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[bountyhead]

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[bountyhead]

[ at least, had he flinched, it would've signaled her to fight harder. the refusal was hers; she doesn't accept his reason for leaving. doesn't accept his death. the unraveling of her home that comes with that. the gravity of which smothers her even still right here in this cold hospital room. a lapse in eye contact and she feels a tear race down her cheek. she wipes away any sign of it with a quiet sniff and wills herself to calm down. breathe.

moving her body helps: her legs unfurl and she stretches a little before pushing herself up from out of the chair. she welcomes the ache in her legs as she walks over to the side table where she's grabbing the handle of a plastic jug— ]

I think you should stop talking and have some water.

[ —and carefully pours into a small plastic cup. shut up you stupid idiot, are the words dancing behind her teeth, laced with the anger that now simmers beneath her grief. she doesn't want to risk the tremble in her voice. all the relief that comes with spike being alive and awake will play as a buffer until it swells out of control. and it will. eventually.

somehow it's easy for her to approach his bedside, cup in hand, and look down at him, at his eyes. hardly enough light to notice the difference in color—now that she knows that about him, she can't help but look for it. her expression is a mix of doleful and tired. she's without her headband so loose strands feather out freely as she peers down at him. she refrains from darting her gaze too much. ]

Think you can manage on your own? [ is he able to do a simple task like drink from a cup? if not, then: ] I can help.

[tigerstripe]

You're just saying that to shut me up.

[ it's a dry croak, a sad attempt at amusement, because seeing the dark circles under her eyes does something painful in his chest. he went to fight vicious, to put an end to all of it in the end, and what? who really won, now? he looks up at faye, the collateral damage, and sighs as she pours the water.

but he begins the arduous task of sitting up, of trying not to think about the ache in his back, his side, his gut as he slides up to sit. broken bones, a few ribs definitely, maybe even a fractured elbow, some angry gun wounds in his chest. his head hurts - concussion. who knew a fall could be so terribly bad at the end of it all?

he should have died.

he knows that, now.

spike muscles his way through it with a grimace and a shuddering release of air. already it's exhausting, and sitting up feels like it was never meant for him by the way his body protests. ]

Gimme a sec.

[ catch his breath, one, and to ignore the look in her eyes. her hair is loose, headband gone, and although he knows by the look and shape of her that the woman is faye valentine, he can see himself reflected back in the green of her eyes. neither of them are who they were yesterday, and it shows in the haunting of their bones. ]

I think I can drink water on my own. Don't trust you not to drown me.

[ he reaches for the cup but his fingers quiver, and at first he sits it on his thigh, eyes falling to the ripples. for a moment he's sure he can see a rose in the rain, a flash of blond, the gritted teeth of a man turned assassin. the past. when he looks back up, the purple of her hair is there instead, and his fingers have wrapped around hers on the cup before he finally pulls away and drinks from it.

the present.

then: ]

How long have we been here? Couldn't keep track of time with all your snoring. You should really get that looked at while we're here.

[bountyhead]

[ she gives spike that second; waits to hand off the cup she cradles in her hands while watching him struggle to sit up. breath indrawn, urgency pressing into her spine trying to get her to move, to help him, but she remains static. everything in her too afraid to touch him, let alone assist him in drinking water. she would, if she really had to, but part of her is relieved that he wants to do it himself, ignoring how much it bothers her seeing him wade through so much pain just to ready himself, and the fact he might not want her help at all.

spike's smart mouth does wonders easing faye away from that empathy, however. behind those green eyes, she's imagining throwing the water at him and the cartoony YOW!! to follow after the cup flies out of her hand and bonks him on the head. a flittering exchange of touch pulls her from the daydream as spike takes hold of the cup, and she searches herself for the snark to match his own. ]

Fine then. Don't say I never tried to help.

[ actively trying to avoid a wall of emotion, faye backs off, though, physically, not too far—she scoots the chair closer to his bedside and takes a seat. sinks her bones into the cushions and runs a hand through her hair. tender and unkempt and unlike the faye valentine he knows. she still exists below the surface where her anger festers.

her shoulders roll in a halfhearted shrug at his question, barely registering his comment about her snoring. ]

Roughly 18 hours. Probably more. I've lost track. [ her head tilts back and she closes her eyes. ] You were in surgery a long time. The doctor came by a few hours ago to check in. Nurses say your vitals have remained steady, though sometimes your pulse and respiration rate would increase out of the blue. I'm guessing a bad dream.

[ she says it with a nonchalance that would suggest she knows about his reoccurring spell of bad dreams. lurking for too long when he was napping on the couch, always with some sense of regret, playing witness to whatever ghosts he was fighting. with a sigh, she wills herself to move, opening her eyes and lifting her head to look at him. ]

Want me to get the nurse?