"I'm not sick."
"Spike."
"I can't be sick."
"Spike…"
"Vampires don't get sick."
"SPIKE."
"I DON'T BREATHE, IT'S NOT PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE."
"What did you expect? You killed a mucus demon."
"This is stupid."
"Would you just lay down?"
"Would you just lay with me?" Spike smirks, Buffy remains unamused.
"No." Spike sighs.
"You shouldn't be here, anyways."
"What?"
"You're the slayer. You should be out staking vamps, not helping them get over the sniffles." Buffy looks at him. There are so many things she could say to him—I care about you; you're different; I need you… out in the field that is—
"So, you do admit to having the sniffles!" She pulls the pillow from behind his head and hits him in the face with it.
"Hey, hey, ow!" His attempts to block the blows are futile, and Spike sits up and somehow his hands are on her waist and Buffy doesn't notice until he's laughing and she's staring into his eyes…
And then he sneezes and "Ewww!" Spike groans leaning into the headboard of the bed.
"You're eating some soup."
"Aw, Buffy."
"And I'll warm you up some pig's blood, ok?"
"You sure know how to please a man." He watches her go before running his fingers through his hair, and cradling his aching head. "Shite." He complains before snuggling under the covers.
Buffy is back, carrying a tray. Despite her super slayer gracefulness, she watches her step, careful not to trip over the mess of clothes the vampire has strewn about his, er, room. She sits on the edge of the bed, setting the soup on the bedside table. Spike pokes just his head out from under the comforter. Buffy rolls her eyes before taking the hot bowl in her hands and bringing a spoonful of soup to Spike's lips.
"Mmm, too hot." Buffy smiles in spite of herself.
"Shut up." She puts the soup back on the tray with one hand, stroking Spike's cheek with her other.
"Have I got a fever?"
"You're dead. I don't think you have an immune system."
"Oh. Well. Guess I'm done for."
"Shut up, Spike." He chuckles and closes his eyes. Buffy sits there for a while, just watching him sleep. If it weren't the most ironic thing ever, she'd say he looked like an angel.
She's sure he's asleep now, and she leans over and kisses his forehead. "G'night, Spike."
Spike squints an eye open as the door closes behind her.
"Night Buffy." He whispers. "Thanks, love."