~*~

Spike wandered into the living room wearing pajama bottoms and a scowl.

"Timmins! Hey! You seen my fags? I'm dyin' for a smoke."

Timmins stuck his head around the kitchen door and called, "You're out. I just sent a minion out to get you some. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize until it was too late."

Spike snarled softly but then accepted the proffered cup of tea with a grunt. "Nice to get a proper cuppa."

Timmins bowed "Master. If you could wait on punishing me until I'm done with the young sir's breakfast, I'd appreciate it."

Spike gave Timmins a sharp look over the rim of his cup. Settling deeper into the chair, he shook his head. "Not this time. If you let me run out again, I'll punish you. But I'm learnin' stuff from that Watcher. ‘E's not a complete git. Finish Xander's breakfast then go wake him."

Timmins shifted from foot to foot for a second, then took his courage in both hands. "Master . . . please."

Spike sighed. "Spit it out."

"If I might make so bold . . . you should wake him yourself. And see to it that he showers, has food, clothing, and anything else. He'll . . . bond . . . er . . . please, Master. I don't know exactly how to explain myself." Timmins stood and shook for a second until Spike hopped up with an odd expression on his face.

"Ya know, you're right. The boy won't bond with me if I dump him off on you. Thanks. You're gonna get a reward. . . later. . . whatever you want. Within reason."

Spike ambled down the hall toward Xander's room. It was still early, for Xander and near Spike's bedtime, so he knew he had to wake the boy now or he'd be late for work. Why the silly wanker wanted to get to work so early escaped him.

"Xander. Wakey wakey. Come on."

Xander opened one eye and gave Spike a bleary look. Then he yelped, tried to get up, got tangled in the covers and fell off the bed. Spike sighed, reached over with one hand and picked Xander up. Using the other hand, he disentangled him and then set him on his feet.
"Stupid git. What's wrong with you?"

Xander grumbled. "How'd you like it if you woke up with me that close to your face?"

"Got a point, pet. You best get a move on if you want a shower before breakfast is ready. Timmins won't appreciate it if it goes cold."

Xander didn't say anything to Spike, he just headed into the bathroom and shut the door with a snap.

Spike grumbled "Well, there's gratitude for ya." and went back to the kitchen to watch Timmins cook.

Xander shambled into the kitchen some ten minutes later with wet hair and a grumpy expression. He was dressed for work in a pair of ragged baggy jeans and a sloppy t-shirt. Spike shuddered at it--the colors would have made a hippy's eyes bleed.

"God, Xanpet, that shirt is horrible. Why can't you find something . . . a little more subdued?"

Xander snarled, "Don't call me that. And I'm not ruining my good stuff with paint. I'm painting all the dry wall I just hung."

Xander reached up to the cupboard and started opening doors. He shuffled things and poked around under the counter top.

"Sir, breakfast is served."

Xander grumped. "I'd like some cereal, please. Or at least a cup of coffee and a Twinkie."

Timmins grimaced at Spike. "Sir, this is for you. Bacon, eggs, toast, jelly and coffee. If you'd like a hot cereal, I'll have to shop. Would you prefer oatmeal, cream of wheat, or muesli?"

Xander looked at the vampire like he'd lost his mind. "Um. . .Cocoa Puffs, Pop-Tarts and coffee is my usual. Plenty of coffee. Okay?"

Spike shuddered. "No, it's not. That stuff'll kill you sooner or later. Eat that!"

Xander sat down and started eating. He stopped suddenly and gave Spike a sharp look then went back to his food. After wolfing down the entire plate and drinking three cups of scalding hot, over-sweet coffee, Xander turned to find Timmins holding his hard hat and tool belt with his tool box at his feet.

"Um . . . thanks. Um . . . Timmins?" Timmins nodded. "Good breakfast. You shouldn't be cooking for me, but thanks."

Xander headed out the door and Timmins noticed he was limping slightly but shrugged it off as the effects of falling out of the bed.

~ * ~

Xander arrived at the site ten minutes early, sweaty and already tired. He'd found out too late that the bus he was depending on didn't go all the way to the site. It went clear to the last stop, to be sure, but that was over a mile from the place he worked. He'd had to walk the rest of the way carrying his tool box.

He settled his box in the back of the hallway where he could keep an eye on it. He pulled out his wallet and counted its contents then sighed. He had enough money to eat lunch today and tomorrow, then it was back to water and crackers.

After getting the paint, Xander started at the far end of the hall and painted the rooms in reverse. It was hot and he sweated heavily, making several trips to the water cooler and taking water back in his bottle every time. Mr. Burk came around and checked on him, complimenting him on not dribbling expensive paint all over the floor.

Xander worked slowly and carefully until lunch then he put his equipment away in a zip lock bag and headed for the chuck wagon. Before he got out of the room he opened his tool box, deciding to check for a clean paint brush before he left. He was surprised and somewhat delighted to find a carefully packed lunch wedged between the tools in the top tray of the box.

"Cool. Hey, and still cold. How the hell did he do that?"

Mr. Burk stuck his head in the room to see who Xander was talking to.

"Talk to yourself? That's okay. But you're in real trouble when you start to argue with yourself."

Xander grinned around a bite of ham sandwich.

"Mmmm, I know. But I got plenty of people to argue with, so I'm good. See Xander bein' good." Xander grinned at Mr Burk, who grinned back. "I'll be done eating in a little."

Mr. Burk sighed. "You have to take the whole hour. Union rules. And don't use your own brushes, we have to provide all consumables."

Xander nodded, chewing vigorously. "Un-huh." He swallowed hard, forcing the mouthful of food down his throat so he could talk. "I forgot. I'll take a walk around, then I'm going to check on paint and brushes. I won't get done today. Probably be noon tomorrow."

Mr. Burk visited with Xander for a few more minutes then left. Xander finished his lunch and sighed happily. He'd have to remember to thank Timmins; the sandwich had been accompanied by fresh fruit salad, Twinkies, and some sort of fruit drink. Xander packed his containers away and closed his tool box, applying a small brass lock to discourage incidental pilferage.

Xander wandered around the site, casually inspecting the buildings and the bare beginnings of a small park. He wondered idly if he could save any of his grandmother's plants from the back yard of his parents' house. It had been hers before she died and left it to his father. Her garden had been her pride and joy, but was now almost nothing more than a memory. Maybe he could salvage some of the plants. He left that thought for the weekend and went to get some new brushes and more paint. He realized that he needed more ventilation; he was feeling a little sick, and hot. The paint fumes were getting to him.

He returned to the room he was painting and sighed. It stank now that he'd been out of it for a while. The fumes were worse than he'd thought they were. He set up the fan he'd gotten from supplies and pointed it out the glassless window, turning it on high. With the fan on, the fumes soon lessened

Xander painted for the next three hours and was more than grateful when the site boss came in and told him to knock off early. The site was shutting down at four instead of five so that an inspector could come in. They were still investigating the broken plate. He cleaned the brushes and closed the paint cans tightly. Then he picked up his tool box and headed for the bus stop.

He had hoped that someone would offer him a ride at least to the stop but he was the last man to be notified of the early shutdown so he missed his chance. Everyone else was already gone. So he slogged his way to the bus stop, feeling a little queasy and definitely sorry for himself. He settled on the bench and dozed off, the heat making him sweat. The bus driver woke him up by honking his horn. Xander thanked him as he gave him his pass. The driver remarked that he was sweating a lot for how cool it was, but Xander ignored him. It was cool in the air-conditioned bus.

~ * ~

Xander wearily pushed the apartment door open and dropped his tool box on the floor next to it. He dumped his tool belt on top of that and his hard hat topped the pile off, slipping into a rakish tilt.

Spike wandered into the living room from somewhere in the depths of the place. He glanced at Xander then hit him with the ‘good' news. "Scoobie meeting tonight, pet. Supper's almost ready; ya can sit at the table with me or eat in the kitchen. Whichever you prefer. I'd suggest a shower before you even try to decide. You smell rotten."

Xander sighed and headed for his suite and the enticing thought of a hot shower. He'd really wanted a long hot soak, but with a Scoobie meeting in the offing he wasn't going to have the time. He turned on the shower and dug out towels while it reached a decent temperature. He found the shampoo and body wash, frowning when he realized that they were unscented. He shrugged and got in the shower, leaning against the cool tiles and letting the hot water wash over him until the tension in his shoulders relaxed a little. Then he scrubbed, quickly washing himself and his hair then reaching for the conditioner. That was when he realized that Spike was in the shower with him. His startled yelp made Spike snicker.

"Heya, pet. Want me to wash your back? Or anything else?"

Xander grabbed for the towel, Spike got in between him and it. Xander tried to sidle out of the shower enclosure, Spike held the door shut.

"Runnin' off, pet? Not very companionable. Kinda gives me the idea you're not exactly . . ." Spike raised his scarred eyebrow, "…grateful. Ya know?"

Xander gulped and started babbling. "Not grateful? What for? Oh, for the loan? I told you I'd pay you back. See me, payin' back man. All I need is a little time. I'll get a check Friday... erm ... not tomorrow Friday...next Friday. Payday Friday. I'll give you...half? The check, I mean. I'm not sure how much it'll be, union dues and all. But I'll give you half, that'll leave me enough to get by on . . . I've got to have lunch money and bus fare, my pass is about to expire . . . and . . . what?! Stop laughing at me . . . what's so funny, anyway? I'm . . . Dammit, Spike. Not good for the manliness. Naked vampire laughin' at a guy." Xander backed up into the back of the shower as he realized that Spike was naked, and wet, and looking very – he put a stop to that thought before it got completely out of hand. "Um . . . naked . . . not good . . . naked vampire . . . with naked Xander . . . naked in a shower naked . . . did I say no . . . not . . . out . . . let me out now . . . Spike, it's not funny."

Spike stepped out of Xander's way and let him out of the shower enclosure, still laughing his head off. Xander glared at him, grabbed a towel and threw it into his face then took another and wrapped it around his waist. Taking the third towel, he draped it over his head to dry his hair. Spike watched this, still chuckling.

"Pet? You better get used to it. I'll be around you . . . a lot. You get dry and dressed and I'll see if Timmins has something nice for your supper. Kitchen or dining room?"

Xander glared. "Kitchen. Definitely kitchen. I'm not watchin' you feed. It's . . . "

"Disgustin'? At least I'm a neat eater. You should have seen Dru sometimes. She'd . . . " Spike snickered. "Never mind, you're gettin green." Spike sauntered out the door, leaving Xander to dry off and try to get a look at his leg.

It was aching and felt hot. Xander couldn't see the cut, all he could do was poke at it with his fingers. This didn't do much good. He couldn't tell anything by feel. So he rubbed some Polysporin on it and did his best to forget about it.

He found jeans and a t-shirt laid out on the bed and blinked, realizing that Spike had put them out. Timmins was cooking, he hoped. He pulled the dark green shirt on and had to laugh softly; the jeans were black. They were also just tight enough that they made his leg hurt. He pulled them off again and found a pair that were looser fitting. When he walked into the kitchen Spike gave him a rather frosty look but refrained from comment, for which Xander was grateful. He did feel a little bit bad about picking different jeans, but not bad enough to make an excuse.

Timmins sighed softly, realizing that the exchange had put his Master in a bad mood. His mood had been uncertain since he'd gotten the call from the man he referred to as ‘that Watcher git' and Xander's rejection of his choice of garments had pushed it over into bad.

Xander took pity on the small vampire. And he was small, even smaller than Spike by about two inches and so slender he looked childish, until you got a good look at his face.

"I'm tired. I didn't feel like putting up with tight jeans. They bind me in all the wrong places. Sorry."

Timmins set a plate in front of Xander, who eyed the contents with some disfavor.

"Um, hate to tell you, but that isn't much in the way of dinner."

Timmins just went back to the stove to putter.

Xander ate the shrimp (there was just one) and the tortilla chips (two of those) and wondered if Timmins would laugh at him if he asked for a piece of bread. Spike just looked disgusted.

"That's appetizers, git."

Xander gave Spike a dirty look. Timmins put another plate in front of Xander.

Xander eyed the contents for a second until Timmins rushed into speech.

"Cornish game hen with orange pecan stuffing. Parsley new potatoes and asparagus hollandaise. I hope you approve. If you'd make a list of your favorite foods, I'd be glad to cook them for you."

Xander started to say something but Spike interrupted. "All he eats is salt, fat and sugar. You cook, he eats. End of story. Okay?" Timmins nodded and went back to his cooking, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

Spike shot Xander a challenging look but Xander was too busy wrestling with the hen to notice.

Xander finished up the asparagus hollandaise and sighed. It still wasn't enough food. He was working construction and burning up loads of calories, calories he couldn't really afford not to replace.

Timmins put another plate in front of Xander. This one had a piece of cake, or rather a fragment of cake, on it. And he offered Xander coffee or espresso.

Xander accepted the offer of espresso with a sigh. "I'd like to have one of those big Italian espresso machines like they have at the Espresso Pump. All brass and knobs and stuff . . . maybe, in my dreams."

Spike made a note to look for one.

Xander finished his coffee and stood up too quickly. He had to hold onto the edge of the table for a moment until his head stopped spinning. Spike reached out to him then lowered his hand.

"You okay? You're not drunk, are you?"

Xander gave him a disgusted look. "No, I'm not drunk. Never will be, if I have anything to say about it. I drink a beer now and then and wine with Italian food. But other than that, no way, Jose . So, we got a meeting to go to or what?"

Spike headed out the door with Xander close behind. Xander's request to drive was scornfully rejected, so the drive to Giles's place was short. Xander was proud of the fact that he only screamed, in a manly way, once.

~ * ~

Spike sat in his usual place on the stairs and watched carefully. Xander sat at the big round table and squirmed. The boy sat like the chair had tacks in it.

Giles told Xander to sit still and look in the book he handed him for references to this demon and passed him a piece of paper. Xander squinted at the paper and stuck his nose in the book.

An hour later he gave a growl and thumped the book onto the table. "Latin, why Latin? Why can't I have the Babylonia, or the hieratic?"

Giles gave Xander a sharp look. "You can't read either one. So . . . or ergo, Latin. And don't bash that book about like that. It's very old. Rather valuable and that's not the way you treat a book. Just look for these words." Giles wrote on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Xander.

Xander grumbled, pulled a notebook out of one baggy pocket and settled down to read again.

Another twenty minutes and Giles came over to check on Xander's progress.

"What's that? Xander, enough doodling. I need you on task, not woolgathering."

Giles reached out to the notebook, starting to crumple the page. Xander reacted in a most unexpected way. He grabbed Giles by the wrist and stopped him cold.

"My notebook. Not your notebook. Let go . . . now."

Giles let go at once, turning pink in the face. "Of course, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. It's just that this incursion is going to be very big and so far none of us has come up with anything. The prophecies all say very big, but not much else. Please pay closer attention to your task and less doodling. All right?"

Xander just sighed, smoothed the page down and returned to his note taking. Spike resolved to get a look at the notebook as soon as he could.

Spike didn't need to look at a clock to know that it was time for them to go; he could feel the moon rising. That meant it was near midnight, so Xander was going to get about six hours' sleep if they left right now.

"Xander, time to go. Now."

Xander just stood up, closed his notebook and followed Spike to the door. Giles looked startled and started to object. Spike shut him up.

"Watcher, he's got to go to work tomorrow, unlike some of you slackers. Power tools? Sleep deprivation? Do the logic yourself." Spike gave the open-mouthed group an encompassing sour look. "I take better care of him than you do and I don't give a damn."

Buffy looked ashamed, mumbled something about ‘Riley' and ‘leaving' then started to cry. Xander went to her at once and put his arms around her.

"He left? Just like that? You didn't take my advice, did you?"

Buffy sniffled. "I did. I did. But I was too late. He was on the chopper and gone before I could catch him and I can't get hold of him or anything. I'm not even sure who he's with or where they went and Giles can't get any information and I feel so bad. Why me? Why us? I . . . "

Xander made cooing sounds, rubbing Buffy's back in soothing circles and letting her cry on his shoulder. Giles looked uncomfortable and Willow and Tara sniffled in each other's arms. Spike rolled his eyes. That wanker Riley was trouble, no matter where he was. Now Buffy was distracted and a distracted slayer was a dead slayer.

"Xander. Six thirty comes early. Come on. Now!" Spike put a little Master Voice into it and got Xander out the door and headed in the general direction of the car. Giles nodded goodbye in a distracted manner and turned to comforting Buffy. Tara and Willow fluttered around like – Spike could only think ‘twittering hens'.

~ * ~

Xander sat looking out the window and worrying on the way back. He grumbled once about turning up the air, which Spike did. He watched Xander out of the corner of his eye and planned. He wasn't going to use the thrall very much, only enough to get the results he wanted while making Xander think it was his own idea. Spike grinned into the darkness.

Spike did wonder about one thing. Why did Xander want to mess about with ancient Babylonian and what the hell was hieratic?

Xander didn't even make a remark about the snack Timmins handed him the second he was in the door. He just drank the hot chocolate, thanked the vampire, and went to bed. Spike realized that he didn't really look well, but he passed it off as new job muscle pains. Timmins wondered what the boy had sat down in.

Timmins slipped into the bedroom and turned on a very small flashlight. It barely glowed but it provided enough light for the vampire valet to see by. He picked up the shirt Xander had dropped and folded it over his arm. He found the jeans on the foot of the bed and picked them up as well. He sniffed, wrinkled his sensitive nose and decided that Xander had probably sat in something at The Magic Box, something that smelled of rotten meat.

He gave the room a quick tidy while he was at it and found the notebook. Xander had dropped it next to the bed when he'd undressed. Timmins started to put the book on the bedside table, but Spike materialized at his side with one hand outstretched.

"I'll make sure it's back where it should be. Give."

Timmins handed the book to Spike and finished his chores.

Spike took the book into the library and settled at his desk to see what Xander guarded so jealously.

He couldn't make head nor tail of it. It was full of doodles, only he kept seeing repeated identical ones, which made him think it was some sort of language. But it wasn't like any language he'd ever seen except some demon dialects which were phonetically based. He closed the notebook and set it on his desk. Xander was very smart, he would be the first to admit it. But he acted stupid and he seemed to have trouble reading. Except, how could he have trouble reading if he could read cuneiform and write his own code? Spike gave up for the night and went out to hunt up his supper.

~ * ~

Xander woke the next morning feeling grumpy and hot. He wondered if Spike felt the cold rather than feeling cold to touch. Then he wondered why he cared.

Breakfast was more or less the same. Spike came in and sat at the table with him. Timmins set out bacon, eggs, fresh melon and coffee. He set a cup of tea in front of Spike and went away.

Spike watched Xander eat; he wasn't stuffing it down like he was afraid someone would take it.

"You okay, pet? Ya look a little flushed."

Xander wiped the last of the egg yolk off the plate with a piece of toast and stuffed it into his mouth.

"I'll live. I just wish you would turn up the air a little. It's stuffy in here . . . tell Timmins thanks, will you? I've got to go or I'll be late."

Spike lit a cigarette and followed Xander to the front door. "Don't know why you insist on leavin' so damn early. Sun's just coming up."

Xander eyed Spike wearily. "I don't have a car. How do you think I get to work? Fly?"

Spike grunted. "Catch a ride, I guess."

"No. I don't know anyone at the site yet. I'm takin' the bus. And walking from the stop to the site. So excuse me if I interrupt your beauty sleep . . . look, I'd love to stay and argue with you all day but I gotta go."

Spike leaned in the door and smoked his cigarette, watching as Xander trudged to the bus stop. He was limping more heavily. Spike decided he'd better ask Xander about it that evening.

~ * ~

Xander made it to the site a little early. Two of the men he worked with saw him walking and picked him up just a few yards from the stop. They told him they lived close enough that they could pick him up no more than a block from Spike's apartment

"Thanks, guys. I'll meet you here at five. Figure out what I'm gonna owe you." Xander slapped the side of the truck to signal he was out of the way and headed into the building. He picked up his tools and the paint from the staging area and headed into the wing he was working on. He sighed and wiped sweat off his forehead. If he was this hot already, he was going to be miserable by noon. He idly wondered what Timmins had packed him for lunch today. He hoped it was something light; his stomach was a little upset and he knew the paint fumes were going to make it worse.

He was right, by noon he'd finished painting one side of the hall and all the rooms that led off it. He'd used up gallons of paint and several brushes and rollers. He was sweaty, hotter than he'd ever been and sick to his stomach. His leg ached like an abscessed tooth. He sat down on the floor, forgetting his brushes and rollers, and fished in his tool box for his lunch.

This time it was egg salad, with lettuce and tomatoes, some sort of orange flavored pudding stuff, and a thermos of ice tea. He managed all the sandwich and the pudding, but the tea was unsweetened and tasted like grass. He went out to the lunch wagon and got a soda, rolling the cool can over his forehead before opening it and chugging it in one go.

Xander returned to his painting before the lunch hour was over, but he could clock out early and make it up that way. "Unions are good. Unions are necessary. Damn unions. I wish I was a journeyman. Fuck." This last was caused by finding out that the roller had dried out and was now useless. Xander squinted at the wrapper, trying to read the instructions for cleaning it. The letters crawled around and fuzzed, the words squiggled. Xander swore and tossed the whole thing, putting a new roller on the handle and going back to his painting.

~ * ~

Spike called Mr Harris and was told that they'd sold the car the minute Xander moved out. He snarled, "Stupid little fuck, wouldn't let go of that piece of crap. Liked the trunk, for some reason. You tell him that he's still got stuff here and if he don't get it I'm puttin' it out in the trash. Two days. And he owes me for storage."

Spike wanted to swear at the man, but he contained his notorious temper and said meekly, "I'm so very sorry, sir. If you put it out on the front porch, I'll see that it is picked up this evening, shortly after dark. I'd come earlier, but I have other obligations. Thank you."

"Well, see that you do. And don't put up with any shit out of Alex. You're gonna find out that he's as dumb as a box a' rocks. Can't hardly read even. Someone with your accent, you from England, right? You'll see. Tell him he owes for storage. Fifty dollars."

Tony thunked the phone down, but Spike heard ‘screaming queen, queer accent' and something that started ‘limp' and was cut off by the disconnect.

Spike grumbled to himself. He really wanted to give the man a piece of his mind but that wouldn't get him what he wanted. Xander should like it that Spike got all his things for him. Spike smirked to himself. Seduction was one of his specialities, after all. Angel and Darla had been all about torture and he wasn't averse to a bit of the action. But he really only did it to please Dru. She had loved it. Frankly, he got bored after a while. After all, how many ways were there to scream and beg? One ‘please don't hurt me' was fairly like another.

He'd send a minion to get Xander's things, without fifty dollars worth of bribe. That was ridiculous. The old fart was an idiot if he thought he'd get away with that one. Spike wondered how Xander had turned out as well as he had.

Spike decided that he was too tired to figure anything else out today. That Fomorian demon had fought back hard. And the wanker had been tough. "Fucker got stuck in my teeth."

Muttering about tough, stringy, and nasty demons, Spike went to bed.

~ * ~

Xander sat down for a moment. He felt worse than ever; hot, sweating, nauseated and dizzy. He still had one whole side of the hall to finish. He knew that he couldn't finish it in one day, but he'd been hoping to get more done than he had.

Still, it was a good start. He decided to take a break, get a drink of water and estimate how much more paint he was going to need. He never saw the floor come up to smack him in the face.

Mr. Burk found him only ten minutes later.

Xander woke to a cold compress on his forehead and fiery embarrassment in his gut. He sat up, holding his head in case it decided to drift away, and tried to get up.

Mr. Burk pushed him back down.

"Oh no, you don't. Heatstroke is nothing to mess around with. Lay back down."

Xander groaned but stayed upright. "I'm fine. I'll get fired. I can't afford to lose this job. I need to pay my friend back. Well, he's not a friend. Like . . . I mean . . . oh, hell. I got to go back to work. I can't lose this job, I just can't."

Mr. Burk sighed. Technically, Xander didn't have any time to take off. But after saving the company several hundred thousand dollars, he figured they could carry him for a while, quite a while.

"Look, you're not going to lose your job. After that save? You bet your life we're going to cut you some major slack."

Xander blinked. "Oh. But that was nothing. I . . well, it was something. Mouth runs away with man. I'm shutting up now."

"I'm calling in a favor and getting you a ride. Why the hell didn't you tell me you didn't have wheels? I'd have gotten you a car home. So, now I owe you. Come on. Can you stand up?"

Xander got to his feet and allowed that he wasn't that shaky. He followed Mr. Burk outside and stood while he got one of the guys to pack up his tools and bring them around. Xander grunted and started to go back inside.

"Oh, no, you don't. Stay right there. You're shaking and sweating. Not a step."

"I locked my box. Hal . . . Al . . . whatever . . . He can't . . . I don't. . . feel so good. Um . . . did I say I can't afford to lose this job?"

Mr. Burk shook his head. The boy was a mess. He was really sick.

"Yes, you did. I promise you won't lose your job. How the hell did you get a stroke so fast? And don't worry about the box. All the stuff I saw laying around belongs to the company. Sit back down."

Xander sat and considered for a moment. "I think it's the fumes. I had a fan, but when I came in this morning it was gone and I didn't want to take the time to get another. And I did . . . I am . . . really hot. And sweating. And . . . I didn't . . . I had a soda. . . . Can I just sit here?"

Mr. Burk nodded. "Yeah, you do that. I'll have Al take you straight home. If you stop sweating, or sweat too much, feel cold or start shivering, see a doc. Got me?"

Xander, being a So-Cal boy, knew all the symptoms of heatstroke. "I know what to look for. I'll call in the morning. Okay?"

Mr. Burk allowed that it was a pretty sure thing that Xander wouldn't be in for at least a few days. He reassured Xander again that he wasn't going to lose his job over this. In fact, he probably was going to collect some money for it. Then he stuffed him into Al's truck and directed Al to take Xander home. Al gave Xander a concerned look and headed in the general direction of Spike's apartment.

~ * ~

Al let Xander out right at the apartment, even going so far as to take Xander's tools to the door for him.

"Thanks, Al, I really appreciate this. You don't even know me. And . . . well, just thanks."

Al patted Xander on the shoulder. "You're a good kid. A little shy but you'll get over that. We all kinda appreciate what you did, fixing that plate. If you hadn't figured out how to hold it together, we'd all be out of work for at least a week. So . . . a ride is a small part of what I owe you. Take it easy. You won't lose your job over this."

Xander leaned against the door for a moment then opened it and literally fell in. Timmins rushed to him, yelling for Spike at the same time.

Spike woke up and was halfway out the door before he even registered it. Timmins was too perfectly trained to yell like that for no reason. And the name Xander was still ringing in his ears.

The sight that met his eyes brought a snarl to his lips and Timmins to his belly on the floor.

"Sir, I found him like this. I swear. I have more self-control than to eat . . . er . . . sir?"

Spike had gotten control of himself at once. Timmins was old, at least two centuries old, and had more than enough self-control to avoid eating Xander.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I heard the door open and came to see who it was. It's too early for Master . . . er . . . Xander . . .to be home. When I came in, he was lying on the floor. His tools are just outside, in the sun. I'll collect them as soon as I can. But what can be wrong with him? He was fine this morning."

Spike started to pick Xander up, but Timmins grabbed his feet.

"I've got him."

"Yes, sir, I'm sure you have. But we should both carry him. It'll be much more comfortable for him and there's less chance of bumping his head on the door frame."

Spike snarled slightly at the intimation that he would be so careless, but took Xander under the arms. With Timmins at Xander's feet they carried him into the bedroom and put him on the bed.

Timmins fussed around, pulling down the covers and settling Xander in. Xander snorted and mumbled but didn't wake up.

"He's very hot, Master. Feel him."

Spike put his hand on Xander's neck. He was burning up.

"flu, you think? There's a nasty strain going around just now."

Timmins looked at Xander; somehow, it didn't look like flu. "I'm not sure. I . . . don't think so. But I'm old, so I don't have any experience with human illnesses."

Spike considered. "We'll just strip him down and tuck him in for now. He'll wake up in a while, then we'll ask him what happened."

So Timmins and Spike stripped Xander down to his shorts and tucked him into the bed. He didn't resist but he did grumble a little. And say something about a stroke.

Spike grimaced. "Didn't touch him. So what's he whingeing about?"

Timmins shrugged. "I'm sure I couldn't say, sir. I'll go prepare him some soup, shall I?"

"Yeah, you do that. I'll watch him. Maybe I can figure out what he wants stroked."

Spike sat in the chair Timmins brought him and watched Xander. Xander tossed and turned, sweating and flushed. Spike didn't like the way he looked at all. After a little while he decided to call Giles. Maybe he could give him some idea.

He fished in his pants pocket and pulled out his phone. Flipping it open, he dialed the Watcher's number and waited while it rang, and rang. Finally Giles picked up.

"Giles, here."

Spike noticed that he seemed in a hurry. "I'll make it short. I need some help . . . "

Giles interrupted him. "I have a flight to catch. I have to go to Chicago, make it quick."

"All right, you berk. The boy's sick. . . ."

"Give him some aspirin." Giles hung up.

Spike eyed the phone and swore, refraining from throwing it by main force of will.

He settled in his chair again and thought. Then he dialed again.

"Hello? Tara? . . . Spike. Boy's sick. I need to know what to do."

"S-s-s-sspike! I-i-I'll call W-w-w-willow."

Spike sighed. "Tara, all I need to know is what to do for a human with the flu. Glinda? Glinda? . . . damn!"

Spike waited for Willow to come to the phone, but when she did it was nearly the same as Giles.

"Look, I don't have time for you right now. Tara and I are going to a Wiccan retreat and we have to pack. If you need something, call Buffy. Okay? I'd help you with your . . . whatever. But we really have to get moving or we'll be late and they lock the gate right on time. Call back on Monday and I'll be glad to help you then. Blessed be, bye."

Spike snarled again. "Dammit. I hope it's really flu. And I'm not callin' Buffy, she's worse than useless." Spike remembered the time Giles had flu. Buffy had stood around looking baffled; that wasn't going to be any help. But hope springs eternal.

"Buffy? Spike. Boy's sick. I need to know what to do. . . . No, I don't. Dru's a vampire. Completely different."

Buffy snorted. "Well, do whatever you did for her anyway. And don't bother me with your boy. I've got an incursion to try to stop. If Giles ever figures out what's coming. Tell Xander we need him for coffee and stuff. Tuesday night. Don't forget. Bye."

Buffy slapped the phone back into its cradle and headed for the retreat. She wasn't too sure exactly what she'd gotten herself into but it was better than sitting around worrying.

Spike gritted his teeth so hard they squeaked. Stupid bint. He bit at his lip and decided he had one last chance on the human front.

"Hello? Mrs. Rosenberg? . . . . I'm a friend of Willow's. I can't get ahold of her and I need some advice."

Mrs. Rosenberg settled in her chair, always willing to help young people with their problems. "How may I help you?"

"A friend of mine is sick. I never had to deal with something like this. I don't know what to do. I think he's got the flu, but he mumbled something about a stroke so I'm all at sea."

Mrs. Rosenberg smiled. This man was obviously well bred, his accent definitely British, old school, and very cultured.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. First, take his temperature. You have a thermometer?"

Spike fished in the bedside table and found pen and paper. "No, but I'll get one. Talk slowly, I'm takin' notes." Spike curled his lip. He hated ballpoint pens.

After a few minutes Mrs. Rosenberg wound down. "Now, if you need any more information there are several very good web sites. I'll give you the URLs. . . . "

Spike interrupted her politely. "I'm sorry, Missus, but I'm not connected. Not very computer savvy. But this should help a lot. I'll get the stuff and get started. Thank you. Good-bye."

Spike couldn't decide how he felt. They were falling into his plan like sheep, but he still felt angry. At least they could help him when the whelp was sick. Spike called in Timmins, gave him the shopping list and a credit card then settled to watch Xander until Timmins came back with everything.

~ * ~

Timmins worried all the way through the drug store. There was something more wrong with the Young Master than flu; he didn't like the way the boy smelled. Something was very wrong. He just wasn't sure how to tell Master William. He knew exactly who Spike was. He was William the Bloody, Bloody Bill. Second Master of the Scourge of Europe. A High Master of the Line of Aurelius, of which there were now only two since the true deaths of The Master and Darla. Drucilla was too crazy to be a Master, she couldn't control herself much less a Childe. So he worried, because he really didn't want to be disemboweled. It hurt. And waiting for it to heal and still doing his duties would be ‘inconvenient'.

When he returned to the residence Spike greeted him with a grunt and a demand for the stuff.

Spike took the cold medicine and read the directions. It was purple and smelled like grape.

Xander refused it blearily. "Not what I need. Spike . . ." Xander blinked his eyes, trying to bring Spike into focus. "Call Giles. Please. I . . . " Xander's eyes fluttered shut. "I feel really bad. I want Giles. Please? Spike . . . "

Spike couldn't help but snarl. "Not gonna happen. I called him, but he's on his way to Chicago and he didn't really give me a chance to explain what I needed." Xander forced himself to try to listen to Spike. "Then I called Red, got Glinda. When Red came on, she babbled something about a Wicca retreat and being late, then hung up. Buffy wasn't any help, either. Did the same thing. Only one who tried to help was Mrs. Rosenberg." Spike watched as Xander's head drooped, then snapped back up.

"Look, I really feel terrible. Just listen to me. I think I got heatstroke. Or it's paint fumes. Call a doctor. I'll pay." Xander lay back down, scrabbling at the covers and shivering slightly. "I really . . . " Xander fell back into a daze in the middle of the sentence.

Spike glared at Xander. Trust the whelp to come up with a new one on him. Heatstroke? What the hell was that?

Spike went into the library to see if there was any help there. He hadn't had time to examine the books closely yet. After some searching he found a first aid manual and settled down to read. Timmins brought him some tea and told him that Xander had accepted juice with every evidence of eagerness. Spike stuck his nose back into the book.

After a half hour of reading Spike wasn't much better off than he had been. All the information was detailed but several different problems had the same symptoms. Calling in a doctor was looking more and more necessary. But explaining some things was problematic, at best.

Spike took Xander's temperature and eyed the thermometer with a jaundiced eye. "Bloody hell. He's got a hell of a temp, or at least that's what the book says. Depends on his basal temperature. Which I don't know and I bet no one else does either, not even his parents." Spike glanced at Timmins. "Speaking of which, go get Xander's stuff off his daddy's porch. And . . . Timmins. You're invited in."

Timmins blinked. "Sir? Are you sure?"

"Got invited, didn't I? You're my servant. Invite extends to you. If it doesn't, I'll come and invite you in. So, go get his stuff. And . . . Timmins? Bring back every drop of booze in the place, down to the last drop of schnapps. Got me?"

Timmins smiled in a rather feral manner. "Yes, Master, I have it. Every drop." Timmins headed for the door. Turning back, he remarked, "You're evil. You do know that, sir." Spike smirked.

Unfortunately, sending Timmins on that errand left Spike alone with Xander. The high temperature was making him miserable and he was obviously in pain. Spike touched his forehead and flinched. He was burning up.

"Dammit, whelp. Why'd ya have to go and get sick on me?" Spike smoothed Xander's ragged bangs away from his forehead and wondered what he should do.

After thinking things through he went and got a bottle of rubbing alcohol and prepared to give Xander an alcohol rub, hoping to bring down his temperature that way.

"Xander, I need for you to roll over. I'm gonna rub you down, see if I can't get that fever down. Come on." Spike pulled the covers off Xander, who moaned and clutched at them

"Noooo. Don' wanna. Go ‘way."

"Well, petulant little git, aintcha." Spike got Xander on his stomach and poured some alcohol into his hand. When he started to rub it into Xander's back, the smell hit him in the face. His sensitive vampire nose revolted at the stench of infection.

"Xander. Wake. Up. Now." Spike put everything he had into the command.

At the order, Xander rallied enough to peer at Spike through fever blurred eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. What?"

Spike grabbed his limited patience with both hands and held on. "Did you hurt yourself at the site?"

"Yeah. I took care of it, though. It's just a scratch."

Spike grimaced. Most people in this day and age didn't realize how dangerous even a scratch could be. He could remember a time when a simple splinter could lead to amputation, so he demanded to see the scratch.

Xander rolled over, grumbling but cooperative. He felt too bad to argue; it was simpler and easier to just go along. He fumbled with the leg of his shorts and whimpered when Spike impatiently pushed it up, poking the wound in the process.

Spike took one look at the infected ‘scratch' and snarled. "Bloody jumpin' hell, pet. That's not a scratch. It's a bleedin' . . . Shit. Is there something in there? How did you do this?"

Xander cooperated as Spike shoved a pillow under his hips so he could get a better look.

"I had to do some climbing and I dragged my butt over something sharp. I picked up a splinter, but I pulled it out. I put stuff on it. Spike, let me alone, I don't feel like arguing with you."

"Not arguing, am I, pet? You'll do what I say. Lay there and let me look."

Xander closed his eyes and shivered. "I'm cold."

Spike threw a nearby towel over Xander's shoulders and pulled his shorts down to his knees. The wound site was red, swollen and hot. Spike barely noticed Xander's exposed pucker or his ‘dangly bits'; he was too focused on the wound.

"Dammit, you stupid git. In my time you'd be dead in a week. That's a nasty infection. I'll clean it out and see what's what. Hold still."

Xander wriggled around, trying to see what Spike was doing, annoying the vampire into snarling at him. Xander stopped wriggling.

"Well, Xanpet. That's as nasty as it gets. I'll just open it and see what's in there. There's got to be something."

Xander tried to roll over but Spike pinned him with one hand between his shoulder blades.

"You're no doctor, I don't want you messing around with it. And don't call me that. I'm not a pet."

Spike held Xander until he stopped struggling, which didn't take long. He was way too sick to struggle much and the argument took every last bit of his energy. He gave up and lay still.

Spike vamped and used one of his sharp talons to open the wound. He turned his head when his efforts resulted in a gush of pus. He used a square of cloth he tore from a pillow case to wipe out the wound, much to Xander's displeasure.

"Be still. There's still something in there." Spike decided that his rough and ready skills weren't going to do Xander much good so he covered him with the sheet and asked him if he wanted the blanket too.

Xander eyed him suspiciously. "Yeah, I would. Why are you being so nice to me? What do you want?"

Spike lit a cigarette to hide his expression. "Don't want anything. Got ulterior motives, I do. I'm callin' in a healer. Don't want you to lose that leg. Get some sleep if you can."

Xander gave up. The last of his energy had deserted him and he felt worse than ever. He just rolled over, pulling the covers up to his chin and closing his eyes.

Spike left to make a few calls and pull in some favors.