Headful of Ghosts, pt 5
Aug. 29th, 2005 01:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wesleysgirlFor some reason I'm keeping momentum by posting like this. Apologies for the fact that it's essentially spam.
Spike frowns at Harris and jerks his chin at him, trying to tell him to step back to where Angel won't be able to see him. Harris sways alarmingly, then goes, and Spike relaxes, the sense of relief sharp and disturbing.
Angel's drowsy, half asleep already. Seems to run out of steam frequently, especially after one of his episodes, no matter how brief.
Spike figures he can leave him again, for a while, at least, and goes to get the first aid kit he remembers seeing behind the desk. It's covered with plaster dust just like everything else, but there's bandages in it, and maybe if Spike can get Harris patched up he'll leave.
Poor git couldn't even make it back to the room -- he's leaning against the wall like it's the only thing keeping him upright. He's pale as a freshly drained corpse and his hand reminds Spike of Giles' after Angelus got done with him back in Sunnydale. "Come on," he says, and gets an arm around Harris to help him across the hallway and over to the bed. "Did you not hear the part about Angel deciding to come after you?"
"I don't care what he does," Harris says, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress.
"Then why the bloody hell are you here?" Spike sits down next to him and opens the first aid kit, then reaches for his hand.
"We didn't know where else to go," Harris says. "Will -- " For a second, Spike stiffens, then he realizes the bloke meant Red.
Two fingers are broken and there's no way Spike's going to set them straight again, but he does the best he can as fast as he can, splinting them together with an unbroken finger and wrapping it all up, then holding onto Harris in the bathroom as he throws up repeatedly.
"Thanks," Harris says, sweaty and gasping, as Spike lowers him onto the bed again.
Everything's so fucked up, but Spike can't let himself think about that. He concentrates on putting the first aid kit back together for a minute, then gives up and smacks it with his hand, watching as it flies off the bed and across the floor.
"What happened?" Harris asks in the quiet that follows.
"World ended," Spike says, even though he knows that's not what Harris is asking.
Harris is glaring at him when he looks over. "To Angel," Harris says.
Spike still knows what he's asking. "That's not Angelus," he says flatly.
A long silence while Harris digests this. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. You think I can't tell the difference?" Spike glances down and sees the white of Harris' thigh through a tear in his trousers. Bloke's a lot thinner than the last time Spike saw him, but then probably anyone who's still alive is by now.
"Well I guess I can't." Harris sounds exhausted, his eye glassy and his voice starting to slur.
"Get some sleep," Spike says. "I'll make sure he stays downstairs."
Spike frowns at Harris and jerks his chin at him, trying to tell him to step back to where Angel won't be able to see him. Harris sways alarmingly, then goes, and Spike relaxes, the sense of relief sharp and disturbing.
Angel's drowsy, half asleep already. Seems to run out of steam frequently, especially after one of his episodes, no matter how brief.
Spike figures he can leave him again, for a while, at least, and goes to get the first aid kit he remembers seeing behind the desk. It's covered with plaster dust just like everything else, but there's bandages in it, and maybe if Spike can get Harris patched up he'll leave.
Poor git couldn't even make it back to the room -- he's leaning against the wall like it's the only thing keeping him upright. He's pale as a freshly drained corpse and his hand reminds Spike of Giles' after Angelus got done with him back in Sunnydale. "Come on," he says, and gets an arm around Harris to help him across the hallway and over to the bed. "Did you not hear the part about Angel deciding to come after you?"
"I don't care what he does," Harris says, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress.
"Then why the bloody hell are you here?" Spike sits down next to him and opens the first aid kit, then reaches for his hand.
"We didn't know where else to go," Harris says. "Will -- " For a second, Spike stiffens, then he realizes the bloke meant Red.
Two fingers are broken and there's no way Spike's going to set them straight again, but he does the best he can as fast as he can, splinting them together with an unbroken finger and wrapping it all up, then holding onto Harris in the bathroom as he throws up repeatedly.
"Thanks," Harris says, sweaty and gasping, as Spike lowers him onto the bed again.
Everything's so fucked up, but Spike can't let himself think about that. He concentrates on putting the first aid kit back together for a minute, then gives up and smacks it with his hand, watching as it flies off the bed and across the floor.
"What happened?" Harris asks in the quiet that follows.
"World ended," Spike says, even though he knows that's not what Harris is asking.
Harris is glaring at him when he looks over. "To Angel," Harris says.
Spike still knows what he's asking. "That's not Angelus," he says flatly.
A long silence while Harris digests this. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. You think I can't tell the difference?" Spike glances down and sees the white of Harris' thigh through a tear in his trousers. Bloke's a lot thinner than the last time Spike saw him, but then probably anyone who's still alive is by now.
"Well I guess I can't." Harris sounds exhausted, his eye glassy and his voice starting to slur.
"Get some sleep," Spike says. "I'll make sure he stays downstairs."
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no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 07:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 07:28 pm (UTC)Keep em' coming- it's a weird threesome you're creating here.
(And I don't mean that in a sexual way...there's not gonna be any of that, right? *g*)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 07:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 11:53 pm (UTC)*gourmet* paté...from a really expensive Upper West Side Gourmet Shoppe.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 07:30 pm (UTC)Not spam-like in the least; eagerly awaited, death, destruction, misery and all.
Julia, because it's good
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 07:34 pm (UTC)(and dude, it's not spam, it's story.)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 08:29 pm (UTC)*sits down at the table for a big heapin' helpin' of s/a/x spam*
Yummm!
:)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 10:03 pm (UTC)wantneed to know more!no subject
Date: 2005-08-30 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-30 05:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-31 03:44 am (UTC)Ooo. That conjures all kinds of things that it probably shouldn't. ;) Definitely not Angelus. Angelus doesn't do morose, or apathetic. Like this Angel, in that weird spooky "I wanna know what made him snap" way. :)