Session 38

This shit was ridiculous. At least Spike thought so as a cigarette hung from his lips and he ran his finger on the lighter again and again. Leaning against the wall in his room on his bunk with his entire reality being fuzzier than the leftovers in the fridge he was halfway satisfied with having made it that far on his own. Any attempt to make it further resulted in a dizzy spell, dumping him back on his ass.

Better this way than on my face, I suppose.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

"Sonofa … why is this not working?" He shook it. "Is it out?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

He turned his head slowly, having already learned that speed resulted in humiliation. Faye leaned against the doorway with a slightly amused grin on her face. He went cross-eyed trying to focus on the cigarette in his mouth. "Smokin' … " It tumbled into his lap. He dismally stared at it. "Shit."

"Doesn't that require actual smoke?" She sighed offering an accusatory glance to the shadows where a certain compy shut his illuminated eyes to avoid detection. "I'm not even going to ask how cigarettes and your lighter got in here. It doesn't matter, you would have found a way to get them anyway. The fact remains, as you are now you might light yourself, or the damn ship, on fire."

Spike snorted a breath as he tried to pick the cigarette and missed. He stared at his empty fingers and opened and closed them.

"You are seriously hopeless at the moment."

"Mmm not." He tried again and came up empty. "Slip'ry bugger, ain't it."

She walked into the room and picked the cigarette up. "I shouldn't do this, but I suppose as long as you're supervised."

Snatching it from her grasp he held it up. "Don't need babysitter." Putting it between his lips he ran his finger on the side of the lighter again. Nothing. He shook it, grumbling, "Com'on! Work damn it."

"Spike." Faye snatched the lighter from his hand and waited for him to look up. "It works better if you open it." She flicked the lid back and in one swipe of her finger a flame ignited.

Without a word, Spike lit it and leaned back against the wall, savoring the smoke with his eyes closed.

The sound of the lighter clacking closed echoed in the small room. "You lunkhead. I'm keeping this for now."

He half-opened his eyes and muttered, " 't's mine. Give it."

"And have you light your bunk on fire?" She laughed. "Not a chance. Once you have better coordination you can have it back."

For a moment he considered trying to grab it from her. But the effort seemed to be more than it was worth. Instead he offered an annoyed grunt. His gaze wandered over the room … the mostly empty room. In general all that was in here was his bunk, him, and a couple of crates with medical supplies. His hand rested on his belly, beneath his shirt the protective bandages. He'd watched Jet change them last time. The damn thing looked terrible. No wonder he was still sore, even with the meds. That was a massive inverted V sliced in his gut.

Once he could manage to move without being dizzy as fuck a solid routine would get his strength back in no time. Then he would be running after bounties again … wait … where were his guns? His ammo? He looked around, pressing against the wall till he was at the edge of his bunk. "This is my room."

"Yes, genius. Astute of you to notice."

"Where's my shit?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "You are just realizing this now?"

He balanced precariously on the edge of the bunk, his breathing puffing smoke each time. "Serious, Faye," and of course it came out slurred, "s'not funny. That's my stuff. Nobody shoulda messed with my stuff."

"Easy, everything's fine."

He growled, one foot on the floor. Then the other. "My shit belongs in m—oof!" The moment his full weight landed on both feet Spike pitched forward, his shoulder wedging against the wall of the narrow space saving him from ending up on the floor. At the moment he wasn't going anywhere. The half-burnt cigarette fell from his lips to the metal floor plates.

Closing the distance, Faye's heel crushed the butt before it could ignite anything as shook her head. "You really need to stop overdoing it."

"I'm not." Of course, half his face was mashed against the wall, so what was already slurred came out even more obliterated.

"Mmm hmm, so this was what you had planned?"

Why did she have to be in the room witnessing this? Spike tried to extract himself from the predicament, but his right arm wasn't strong enough to do much of anything. His legs trembled, the only reason he was still sort of standing was because of the way his body was wedged there. It literally couldn't fall. He tried again to push off from the wall and only ended up whimpering as he gripped his right upper arm.

"Charlie horse?"

Face still mashed to the wall he nodded.

"You want help now?"

He nodded more vigorously.

Gently she eased under his arm. "Go on, lean my way." The moment he shifted onto her shoulder she continued. "You're going back to your bunk. Now, as we've already explained multiple times, your stuff is in storage for the moment. Nothings been thrown away, we just don't want to you trip."

"Not gonna trip." At that exact second his feet tangled and all of his weight ended up awkwardly on Faye. Fortune saw fit that she had anticipated that and only offered him a smirk. He grumbled, "Shuddup."

"I didn't say anything. But yes, you just tripped over your own feet. Imagine if all your stuff was still crammed in here."

"My stuff," he spat as she levered him back down, "should be where I left it." His hand tightened on his knee, the joint too thin lacking muscle tone and shaking miserably. No matter how much he gripped it, it wouldn't stop.

"Spike." Her voice was soft as she laid a hand over his. "Take it easy. You're still pretty medicated at the moment. This is going to take longer to come back from. That's ok."

"Pbbbt! Sick-a laying down. Gotta do stuff."

"What stuff?"

He opened his mouth and his jaw just sort of hung there, suddenly it occurred to him, what had he been planning on doing? If there had been an idea it fluttered away like a rogue butterfly. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

A fresh cigarette appeared in front of him, held by Faye. He stared at it vaguely before taking it from her. She lit it for him. "Are we going around this topic again? Or are you going to let me keep it this time? I mean it Spike, stop sending the compies to steal this back."

"My shit." He pointed to himself. "Belongs to me."

She rolled her eyes. "Here we go again. This time can you not face plant against the wall?"

He looked at her blearily. "Wuh?"

Standing up, she hung out the door frame, "Jet, I'm about to kill him. It's your turn!"

This was a time when Jet wasn't thrilled to be right. Ever since backing off the sedative Spike had been a constant pain in the ass. Whether it was attempting to get out of bed and winding up stuck in some awkward position or getting caught in a circular logic like Ein chasing his nonexistent tail, Spike just didn't quit.

Every waking moment one of them needed to be within earshot to save him from the inevitable fiasco. At this point they had a couple hours after each dosing where the vigilance could drop off. Then it was babysitting the absent minded asshole until Jet could turn his lights out again. Weaning him totally off the sedative was a no-go. Even if he weren't hindered by the meds, he wasn't strong enough to coordinate much, but that certainly didn't stop him from trying. Nor did it stop Faye's temper from building to a critical threshhold. Days ago Spike had somehow ended up with his lighter and she'd had a helluva time with his insistence he could use it … without realizing it was upside down.

This time Jet found him on the floor. Luckily the bunk wasn't that high. He seemed alright, if a bit annoyed. "Spike."

"Yeah?" he murmured to the floor.

"Can I ask what you're doing down there?"

" … meditation … ?" At least that was a little less slurred then some of the past days. The position did look a bit like downward facing dog … sort of, if the shoulders were meant to touch the floor.

Jet sighed and bent down, an arm under Spike's chest he levered him up so he sat back on the floor against the edge of his bunk. He was a bit sweaty, but otherwise seemed no worse for wear.

His eyes kept drifting to the spot where the medical crates sat, a hand lifted, clumsily pointing. "Missing."

"Yes." That had been the single most ongoing conversation with him. His stuff.

Spike gripped his knee, the knuckles standing out, his eyes darted around the room in a rapid jittery motion. It started slow, one direction then back again. Another direction then back again. His breathing grew rapid. "Where is it?"

"In storage." Jet held up a hand. "It'll all come back here once you're better and navigate your typical mess. We've been over this."

He leaned slightly forward, his hand reaching for the medical crate. "Sake … where's my sake?"

Shit! That hadn't come up yet. Jet swallowed the sudden panic rising. He couldn't all out lie to Spike. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shook his head. "Gone."

Feebly, Spike grabbed the collar of his jumpsuit, crawling up him. His eyes wide and twitching. "No! No! I need it! Where is it? I need it!"

The sweating, Jet realized now wasn't purely from exertion, he was in a frenzy. Carefully he pried Spike's fingers from the fabric. "You're alright, pard. I'm sorry. But you can't drink right now. You're still recovering." He tugged up the hem of Spike's shirt revealing the bandages.

Leaning back, Spike stared down at the wrappings. It did nothing to quell the rising panic. If anything, he grew worse as he went onto all fours crawling toward the crates. "No … drown it … have to drown it all. Chase them all back. I need it! Stop it! Leave me alone!"

Jet cut him off, pressing against his shoulders and lifting his hands off the floor. The resistance was weak, but insistent. He was trembling, still trying to crawl across the floor.

Spike's eyes darted everywhere now, seeking every corner of the room. He gripped his head and shook it. "Stop it!" Tears welled in his restless left eye, dripping down his cheek in rivulets. "I need it … now!"

Powerless to employ any further tactic lest he hurt him, Jet held him back from leaving the room even as Spike frantically clawed at him. There was nothing he could say, his words would not impact through the growing hysteria. It would pass, when Spike's flagging stamina wore down. Then, sedative or not, exhaustion would claim him.

For a moment as he held the thrashing Spike, Jet toyed with the idea of increasing the dose again. Now he understood why Damian had insisted on this method. It was impossible to heal a wound when the knife was still in it.

See You Space Cowboy