Buffy the Vampire Slayer Preferences + imagines/one shots

Spike - Sick

requested by Marthareadss <3

cw - vomit

I am almost positive that Spike has no recollection of this event, but it went something like this:

"Eugh, that is vile." he said, taking a comedically large step backwards. 

"It's not like its her fault." Buffy rolled her eyes. One of her hands was gently on my back, the other holding back my hair (I love her).

"I don't bloody care. You," he pointed a finger at me, "Stay the hell away."

I just stood there with vomit around my face wondering how I'd so greatly offended Spike who, I know, had endured much more gruesome feats. 

"I'm sorry." I told Buffy quietly. I really hadn't meant to throw up in the middle of Giles' house so suddenly that he had to sprint to the kitchen to fetch me a bucket. Still, Giles handed it to me in time and... Well, that's it. You know the rest. I was so embarrassed. 

"It's okay," she replied gently, "I didn't realise that when you said you didn't feel well, it was that bad..."

"Yeah, I-"

Spike interrupted me, "That reeks. I think I'll go catch some sunlight."

And with that, and a swoosh of his leather jacket, he disappeared out of the door. 

Now, he lays with his head in my lap, talking to me about anything remotely amusing to try and cheer me up.

"I did tell you about that time Angelus fell in a waterfall, didn't I?"

He opens his eyes, looking up into my bloodshot ones, and sighs. "I'm not helping, am I?"

"I'm sorry," I pat his head lightly, "I just feel like I want to die."

"I wouldn't recommend it." he says, sitting up. He leans back on the couch next to me for a second before he rises and heads into the kitchen of his crypt. "I think it's time for another cuppa, don't you?"

"It hurts when I swallow." I complain. 

"I'll put some lemon and honey in it. You'll be right as rain in no time."

"I don't know if I'll like it. Can't I just have some more paracetamol?"

"You've had the maximum dose, love."

I groan.

"Just be grateful I'm not rubbing mustard plaster on your chest."

I sit up a little, "Mustard what ?"

"Mustard plaster. Mum reckoned a mixture of mustard, flour and water would cure a cold. Can't say I remember it working."

A smile creeps onto my face and he looks mildly offended, "So my childhood trauma gets a grin, eh?"

My smile broadens. "That is not childhood trauma, you drama queen. It just... conjured an amusing mental image."

He comes over to me with a steaming mug, "Yeah, yeah."

He settles next to me and I take a slow sip from the cup. The moment it hits the back of my throat, I know it's a mistake. It's disgusting. Spike springs up, as if sensing what's about to happen. He thrusts a bin in front of my face just in time as I throw up the toast I managed to eat earlier. 

He makes a sympathetic sound and hands me a tissue when I'm done. I wipe my mouth and open it to say sorry but he interrupts.

"Hey. Don't say it."

I close my mouth with a soft smile before he whisks the bin away. 

I sigh, leaning back into the cushy sofa that honestly isn't providing much comfort right now. At least Spike is. I welcome him back with open arms after he changes the bin liner and joins me again. We shift until I'm leaning against his chest. He strokes my hair gently and I think back to that time at Giles'. I don't know if he was just in a grouchy mood that day or what, but it's a testament to how our relationship has evolved. I can't believe that a few years ago we couldn't stand each other. 

"I hope you feel better tomorrow, pet." he says and I feel the vibrations in his chest.

"Me too."

He spends the rest of the night just letting me rest on him. He whispers sweet things to me from time to time, but generally he just holds me in silence as I drift off to sleep. I could say something cheesy about that being the best medicine but I won't.