Xander didn't know what he expected from Spike in the waiting room.

Restless pacing.

Fistfights.

Chain-smoking outdoors.

Not - this.

Not a small, tired Englishman hunched over in a chair with his face in his hands.

Xander snatched his hand back into his lap before it could rest on that bowed back - comfort where -

*Let's face it. Where comfort isn't wanted.*

Xander wanted to ask Spike what was going on, what was supposed to happen next, but every time he opened his mouth to ask -

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to. Just - don't." No tosser. No wanker. No funny English abuse. Just quiet that scared Xander more than he wanted to admit.

So Xander didn't say anything and resisted the urge to comfort - and seek comfort from - Spike. He shifted his focus, looked around the waiting room. It reminded him of the megamart. Overlit, overwhite, overcrowded. Full of tense adults and restless or crying children. In other words, loud and surreal and fucking miserable.

The minutes dragged by, stretching past an hour, and if Spike wasn't going to get up, stalk over to the desk, and intimidate some interns, Xander was about ready to do it for him.

But then someone far too young to be a real doctor was calling for a Mr. Datchery, and that turned out to be Spike, who stood up and crossed the room and listened intently to the college kid dressed up in the white coat.

Xander studied the play of expressions on Spike's face at first, hoping for some clue as to Will's condition, but even at a distance and without sound, it felt wrong - invasive somehow. But he couldn't sit there and not watch, so he got up and wandered down the hall in search of coffee.

What he found was a machine that spit out a watery brown concoction that actually looked less palatable than the stuff they used to serve at the restaurant before Faith became manager - back when they actually had to keep a small coffee maker with real coffee in the employee break room to keep people from quitting in disgust. When Xander returned with two cups of the stuff, Spike was back in the chair, hunched over again.

It was even harder now not to voice his questions and worries, but Xander managed somehow, saying nothing as he extended one cup to Spike. Spike accepted it, pulled off the lid, and stared inside.

"What is this shite?"

"They're calling it coffee, but coffee could probably sue them for libel."

Spike snorted and kept staring into the cup. A minute passed.

"His lungs are fucked," Spike said. "Asthma, bronchitis. You name it, he's got it. Lucky he doesn't have pneumonia. This time."

Xander waited, afraid now to ask the most important question.

"He's going to be okay," Spike said softly, and Xander's heart started beating again. "They'll give him some drugs and such and let him stay the night. But he'll need to keep taking the stuff. Gotta go to the chemist."

"Is it gonna be expensive? Do you need - ?"

"Got dosh. Probably got more of it than you do." And Xander realized that Spike was probably right, though he didn't want to think about where it came from.

"Need to go back to the motel, too. Pick up our kit before they toss it out. I didn't pay today."

"I can go." Xander actually expected Spike to turn down the offer, to insist he could take care of everything all by himself, but the need to stay close to William must have been stronger than Spike's pride because he simply handed over the key.

"I'll be right back," Xander promised, torn between hating to leave Will - and Spike - and the relief of finally feeling like he was doing something helpful. He was halfway to the Shady Palm Lodge before he realized that checking out of the motel would render the twins homeless again.

Xander didn't really think about it - at all. Once he got to the motel, he took the two duffel bags from the room (and the soap and shampoo because you never know), dropped the key into the check-out box, and took it all to his apartment.

The bags looked - strange, out of place sitting in his living room, and he reasoned that he could tell Spike it was the only convenient place he could think of to put them. That it would have been inconvenient to take them back to the hospital waiting room.

And then he'd -

Wait until Spike passed out from exhaustion and bad coffee, then carry him home like a captive bride?

And then he'd wake up the next morning with everything worth stealing gone.

Good thing Xander didn't have anything worth stealing. Boy, would Spike be disappointed.

Xander busied himself with the welcome distraction of imagining Spike griping about the poor quality of Xander's possessions that left him nothing to steal, because it was a lot healthier than remembering the blue shade of William's lips and how pale Spike had looked by the time they got to the hospital.

He wrapped his coat tighter around him against the wind, which had the metallic smell of snowfall on the way, and shivered. *Oh yeah. Good thing I'm not thinking about what I'm thinking about."

When he arrived back in the waiting room, Xander could have sworn Spike was relieved to see him. But the possibly relieved look was quickly replaced by a frown.

"You couldn't get it?"

"What? Oh, no. I just left the bags back at my place." Xander looked down and then glanced up through his eyelashes. "I, uh, couldn't think of anywhere else to leave them."

"'Kay."

Xander lifted his hand to stop Spike from speaking. "And before you say anything, it's really fucking cold out there and there's no way that Will's gonna get better if he's sleeping on the street."

"'Kay."

Xander pointed with the fingers of both hands and shook them for emphasis. "And I'm not above pouring bad coffee down your throat and waiting until you pass out, but it's gonna be kind of hard if I have to carry both you and Will because yeah, you've both got the waif look going for you and all, but still, there's a reason people only get one captive bride, 'cause it'd be hard to balance and stuff, so it'd be a lot easier if we could all just walk."

"'Kay."

Xander paced back and forth in front of Spike, still waving his arms. "And I don't want to hear any lip about my stuff, either. Because I know it's shitty and it's not worth stealing, but it's mine and I'm proud of it, and I'm sure there's something in there with some kinda street value or at least you could make a couple bucks at a yard sale, so you could at least pretend to be casing it..."

"What?!"

Xander stopped and looked at Spike. "What what?"

"What the bloody hell are you on about, you tosser? Said okay, didn't I?"

"You did?" Xander replayed the last couple minutes in his head. "You did. So you'll stay?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, git."

"Sorry." Xander paused. "Wait a minute. You called me a tosser. And a git!"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yes, they're common English terms for thick-headed idiot."

Xander grinned and bounced, and Spike looked like he was starting to wonder what kind of madman he'd just agreed to move in with, so Xander explained.

"I know what they mean. And I'm gonna be offended in a minute, but if you're back to being an obnoxious asshole, that must mean that Will's okay. Did you see him?"

Spike stared open-mouthed at Xander, then shut his jaw with a click. "Yeah. They might keep 'im an extra day if he's not showing improvement. Had a tube down his throat when I was there - all doped up to keep him calm." Spike fidgeted and Xander realized that he was methodically chipping the nail polish off his fingernails; the carpet was littered with black flakes and Spike's nails, almost bare. Spike brought his thumb to his mouth, scraped away the last black mote with his teeth, and stared down the admittance corridor. "Told him you were here with me - that made him happy at least." Spike spoke grudgingly, didn't look at Xander. "Reckon he'll be all right living with you."

"You do get that the invitation is open to both of you - right?" Xander held his breath as Spike's head turned so slowly toward him.

"We're a set - Will and me. He wouldn't take it if it wasn't." Spike shoved himself deeper into the waiting room chair, folded his arms tightly over his chest.

Xander settled in next to him, fiddled with the dog-eared and torn magazines on the table beside his chair.

Swimsuit model on the cover.

Outside, snow began to fall.