Xander slept for a while then woke, feeling worse than ever. He wondered what the hell Spike was up to but felt too bad to follow the thought for more than a second or two. He fell back into a sleep that rapidly worsened into unconsciousness.

Spike was on the phone for several minutes then he went to his office to send information to the Head of the Order of Taraka. Then he went to check on Xander again. Xander was asleep, but he wasn't resting. He kept flinching and twitching. Spike could tell that he was getting worse.

Timmins came into the room with a thermometer. "Master, the other things you asked for are here. The healer called, as well. He says that he'll be here at 6pm. He can't get here any sooner."

Spike snarled. Xander was sick and getting worse by the second. He'd hoped that draining the wound on his leg would fix this but it hadn't. There was still something in the wound but Spike was wise enough to realize that he wasn't up to doctoring a sick human, no matter what anyone said. He would have to wait for the healer.

While he waited, Spike took Xander's temperature and was dismayed to find that it was 103 degrees. This was not good. Spike tried another alcohol rub and it helped for a little while but Xander's temp was up again in no time. He was getting delirious.

Spike snarled; he didn't know what to do. He called the healer again and got his answering service. He left a message that the ‘bloody git' had better get there pronto, if his ‘boy' died there'd be hell to pay. The lady on the other end of the line just said ‘Yes, Master Spike' in a rather bored tone of voice and promised to pass on the message verbatim.

The healer arrived less than an hour later, took one look at Xander and demanded to know when Spike had intended to tell him that the boy had an infection.

"Told you he got cut. Why would I want you for a simple cut?"

"Well, you have a point. Now show me the injury. Do you have any idea how long ago it happened? Or . . . ." At Spike's sharp and very annoyed look the healer snapped his mouth shut.

Spike wrestled Xander onto his belly and stripped him again. Getting the shorts on him had been difficult enough. Getting them off and back on again probably wasn't going to be any fun at all.

The healer took one look at the ragged cut on the back of Xander's thigh and sighed. "Well, it's badly infected. Why didn't you do something about it earlier?"

"Didn't know about it, now did I? I'd ‘a done something if I had. Boy's too used to hiding his pains. ‘Rents are bad people. He got hurt at work." Spike pinned the healer with a stony glare. "I take care of what's mine. So fix him."

Xander moaned softly. He was shivering. Spike snarled at the healer, "Will you get on with it?"

After examining the cut and grumbling about foreign matter in the wound, the healer declared himself ready to start.

"Master Spike, you need to hold him still while I clean out the wound. It has to be clean before I heal it or it'll just become re-infected.

Spike settled Xander across his lap, covering his back and shoulders with a fold of the comforter. He was so hot that, to Spike's vampiric coolness, he felt like he was on fire.

"Oi, and what the hell is your name? Come in here without an intro. Can't keep callin' you ‘healer', now can I?"

"My name is Josiah. I thought you knew it."

"No, just called the service and told them to send someone along. What now?"

Healer Josiah examined the gouge in Xander's thigh with disgust. "There's definitely something in here." He produced a magnifying glass and used it to find the foreign object. "Sliver of wood . . . and a piece of what looks like metal shaving. Not good. Plenty of infection in here."

He put down the magnifying glass and rummaged in his bag. He took out a thing, Spike didn't recognize it and didn't particularly want to, and poked at Xander. Xander tried to rear up but Spike pinned him down. Josiah continued to prod and poke Xander, then sighed.

"I'll do a spell to heal the wound, but I can't do anything about the systemic infection. That'll have to be treated with antibiotics. And he's going to be difficult to treat because he's really run down. I don't know why you vamps want human pets when you don't know how to take care of them."

Spike bristled. "He's a thrall. His condition is his own fault. He's only been mine about a week. You write up stuff on how to take care of him, I'll follow it. I want him healthy."

"I see. Um . . . not my business but how did you wind up with one of the Slayer's friends as a pet? She's liable to stake you, and whoever did the spell."

Spike smirked at Josiah. "Willow Rosenberg did the spell. She's a very powerful Wicca. Slayer's gonna have a fit when she finds out. But she can't do anything. Time limit on the cancel spell ran out last night. If she or anyone tries to break it, it'll kill him. And me, but they wouldn't care much about that. And if I die, he dies."

Josiah made a face. "I see. And what did he do to the witch to make her that mad at him? If it's any business of mine."

Spike stuck the first thorn in the Scoobies' collective sides. "Nothing. They don't value him like they should. Don't respect him. So they screwed up and I'm benefiting from it. Big time. Now, fix him."

After a long healing chant and a lecture on taking care of his pet, Healer Josiah handed several pages of instructions to Spike and told him to call if Xander's fever didn't break in the night. He also handed Spike three bottles of pills, telling him what each one was for and how often Xander was to have them.

Spike eyed the bottles with sour disfavor. "You know I'm not gonna be able to get that boy to take these, don't you? He's unconscious, you git."

"He's your pet. How you get them into him is up to you."

"Not my pet, I told you. He's a thrall. Big difference."

The healer shrugged, allowed that to a vampire maybe there was a difference but he didn't see it. Then he left, taking his stinky herbs and rattles with him.

Spike snarled and called Timmins. "How in hell are we going to get these pills down Xander's throat?"

Timmins regarded his feverish and restless young Master. "It should be interesting."

"Interesting, my arse. It's fucking impossible! Especially if I offer them." Spike sighed. "But it's gotta be done."

Timmins fetched a glass of water and tried to get Xander to swallow the capsules. They stuck to his tongue, then he spit them out. He didn't exactly fight, but he wasn't cooperative. Spike swore, tossed the first dose then put the pills in Xander's mouth by force. He ordered Xander to swallow, which he did. But he threw the medicine back up almost at once.

~ * ~

After the pills, things went from bad to worse. Xander thrashed and moaned. Spike was beside himself. Everything he knew about medicine he'd learned when his Mother was sick. That was more than a hundred years ago, and he didn't think leeching was going to do Xander much good. The rest of the healing arts he knew, he'd learned for or from Drusilla. Since Xander wasn't a vampire, that wasn't going to be any help either.

"Grammy? Grammy. I feel . . . so bad. Grammy? Can I help in the garden? Please."

Spike listened with some interest to Xander's feverish ramblings. He was learning something in the process of caring for Xander.

Spike smoothed Xander's hair off a sweaty forehead and whispered softly. "Sure, pet. You can help in the garden."

"Grammy. It's all ruined. Dad mowed over it. I tried . . . I did."

Spike got on the bed and gathered Xander into his arms. "Hush . . . it's okay. I know you did. Rest now."

Xander tossed restlessly, hot as a furnace. Spike called Timmins to bring cool water and a cloth. Timmins showed up at once.

"Sir. He's really bad. Should I call the healer again?"

Spike sighed. "If the fever hasn't broken by midnight, I think you'd better."

~ * ~

Xander tossed and moaned, Spike wrestled him under the covers. Xander wrestled himself back out. Spike pinned him down, Xander struggled like his life depended on it.

Xander babbled about his grandmother's garden and cried because it was ruined. Something about mowing over the roses. Spike sighed and called Timmins to fetch more cold water.

He arranged Xander on the bed and was a bit relieved when the boy just lay there. Spike dipped the washcloth in the bowl of cold water and squeezed it out. Folding the cloth, he ran it over Xander's chest, noticing as he did so that Xander wasn't a skinny kid anymore.

Spike continued running the cloth over Xander, down his chest, across his abdomen, then down each arm. He couldn't help noticing that Xander had a respectable six pack and biceps like rocks. He also couldn't help noticing that his temperature was going up instead of down.

In disgust he decided to call Joyce. He didn't want to bother her because she was still sick from the operation, but he was running out of ideas. He got the damn answering machine and that was when he found out how Buffy had managed to settle going to the Wicca group with her conscience. Joyce and Dawn were in France with a tour group from the gallery. He swore and hung up. No sense calling Giles, he was in Chicago. He tried Mrs. Rosenberg and was assured that his call was important and would be answered as soon as possible. Snarling, he refrained from throwing the cell at the wall. Instead he called Willow's cell.

He got some girl he didn't know. She answered with "Miss Rosenberg is in a Wicca group sensitivity training session. How may I help you?"

"My boy's sick. I need to talk to her as soon as possible. Where is she? Why are you answering her phone?"

The perky voice that answered back grated on his already frayed nerves like sandpaper. "She's incommunicado until further notice. I'll be glad to give her your message as soon as she's out of her meeting. Someone's sick?"

"Yeah." Spike shut his phone and literally growled at it.

At the retreat, the receptionist wrote a note for Willow and pinned it to the message board with a toothpick. (They were out of stick pins again.) She never noticed the breeze that playfully plucked the note off the board and wafted it under the nearby couch.

~ * ~

Spike spent the better part of the next three hours wiping Xander down with cold cloths. He put an ice pack on his forehead and alcohol in the water. Nothing worked, Xander just got worse. Every attempt to get pills down him resulted in projectile vomiting. Xander would swallow on command but it came back up again. Spike worried about that too; dehydration was becoming a real possibility.

Xander didn't respond to anything Spike said to him, only moaned once or twice. He was deteriorating rapidly. The systemic infection was running rampant through his body, his immune system finally taking revenge for his poor diet and over-work. Timmins just handed Spike his phone with the service already keyed in. Spike punched send and jittered in place as the phone rang.

"Healers Clinic. How may I . . ."

"Shut the fuck up and send that Josiah back. Boy's sicker than ever. Keeps throwin' up the pills. And his temp is up."

"Sir, who is this? What boy? Please calm down. If we're to help you, I need details."

Spike snarled. At one time, any service in the underworld would have recognized his voice. "Spike. Xander isn't any better." The female made an enquiring noise. "Human male. Infected cut, back of thigh. Systemic infection. Josiah healed the cut but said the systemic infection would have to be treated with antibiotics. But the boy keeps throwin' them back up. Send him."

"I see. Healer Josiah will be right there. He went off duty about an hour ago, so he's at home. It should only take him . . . fifteen minutes to get there from where he is." The female rang off and Spike pocketed his phone with a growl. Xander wasn't going to die. Spike refused to let him.

When the healer got to the apartment Timmins let him in with the caution that Master William was in a very bad mood. The healer gave him a blank look. "I thought his name was Spike."

"Oh, it is. Master William doesn't just call himself William the Bloody anymore. He also uses the name Spike. But I wouldn't recommend calling him that. It's reserved for friends. Now, to the bad part. Young Master Xander doesn't seem to be able to keep the antibiotics down."

Josiah entered the bedroom just in time to see Spike wiping Xander down again. Xander was limp and Spike had him braced against his chest, running the cool cloth over his back. Spike looked up from what he was doing and snarled, "Fix him. He's only getting worse."

So the healer went over the symptoms with Spike again. He asked every question again. Then he sighed. "I'm not sure what's wrong. Unless he's mildly allergic to penicillin? Could be."

Spike sighed. "Don't ask me. I have no idea what he's allergic to. Except . . . possibly me. So, what do we do now?"

Josiah took an ankh out of his bag and looked through the hoop at Xander. "Yup. He's allergic to penicillin. Not badly, just enough to make it come right back up. I'll prescribe something else. Just give me a sec to check to see what I have with me. The painkillers are okay. Just the antibiotic . . . " he mumbled off as he rummaged around in his bag.

When he produced an IV setup, Spike refused to allow it.

"How do you expect to get antibiotics into him now? He can't swallow the capsules; they're too big and they only come in that size. He'll die on you, sure as check."

Spike raged around the room, snarling and kicking the furniture. Xander whimpered in fear, Spike's fury penetrating his fevered brain. Spike stopped cold.

"All right. Just . . . what do I do?"

Josiah taped Xander's arm to a brace, then he deftly inserted the needle and taped it in place.

"I'll inject the medicine in this bag. All you have to do is make sure he doesn't pull out the needle. The next bag is easy to hook up. I'll show you how in a moment. Put the medicine in the bag through this port. Switch it out and pray. I checked. His immune system is so weak he's just not fighting off the infection like he should."

Spike clenched his teeth. Xander's diet was a standing joke amongst the Scooby gang. He hadn't realized that it was actually bad for his health.

Spike stared at the healer with stony eyes. He wanted his boy well and he wanted it now. He knew the healer was doing all he could, but the combined frustration of his inability to contact any of the Scoobies and Xander's deteriorating condition was making him dangerous. He grabbed at the remaining rags of his patience and held on.

"I'm going to have to tape his arm to this splint. Otherwise, he's going to pull the needle out. I've left written instructions on the night stand. If you have any further trouble call me. I know how you vamps are about your ‘thralls'." The healer's quotes were evident in his voice.

"Fine. Just stay near your phone in case I need you again."

Spike picked up the cloth, dipped it in the basin, and started wiping Xander down again.

"That's good. That water has alcohol in it?" Spike just grunted. "Good. Keep that up and his fever should break in no time at all. He'll sweat like a pig. But it may take several sweats to break permanently. The antibiotics should take effect within three hours."

Josiah gathered up his trash and left to give Timmins instructions. Spike continued to wipe Xander with his cool cloth. If the temperature didn't break soon, Xander was in serious trouble. High fevers could lead to brain damage and heart and kidney problems. Xander had enough troubles without that.

Timmins entered and took the basin of warming water away. He returned with a new one, handed it to Spike and waited for further orders.

When none were forthcoming, he stationed himself by the door, quietly watching Spike handle Xander. For all his snarking, he was astonishingly gentle with the human.

~ * ~

Xander's fever broke for the first time at midnight. He was lucid enough to ask for Giles or Willow and when Spike explained that he couldn't get hold of anyone his disappointment was evident. Spike refrained from pointing out that he, Spike, was taking care of Xander. When a person was sick, they were bound to be unreasonable.

Xander's fever returned within the hour and he was just as sick as ever. And twice as combative. The IV needle had shifted somehow and was causing him pain. Spike suspected it was due to his inexpert mauling as he changed the IV bag.

It didn't make any difference to Xander. All he knew was it hurt and he wanted it out. After his fifth attempt to remove it made the insertion point bleed, Spike pinned him down and held him. That was when Spike realized that Xander was a lot stronger than anyone suspected. All that construction work had exercised his muscles. Spike had trouble holding him without bruising him. He finally stripped down and crawled in the bed behind Xander. He clasped each of Xander's wrists in a hand and pulled his arms crossed over his chest. He wrapped his legs around Xander's thighs and just held him.

Timmins hesitantly asked if he should continue to wipe Xander down. Spike thought for a moment then nodded grudgingly. He realized that the idea of Timmins touching Xander annoyed him. ‘Well, that's different, innit?'

Spike struggled with Xander for what seemed like days. His fever broke, he sweated through the sheets, Timmins changed them while Spike held Xander on his lap in the chair. Then it started all over again. Each time Xander woke to reality he asked for Willow, or Giles. Each time Spike told him they couldn't come to him Xander's disappointment gouged at Spike's unbeating heart.

The boy had such simple wants, it hurt not to be able to grant them. Spike called the retreat again. He got a different, equally perky voice. This time he demanded to talk directly to any of the three girls. He was told in no uncertain terms that it was three in the morning and that was impossible. He snarled and snapped the phone shut, never thinking to leave another message. His first one hadn't gotten any results. It never occurred to him it could have gone astray.

Spike struggled grimly with the thought that his boy might die. He didn't like it at all. He could Change him, but that was exactly what would happen. Xander would change. He wanted Xander, not some unruly fledge with Xander's face. A proper Change took time, a thing that the Old Master had never understood, Angelus had never had patience for and Drusilla had accomplished without a thought.

So Spike wrestled with Xander, keeping him in bed. Keeping him from pulling the IV out. Holding and comforting him as best he could when Xander called for Willow or Giles. Petting and soothing him when he dreamed of his parents.

This last was hard. Spike remembered his mother with a love that Watchers said was impossible for a soulless vampire. Spike wondered if the oriental people might be right. They said that love resided in the liver. All he knew was that he did love, with all of whatever a person loved with. So he couldn't understand not loving your own child.

When Xander's fever broke for the last time, Spike was relieved. Until the chills started. Spike let out a snarl of pure frustration. How the hell could he cure his boy if he kept changing the rules on him?

Xander was lucid enough by now to know that Spike was trying to help him. He started apologizing the minute Spike snarled.

"Sorry . . . sorry. I know I'm being a giant pain in the ass . . . just . . . call Wills. She'll come . . . or Giles. He'll fix me . . . sorry. I'm sorry."

Spike snarled again. "Shut the hell up. I called all of them. The girls are at some Wicca retreat and Giles is in Chicago. Giles can't get back and I can't get the bints to even come to the phone. Come here, you git. Cover up."

Xander subsided on the bed, whimpering as he shivered convulsively.

"I'm so cold. C-c-c-cold. S-s-s-ooo damn cold. Spike . . . c-c-c-can I h-h-h-have another blanket? P-p-p-p-please?"

Spike motioned to Timmins to put another blanket on the bed. He was staying put. He had Xander where he could get hold of him if he went delirious again and tried to pull out the IV. Timmins tossed another blanket on the bed and wished for an electric one.

Xander drifted in and out of something between sleep and unconsciousness for the greater part of the morning. He alternately chilled and sweated. A call to the healer relieved Spike's mind when Josiah told him that was a sign that Xander was getting better. Spike knew he should get out of the bed but holding Xander was astonishingly nice. He knew his ulterior motives would surprise everyone. Perhaps including himself.
Xander shivered convulsively for such a long time that Spike began to worry again. He also apologized compulsively.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a pain. I'll be better soon. I'd get better if Willow was here. I . . ."

"Shut up, you git." Spike pulled Xander to his chest. Xander struggled weakly for a second, then gave it up as a bad job and just settled down.

"I wish I could get warm. If I could get really warm, I'd be better. It's stupid, but just . . . cuddle me? Please? Don't laugh, okay?"

Spike cuddled Xander. "I won't laugh. What's a little cuddle between master and thrall, after all?" Spike knew Xander wouldn't understand just yet. But he was planting seeds for future sprouting.

"I wish you'd call Willow. Please? I don't mean to be a pest, but she'd come. I'm sure of it. Please?"

So Spike called, handed the phone to Xander and waited while he dealt with the receptionist. Xander didn't have any better luck than Spike had. He got the same runaround, left a message and dissolved into tears.

Spike wrapped his arms around Xander and held him while he sniffled. Then he handed Xander a tissue and waited while he got himself under control.

"Sorry . . . I . . . sorry . . . I shouldn't . . . I just can't stop shivering. I'm . . . sorry. I just want to be warm again."

Spike sighed, pulled Xander into his embrace again, and did some apologizing of his own. "I'm sorry too, pet. I have no warmth to give you. But, I take care of what's mine. Remember that. No matter what it takes. No matter if you hate me for it, I'll keep you safe in this world you've fallen into."

Xander muzzily wondered what the hell Spike was on about, then fell asleep again.

~ * ~

The next time Xander woke he panicked completely. He was going to be late for work. He lunged out of bed and wound up on the floor. He couldn't believe how weak he felt.

Spike charged into the room, gamefaced and ready to fight. When he saw Xander on the floor he pitched a fit.

"You stupid wanker, what the hell do you think you're doing? Get back in that bed, now."

Xander struggled to obey, then wondered why he was. He decided that, weak as he was, it was a good idea. So he struggled onto the bed while Spike held the covers for him.

But he didn't stop complaining. "Spike, I got to get to work. I can't afford to lose this job. How'll I pay my part of the rent if I don't have a job?" Xander pouted. He wouldn't have called it pouting, of course. "I like my job. I'm good at it. It's the only thing I am good at. Please. Let me up. And why am I still in bed? I want up. Spike, what have you done to me?"

Xander was on the verge of a very real freak out. Spike decided that, even though Xander was still really sick and weak, he'd better explain some things now. Xander wouldn't calm down until he did.

"Xander, calm down. There's some things I have to explain to you. I was hoping not to have to do it just yet, but you asked and I'll answer.

"First, don't worry about your job. You're on sick leave until further notice. I didn't know about it, but Timmins called you in and faxed over a doctor's note. You're entitled to sick pay until you're well and we could sue. You got injured on the job saving the company a shit load of money. Don't worry about it."

Xander settled back in the bed with a sigh. Spike decided that Xander was going to keep his job no matter what. If it meant that much to the boy, it was a done deal.

"And, second . . . shit . . . I hate to tell you this. I wasn't for quite a while. I wanted to enjoy . . . well, never mind that." Spike realized that he wasn't looking forward to Xander's reaction to the next bit of news.

"You remember that ‘friendship' spell Red worked on us?" Xander got a scared look in his eyes and nodded, biting at his lip. "Wasn't a friendship spell. It was a Thralian thrall spell. I gave the Watcher all the notes and looked the spell over myself. It was from Mim's Spell book." Xander groaned softly. "Yeah . . . well . . . you're my thrall. You have to obey me when I give you a command in Master's Voice. You can't resist."

Xander pulled the covers up to his chin, shaking his head in denial. "No. Not possible. Willow wouldn't do that to me. She's my bestest bud. You're lying."

Spike just sighed. "Sorry, pet. She means well. But her magic isn't . . . experienced. Whatever. And she doesn't translate things all that well. How the Watcher thinks she is such a great translator is beyond me." Spike dismissed Xander's guilty look. "So, I guess proof is in order."

Xander shuddered. Spike would lie at the drop of a hat. He caused trouble for the fun of it. But somehow Xander knew Spike was telling him the truth. He didn't want to believe it.

"I know you won't believe it without proof so . . . Uncover yourself. Now!"

Xander tried to resist the command but he found himself tossing the covers aside. He realized that he was naked under the covers and flushed heavily.

"Well, well, I got myself a real stud. Cover up. You'll be cold again."

Xander just lay staring at Spike with dilated eyes. He shook his head. "No. Willow wouldn't . . . she couldn't . . . I . . . you . . . oh, god."

Xander covered his face with shaking hands and started to cry weakly. He felt so bad still and this was just too much to handle.

"How could she? She knows that Mim's is a joke. Who ever said that Mim's was any good must have been dumber than me. All the spells in that book are fucked up. That guy Mim was an idiot."

Spike sat down on the edge of the bed. "No, Mim hated humans. He wrote that book as a . . . booby trap, if you will. He just mistranslated parts of the spells from the originals. If you check different references, you'll see that each spell is real. It just doesn't do what he says it will. And Red substituted like mad."

Xander groaned. "She's always doing that. I told her and told her. One substitution won't make that much difference, but when you make several there's no telling what might happen. What was the spell supposed to do?"

Spike sighed, this was the part he wasn't looking forward to.

"Well, it's a perverted love spell. Don't get your knickers in a twist. Not that kind of pervert." Xander relaxed again, sort of. "The spelled is supposed to adore the speller. But since it was cast by a third party, who the hell knows? Especially with some of the substitutions Red used. I have to study the thing. But I can tell you this: It can't be broken. If they try, both of us will die. If I die, you die. If you die . . . I'm not sure, but it won't be pretty."

Xander blinked a few times. "Well, shit . . . I didn't know there was a thrall spell without an escape clause of some sort."

Spike wished for a cigarette but wouldn't smoke around Xander while he was sick. This was the part that was going to hurt the boy the most. "There was one. But between the substitutions and Mim's perverted sense of humor, it only lasted about a week. If the Watcher had checked over the notes like I asked him or if Red hadn't been so hot at hand, we – and I do mean we – wouldn't be in this mess. So . . ."

Xander just lay back and covered his head with the sheet. "Go away, Spike. I know we're stuck with each other forever, but . . . just . . . go away. I feel like hell and this isn't . . . just go."

Spike decided to take the coward's way out and go.

~ * ~

He didn't go far or stay away very long. He left Xander to get himself back together then went back in to see if Xander thought he could eat some broth. Xander had quickly cried himself out and was blowing his nose on a handful of tissues.

"No, I don't want any. I hate broth. . . . oh. . . . but . .. pudding. I could go for some chocolate pudding. Creamy, rich, yummy chocolate."

Spike rolled his eyes. "It's a wonder you don't smell like chocolate, as much as you eat of it. I'll see what Timmins can come up with. But your diet is going to change. Big time. You got sick partly because you don't eat right."

Xander made a face. "I don't eat right because I can't cook. All I get is fast food or cereal. So don't go makin' with that face at me. You don't like the way I eat, change the way I cook."

Spike just shrugged. "Timmins will cook from now on. You've been eatin' his cooking for the last week. Like most of what he cooked, didn't ya?"

Xander settled wearily back in the bed. "Look. I feel like I've been run over by a Tralka demon. I don't like anything I've heard in the last four hours. Just hand me food, I'll eat it. I'm not that particular, no matter what anyone says. If it's not rotten, I'll eat it. Just make sure it's not moldy."

Xander was asleep before Spike could tell him that he'd never feed him moldy food. Then he realized what Xander was really saying and swore. In other words, he was picky about eating green things because green usually meant moldy. Spike wondered if he could get into the house and eat Xander parents. The chip shouldn't cause trouble, they obviously weren't human.

He told Timmins to see about Xander's diet. Timmins just handed him a mug of warm blood and nodded.

~ * ~

Spike took the opportunity to shower, change into comfortable sweats and get some sleep. Timmins knew to wake him if Xander so much as twitched.

Spike slept himself out and rose to greet the night with a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd been on a diet of pig blood so long that rich human stuff made him logy until he digested it. He didn't like the way the preservative in the bagged stuff tasted either and it made him queasy. Between the two sensations he usually woke in a bad mood. He really wished he could dine the way the Eldest did. But what with the chip and one thing and another, he didn't see how it was possible.

Timmins handed him a bicarbonate of soda and a cup of tea. Spike took the bicarb and gulped it down with a grimace. The tea failed to take all the taste out of his mouth. He sipped it and settled in his favorite chair.

"How's Xander?"

"Sleeping, still . . . Sir?" Spike raised and enquiring eyebrow. "Is something wrong with your blood? You make such a face."

Spike explained about the taste of the sodium heparin and how it upset his stomach. Timmins nodded his understanding.

"Just so, sir. I find the taste objectionable as well. Perhaps there is something to be done?"

Spike snarled. ‘The only thing to be done is get blood direct from the tap. And I can't. You know about that damn chip?" Timmins nodded. "Can't bite. Can't fight. Not humans, at any rate. Demons, yeah. And demon blood is good. But it's not human and there's something in human blood that I crave and can't get anywhere else."

Timmins thought for a moment. "Perhaps the micro nutrients. Those trace elements. The balance isn't right in anything but human blood. I'll see what I can do about procuring something better. Let me think about it."

Spike nodded his acceptance and thanked his unlucky stars that he'd found Timmins. He was well on the way to rebuilding his court. And without Drusilla to cause her usual problems, this time he was going to have peace and quiet when he wanted it. And his court wasn't going to produce the usual surfeit of useless, moronic newbies that mobbed the Hellmouth like cockroaches. One of the reasons he was here was the Order wanted to know how they were produced.

After snarling in disgust, he called his immediate superior in the Order. He was supposed to have called again last night. When he reached the High Master, he was told that his request was taken under advisement. They would check up on the substitutions and see what they could come up with. However, the demon didn't offer much hope. He ended the conversation by saying, "We'll have new orders for you next week at the latest, probably much sooner. This affair with the human is nothing. You are a Master of the Order and it's time you lived up to your responsibilities. You kept Drusilla out of trouble for most of a hundred years. That's all we can expect of you in that respect, but you still have obligations that you must fulfill. Especially as you are the Master of your line now."

Spike spluttered and swore but the demon had already hung up. Spike allowed temper to get the best of him and hurled his cell phone into the wall. It promptly shattered into bits, which Spike had to duck.

Timmins stuck his head in the door then withdrew it. He wasn't willing to brave William the Bloody in a temper. He knew way too much about Master Vampires and their tempers.

Spike snarled around for a few moments muttering about ‘obligations, my arse' and taking his ire out on the concrete walls. He calmed himself down and went to check on Xander.

~ * ~

Xander was suspended in the world between sleep and waking where he was happy again. Grammy was there, showing him how to grow her beloved flowers and herbs. The garden was its old riot of colors and scents. Xander knelt on the crushed gravel walk, clippers in hand, snipping off sprigs of thyme for the lamb roast she was going to fix for supper.

The roses were just beginning to bloom and honeysuckle was sending out tender new shoots. He was going to plant pansies next. He loved this garden; it was a refuge from the constant fighting.

The fighting was getting worse as his dad and mom got drunk more and more often. Grammy threatened to throw them out. They threatened to take Xander and go. Xander crouched behind the couch or in the closet. He couldn't stand the screaming.

Spike noticed that Xander's eyes were flicking back and forth behind his lids. He was making soft whimpering sounds. Only a few moments before he'd been smiling in his sleep. Spike slipped into the bed behind Xander and pulled his twitching body against his cool chest.

"Hey, sleepy head. Wake up. You're havin' a bad dream. Come on, boy, up and at ‘em."

Xander came awake with a start, which pulled at the IV in his arm. That made it bleed, and him grunt at the sharp pain of the needle twisting in his flesh. The tape didn't help any, either. It was bunched up in the bend of his elbow and it pinched. He tried to stifle the yelp but didn't quite succeed.

Spike petted him for a moment. "What? . . . What hurts? I'll fix it if I can."

"The needle . . . and the tape. And . . . all of me. What exactly happened? I remember . . . you washing me . . . only . . . and someone chanting? Spike . . ." Xander picked irritably at the tape and got his hand smacked.

"Leave it. I'll take the IV out when the healer tells me it's okay. Or rather he will. Starting at the beginning. You cut yourself somehow or other. It got infected, which got into your system. You got a fever . . . and let me tell you. The next time you don't take care of yourself, I'll whip you bloody. Get me?" Xander got a funny look on his face, nodded stiffly then hung his head. "Good. So, the infection from your leg got into your system so the healer couldn't do anything about it. He healed the cut." Xander groped himself, searching for the cut. "Stop that. It's healed, I said. But he couldn't do anything for the systemic infection. That's why you feel so bad. I read his notes. They say you could be laid up for as much as two weeks. Not my idea of fun, nursin' you. So you better stay in bed and get well real quick. Timmins will bring you some food. Eat it."

Spike got up and started to leave, but Xander's soft ‘Stay a while? Please?' made him sit back down, this time in the chair by the bed.

"Okay, I'll stay a while. What do you need?"

Xander picked at the coverlet for a moment. "Nothing, really. I just . . . Willow ever call? Or Giles?"

Spike watched as Xander's big heart broke. "No. The bints are in a Wicca retreat. I'm gonna go up there and eat someone. I left a message. No one answered. I'd think that Red would at least call to see what's what. And Giles is in Chicago. I really can't see that he could be of any help from there. Mrs. Rosenberg tried but she thought it was flu. So did I until I saw that cut. Stupid git. You could have died. Next time you get wounded, let me know. I'll either nurse it or call a healer."

Xander just nodded and scrooched down in the bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin and settled down to try to sleep again.

"Tell me about your granny's garden."

Xander gave Spike a surprised look, then shrugged and started talking. He told Spike about how the house belonged to his grandmother. When the Harrises had moved in his father had taken it into his head to buy a swimming pool but there was no place to put it because of the cottage garden. So he hated it. But Grammy hadn't budged, the garden stayed.

He told Spike about how much he'd loved that garden and all he could remember about it. What plants had been in it and how his father had sprayed the paths of mother of thyme and killed it all. How he'd managed to save most of the garden by sheer stubbornness. But he'd been off Scoobying and the old man had mown over it while he was gone.

"So, no more garden. The roses are all gone, nothing left but stubs. I . . . Spike . . . I know you think I'm a big baby, but just go, okay? . . . I want to . . . don't you dare laugh."

Spike nearly cried himself. It wasn't that much to want. Just a bit of earth to call his own with a flower or two. He got an idea that he knew would please Xander. All he had to do was figure out how to do it.

~ * ~

Spike left Xander sleeping and Timmins keeping an eye on him.

He climbed into his new car and headed for the Harris residence. He enjoyed the trip now that he had a decent car to drive. The car wasn't what anyone would have expected for him. He knew everyone would expect him to drive something hot, small and uncomfortable. Or a Hummer or something. But not him. He was driving a Mercedes-Benz Cl-65 AMG. It had a hand built V-12 engine that generated 604 hp. His taste had always been influenced by first Angelus, then Dru. Now that he was out from under both of them he realized that he liked his comforts.

And this car was comfortable: tinted windows, huge trunk, comfy interior. And it was a beast, 0-65 in 4.7 seconds. He smirked to himself. Cordelia would be livid. He wondered what kind of car Xander wanted.

He sighed as he pulled up in front of the house. It was nearly derelict, much worse than when he'd been a ‘guest' in the basement. He didn't ever remember paying much attention to the back yard. He surely didn't remember a garden. Especially a cottage garden.

After reconnoitering, he slipped into the basement, through the house, and up to the room Xander had told him his grandmother stayed in. Through the window he saw the garden, or what was left of it.

It had been mowed down, all right. Spike hoped that Tony had ruined his lawn mower. The roses had been large bushes. He eyed the resultant ruin with disgust. Dipping a hand in his duster, he pulled out a watercolor box and rummaged in a nearby desk for a decent piece of paper to paint on.

Resting the box on his knee, he outlined the garden by color, painting the urn in the middle as a large grey blob. Then he painted the paths and just colored in the sections with blobs of color. After he waved the painting to dry the colors, he used his fountain pen to write in the names of plants that he recognized. It didn't take him long and the snoring of Xander's mom sleeping in the nearby bed didn't bother him at all.

He took the time to explore the house a little. Xander's room still smelled like him. He rummaged in the closet and found an access hatch to the attic. Insatiably curious, he pushed it up and stuck his head in.

What he found didn't surprise him all that much. He lifted the box down and opened it. Inside was a collection of odds and ends, things a small boy might consider treasures. Spike tucked it under his arm and continued his explorations.

He gathered every bottle of liquor he could find and dumped it down the sink. He left the bottles on the kitchen table. He searched the house from top to bottom looking for anything that belonged to Xander. He'd know by the smell. And he did find some things.

He wasn't sure why some of the stuff smelled so strongly of Xander, but they did, so he took them. There was so much stuff that Spike pulled a humpbacked trunk from the old lady's closet and opened it. It was half full of things so Spike just dumped his finds in on top, then he saw the antique linens on the shelf in that closet and snitched them for himself. He shut the trunk, hoisted it onto one shoulder and left.

******vignette******

Buffy grumbled under her breath. She hadn't bargained for being cut off from the outside world for the whole of the weekend. But here she was in a Wicca sensitivity training session, which bored her silly. Excuse me . . . Slayer here?

Tara had her eyes locked on the speaker with an intensity that was absolute and Willow was no better. Neither of the witches seemed disturbed that they were cut off except for declared emergencies. Whatever that meant.

******************

Spike stuffed the trunk into his closet and told Timmins to unpack it when Xander was better. Then promptly forgot all about it.

Xander demanded to know where he'd been, so Spike showed him the rather soppy water color he'd done of the garden. Xander eyed it for a second then took it.

"Well, I didn't know you even knew what a water color was. This is . . ."

Spike snorted. "I had to use spit for water. My teacher would roll in his grave, if he had one, that is. But I was properly educated, no matter what Peaches thought of it. And had the Grand Tour as well, twice . . . um . . . once after I was turned. Not that that makes much difference." Spike rolled his eyes. "And you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Xander snorted. "Do too. Grand Tour of the Continent. Every young gentleman did it. If their family could afford it. You that well off?"

"Yeah, family had money. Minor nobility. We just didn't have a residence. Mother hated big houses, she grew up in one. Didn't like having to supervise a bunch of servants. I had just come back from my tour when Dru worked her magic. So. I'll do you a better one later."

Xander flopped back in the bed. "Thanks. But . . . I appreciate the offer, don't get me wrong. But, a picture doesn't smell." Xander pulled the covers up to his chin and settled back to try to sleep again.

"Don't fall asleep just yet." Xander opened one eye and waited. "If you remember what plants were in the places I didn't label, maybe I could do something about a . . . copy . . or sommat. Don't know just what yet . . . the Order wants me to do something, but they won't tell me just yet."

Xander decided that Spike was just being Spikely vague and forgot about the Order of whatever at once. "Well, how are we going to recreate a garden in this paved over industrial park? And how am I going to pay for it?"

Spike shrugged. "You're the construction worker. Figure it out. . . as to paying for it, I'll pay. I got the dosh."

Xander gave Spike a ‘look'. "What? I do."

"Then why have you been living in a crypt and depending on us for pig's blood?"

"Because I owed The Order of Taraka a big debt. Got three of their best done because the Hellmouth hates me. Keep an eye on the Slayer, make sure she keeps the Hellmouth under control. Dust the surplus newbies. Blah, blah, blah. Now that I've paid up, I got my accounts back. In very good shape, I might add."

Xander's skeptical look made Spike sigh. "Okay, what?"

"You're a Master Vampire. I thought you didn't answer to anyone."

"I don't answer to Angel. Not anymore. He gave me up, me and Dru, when he got that damn soul. But everyone answers to someone. Even me. I'm a High Master of the Order of Taraka. I answer to the Head of the Order. The consequences aren't . . . nice. I really don't want to spend a decade in a coffin starvin'. Seen it done. Nasty."

Xander blinked once. Spike was really a member of some Order and he was scared enough that he obeyed the Head of it. He'd have to think about that . . . later.

Spike noticed Xander's drooping eyelids so he tucked him in and told him to stay in the bed and sleep. Xander started to argue but a huge yawn interrupted him. He settled down and fell asleep almost immediately.

****vignette****

Giles checked his cell phone messages and sighed. Spike had called at least twice. He listened to the first message, which was about Xander's flu. There wasn't much he could do from Chicago, so he deleted it. He didn't bother with any of the rest of the messages from Spike. It would only be more of the same or some snarking. He wasn't in the mood.

Xander was a big boy and could take care of himself. It was only flu, after all.

When Giles got home, he realized that the power was off. He checked his answering machine but without power, or an emergency battery, all his messages were lost. He decided if anything was truly important, they would call back.

************

Spike called the Order and finally got information on what they wanted him to do. He nearly had a conniption.

"You want me to what?"

"Control the Hellmouth. You're there. You're a High Master. Start a proper court. Not one of those haphazard things you usually set up. A real court. And don't argue. You're still in our black books."

Spike snarled wordlessly then sighed. "All right, I'll do it. Now, about those notes I faxed you. What do you have for me?"

The voice on the other end sounded decidedly disgusted. "That's another thing. You need to see if you can't control that witch. She's made a regular cockup of that spell. She substituted things that made the experts here shudder. You're stuck with that human. And he's not a pet! Be sure you understand that. You will find out exactly what the repercussions of the spell are. We're not sure. Just remember, he dies, you die. I'd advise you to treat him right. A true Master will show his mastery. See that you don't embarrass us again. Good-bye."

Spike snarled at the phone and grumbled. "What the hell do you think I'm settin' up here, if not a proper court? Wanted one for years, didn't I? Drusilla made that impossible, what with her flamin' fish and singin' stars an' whatall. Real High Master, ain't I? Chip or no chip, I can control a court. An' I'll gut anyone who says different."

Spike checked on Xander, saw that he was still asleep and went into the second level of his apartment.

The residence he called an apartment wasn't really that at all. It was actually three levels of a warehouse complex turned into what amounted to a mansion. His level consisted of a kitchen, living room, library, office, game room and several bedrooms, beside his own suite. Xander had the only other suite in the place.

The second floor consisted of several dormitories for servants, fledges mostly, and whoever Spike decided deserved a bed. The third level was undeveloped. For now.

Spike called a full court, he wanted everybody assembled within the hour. He got what he wanted.

When he entered the large assembly hall, he noticed that his court had already divided into cliques. ‘Well, shite.'

"I called you all here for one reason – instructions.

"Number one. The boy. My boy, Xander. You. Will. Not. Touch. Him. He's mine. You do, you'll regret it for a long time. Mark my words. This is a proper court. The Order has commanded it. Anyone wants to question a High Master Vampire and a High Master in the Order of Taraka is welcome to do so. At their peril. I don't have patience with idiots. Obey orders. First order, no more killing. I don't fancy cleaning up someone else's messes. I did enough of that with Dru. I don't want to be run out of Sunnydale in the middle of the night. Had enough of that. You get hungry, either dispose of the body proper or don't kill them. Your choice.

"Second order. I'm the only one who turns anyone. I catch you turning someone, you're dust. Simple. Easy. Any questions?"

Spike swept the court with a glacial blue glare that said there'd better not be. He dismissed the thirty or so vampires with an arrogant gesture and pulled out his smokes.

"Well, that wasn't so bad. Was it?"

Timmins allowed that it had been ‘interesting', and wondered how long it would be before Spike started asking the right questions. He didn't think it would be long.