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The drugs were wearing off.
He was losing the floaty feeling, like he'd been covered in the bubble-wrap that the expensive restroom fixtures where sent in because they were fragile. He guessed that he now qualified as one of those 'fragile items'. Somehow, up to this point, he'd never believed that anything truly bad would happen. After he'd survived his first half dozen apocalypses or so, he'd felt...not invulnerable, but protected.
He was wrong.
Sure, he'd felt fear as Caleb grabbed him, but he'd been thinking, 'at least he's giving the traditionally long villain speech, Buffy will have time to fix this'.
Buffy hadn't.
Spike had.
And that was almost as confusing as realizing that he'd be able to wear an eye-patch whenever he wanted and they'd have to call him Number Two, or maybe Nick Fury.
The damage had been permanent. Both to his eye, and to his...well, naivety. He'd seen Buffy hurt. Hell, he'd seen Buffy die, but at some level, like a sub-sub basement of his mind, he never thought he'd have more than a broken arm or a mild concussion.
He'd lost his eye.
Not lost. It wasn't sitting in a box at a front desk somewhere; waiting with several umbrellas and a hideous green hat for him to claim.
Destroyed. The doctors had had a medical term for it. Willow would know and be able to explain it in simple Xander-speak to him, when and if he asked.
The heart of the matter, and boy was he not feeling like the heart at the moment, was that there was nothing left to save. Caleb's thumb...he veered away from that thought. It had haunted his drugged dreams. He was sure that THAT particular memory was going to be guest-listed for his nightmares for years to come. The crux of the matter, as Giles might say, was Xander was now the one-eyed carpenter. If it was the punch-line to a joke, he wasn't laughing.
There was a shuffling by the door. He turned to look in that direction and was surprised to see Spike, still clad in his duster, almost huddled in the doorway. Spike looked diminished, the way he had before Buffy had goaded him into becoming the 'Big Bad' again. There was hesitation in Spike's face. Xander didn't like it. Too many things had changed. He always counted on Spike to be consistent. Evil, but, with the chip, mostly harmless. But he didn't have the chip anymore, did he? But Spike and hesitation meant that everything HAD changed.
Xander sighed and said, "Come on in, Spike. I didn't think you needed an invitation to a hospital room."
"Don't need one, but wasn't sure if you were up for visitors yet."
The vampire approached the chair beside the bed and stood behind it. Spike's hands clasped the top of the chair, gripping and releasing. Besides the constant movement of his hands, the rest of him was statue still.
That was freaking out Xander as well. Spike might be a predator, but he was never still. Even when he'd been stalking Buffy the number of cigarette butts under the tree was proof that he was always in some form of motion.
"So, you're here. Why are you here?" Xander's mouth had kicked into action without obtaining permission from his brain. Whenever his mouth engaged in solo activity, it generally led to trouble. This time was no exception.
Spike's still form seemed to stiffen even further. "I'll get out of you way then, mate. Just wanted to … I'll just leave then, right."
Spike nodded his head, confirming his own comment and was turning when Xander stretched out his hand.
"No, stay."
"Not you're bleeding dog, whelp." Spike's glare re-assured him. This was familiar territory, snarking he understood.
"Like I'd want you as a dog. I've lived with you before, the cost in blood alone isn't worth it, plus you hogged all the hot water."
He could see Spike relax as they entered their usual script. Now that he was sure that he'd stay, Xander made a decision. Part of what had happened was a blur, okay bad choice of words, but he knew that Spike had interrupted Caleb from repeating his eye-ectomy. Things had changed. He thought he'd changed too.
"Spike, this is a little awkward –"
How could Spike do that? It was a complete withdrawal of himself from that expressive face. Why had he done it? Oh!
"No! I mean for me. You saved me and you KNOW how bad I am with thank-yous. What do you get a vampire with, well, nothing I suppose, who rescues you when you're damseling in distress?"
The puzzled look which crossed Spike's face was almost as good as the drugs in distracting Xander from the pain. He'd have to repeat that memory, as it was just so incongruous with the 'Big Bad' image.
"Didn't save you." Spike dropped his head, as if to avoid looking at him. "Should have been faster, should have realized..."
"I'm looking at you now, aren't I? 'Course you saved me. Couldn't really carpenter with no eyes. Well, not without Daredevil's heightened senses."
"And what a piss-poor mess they made of that movie. Though that gal playing Elektra was easy on the eyes," Spike retorted.
There was a pause, Xander liked to think of it as manly, but mostly it was there because he wasn't sure what else to say.
"So, umm thanks, for well umm." Eloquence, thy name is Xander.
"No fuss, mate. Look, if you need anything..." Now it was Spike's turn to wind down.
"Just, well you don't have to but, well, if you weren't doing anything could you just kinda sit beside me and not tell anyone I asked?" He got that all out in a huff, not sure why he was asking his declared enemy to stand guard, not sure why a guard was needed, but running with what must be a drug induced feeling.
Spike's head tilted, then there was an abrupt nod. "Right, then. I'll just sit here 'til the witch turns up, how's that then?"
Xander relaxed into both the pillows and the drug dreams.
Spike had his back. He could sleep.