~ * ~

Xander ate his dinner without tasting a thing. He was thinking furiously. He was off site till further notice. He wasn't worried about that as Mr. Lonergan had assured him he was being paid. But he was worried about the consequences of what he'd found. The construction in the lower levels didn't worry him. It was all straightforward and simple. He could do it all with two or three others, mostly to help with the heavy lifting.

He sighed softly. He was in deep shit and he knew it. Not thinking about the fraud at the site wasn't going to make it go away. He knew that some of the company's had knee breakers on the payroll, and he wasn't looking forward to what might happen when everyone found out he'd busted Chambers. Someone would tell someone else and they would tell someone. It would get back to Chambers. He wasn't looking forward to the results. Man, I am soooo dead

That was why they didn't want him at the site. Someone would find out that he'd peached on the company and then the company would send someone to ‘talk' to him. Someone with big muscles and not much between the ears. He never thought of telling Spike about it. He never thought Spike would care.

Xander gathered up his dishes and started for the dishwasher. Timmins intercepted him with practiced ease. "Would you like something else?"

Xander absently shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm going to do some work on the dorms. I'll have another list of materials I need. Don't strain yourself, I won't need them for at least a week. And don't buy anything from Chambers. They're crooked as a dog's hind leg."

Timmins filed this away in his memory. "Anything else?"

"Not really. After I'm done with the materials, I'm going to work on a scroll translation for a while. Tell Spike, will you?"

"Yes, Young Master. I'll bring you some coffee in about an hour, shall I?"

Xander nodded absently and left the kitchen for his office. Spike had given him his own when he found out that Xander tended to talk to himself when he was working.

~ * ~

Spike worked on paper work of his own for most of the afternoon. He was tired and cranky when he finished. Most of the demons he dealt with were nocturnal but some were diurnal so he was working what was essentially a split shift. He woke in time to see Xander off to work then went back to bed to sleep until late afternoon. He didn't need much sleep, thankfully, but the strain of keeping everything together was starting to show. He needed to cement his power base soon.

He pulled out his cigarettes and realized that he only had a few left. "Timmins, I'm out of smokes and I'm out of patience. I'm goin' out to get smokes and clear my head."

Timmins stuck his head in the door of Spikes office. Bloody hell! I have a bleedin' office.

"I have some cigarettes for you, if you want."

"Don't want ‘em. Need out of here for a while. I'm goin' round the bend. Some of this stuff is . . . never mind. I just hate tryin' to translate legal terms from a demon language to English. Gives me a flamin' headache, it does." Spike picked up his duster, patted the pockets and headed for the door. "I'm off. Watch over Xander."

Timmins closed the door behind Spike and smiled. When Spike started speaking mockney he was really tired or pissed. Timmins wondered when he would give up and have Xander translate the offending document.

Spike wandered the streets for a while then dropped into a quick stop for some cigarettes. He bought a 40 ouncer as well. He knew very well that no cop was really fooled by the brown paper bag trick but it kept the commoners from staring.

He ambled down the street, smoking and window shopping, occasionally drinking from the bottle. He felt much better just getting out of the mansion. The pressure was getting to him. He hadn't had a court since Prague. Even then it had been different, in deference to Drusilla's madness. He sighed softly then squared his shoulders. All he had to do was show his mastery. If it meant killing a few demons, all the better. He did like a bit of violence.

Spike stopped at the Espresso Pump to get coffee. When he looked at the coffee makers, he realized that the beautiful brass machines were gone. In their place were modern heavy duty chrome and steel makers. Just as good, but nowhere near as nice. He remembered that Xander had coveted one of the old ones, so he decided to ask what had happened to them.

The shop was really busy so he decided to go around to the back and see if he couldn't find out what had happened to them.

When he got to the back, he found a man sitting on the dumpster, dejectedly crumpling an empty cigarette pack.

"Smoke?" Spike offered his pack and lighter.

"Thanks." The man, who wore an Espresso Pump apron with a name tag that said, ‘Frankie', along with a typical SoCal saying, took the pack and lighter with a smile.

"Bad night?" Spike hopped up to sit next to Frankie.

Frankie took a deep drag off the cigarette and grunted. "Might say that." Spike made an enquiring noise. "Boss got new makers. They're faster and more modern, but no one likes them. They been bitchin' all night. ‘Ruined the atmosphere', ‘coffee doesn't taste the same', bitch bitch bitch. Like it's my fault."

Spike shook his head. "Makes a bloke pissed off, don't it? All that bitchin' over a coffee pot. Don't make sense."

Frankie shook his head. "I liked the old ones better but the seals were worn out. So, instead of spending $75 dollars on new seals, the old fart spends a couple of thousand dollars on new, high capacity makers. They're not pots, by the way. Old guy's gettin' crazy in his old age."

Spike shrugged. "It's his shop, so what can you do? What'd he do with the old ones?"

"Just tossed ‘em. If I could figure out how, I'd take one home with me. But the old geezer has his eye on me."

Spike gave the man a considering look. He wanted one of those makers.

Frankie spoke again. "Look, pal, if you want one, I'll tell you what I'll do. They're both right here in this dumpster. I'll distract shit for brains and you snitch both of them. I get off in half an hour. And I'm just getting my break, I might add. I'll meet you at the other end of the alley. You get one, I get the other. How's that sound?"

Spike thought for a minute. In the old days he'd just have bitten the bloke and taken what he wanted. Then he'd have had to leave town in a few days, leaving the maker behind. Now . . .

"Sure thing, mate. You do the bait and I'll nick the goods. See you in an hour or so." Frankie opened his mouth but Spike forestalled him. "You know damn good an' well the old goat will find some reason to squeeze a quarter hour free out of you." He hopped off the dumpster. "Well, get on with it."

Frankie went inside and shut the door. Spike waited for a few seconds. When he heard Frankie start complaining about getting his break so late, Spike opened the dumpster and pulled out the coffee makers. There were three of them and he dragged them all out. They were awkward to carry, not because they were heavy but because they were fairly large. Spike grinned, popped them into a nearby, brand new wheeled trash can, and slipped away.

He settled in an alcove at the end of the alley to examine his booty. He was impressed to see that they were Victoria Arduino Venus Bar III commercial machines. One of the best Italian espresso machines around, and fairly expensive. These were capable of making over 400 cups of coffee an hour. He smirked to himself. Even the smallest of the machines was worth the effort of getting new seals.

Xander was going to love this. Spike couldn't wait to see the expression on his face.

Spike sat and smoked while he waited for Frankie to show up. He wasn't smoking as much as he used to. He didn't smoke around Xander at all. He wasn't about to expose him to all the carcinogens.

~ * ~
Frankie showed up exactly an hour later, panting slightly.

"Sorry. Man, that old bastard is gonna be the death of me yet. He made me do all the floors, stack the chairs and stock. Shithead . . . so, you get the machines?"

Spike nodded. "Yeah, all three of them. Put them in that trash can. Handy, that."

Frankie opened the can and examined the machines.

"They're in great shape. I stuck them in the dumpster carefully. I figured I'd work out some way to get them. Thanks . . . um . . . . You want first pick?"

Spike shrugged. "Na, take your pick. I'm happy with any of them. You want one. I'll find a use for the other two."

Frankie took the smallest machine. "I've wanted this since I saw it. It's just right for me. You can make twenty cups an hour with it. The other two are from the shop and too big for me. This one was the old man's. Look, I gotta get goin' or my girl is gonna have a fit."

Spike watched as Frankie grabbed his machine and hurried out of the alley. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called for a limo to come get him. He was going to enjoy the look on Xander's face when he saw the coffee maker.

When he got back home Spike carried the coffee makers in and turned them over to Timmins.

Timmins sat both machines on the kitchen table and started disassembling them. Spike watched with interest.

"Guy I got them from said the seals were bad. Don't seem like they could be. The handles don't catch or anything."

Timmins laid the parts out and examined the seals. "Seals are bad. Not really bad, but they do need replacing. I'll order two sets tomorrow. If I'm careful, I can get a good set out of these and have one working in . . . half an hour."

Spike smiled happily. "Great. I can't wait to see Xander's face when he sees them. He said he wanted one a while ago . . . Where is the boy?"

Timmins looked up from the part he was examining. "He's still in his office, I think. I promised him coffee a while ago. He's translating some scroll or other and seemed very interested in it."

Spike gave Timmins a disbelieving look. "Xander Harris, the researchophobe is translating a scroll? Don't believe it. He's readin' a comic or sommat. I'm goin' to find him. Bring . . . no, let me know when the machine is ready and I'll bring him in to see it."

Timmins nodded absently. "Of course, Master."

Spike wandered down the hall, wondering if Xander was even awake. Sometimes he would fall asleep on the couch watching tv. Xander wasn't asleep, though, he was hunched over his desk writing something in a notebook. Spike tapped at the door.

Xander looked up, squinting slightly. "Spike, hey, come in. I'll ring for Timmins to get you some tea."

Spike sauntered in and plopped into a chair. "Don't bother. He's busy fixin' up your surprise. And no, I'm not tellin', you'll have to wait and see it . . . what ya doin'?"

Xander gave Spike a wary look. "I'm translating a Talpapda tribal scroll. I haven't gotten much past the title but it's a dilly." Xander consulted his notes. "The Proper Behavior Expected of something . . . it's been handled so much some of the text is really blurry . . . in the Court of Thanatos. It's in fair shape . . . um . . . you won't tell?" Spike shook his head. "I snitched it from Giles."

Spike couldn't help but snicker. "You what? Nicked it from the Watcher? That's rich. I won't tell, pet. But why?"

Xander smirked at Spike in a very unfamiliar way. "Because he told me I couldn't. Couldn't have it, couldn't translate it, couldn't understand it. But I can. I know I'm stupid. I know I don't know things. But I can learn if someone is patient enough to teach me. Really teach me, not just throw me a bone or rattle it off so fast I don't get it. So . . . I wanted it, I took it. I'll give it back after I'm done with it, no worse for wear."

Spike felt his jaw drop; this was a side of Xander he hadn't known was there.

"Well, pet, I'm fair gob smacked, I am. Can . . . never mind. When you're done with it, I'd like to read it. Can I see?" Spike gestured to the notebook Xander was writing in.

Xander shrugged. "Sure, but you won't be able to read it."

Spike eyed the scrawl in the note book. He'd never seen anything like it.

"What's this, then? Don't recognize it."

"Gregg Shorthand. Makes it easier to take notes and I can read it later. My handwriting is worse than a doctor's. So my English teacher says . . . said."

Spike considered eating the teacher, but decided that she or he would be too dry. No one should make Xander feel bad.

"So . . . how's the translation goin' then? Looks like you've made a little headway."

Xander took back his notes. "In the court it is imperative that the . . . not sure about that, but I think it's master . . . not show . . . this bit is weird . . . his pet off by allowing anyone to touch. It . . . or maybe he . . . is inviolate. Instant insult must be taken if liberties are . . . something . . . it's really hard to translate. I need several books that I don't have access to. Wish I had a copy of Wright's demon language catalogue. It'd be just what I need. And a copy of N'tk'la'd."

Spike was impressed; Xander actually got the glottal stops right.

"This language is full of words that only mean one thing and I don't have a good enough grasp of the vocabulary. And they only use honorifics, no names. Magic in a name, you know." Xander mumbled off as he started working on the translation.

Spike slipped out and checked on Timmins, who told him the machine wasn't quite ready yet. He then went into his office and retrieved the two books Xander had mentioned. He returned to Xander and placed the books by his elbow. Xander glanced at the offering, then yelped.

"Hey! The books. The very books I wanted. Thanks. Where'd you get them?"

Spike shrugged. "I got books. Lots of them. I'm not ignorant. Just don't care that much. Angelus was all about the violence. Beat the need to read out a' me ages ago. But . . . well, I like to still, so now that wanker isn't around, I do what I please. Got a bunch of books from the Order. Not that I'm interested in half of them. They sent all the books that they thought a Master like me ought to have."

Xander gave Spike a look he couldn't interpret and opened the N'tk'la'd. He spent twenty minutes comparing something in the book to something in the scroll. Spike watched as Xander scrunched his nose up and tugged at his hair, mumbling to himself.

Timmins tapped at the door and whispered just loudly enough for Spike to hear, "It's fixed."

Spike gently placed his hand on Xander's notebook. "Give it a rest, yeah? Timmins made coffee."

Xander grinned at Spike. "Oh, god, coffee. Great. Tell him to bring it in."

Spike shook his head. "Got a surprise for you, I do. Come to the kitchen so you can see."

Xander stood up and stretched. "Ok . . . . um . . . Spike?"

Spike jerked his eyes from Xander's exposed, flat, taut abs and pinned them on his face. "Yeah?"

"Kitchen? Surprise? Coffee?"

Spike turned reluctantly and led Xander to the kitchen.

Timmins smiled when he saw the delight on Xander's face. Sometimes he seemed so young. Spike had to grin; that look was priceless.

"Spike, you remembered. You . . . oh, man. This is so great. I heard the Espresso Pump replaced theirs. It won't be the same now. How'd you do this?"

Spike put on his most arrogant Spike-face and tipped his head to the side. "Got connections, don't I? Master Vampire, Master of Sunnydale, right?" Spike grinned at Xander. "Nicked ‘em."

Xander started laughing. "Oh, hell, Spike. You met Frankie, didn't you? He hates his job, and the owner of the place. He's always said if he could get one of the coffee makers, he'd quit the next day. Super." Xander turned to Timmins. "Well, fire it up. I want my coffee."

Timmins obediently did as he was told and offered Xander his choice of embellishments. Xander refused anything except a half spoon of sugar.

"This late at night, all I want is the espresso. But I do like a Snicker." Timmins raised his eyebrow and Xander gave him the recipe, much to Spike's amusement.

Xander sipped his coffee with obvious enjoyment and, when he was finished, asked for another. Timmins blinked. Spike was off on another round of snickering.

"And what is it you might be a sniggering at, may I make so bold as to ask?" Xander stuck his nose in the air.

Spikes opened his mouth, closed it then roared. Xander laughed along with him while Timmins muttered, "Butchering Pygmalion. What next?" but he was smiling too.

Xander was finishing his second double when his cell phone rang. He picked it up and punched the connect then wished he hadn't.

"Alexander, take some advice from a friend. Forget whatever it is you think you know. It won't be pretty if you don't. Bad things might happen. Remember, you're only human, people make mistakes. Make the right one."

Xander took the phone away from his ear, looked at it for a second then just disconnected.

Spike and Timmins were both looking at him like he'd grown another appendage.

Timmins snarled so nastily that Xander gave him a puzzled look, but was distracted by Spike. Spike reached out, took the phone from Xander and fiddled with it for a moment. Then he glared at Xander.

"No callback number. It's blocked. What the bleedin' hell was that about? An' don't give me that innocent look. You're not stupid, no matter what the bloody Scooby gang think. ‘Fess! Now!"

Xander sighed. He hadn't though they'd find him quite this soon. Or that Spike would be this upset.

"Ok. Damn it! I wish . . . no, I don't. Ok. First, do you know what coring is?" Spike started to make some smart remark, saw the look on Xander's face and shut his mouth, shaking his head instead. "Coring is a way of stacking bundles that leaves the A on the outside and low grade in the middle. And . . . you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Spike shook his head. So Xander launched into an explanation of coring and various versions of the same fraudulent trick. As well as several other tricks lumber yards and hardware providers used. He talked for ten minutes while Spike listened seriously, Timmins kept coffee and snacks flowing.

"So I caught them out. The amount of stuff set aside amounts to several thousand dollars, just eyeballing it. And that's got to be the tip of the iceberg. Not good. That's why I got sent home early. And I'm on leave until further notice. Paid, but I'd rather work." Xander ruffled his hair with one hand and grumbled under his breath.

"So this idiot calls you and threatens you for a few thousand dollars worth of wood? Is he suicidal or crazy or both?"

Xander shrugged. "Who knows? Most of the people I work with don't even know vampires and whatnot exist. Much less Masters and all that. So a knee breaker calls the little guy to shut me up. Won't work. I'm not sure what happens next. I think I have to see lawyers and stuff."

Spike nodded thoughtfully and picked at his lower lip. "I'll see what I can come up with. If the threat is real . . . not that I don't believe you. Heard the threats myself, didn't I? But is it an empty threat? Or will they really do something? Hmm. Timmins, tell Bruce to start training Xander in self defense. And get hold of my Solicitor and have him find out what's going on, what Xander has gotten himself mixed up in." Spike turned to Xander. "You do what Bruce tells you to. Learn as much as you can as fast as you can . . . damn that bloody Watcher. If he didn't have Buffy on the brain, he'd have trained you himself. Fuck."

Spike stormed out, leaving Xander blinking in his wake.

"Well, that was . . . different."

Timmins silently snarled and made the preparations Spike had ordered.

~ * ~

The next morning was interesting for Xander. First, he got espresso from his new machine, which was a treat. Second, he got a bodyguard. Third, Bruce came to get him for his morning workout. Since he'd been working out in the evening after going back to work, this confused him.

"But . . . I . . . you . . . Spike!" Xander's voice rose to a near whine.

Bruce just chivied him to the gym.

The first thing Bruce did was have Xander fight him, which turned out to be a disaster. Xander flailed, stumbled, and generally demonstrated his usual fighting style. Bruce eyed him, then snarled, "What is wrong with you? You've got excellent instincts but you . . . you act like you're afraid to fight, afraid not to and know you're going to get hurt no matter what."

Xander shrugged. "Got it in one."

"Excuse me?"

"My dad. Well, let's just say he'll never win father of the year. He'd smack me around and if I fought him, he'd smack me more. If I didn't fight him, I'm a sissy. And that ambidextrous thing messes me up, too. So yeah, no matter what I do, I know I'm gonna be hurting."

Bruce ground his teeth. Xander was the kindest, most loyal, biggest hearted person he'd met in a long time. The way his parents treated him made Bruce want to bite them.

"I know what you're thinking. Don't bother. You'll only get indigestion. Or alcohol poisoning. Now . . . I'm fucked up. How do we fix it? Oh, and I don't have to go in to work until further notice. So, I was thinking. I could work out an hour in the morning, have breakfast, do some translating I want to do. Then we could have another session in the afternoon. That leaves the evening for . . . um . . . things."

Bruce agreed with Xander and made mental notes to be sure that Xander had as many successes as possible early on. His self confidence was almost nonexistent.

"Good. I think an hour in the morning dedicated to learning forms, half an hour of Tai Chi, then shower, breakfast, and then on with the rest of your day is good. The afternoon sessions will be spent in combining forms and actual training in combat. Do you do any weapons?"

Xander shrugged. "Not too bad with an ax. But . . . I'd really like to learn to use a sword. Ok. Laugh now."

"Wouldn't dream of it. If you want to learn to use a sword, that's a good thing. I can teach you to use a katana. One somewhat like this one."

Xander gave him a blank look so Bruce went to a locker on the wall and took out a katana. Xander eeped. The thing was longer than he thought a sword ought to be.

"This is my personal sword. It is an odachi, longer than a katana by one shaku." At Xander's puzzled expression, he explained. "A foot. I'll go over the different swords and knives with you later. Right now I need to find you a sword. One that fits you. I never did understand this attitude you westerners have. You can't just grab a sword and use it. You need training, a great deal of it."

Xander started to object that he didn't have time for lengthy training but Bruce forestalled him.

"I know you need to learn something now. But I don't know anything about broadswords so I'll teach you what I know. There's a lot that is effective and easy to learn. I'll teach you the finer arts too, but later. So . . . sword."

Xander blinked for a second. "I don't know. Could we skip swords for right now? I think I need to learn more forms before anything else."

Bruce shrugged, tucked the sword back in the locker and returned to face Xander.

"Very well. I'm not going to insist. But we do need to work on your flinches. You've got an impressive set of them. How you . . . never mind. That you've survived this long, with that mess, fighting demons and vampires is astounding."

Xander gulped then forced the words through clenched teeth. "I can fight . . . just . . . my dad really . . . messed me up. You cure me and I'll . . . I don't know what. And I don't care how you do it. I'll do anything you say. You've helped me lots already. So, you say, I do. Let's get started."

Bruce took a stance and told Xander to take its mate. Xander stood in stance and Bruce started teaching him pushing. Each stance has an ‘answer', the object of pushing being to teach attacks and counters. Xander did very well and Bruce told him so. Xander flushed with pleasure.

Bruce demonstrated a form and led Xander through it several times until he had it right.

"Now do it one hundred times correctly. I'll keep count. And watch you for form. It's important to grind the feel of the movements into your muscles."

Xander thought for a second. "Like hammering in a nail. Do it enough and you can do it with one blow."

Bruce nodded. "Exactly. Can you do that?"

Xander shrugged. "Yeah, and I don't dimple the dry wall when I do it, either."

"Oh, well, that makes things a little easier. At least I know you're capable of doing this. It's just a matter of overcoming ingrained reactions."

Xander took up his beginning stance and started practicing. Bruce corrected him once or twice but was pleased to see that Xander had gotten the form down very well within the first ten repetitions.

Spike came in to see how Xander was doing. He stood and watched for several minutes then walked over to Bruce.

"How's he doing?"

Bruce didn't turn his head. "Well." He called to Xander. "That's fifty. Keep count yourself now. Master Spike wants me."

Xander grunted in acknowledgment and continued to work.

"Please forgive me, Master. I was counting his repetitions. It's very important to keep proper track. How may I help you?"

Spike rubbed his forehead. "First off, relax, I'm not gonna punish you for being insolent. Especially if you're working with Xander. Tell me how he's doing."

"Very well, in light of how he was trained. His father seems to be at the root of most of his problems. Or his friends. He could have been an excellent fighter, but no one trained him. And his father has destroyed his reflexes. His natural instincts are good, but every time he starts a good move, he flinches. He is going to have to do some real work to break himself of bad habits."

Spike muttered, "Soddin' fuck. I'm gonna kill him." Then he pinned Bruce with a stern glare. "Fix him."

Bruce bowed. "Yes, Master. My pleasure."

"How bad is it, really? And is there anything I can do?"

"Very bad. As to what you can do, you could work out with him a bit."

Spike considered this for a while then shrugged. He didn't mind working out with Xander; that gave him an excuse to touch him without getting him all fired up.

He watched Xander do his form for a moment. "Ok. That'll be good. Just . . . I don't want to make him look bad."

"You won't. I want him to practice throwing. He can't work out with most of the people . . . vampires that are available. They don't have the reflexes needed to be careful enough with him and I don't want them developing them. That would make them bad bodyguards. You won't hurt him by accident. Also, it'll help develop trust between you. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll need you. If that is acceptable."

"It is. Just don't wear him out too much."

Just then Xander exclaimed, "One hundred! Now what?" He turned to see Spike and grinned. "Hey. Workin' out here. See me, working out man. And what do I owe this pleasure to?"

Spike aimed an exasperated glare in Xander's general direction and snarled, "Shut it. Ya sound like an idiot. An' I'm here to check up on ya. You're doin' good so far but Bruce says you need a sparrin' partner. I'm it."

Xander gave Spike a deer in the headlights look and started stammering. "I . . . but . . . Spike . . . you . . . Buffy . . . you."

Spike blew up. "Damn it, whelp, shut it. Find a thread and follow it to some sort of sentence."

Xander took a deep breath, organized his thoughts and started again. "Spike, I don't know. I'm not even in your city, skill-wise. You nearly beat Buffy. I really think the only reason you lost is because you remembered you weren't supposed to fight her at all. I . . . I'd really rather you didn't break my bones. I'm tired of being laid up."

Spike reached out and gently caught Xander by the back of the neck. "I'm not gonna beat up on you. One of the reasons I'm a good choice is I'm a good fighter. I won't hurt you by accident. And if you mess up and hit me you won't hurt me. The other reason is . . . well, I wanna. ‘K?"

Xander shrugged. "Ok. What do we do first?"

Bruce took over and Spike and Xander spent the next hour working on pushing with each other. Spike was a bit bored but he was determined to keep his boy safe, and if that meant being bored, so be it.

So he pushed with Xander, taking it easy in order not to knock him over. Bruce watched, called instructions and corrections to Xander and marveled at Spike's expertise.

"Master, I didn't know you knew martial arts."

Spike shrugged. "Spent ten years in China. Killed me a Slayer there. Learned something about martial arts but a refresher wouldn't hurt. Work out with me."

Bruce bowed. "Of course. It would be an honor. At what time?"

"Right after Xander does his afternoon bit. That'll be convenient for both of us and maybe I can work off enough piss that I don't feel like killing every bugger that argues with me."

Bruce nodded and told Xander to go take a shower then get breakfast. He also reminded Xander that he needed to eat a good breakfast. Neither Bruce nor Spike noticed the sullen glower Xander gave them.

~ * ~

Breakfast for Xander was just not what he wanted. It was good. He had a very nice omelet with mushrooms, onions and ham, toast, juice and coffee. The only thing he really enjoyed was the coffee.

He wasn't ungrateful to Timmins for cooking for him, but he was feeling insecure with all the changes. He really wanted a breakfast of things he was used to. Like Cocoa Puffs with chocolate milk, Wonder Bread toast with grape jelly and coffee with sugar and cream. He was really tired of eating healthy, especially as most healthy food seemed to taste bland.

Xander decided to make a small road trip. He picked up his truck keys and headed for the door.

"Hey, Timmins, I'm going out for a little while. Be back in no more than two hours. ‘K?"

Timmins poked his head out of the laundry room. "Master Xander, you can't go out without a bodyguard. It'd be more than my skin is worth. Wait just a minute and I'll find someone to go with you."

Xander clenched his keys in his fist. He didn't need a guard.

Spike wandered by, smoking and grumbling. He looked up at Xander and remarked in a casual way that made Xander grind his teeth, "You waitin' for your bodyguard? Good on you, pet. See ya."

Xander gave Spike's retreating back a good glare and mumbled, "So not the boss of me. Don't care about that damn spell. I'll do what I want . . . just you try and stop me."

But he waited for the bodyguard anyway. He didn't want to get Timmins in trouble.

He was relieved to see that the demon sent to guard him looked amazingly human. The only thing that could give him away was his eyes, which were solid black, no whites. He hid them with sunglasses, which weren't that unusual in the sunny SoCal setting of Sunnydale.

Xander eyed him for a second. He eyed right back.

"Ok. I can tell you don't want me. But take it this way: If I don't go, Master Spike will do things to me that are really uncomfortable, to be polite about it. I'd rather put up with a sulky human than a pissed off High Master. So . . . you wanna go out? We go."

Xander rubbed his face. "Ok, point taken. I'm sorry. Come on. Oh, do you have a name that I can pronounce?"

"Sure. Just call me Bud. It's short for . . . well, it starts out Budaduhananuh. . . and goes downhill from there."

Xander led the way to his truck. "What's it mean, if it's not rude for me to ask?"

Bud climbed into the truck. "Not rude. In fact, it's considered rather arrogant not to ask. It means Youngest Warrior to Kill a . . . well, that's the part that you don't want to hear. It sounds sort of like a pig caught in a fence. Bad for human ears. It's a big bear like thing. I killed it when I was about your age."

Xander was concentrating on getting the truck out of the garage and into traffic so he asked before he thought. "How old are you?"

Bud made a face. "Now, that was rude."

Xander spared Bud a glance. "Sorry. What kind of demon are you? I might recognize the name. Might keep you from having to call a vendetta on me."

Bud snorted good naturedly. "I'm an Immah. But don't worry. I've been around humans long enough not to take offence unless it's intended. Pay attention!"

Xander did some fancy driving to avoid the SUV that cut him off. He also did some fancy swearing, in several demon languages, Spanish and English.

Bud grinned. "Well, a well-rounded man. What was that third language?"

"Babylonian."

Xander turned his attention to the traffic. Everybody on the road seemed to be demented. Xander realized what day it was.

"Well, shit. It's Saturday. I should have kept better track but I seem to be on overload right now. Everything is happening at once. Fuck. All I want is some snacks and . . . hey . . . there's a 7-11! I'll pull in there . . . um . . . you're not going to be all bodyguardy, are you? I don't want to attract a lot of attention. Just a quick in and out snack raid."

Bud eyed the store. "No, I'm not going to be all bodyguardy . . . is that a word?" Xander shrugged. "I'll just come in with you, like we're buddies. Just don't hand me anything. I can't get to a weapon if my hands are full of stuff."

Xander nodded. He could understand that.

They wandered into the store, looking like nothing more that a couple of friends picking up snacks and sodas. Xander took his time wandering up and down the isles.

Bud stopped to watch Xander from one corner of the store. It was easy to use the security mirrors to keep track of him without seeming to. Xander moved with unconscious grace and Bud wondered how he could be so clumsy when he was around Spike. He shrugged the thought off. He was just a bodyguard. It wasn't his business.

Xander gathered up his choices and went to the checkout. He was slightly amused and a little offended when the clerk carefully shut the bullet proof shield. He smiled and made a small ‘I'm harmless' gesture. The clerk efficiently scanned his purchases and took his money. She handed him his sack and watched as he left. She knew she'd offended him, but his broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms had made her nervous.

~ * ~

Xander parked his truck and thanked Bud for going with him. He watched a moment as Bud smiled at him, revealing teeth more pointed than a human's, then disappeared through the door to the mansion. Xander realized that it hadn't been that unpleasant to have him along.

He told Arnold he needed a small storage room. He used the excuse that he needed a place to put things that he didn't need every day at the site. He really did want to get some of the tools off his truck, but what he really wanted was a stash. A place he could hide things. It was ingrained in him to keep precious things out of sight.

Arnold showed him a small room off the garage proper and told him he could put his tools there. He also gave Xander a key which Xander assumed, for some reason, was the only one.

Xander moved some of his tools into the room, set up a work bench and spent a while just messing around. He also stashed his snacks, except for what he ate. He gobbled down several packages of Twinkies and Ho-Ho's, as well as some chips.

After stuffing himself with things that weren't good for him, Xander ambled into his office. I have an office? Fancy that. Xander settled at his desk, booted up his laptop, and started working on the scroll again. He also had an interesting book in cuneiform that he wanted to read.

He wondered idly what Spike was doing but decided that he kind of didn't want to know.

~ * ~

Spike followed Timmins to the level below the one Xander was working in. He wondered what the devil Timmins was up to now.

"Master. I hope I haven't displeased you. Your . . . our . . . supply of blood is so unreliable it's a disgrace. The last batch had to be destroyed. It was all contaminated with drugs and alcohol. If you like such a thing, that's different. But you said you didn't and neither do I. Since you . . . er . . . don't hunt, I thought this was a good compromise."

Timmins opened the door and showed Spike a small sitting room. Very well appointed with a fainting couch, coffee table, easy chair and desk. It looked very Victorian. Spike shuddered slightly.

"Well, who's this supposed to impress? It's awful. Reminds me of my granny's sitting room. And could you find any more chichi stuff? Every flat surface was covered with bits and pieces, figurines, bowls, vases of silk flowers and brass doodads.

Timmins shrugged. "Sometimes you have to give the masses what they expect before you can guide them in the way you want them to go."

Spike sighed. "Could we get to the point? Please. I'm hungry an' I don't wanna wait too long. So get on with it, will ya?"

Timmins nodded, crossed the room and opened a door on the other side. "Come this way."

Spike followed Timmins into what appeared to be a long hallway. The workmanship was so poor as to be dangerous. Spike eyed the shaky walls with displeasure.

"What the hell?"

Timmins let Spike through another doorway without comment.

Spike's jaw dropped. There had to be at least a dozen boys and men here. All of them standing in a row, watching him with a combination of fear and anticipation.

"There are also some girls and women in the other dormitory but these are the healthiest right now."

Spike stared at the humans for a moment then realized what Timmins had done. "That's where the fresh blood is coming from, isn't it? You've set me up a stable. Hell, this is great . . . or damn bad. Not sure which yet. Timmins, how am I supposed to bite them? Tell me that."

Timmins raised his head and turned it to the side, a submissive gesture that Spike hadn't seen in way too long. Spike snorted and repeated his question. Timmins lowered his head and looked Spike in the eyes.

"If you don't want to hurt them, I don't think the chip will punish you. You said it only . . . I believe you used the term ‘fired', when you tried to bite someone and you've always bitten to kill. I think if you just feed nothing will happen."

Spike considered. He'd always thought of the ‘little drink' as a poofter's excuse for being too afraid to kill. But now . . . he had way too much to lose to leave a trail of corpses and newbies. He bit at his lip as he watched the men standing, waiting, watching.

"So, how do we do this? I just pick one?"

Timmins nodded. "I've explained what is going to happen to them . . . I fed off one in the presence of the others. They're not going to get upset. I believe ‘freak out' is the term."

"You use the little drink? How do you keep from taking too much?"

Timmins thought, ‘this is going to get me punished'; he was sure of it. "Self control. You just take a certain amount and stop. If you roll them, most humans don't even remember it. They feel a little tired the next day but that's all. It takes a little longer to get full. Three or four humans are needed."

Spike pointed to a man. "Him." His choice was a big man, hard faced and square in the shoulders. He didn't look like he'd freak easily.

The man followed Spike, who followed Timmins into a near by room. It was rather clinical, with a barber's chair in the middle of it and behind that a tall stool on castors. It was excruciatingly clean. One of the reasons Spike felt nothing but contempt for what he called ‘the nibblers' was that they lived in filth.

The big man settled comfortably in the chair and Timmins tipped it back, showing Spike how it worked. Spike sat on the stool and scooted closer. He eyed the man, who eyed him back.

"If the chip fires an' you peach, you're dead."

"You're giving me three hot's and a cot. A second chance and something worth doing. I'm silent joe. Ok?"

Spike decided to get on with things and ask questions later. He thought for a moment then decided to break with tradition completely and feed from the arm instead of the neck. The blood would flow slower, giving him more control over how much he took.

He licked the bend of the man's elbow and then bit into the vein there. Nothing happened; the chip didn't even give him a twinge. He drank until Timmins patted him on the shoulder. He opened his mouth slowly, then licked the two pin prick marks until they stopped bleeding. Timmins stepped up and covered the scabbed over marks with a large bandaid.

Spike just sat back and waited as the man bowed carefully then left, walking slowly. Timmins went to the door and turned him over to someone on the other side, to be taken some place to recover, Spike assumed.

"Master? Are you all right? You're trembling."

Spike realized that he was. A slow tremor ran down his body, then another. He put one hand to his face and felt the tears he hadn't known were flowing until he smelt them. Timmins retreated to the hall to give Spike some privacy. This wasn't something anyone should see.

Spike stifled his sobs by biting into his own arm. He could feed. Not like he was used to, but he could eat, he could take care of himself. He didn't have to rely on the Watcher, the Scoobies, or anyone else. He gulped back the last of his tears, washed his face at the small sink in the corner and called Timmins.

"Master?"

"With the exception of my honor, Xander or a few books, you ask for it and it's yours. I mean it."

Timmins smiled happily. "I'll think on it. But for now, I'm just happy that it worked. I'll bring you another, shall I?"

Spike fed off two more men, easily stopping before he took too much. It was different from the nibblers, who fed without killing. At least, not immediately. Spike resolved to run the last of them out of town soon.

As they returned to the upper levels, Spike asked a few questions. The answers amazed him.

Timmins had been prowling the neighborhood to find people who, through different bad circumstances, were in trouble. He'd offered them help in exchange for being under a contract for one year.

Spike settled to read the contract for himself. It was an interesting document, full of blanks to be filled in to fit the individual. Generally it promised education, job training, rehabilitation or some other desirable but unattainable thing in return for: not using drugs, drinking to excess or smoking and giving one unit of blood every three weeks. It also contained some riders about reasons for breaking the contract, including ill health.

"Timmins. I don't like this rider. Take it out. If they get sick, it's not their fault. In fact, it'll probably be mine. So . . . don't bite the hand that feeds." Spike snickered at the same time Timmins did. "Bad choice of phrase but you know what I mean."

Timmins allowed that he did. And said that he'd have the lawyers on the revisions tomorrow.

~ * ~

For more information about the espresso maker: http://www.espressoimports.com/nuovasimonelli_victoria-arduino.html

If you're really interested in swords go here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katana#Classification_by_length