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There’s the sound of him breathing - of short, shallow breaths taken too quickly. It’s all fading into one buzzing hum. He feels motion, being lifted maybe, he isn’t exactly sure. Then it’s the muffled noise of worried whispers, hushed ‘Hurry up!’s that keep him barely awake despite the grey inching in around his point of view. He can barely keep his eyes open and so much time seems to pass as he hears a distinct voice warn someone that ‘If he doesn’t make it, I’ll kill you myself’, but there’s nothing but sadness behind the threat.
He’s been awake for too long.
It’s his time to sleep. To dream.
—
If he dreams, he doesn’t remember. He remembers bursts of noise here and there, shuffling about around him, a lot of white lights, but nothing that gives a formidable memory. When his eyes wake, he looks around his periphery as much as possible. It’s just some old room, sparsely decorated to feel somewhat comforting. But it’s the violet haired woman perched on a chair beside the bed that catches his attention.
Her hand is clutched around his, he notices, forehead resting against the back of his hand as she sleeps silently - not even a snore he can make a quip about. Spike opens his mouth to talk but nothing comes out and his tongue sits heavy in his mouth.
“…Hey,” he begins again, voice thick and deep and scratchy and she doesn’t move. Lightly he manages to shake his hand. “Faye…” Though the movement is weak and the way he calls her name is even weaker, she pops up to attention, eyes sleepy and heavy-lidded.
Until she realizes exactly what’s happening.
Her eyes soften and there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.
“Hey.” Faye seems to notice she is still holding his hand so she snatches hers away and places it in her lap, a blush creeping onto her cheeks that she’s probably too tired to hide. “You’ve been asleep for over ten days. Didn’t think you were gonna wake up anytime soon…”
Spike smirks at a memory then shrugs, the action making him wince. “Got anything to drink?”
She nods and stands up to grab a pitcher from the stand at the edge of the room. He hears her fill a glass and when she returns with a straw inside a plastic cup, she automatically moves to help him lift his head to drink from it. The action is completely out of character, well… maybe it was at some point. But he can only focus on how the cool water soothes his aching throat.
When he’s comfortable once again, Faye sets the cup aside and stands over him, eyes too soft for the Faye he knows. But since everything had changed in that hallway, maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised. He wants to ask why he’s still alive, why he’s worth all this fuss, why she saved him, but he knows.
They both know.
Faye sighs and looks up at a clock that sits above the bed.
“I’m gonna let Jet know you’re awake. He’ll be happy to know… Won’t have to deal with just me anymore.”
Spike nods curtly and watches as she gathers her jacket and turns to go. He stares up at the ceiling before turning his head toward the doorway to see her linger there.
“Faye?”
“You did die…” She glances at him over her shoulder, fists clenching and unclenching beside her. “On the fourth day, you just stopped breathing. Like you’d finally given up. The doctor Jet brought said you were gone, but then you took a big breath and just…” she trails off then, “I guess stories by old men don’t count for much.”
He looks toward the window then, counts the stars he can see and wonders if any of them burned out for him. But maybe she’s right.
“I hope that counts for something, Spike.”
When he turns his head back toward the door he watches her form retreating into the darkness, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
And maybe he hasn’t burned out just yet.