For OldGreyMare

Convalescence.

He woke slowly, a cool cloth dabbed lightly at his bruised and beaten face. A gentle hand brushed his hair away, soothing some of the pain just by its mere presence. A soft sigh escaped him as he allowed himself to be pampered. The agony of the last few days of painful isolation melted away under her tender ministrations, a lone tear tracked its way down his face. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t forgotten.

Soft lips brushed lightly across his forehead.

“It’s alright, Spike” Tara whispered quietly, “I’ll talk to her, make sure she doesn’t hurt you like this again.”