Comfort Food Spike/Xander PG 500 Words

[amejisuto.livejournal.com]

Author: amejisuto
Chapter: One-shot ficlet
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG
Feedback: Please.
Concrit: by email, please.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Sick fic. Sick as in illness not kink. Hurt/comfort
Summary: Xander is in the basement sick. Spike takes care of him.
Previous chapters: None.
Notes: I am sick. This is what happens. Thanks to kitty_poker1 for looking it over for me and making sure I didn’t do anything weird to the spelling in my cold med induced haze.

Comfort Food


Xander lay on the pulled out couch, trying not to move his head. If he moved his head it would hurt; his eyes would hurt, his sinuses would hurt, his ears would hurt.

Then he’d moan, and that would most likely start a coughing fit. The kind of coughing that started deep down in the lungs and made him see stars behind his eyelids. The kind that left his body sore.

Then there was his throat, which felt like someone had taken a cheese grater to it and scraped as hard as they could. Add in the fun post nasal drip and he tasted like sickness and old sweat socks. The kind that had been worn many, many times and never had been washed.

His stomach felt sore from coughing too, the muscles abused, and while he was hungry he didn’t feel like actually eating. All he knew was that every joint in his body hurt and he wished he could go back to sleep because then he didn’t hurt so bad. If he slept enough, maybe one day he’d wake up and he wouldn’t feel like an extra from Stephen King’s The Stand.

Contrary to what most people might like when they were sick, Xander despised being fussed over. Willow had never gotten used to it, asking every hour if he was feeling better and if he needed his pillows fluffed and did he want anything. Day two of his illness he’d thrown both her and Buffy out of the basement, saying he didn’t want to infect them with his cooties. Now it was just him and Spike, which was kind of how he liked it normally. Spike, though, had left as soon as the sun went down, and Xander couldn’t blame him.

He finally fell back to sleep while watching reruns. He slept fitfully, waking every so often to cough or for another sneezing fit. He totally woke up when he found his shoulder being shaken. “Harris, wake up. Come on, I didn’t go through all this fuss for you to not wake up for me.”

“Spike?” His voice cracked and he coughed. A glass was put into his hand and he took a drink. Instead of the water he was expecting it was orange juice. He spluttered a bit as it burned going down his throat but it was so worth it. He drank the entire glass in less than a minute, much to Spike’s obvious amusement.

“Think you can eat something? I visited a deli and got you three kinds of soup. Vegetable beef, cream of chicken with cheese and broccoli and the usual chicken noodle. There’s even chocolate ice cream or rice pudding for dessert. Got you some more meds too, and some tissues. Bog rolls are for the loo, not for snotting your nose on.”

If he felt better he might have been totally amazed, confused or at the very least suspicious. As it was…

“Thanks, Spike. The cream of chicken is my favorite.”