemed warm. "I want to check your temperature. How does your chest feel?"
"It's all right. It's just a cold."
"Yeah, well. We'll let Mr. Digital Thermometer decide that." Xander went over to their duffle bags, and found the little black bag that held Spike's various prescriptions. It also had a digital thermometer in a plastic case. He brought it back to Spike. "Under the tongue. You know the drill."
Spike rolled his eyes at Xander, but complied, sniffling. Xander started rubbing him down with the towel. He couldn't help noticing the bruises again-the yellowing old ones from the vamp attack in Sunnydale, and the new reddish-purple ones from tonight's adventure. God, there were a lot. He noticed the bands around both Spike's wrists, especially. "Somebody grab you?" he asked, touching them.
Spike rolled his eyes again, this time in a you know I can't talk while you're taking my temperature, you daft git kind of way. Then the thermometer beeped.
"Vamp girl," Spike said, taking the instrument out and handing it to Xander without looking at it.
Xander checked the readout. A hundred point four degrees. He felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders ease-that was a give-Spike-a-glass-of-juice-and-put-him-back-to-bed kind of temperature, not a rush-Spike-to-the-ER kind of temperature. "Okay, let me find you some new clothes."
Spike didn't have a spare pair of pajama pants, so Xander picked out a pair of his own running shorts-they were too big for Spike, but they had a drawstring. He picked a loose t-shirt from Spike's bag. "Here, do you need help?"
Spike shook his head and climbed off the bed. He looked a little shaky, but with a hand on the mattress for balance he did okay. Xander waited just over an arm's length away, ready to step in if he was needed, but giving Spike some space.
When Spike had finished changing, Xander wrapped him up in Willow's quilt-which they'd tossed aside earlier in the evening-and sat him down in the armchair. "Wait there," he said, overplaying his Stern Voice enough to actually get a smile out of Spike.
He came back with a glass of orange juice, which he'd almost but not quite spilled when he stubbed his toe on the grandfather clock in the dark hallway. "Drink this while I change the sheets," he told Spike.
Meekly, Spike did as he was told. He still had a sort of abstracted, far-off stare that Xander figured was about the dream he'd woken up from.
It didn't take long to strip the sheets off the bed, toss them in a corner, and put the new ones on. Xander looked over and saw Spike was only half done his juice, and he'd put it down on the bedside table.
"Don't want any more," Spike said, noticing where Xander was looking. "Tastes like crap."
Xander went over and bushed a hand through Spike's hair. "Try to finish it, okay? You need liquids."
Spike gave Xander a beleaguered look, but he took the glass when Xander handed it to him, and he slammed back the rest of the juice in a few gulps. Then he handed Xander back the glass, raising an eyebrow. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic." Xander held out a hand. "Now can I help you to bed?"
Back in bed under the fresh, crisp sheets, Xander spooned against Spike. He wanted the feel of Spike safe in his arms. He knew it was an illusion, but it was a good illusion for now.
"Xander, luv?" Spike said softly. "Sorry. About tonight."
"Shhh. It's okay." Xander kissed the back of his neck. "Just ... try harder not to get killed next time."
"Worked out all right," Spike murmured. He sounded like he was already falling asleep. "Not dead yet."
Listening to Spike's breathing go slow and steady, Xander nuzzled the back of his neck, and wondered what it was that Oz had smelled. To Xander, Spike smelled just right. A mixture of shampoo and sweat, with a slight lingering tang of hair dye and maybe a hint of rainwater. He felt just right, tucked up all warm in Xander's arms.
Xander closed his eye, held onto his lover, and waited for morning.
Continued in Chapter Eight