Xander woke abruptly to a blow across the chest, knocking the wind from him, and before he could draw breath, a second caught him hard across the cheekbone, wrenching his patch askew as he flailed half awake to grab, stop, still, hold, something.

Gradually, Xander became aware of frantic mumbling - until the sharp dig of a bony knee into the juncture of Xander's hip and thigh woke him fully and immediately, and he grabbed an armful of Spike, holding on before the knee could land somewhere else.

"Spike!" Xander coughed, Spike's elbow catching him in the sternum, and fell back with a groan as Spike rolled off of him, skittering to a crouch against the sofa. Then, Xander heard it, the shrill ring of the telephone, still turned up full volume to-

Oh yeah, wake him up because he could sleep through just about anything.

Except a panicked vampire fighting his way over him to safety. "Oh, Jesus." Xander groped for the band of his patch, bringing it back down into place, and flopped bonelessly, allowing himself the span of several luxurious seconds in his best impression of roadkill. "Spike?" His voice came out in a sleep-roughened croak and he extended his arm to the figure he could just barely make out.

"Back the fuck off." Spike wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but he hurt, he fucking hurt, and he'd been cut, his chest - stomach - something. He clutched at the object under his hands, puzzled when gave easily. *What is it what is it...* The noise - sharp and hurtful in his ears abruptly cut off and he blinked, seeing flame, seeing a dark form reaching out. Blinked again and the flames receded to memory and he saw a swath of bright red and a heap of pillows and suddenly everything clicked.

"That you, mighty sultan?" he asked, and his voice was cracked and wavering - too rough and too weak.

"Most of him." Xander groaned, resisting the urge to look down and check for damage before rolling over and crawling across the floor to Spike, flopping down next to him against the couch and resting his head on its arm. "Thought you wanted to be the evil sultan." He winced, shifting into a position that didn't make his leg feel quite so much as if it was about to pop off at the hip, and leaned his shoulder lightly against Spike's. "I'm thinking turning off the phone might be a really good idea at this point."

Spike pushed a shaking hand back through his hair and looked at Xander, who looked - sore. "Did I hurt you, Xander? Didn't - sorry, yeah? Sorry." He grimaced and eased into a more upright position, the scars screaming, hot and sharp and twisting, somehow.

*Fuck, I need a drink. A lot of drinks* There was a strong glow coming around the blinds, and Spike sensed it was sometime after mid-day.

"I'll be the evil sultan tomorrow. Still...tired." He sighed and leaned against Xander's shoulder, closing his eyes. "Thought you said you had some good whiskey here."

"Yeah. More blood, too." Xander resisted the impulse to turn his head, rest his cheek on the dandelion riot of Spike's hair, just for a moment. Instead, he took the edge of the silk, drawing it up and around Spike's waist, wrapping it carefully around him, between him and the roughness of Xander's jeans that he was still wearing. "Let's get you back into the pillows. And sorry, but you've gotta be the sultan today. Can't have the sultan waiting on the harem boy."

Xander felt more than heard Spike's quiet snort of disgust, getting an arm around his back, and another under his knees and lifting. "Sorry about the phone. I sleep like the dead- Or, okay, the really dead dead. Because believe me, there is a difference."

"Yeah, okay, sultan for the day. Already got you trained -" He gasped sharply as the button on Xander's jeans caught his hip. "I don't - don't even have to walk."

"Fuck - sorry -" Xander said, and Spike lightly patted his cheek, clutching at the silk sheet.

"S'okay, pet. No worries." He braced himself nevertheless as Xander gently lowered him back to his nest and sighed in relief as he was once more cradled in the softness of all the pillows. Xander stayed hovering over him, looking upset, and he reached up and patted his cheek again.

"Did fine, pet. I'm fine. Thanks, yeah?"

Xander let his head drop against Spike's hand, the adrenaline surge draining out of him slowly. "What's really going on, Spike? What are these?" He didn't touch, but his hand hovered over the slashes, their heat. "This isn't just a blood-needy thing."

Spike flexed his fingers minutely against the pressure of Xander's cheek - soft and stubble-rough and warm. "I...hoped it might be. I guess it's not. A while ago we had this big dust-up with the fuckers that run - ran Wolfram and Hart. Took the bastards out, too. Bit of a fight." Spike let his hand drop, too tired to hold it up anymore and Xander settled back on his heels, watching him.

"Well, we all got hurt...Wesley got almost-dead...'memeber him? That other Watcher?" Silent nod from Xander and Spike nodded back, sparing a moment's thought for that intense, intelligent man who'd shared a beer or two with him, and who'd quietly and utterly died inside, when Fred had been consumed.

"He got tapped by the Powers - got him some visions, now. I got - cut by something. Clawed. Something kinda...like a spider or something. Chitinous..." He really didn't remember much of it, except for the faceted eyes and the ear-splitting chitter of pain when he'd hacked it in half.

"Thought I was all - healed up but these kept...bothering me. Itchy. Didn't want to think about it, I guess, and everybody was so...busy..." Spike shrugged, sighing. "They just got worse. Got - dark. Don't really know what it is, pet." Spike closed his eyes, burrowing into the nest a little deeper, wondering if he could stay awake long enough to drink some blood. "Dunno what to do, really," he added softly. And he really didn't.

"We'll find out." Xander arranged another bed pillow beneath Spike's shoulder, wishing Spike didn't feel quite so much like a man-sized doll. A very fragile man-sized doll.

"Once a bloody Scooby always a bloody Scooby."

*Smiling shouldn't hurt so much,* "Yeah, well. No Watcher here, but we'll find out what it is. Get you better." Xander climbed to his feet, careful not to jostle the patient, and crouched by the fireplace, beginning to build up the fire again to warm the room. He could feel the sweat already prickling at his scalp, itching with the increased heat as he closed the latticed metal doors. "Keep you in the O pos until then."

"Ta, pet." Spike's fingers twitched, as if too tired to even lift his arm, so Xander shuffled back until Spike could clasp his hand on top of the pillows. "But maybe later, yeah?"

"Yeah." Xander gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. "Go back to sleep. I'm going to take a shower before I start to offend your delicate sensibilities. Call around for some more blood, maybe."

"Mmmmm..." Spike felt his awareness slip a little and then he forced his eyes open again, in time to see Xander scrub wearily at his face and then wince as he lifted the patch's band off his forehead. He took the patch off altogether and rubbed at the skin above his other eyebrow for a moment. The red mark that had chafed itself there showed clearly.

"Don't care if you leave that off, pet. Doesn't bother me," he said quietly and Xander stiffened just a bit, not quite looking at him, the patch dangling from his fingers.

Xander's fingers slowed in their rubbing of the prickling, reddened skin. He rested his elbow on his knee, head and hand hanging down, then lifted his face with a rueful smile, the hollow pale from being covered all the time. "Seen worse, huh?"

"Done worse." Spike blinked, heavy eyed, Xander's face swimming a little in his vision. The deeply shadowed socket looked skull-like for a moment and he shivered, but then it passed and it was just Xander, tired smile and one eye and his scars that made him old before his time - younger than Spike forever. "Still pretty enough to be a harem boy."

Xander started, looking at Spike with incredulous good humor. "Have we already discussed getting you glasses? Because I think we should. Besides, you're the harem boy. I'm the dashing - I'm the dashing what again?"

"Harem boy," Spike repeated, a touch of a smirk on his face.

Xander snorted. "Right"

"Oh, fine, you can be Rudy bloody Valentino, I don't care." Spike made a huge effort and lifted his hand again, wincing as skin and muscle pulled all down his torso. He caught the damaged side of Xander's face in the palm of his hand and just cupped it for one long moment. "Still pretty."

Unconsciously, Xander leaned into the touch, winced when Spike's hand slipped gently away and flopped back onto the pillows and the vampire flinched, just a little.

"Okay, okay. I'm pretty, and you're the Crazy Harem Vampire living in my nest of pillows." As he spoke, he arranged Spike's arm more comfortably, making sure a fold of silk was tucked between it and the pillows. He frowned, thinking of the prescription bottle in his leather satchel. "Do human pain killers work on vampires?"

"Takes more, is all. Got more..." Spike yawned and reached again for contact, bumping his hand into Xander's knee. "More resistance, I guess. Why, you got something?"

"Yeah. For my eye, but I don't like to take them. Don't like the way they make me..." Xander groped for a word, waving his hand to indicate loopiness. He then let it drop to Spike's, the gesture of contact, even that small, already becoming familiar to him. "Guess I don't have to worry about you ODing on them, huh?"

Spike snorted. "Not hardly, pet."

"They're the good stuff. And it can't hurt you...right?"

"Nope, can't hurt. Bring it on." Spike had to let his hand slip off Xander's knee but this time Xander guided it to the pillows instead of letting it flop, and that was nice. The fire was nice, so deliciously warm, and the promise of good drugs that might ease the pain for awhile was more than nice. Blood and something to just ease the way, and wasn't that what unlife was supposed to be all about? "A sip of the good stuff and...some of the good stuff." He chuckled softly to himself and snuggled a little deeper into the pillows.

"And then you sleep and the whiffy human showers." Xander smoothed the silk under Spike's arm again, and laughed suddenly, the smile crinkling the skin at the corner of his eye and socket.

"What's so funny?"

"I never imagined becoming a weekend dealer to the undead." The warmth of the fire felt good on the lid of his empty socket, drying the clammy, sticky feeling it always got when he left his patch on too long. He gave Spike's hand a pat and levered himself to his feet, grimacing as the knots in his back unkinked. "One mug of blood and The Good Stuff coming up."

Spike looked - not good - but at least better, reclining in the pillows in the firelight's glow. It seemed somehow more...right...than his first plan to put Spike in bed, where he'd have had no place to burrow. Nothing to gather and hold the radiant warmth around him.

Spike drifted, half awake and half asleep, the pain dimming to an all-over ache like a bad, long fall - *Like falling from the tower, god, don't, don't...* Listening to Xander move around his house - go out to the garage and come back; fridge and microwave door and the small, domestic sounds he hadn't heard in...so very long. He wondered idly what color straw Xander would find this time.

Pink. With cheerful yellow candy cane stripes swirling up the sides. And best of all, a full bottle of rattling white pills.

"I've got three of these, full. And three more to pick up next time I drive to L.A..." Spike's eyebrows lifted, the only part of him that didn't look to be heavily weighted into the mass of pillows and silk. "I told you I don't like taking them."

"Why pick them up at all then?"

Xander shrugged, uncapping the bottle and passing it to Spike to choose as many as he wanted from it. "Doctor's orders, but I'm fine with aspirin. It's just headaches, right?" Mind-numbing, brain-searing, but no worse than a head wound from being thrown against walls by the monster of the week.

And nothing compared to having a guy shove his thumb into your eye socket. Despite the heat, a violent shudder ran down Xander's spine, and he shut his eye tight against that memory.

Spike's amusement over the straw *Where in bloody hell did he find something like this?* faded rapidly as Xander's scent - salty and dusty and a bit strong, but not bad - changed in an instant. Acquired the sour tang of fear and Spike stopped digging in the pill bottle and looked up at him sharply. Xander's eye was squinted tightly shut and he looked diminished somehow - looked...spooked. *Fuck. Remembering that bastard Caleb and...fuck...*

"Xan? Xander...it's all right." Spike rubbed at Xander's knee helplessly and the man shuddered. And finally, finally relaxed, just a bit.

Xander drew in a sharp breath, holding it until spots floated before his eyes and he could feel Spike's fingers where they rested against his leg, then let it out hard. Head hanging down, he waited for the world to settle again, and laid his hand on top of Spike's. "Yeah. Sorry. Just...sorry." His smile felt shaky when he tried it on, looking up at Spike.

At Spike who was the only reason he still had one good eye, and god damn he was not going to cry. He'd never thanked Spike. But if he tried now, there was no way the words were getting out without embarrassing himself, so he blinked quickly and gave Spike's hand a soft squeeze. "Thanks," he got out; one word coming out fine when more would stick.

"Sure, pet," Spike replied, certain somehow that there was more to that 'thanks', but not wanting to poke at it any more than he wanted to remember the tower, and his long, long fall. *Fall from grace, fall from...sanity. It all started there, didn't it? All started then. That fall that should have brought Doc down with me, the fall that killed Buffy... We all fell into darkness then...*

"Sure...anything..." he repeated, just above a whisper, and for a moment the utter misery on Xander's face was too much - was so wrong. The shaky little smile hid nothing at all. And then the smile got a little more solid and Spike had to smile back.

"Couple of old queens, aren't we, blubbin' all over each other." Spike had to laugh at that, and he hoped Xander would, too.

Xander was relieved when the laughter seemed to take the last of the tightness in his chest with it. "We're last year's harem girls. We've been replaced by newer and sportier models, and I guess this is where I'm supposed to say 'but we still have each other' but even my capacity for cheesy lines has its limits." The words came out in a rush that left Xander breathing easily again, smiling easily again. "We're pretty screwed up, huh?"

He helped Spike to hold the mug of blood, too heavy for the light grip that'd rested on his thigh, wrapping his fingers around both the mug and Spike's hand.

"We're not so bad off. Got drugs, anyway." Spike sipped the blood - tipped four of the pills into his palm and downed them, grimacing at the acrid taste and the unpleasant way they scraped down his throat. He sucked down another inch or two of blood and then it was all just too much and he leaned back and closed his eyes. "Can't keep my eyes open, anymore. Just gonna rest a bit, yeah?"

Xander took the mug from Spike's hand, adjusting the silk sheet one last time. "Yeah. And me. Stinky man go shower now."

Spike's tired chuckle followed Xander to the kitchen, but as he came back through the living room, it was to find Spike deeply asleep in the nest of pillows.

Xander let out a breath of relief, stripping quickly in his bedroom, wondering if he'd remembered to put anything in the dryer the night before and if it'd smell too badly of mildew if he waited another hour or two to get around to it.

Because thinking about that kind of thing was so much easier than thinking about everything else in his life that'd taken a turn for the Hellmouthy in the last day.

Not that he'd expected to avoid Hellmouthy entirely, what with working on the fucking Hellmouth.

He just hadn't expected Spike and the memories he brought with him.

And had a feeling that if- *when*, he corrected himself sternly - Spike recovered, it'd be the only good thing the Hellmouth ever gave him.

Xander pulled up short in the bathroom, just about to reach for the tub tap and made a face at the thin gray scum that covered every surface inside the tub. *Shower sounds good.*

Spike woke with a start, lifting his head sharply and lifting an arm, as well. Fending off something that wasn't there and when was he going to wake up like a normal vamp again? It took him a moment to get his bearings *fireplace, pillows, clove-spice-Xander-smell, silk...* and then he heaved a sigh and pushed himself up. He'd only slept a couple of hours - the intensity of reflected sunlight coming through the blinds wasn't that different now then before - and he leaned on his arm a moment, trying to figure out what had woken him.

*Pain's not bad at all...damn good drugs...still tired, but... That's all I've been, lately.* He lifted his head, scenting the air, and noticed another smell - faint but different.

It took him a moment to recognize it. Cordite. *What the fuck?* He pushed himself to his knees and rocked there a moment, getting his nerve and his strength up. Then he pushed, hard, and he was standing, the silk sheet slipping off his hips and he snatched at it, dragging it up around him, flipping one corner over his shoulder so he wouldn't trip over it. A wave of giddy lightness swamped him, and for a moment he felt like he was flying.

*Oh, yeah...good drugs.* He could hear something, as well - rise and fall, measured cadence of voices and he made his way slowly over to the sliding glass door. The blinds were down - almost but not quite closed - but it didn't seem that the sun was hitting the window just yet. He saw the little control by the door and stepped into shadow anyway before he touched the button that would activate them. The blinds slowly tilted open then scrolled up; showing him the back yard, the patio, Xander and...some man. Dark, dark-haired, goatee and mustache and casual, stained work-clothes. He was the one that stank of explosives. Unthinking - in fact, a little dazed - he reached out and pushed the door open.

"-so Matt came in early, and Russ called Julio from the Pasadena site-"

Xander looked up when Carl stopped talking to find Spike in the doorway, pale, rumpled, and still wearing only the sheet. *Okay. Blush? Any minute now? Huh. No blush.* Though there was a big grin. "Uh, Carl? This is Spike. The guy who got stuck in the old church."

"Somehow, I wasn't expecting you to look..." Carl trailed off, not quite sure where to look on Spike, but frowning at the scars and hollows on his body. "So unhealthy. Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital? Alex explained it's against your beliefs, but man..."

Xander held out a hand to Spike, the concrete cool and still free of sun though it was beginning to slant in to warm the western edge of the patio floor.

Spike found himself answering the grin on Xander's face with one of his own and he stepped out onto the patio, anticipating pain and finding that the pills he'd taken had blunted even the rasp of cheap concrete. He stepped carefully across, his hand going out to Xander's and the silk flowed off his shoulder, sssssing faintly as it burned over his chest and arm. He grabbed at it and managed to catch the trailing edge, but not before he heard the soft gasp of surprise - or maybe horror - from... *Cedric? No...*

"Oops," he said, and giggled, Xander's hand warm on his elbow and the breeze that was blowing in at them stiffish and cool and tinged with the unmistakable scent of the sea.

Xander reached behind him, fetching a second chair, careful to position it away from the sun, for Spike to sit in. "Spike, this is Carl. He works the day shift."

Carl still looked more than a little nonplussed by the slipping sheet. "Alex, when you said you knew him -"

"We were roommates before the collapse," Xander explained, letting Spike keep a grip on his arm as he eased onto the cool canvas of the patio chair, because while the drugs seemed to be doing enough to leave Spike stoned out of his mind, he doubted they could withstand Spike falling on his ass on the concrete.

"School of hard knocks," Spike said, having a little trouble getting his tongue to work exactly right. He squinted over at Xander, then at the other man, frankly surveying the short, stocky man whose bared arms bulged with muscle and whose waist was showing a bit of a spread. "Not much keeps Harris down, though," he mumbled, and plucked at the sheet that lay over his legs. "Wanna get me somethin' to drink, mate? Could do with a bit of the..." Spike made a gesture that was meant to convey blood, mug, and bendy-straw but looked more like something Dru might do - or maybe jazz hands, he wasn't sure. "Hair'a the dog, yeah?"

Xander raised his eyebrows, giving Spike's arm a pat. "Some of the good stuff," he confirmed. "Carl, you want anything?"

"Yeah. Got anything lite?"

Xander groaned. "No. But I do have iced tea and a couple of kinds of soda. It's two in the afternoon. What are you doing drinking beer?"

"It's also over ninety five in the shade. Have a heart."

"Have a soda!" Xander answered with a laugh, leaving the door open behind him as he headed for the kitchen.

"So," Carl said, still chuckling a little, "I heard the story from Dave. How'd you end up down there?"

Spike realized he could see the ocean as well as smell it and he sat for a long moment, watching the distant glint and swell of the blue-grey-green horizon that was confettied with the white tops of rushing waves. Gulls called, their harsh cries muted by the distance and Spike took a long breath, filling his senses with the clean, living thing that was the sea.

"You okay?"

Spike blinked - looked over into dark brown eyes and a troubled frown and he shifted a little in the chair - hitched ineffectually at the sheet.

"Oh, yeah, m'fine mate. Fine."

"Seemed a little out of it. So - how did you get down there, in that church?" The man *Xander said...Charles? No...Ches....damn it! Something with a c...*

"I was just...lookin' around, you know..." Spike made to rub over the scars on his chest but stopped himself in time. "Got late, and I got tired and...it seemed like a good place to... What did Xander tell you?"

The man shrugged. "He didn't have time to tell me much. He said you were in LA. On medication, that he figured you must have run out, got confused." A frown. "How'd you get on medication if you don't believe in going to doctors?"

Xander ran the last few steps onto the patio, passing Spike a thermal coffee cup with a (yes) blue straw sticking out of the firmly closed lid, and handed Carl an orange soda. "Just hospitals. The psychologist's okay because he doesn't poke and probe." Xander tried to ignore Spike snickering quietly at that. "I called him and picked up Spike's medication this morning. He's a little loopy readjusting to it."

"Fuckin' seein' Aztec temples, mate," Spike muttered, and giggled when Xander coughed to cover an bit of out-of-control laughter. *Yeah, supposed to be crazy... Could give him a bit of Dru, I suppose...* Spike contemplated that for a moment, sucking on the straw, and then shot a sly look up at Xander.

"Know what the stars are sayin', pet?" he asked, and saw Xander's eye go wide as he got it. "They're sayin' that June is a very good month for me." Xander's face lost its half-amused, half-horrified look and went deadly serious, and Cade - no, Cooper? - chuckled politely.

"Too bad for you, then. Your stars are almost two months too late."

Spike heard what the man said, but it took a moment for it to sink in. "How, two months too late?" he snapped, and the man looked uneasy - looked at Xander, who was reaching for Spike, mouth opening to say - something.

"It's August, man," Carl said, and Spike...just closed his eyes.

"Carl, could you give us a minute?"

Carl looked from Xander to Spike, and stood up. "Yeah. Gotta let Mariel know I'm home. We'll drop by this evening. Her grandmother bought out a tamaleria in San Diego by the look of it, so it's share the wealth or buy a second freezer."

Xander forced a smile for Carl, holding out a hand to shake with him. "Thanks, Carl. This evening?"

"Yeah. Nice meeting you, Spike. You take care."

Spike gave a tense nod, the lines of his body tight and rigid as he stared out to sea. Xander slipped from his chair, resting his hands on Spike's knees, palms up, looking into his face. "You didn't know?"

"Bloody hell. Fucking August?? Xander - it can't be August. I was just -" Spike wanted to throw the cup in his hand - instead, he leaned a little sideways and let it thunk softly to the ground. "I just lay down, Xander. I just wanted to sleep is all. Just -" Spike made a frustrated motion with his hands, feeling the tremble in them - feeling the jitter of tension and *Fear. That's what it is, mate, fuckin' fear...* twist his insides as tight as a wire.

"I just wanted to sleep. I didn't... I didn't sleep for...for weeks, Xander! Did I?" He hunched over, fists to his temples and the fear roaring through him like a wave, because he'd come so close to death, so fucking close and hadn't even known. And was still there, right there, because the pills were fuckin' brilliant but they weren't a cure and the blood wasn't helping, wasn't doing a damn thing, he was in some kind of limbo, some kind of stasis -. He didn't realize he was shuddering - almost whimpering - with the crushing realization. *Vampires don't get sick but I am, I am, and it's not getting better and I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do...*

"Spike...Spike." Xander curled his fingers into tight fists, wanting to reach out to Spike, pull him into his arms until the whimpering stopped, until the shudders eased, and at last reached up to wrap his hands carefully around Spike's wrists, conscious that it was the pills pushing him into this new hysteria.

He spoke low and fast, back to the murmur where it was all tone because it'd worked before, and it was all he had. "We're gonna find the cure if I have to go to London and rip apart the Council's library myself. And I'll call fucking Angel and stab him through with hot pokers until he agrees to help. I'll even let you watch."

Spike's head shot up at that, and Xander's answering smile was almost wicked. "What, you didn't think Oz would come back with stories to tell?"

"Xan - pet, you -" Spike couldn't help it, he laughed, and that broke the tension and broke the tight, twisting knot of panic that had seized up his insides and brought him right back to the edge of incoherency.

"He told me all about it, Spike," Xander said, still with that wicked grin and his hold on Spike's wrists eased, until he was simply holding them, one thumb rubbing up and back in a mindless, soothing caress.

"Soddin' dogboy rammed me with his van. Shot a crossbow at me!"

"The nerve!" Xander huffed, and Spike laughed again, leaning forward until his forehead could rest on Xander's shoulder. The spicy, mint-citrus scent was stronger now, and Xander's hair was damp along his neck - curling a little.

"You're barmy, mate. Thank you," he added, almost a whisper, and closed his eyes.

Xander tilted his head, feeling the fluff of Spike's hair tickling his cheek and brought a hand up to carefully cup the back of Spike's skull. "Hey, you think I want to live with Mr. Traumatized Crazy Guy?" His tone was too gentle to carry any sting, though, or snark. He just rested there, one hand around Spike's wrist, the other petting his hair.

"I meant it, Spike. Whatever it takes. Whoever it takes."