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There are very few times where he can use the word “hate” to refer to something about you. But those times exist.
For example, he hates seeing you with other men. To him, Jet’s the only exception to this rule. But let it be some other many chatting you up , Spike can’t help but be jealous. He can’t help but see red, even when you are trying to politely turn the guy down . He knows he can be a bit irrational about it. You’ve always been a pretty little thing. All sweet and all soft. It’s only given that others would fall for your charms- just the same way he had all that time ago. But he’s not going to hand you over to just any sleezebag. In fact, he’s not going to hand you over at all if he can help it. Not if he can help it.
But he also hates sending you off to do errands for the ship on your own . He knows you’re more than capable. You were living by yourself before you had joined the Bebop’s crew. But the areas that you used to live in were safer . While the places that the Bebop crew used to frequent were not . And he learned that the hard way when you came home in tears one day, covered in scratches and bruises after getting mugged on your way to the store. After that, Spike realized that as much as he enjoyed not having to run around and do Jet’s bidding, he liked to ensure that you’re coming home to him safe and sound and without even a single hair on your even being displaced even more.
But one thing he didn’t realize he had to add to that list of things he hated, was seeing you sick.
Especially like this .
“How you feeling, sweetheart? ” Spike found himself uttering quietly after noticing you had just stirred from the latest little nap you had taken. You had made a soft noise in the back of your throat- something near silent and sweet- as you stretched your legs between his and cuddled up a little closer to him. It’s a sight he would have usually fawned over. A sight he would have been dreaming about for weeks and weeks. A sight that would have driven him crazy with just how adorable you’re being right now. But of course, he knows the full story. He knows what’s happening here.
He knows about the extent of your sickness and it’s not pretty.
It was him who had found you in a corner of your room a couple of hours prior, in distress as you tried to blink back the tears and hide what was going on from him. You had just finished emptying the contents of your stomach into a trash can that you were too weak to even crawl away from. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but there was no chance in hell was leaving you there to fend for yourself. So it was him that got you out of there. It was him who did all the running around for all the medicine and food and drinks that you would need while Faye was helping you get cleaned up and into something more comfortable. And it was him who made sure once you were done in the bathroom, you had a safe place to recover. Full of all the blankets and snacks and love and care that you would need.
His room, of course.
It was there that he could make sure that you had access to a mostly clean place. According to Jet, the sheets on your bed would need to be replaced and the surfaces in your room would need to be wiped down. And according to Faye, you probably wouldn’t want to be alone right now. But that was all the two of them had said before Jet had disappeared into the kitchen to fix you up something and Faye disappeared to… wherever the hell she decided to go. And that was the extent of what he knew about how to care for sick people.
His method throughout life was always to brute force things. He rarely got sick or hurt. And when he did, he was always able to sleep or walk or drink it off. And when things got really bad, he somehow always had someone there to take care of him and to patch him up. The nurses at the syndicate. Jet. And you. Especially you .
But he couldn’t imagine you brute forcing your way through anything. You’re soft and sweet and drowning in the fabric of one of his t-shirts that Faye had dressed you in. You take medicine and you drink soup and you cry when someone finds you sick and struggling in your room because you wanted to keep things a secret so you wouldn’t be a burden. He couldn’t imagine you brute forcing your way through anything. Through this , even. And he hates the fact that before he found you, you clearly were going to try to.
But despite knowing very little about how to care for sick people, he knew this much. You needed to be comfortable. You needed to be safe. And you needed to be someplace clean. So he kept you in his room, where he could keep a pile full of medicine and water bottles and all the snacks that would be good for you right now just right by his bed. It allowed him to monitor you better- to know whenever your cold chills switched over to a randomly spiking fever and to know whenever you need something. It also allowed him and you to take advantage of the fact that between the two of you, he had the much bigger bed.
And that meant space to lay down in. More space for the two of you.
“ I’m sorry, sweetheart ,” He remembered saying to you when he first carried you from the bathroom to lay you down on his bed. He doesn’t know what he was apologizing for right then. Maybe it was because he didn’t get to you sooner. Maybe because he couldn’t offer you the same plush and soft comfort of your sweetly decorated room. Maybe it’s because you’re sick and he wants to take that away from you as soon as possible. He wants to make things easier for you. He wants you to recover as fast as he can. And he wants to take care of you. Just like how you take care of him. Just like how your very presence- your very existence - breathes life into him. But he’s a lousy nurse. And he doesn’t have the same caring touch that you do. “ Can I get you anything? Water? More food? ”
But he can be here for you. And maybe…just maybe that can be enough.
At his questions, you shake your head at him pitifully, eyes hazy, and gaze far away as you look in his direction sleepily. But you didn’t say anything. In fact, you hadn’t spoken much with him or Faye since he had found you a couple of hours earlier. And what little you were able to say always came out slow and heavy, like something was weighing down on both your tongue and brain at the same time- preventing you from thinking or speaking much. So instead, you just let out a pitiful whine as you reached for him again, not ready to apart just yet. And because your very existence has him whipped and ready to do just about anything for you, he found himself climbing into bed right next to you and pulling you into his arms as you pushed yourself right up next to him.
And there you both lay. There you both lay for hours. Legs tangle between each other. Your head on his chest. His hand combed through your hair. Your fingers gripping his shirt. And his eyes watching you carefully, looking for any signs of distress. The silence was broken only by an occasional question from him and a soft response from you. Sometimes he would hear you sniffle. Sometimes he would have to pass you a few tissues. And sometimes, you would rest your whole body weight on him as your eyes fluttered shut and you napped sporadically. Whenever you could get enough peace.
And in those moments you were asleep, you would cling to him. Even tighter than before. You would whine if he moved his arm from around your waist. You would push yourself impossibly closer to him. You would mumble a little something here and there. And your face would relax. You would be still. You would breathe softly and consistently. You would be at peace.
And for a moment, Spike would be able to forget that you’re here because you’re sick. For a moment, he would be able to forget how he found you. For a moment, he would forget that there was ever a time that he could use the word “hate” and be referring to something about you. Things would be okay. Things would be perfect. For as long as you were asleep. For as long as you were in his arms. For as long as you were in peace .
And while he might be a lousy nurse, he knows he’s a good fighter. He knows he is. He knows it. So while he can’t offer much to make your recovery go faster, he can protect these little moments of respite that you have. He can protect your peace . Because he would hate to see it go. Because he would hate to see you lose this.And because he hates the thought of you existing for even a moment without. Not if he can help it.
Not if he can help it.