*****
The nurse's heels pounding on the floor brought Xander back to attention. His mind had been wandering again. No big surprise there. He lifted his head painfully off of the pillow, squinting as the bright lamplight flooded his vision. "Can you turn that down?"
Oz looked up from his book, mildly surprised. "Sorry." He flipped the switch and the room was thrown into darkness.
"Better," Xander muttered, and sank down again.
"Mr. Harris?" The nurse, an intimidating five-foot-ten Latin American, hovered over Xander's bed, a syringe poised between her gloved fingers. "Time for your medicine."
"What happened to my IV, Gloria?" Xander winced as the needle plunged into his flesh. "I liked it better."
"You still have your IV," Gloria reminded her patient gently. She tapped the bag over his head to bring it to his attention. "Remember what I told you? If the machine starts beeping�"
"Call a nurse. Got it. Aye, senorita."
Gloria gave him a small smile, then moved away briskly, pausing to deposit her gloves in a wastebasket beside Oz. "He needs some rest," she remarked as she stooped over.
"Can I stay with him?" Oz asked timidly.
The nurse nodded. "Don't keep him awake too long." She bustled away, shutting the door behind her with a nudge from her hip.
Oz rose from his chair as the door shut and crossed the short distance to Xander's bed. "Hey, baby."
"You like that word," Xander commented. He smiled as Oz took his hand.
"Only for people I care about."
"Like me and Willow."
"Like you." The redhead leaned forward and deposited a gentle kiss on Xander's forehead. "You've got a fever," he remarked mildly. "Are you uncomfortable?" Xander only shook his head. "Do you want something? You've got some soda and jello left over from lunch."
Xander shook his head again, more adamantly this time. "Do you still miss her? Willow?"
"Sometimes. Ssh, Xander. Don't worry about her. It's been so long, just don't�"
"She was my best friend." It was more of a lament than a statement. His glassy eyes rolled in their sockets, unable to focus. "Oz?"
"I'm here."
"I love you."
"I know that, baby. I love you too." Oz swallowed, fighting back tears. He wouldn't allow himself to cry in front of Xander.
"I love her too."
"Who?" No response. "Xander?"
The young man snapped back to attention, his milky brown eyes resting, for the briefest of moments, on Oz's face. Then they took to roaming again. "Willow," he managed at last. His tone was distant.
Oz sighed. "I loved her too, Xander. She was a great friend. And at one time, more than that. But that's over now and�"
"Will she be there?"
"What?"
"At my funeral. Will she be there?"
Again, he was fighting tears. Oz leaned forward, tightening his grip on Xander's hand. "I don't think so, Xander. And don't think like that, baby. You're going to live."
"I don't want to live, Oz," Xander argued weakly, pushing himself up on protesting elbows. "I'm ready to go."
"Xander, please," Oz pleaded. "Don't talk like that. Please. You're not. You'll get better. Please." He sank forward, resting his head on Xander's chest as the tears finally bubbled to the surface. Xander fought through his daze to stroke Oz's hair, the only comfort he could give. "You've fought so hard, baby," Oz sobbed. "Don't give up now."
Xander nodded, still gently stroking, then let his eyes slip shut. In another moment he was drifting, away from the hospital and AIDS and pain. His hand stilled on Oz's head and the older man glanced up, his red-rimmed eyes going wide at Xander's appearance. "Xander?" he whispered. He was answered with silence.
Laying his head down again, Oz felt his throat constrict with fresh sobs and he concentrated on the comforting lull of Xander's heart, beating a steady rhythm within his chest. He sobbed into the younger man's chest for the better part of an hour, drowning his sorrow in the pale blue cotton of the hospital gown.
At last, he was able to pull himself away and he sat back, watching his lover sleep. His hand kept its vice grip on Xander's slack one, refusing to take away the life force it provided. He could sustain him with that touch. Oz had to believe that. Finally he was lulled into his own peaceful sleep, contentment brought by just one thing. It was something small, but enough for him to be celebrated. The survival of another day.
~end~