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Joyce had arranged ahead of time to take the day off from the gallery to work on the elaborate plans that she had been cultivating for Buffy's graduation party, more than determined that her daughter would have one memorable night of recognition. It was something Joyce felt she deserved, decidedly more so than the majority of her graduating class.

But an early morning phone call foiled Joyce's extensive plans for the day, and she grumbled quite heavily to herself as she moved around the house to get ready for her unexpected day at the gallery.

Sometimes it just didn't pay to be in charge.

Buffy had already left for school, and Joyce waited until the very last minute before knocking on her daughter's door to alert Spike that she had to leave. The evening before, she had informed him that he could sleep in because she would be home to get Blake up. It hadn't surprised her that she had heard him downstairs in the wee hours of the morning, eagerly embracing his genetic nocturnal urges.

"Spike?" she called softly when a repeat tap of the door didn't yield a response.

When she heard some semblance of a mumble from inside the room, Joyce carefully turned the knob. "Spike, are you awake? I'm opening the door."

As the door slid open tentatively, Joyce called out again, hoping he was decent.

He was. Barely.

He lay sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the bed, the sheet riding low on his hips, hair an unruly mess of curls. Finding herself oddly non-pulsed by the reality of seeing an obviously naked man in her daughter's bed, Joyce merely smiled indulgently.

"Spike, I need you to wake up."

One bleary eye opened to peer at her before his body suddenly coiled with tension, the implications of Joyce waking him up penetrating through the fog of beckoning slumber. Spike raised himself on his elbows to look over his shoulder in her direction. "What is it? Is something wrong?" he asked, all hint of sleep knocked from his voice by his immediate concern. "Blake and Buffy ok?"

Joyce nodded her head, trying to keep her eyes from following the sheet that was determined to trail even lower, the barest hint of a pale cheek now visible. "No, nothing is wrong. I just got called into work today and I know I said you could have a break today, but...."

Spike nodded with understanding, grabbing the sheet with one hand as he turned himself over, effectively covering everything that Joyce didn't need to see. "Right. Don't worry, I've got the boy."

"Thanks. Blake isn't up yet so maybe you can get a little more sleep."

Spike ran his hand through his hair, fingers parting the errant curls. "Nah. I'll get up."

Joyce smiled gratefully and said her goodbyes, closing the door to the darkened room and headed off to the gallery.

Spike lay there for a moment after he heard Joyce's car back out of the driveway when the sound of a slight whimper echoed through the walls that separated from his son's bedroom reached his ears.

Jumping out of bed, he quickly pulled on his jeans and made his way to check on his boy. With his acute sense of hearing, he was well versed in every sound Blake made and this was not one that he could recall hearing before.

He found his son laying limply on the bottom of his crib, his favorite blankie clutched tightly in his hands as he looked up at his daddy with droopy eyes rimmed with dark circles.

"Daddy," Blake whimpered pitifully.

"Oh Blake," Spike breathed, reaching down to scoop him out and bring him against his chest, quickly coming to panic as soon as he felt Blake's body against his own.

His boy was burning up.

Not being well versed in modern medicine with his 120+ years of illness-free existence, Spike found himself utterly helpless and that jacked him off. He was the Big Bad; nothing got him flustered. But the way Blake was lying limply against him was in such direct contrast to his usual vibrancy that Spike found himself at a complete loss.

When another pitiful whimper reached his ears, Spike was propelled into motion; striding back into the bedroom he had just left.

Watching Blake's eyes flutter shut and hearing the continued low whimpers, Spike had no qualms about reaching for the phone that was beside the bed. He was out of his depth here, and he was too worried to even try to deny it. Out of sheer desperation, he found himself pushing the speed dial that would connect him with the school library.

"Sunnydale Library," the clipped voice answered.

"Rupes, I need your help."

"Spike? What is it? Is everything alright?"

"No everything isn't bloody alright! Would I be ringing you if it was?" Spike snapped, then forced himself to calm down. He could do this. "Look, I think Blake is sick, and I don't know what to do."

"I thought Joyce was going to be home today?" Giles questioned, trying to figuring out why Spike was calling HIM of all people for medical advice.

"Was supposed to. Had to go open the bloody gallery this morning. She just left a few minutes ago ,and I know Buffy is in class, so I called you."

There was a hint of something in his voice that Giles had only heard on one other occasion, and that hint managed to cut through all the questions that were trying to crowd his brain.

Spike sounded scared.

"Yes well, I a certain we can take care of this," Giles found himself reassuring the vampire on the other end of the phone. "Does he have any symptoms that you know of?"

"Symptoms?"

"Yes, Spike. Is he coughing or anything of that nature?"

Spike glanced down at his still bundle. "No. Just laying here like a bloody corpse, and he feels like he's burning up."

Even though Spike wasn't able to see him, Giles nodded thoughtfully. "It sounds like he has a fever."

Spike gave an exasperated snort. "Figured that part out for myself, you git. I just don't know what to do about it, is all."

Giles reached into the deep recesses of his brain to pluck out the information that had been stored away, basic first aid a necessary requisite from his days at the Council. "I believe he will require some form of anti-pyretic."

"What in the soddin' fuck is that?" Spike snarled.

"Ibuprofen or acetaminophen. I am quite certain that there is something of that nature there; perhaps you could go look?" Giles suggested easily, not letting himself be affected by Spike's attitude.

"Oh right," Spike muttered, his mind flashing back to the previous week when Blake had fallen and 'gotten an owie' on his knee. Buffy had given him something then.

Cradling the cordless phone between the side of his head and his shoulder while keeping a firm grip on Blake, Spike went downstairs and opened the cabinet he remembered Buffy rifling through.

With a sense of relief, his hand closed around a bottle that said 'Children's Motrin,' and he pulled it out. "Got it."

"Fantastic. Give it to him then."

Spike's entire body stilled. "How do I do that?"

"Bloody hell man! Surely you can manage to give your own son some medicine!" Giles exploded, conveniently ignoring the fact that he himself would most likely be at a loss. "Perhaps I should call Buffy out of class."

"No!" Spike bit out determinedly. This was HIS son and he would bloody well take care of him himself, his resolve hardening at that moment.

With that resolve came the dim memory of Buffy showing him things he might need while he was watching Blake, and he now remembered her showing him the medicine cabinet and the contents that might pertain to Blake.

Spike mentally berated himself for not paying more attention at the time, having found he'd had no bleedin' idea what she had been going on about, merely nodding occasionally while he gave her ass a proper oogling. His thought was that he'd just ring Buffy or Joyce for anything he didn't know, Buffy's physical attributes proving far more interesting.

Spike turned the bright bottle over and saw that a label had been placed on the back with Blake's name written in bold letters. An arrow had been drawn which pointed to Blake's dose, complete with directions on how to administer it.

Spike suddenly smiled.

He threw the phone down and ignored Giles' sputtering. With surprising ease, he managed to get Blake to drink the copiously syrupy fever medication, cringing at its sickening sweet smell.

A moment later, Spike grabbed the phone again once Blake had been all medicated. He was feeling particularly chuffed with himself, if truth be told.

"Shall I retrieve Buffy?" Giles asked, sounding a bit put off.

"Nope. Got it under control."

"Well, yes, I'm sure you are quite capable. However I am sure we will need the information regarding the proper dosage required."

"I already gave it to him."

A pause. "Oh. Well then, nicely done." Giles sounded thoughtful. "Oh yes, make sure you don't bundle him up with clothes or blankets."

Spike glanced down at the thin garments Blake wore and scowled, having been just about to head upstairs to put something warmer on him. "Why the bloody not? He looks cold."


"Because it makes the fever higher, that is why. You put more layers on him, it just raises his body temperature which is quite the opposite of what you wish to happen," Giles imparted, feeling smug himself that he was able to be the expert in the field of fever reduction. "You might also wish to take his temperature so you can monitor the progress of his fever. You will probably have to take it rectally."

Spike held the phone away and stared at it for a quick moment. "No bloody way! I don't need a bleedin' thermometer, you git. Vampire, remember?"

"Oh yes. Quite handy, really."

Spike was just about to reply when the doorbell rang, and he barely managed to curtail his heated curses about the interruption, remembering Buffy's lecture about impressionable young ears.

"Doorbell just rang. Thanks for the help, mate." Without waiting for a reply, Spike pushed the 'end' button, and after shifting his boneless burden around in his arms, he headed for the front door. When another chorus of whimpers reached his ears, his worry grew. He didn't like feeling this way, not knowing if he was doing the right thing for his son.

Before he could reach the door, the bell was rung again and Spike ripped it open in irritation.

"What?" he demanded at the man standing on the other side, a brief flicker of recognition hitting him. Spike took a discreet sniff and the intruder's identification was confirmed.

"Oh. Uh. Hello. I wasn't aware that Buffy had employed a babysitter," Hank announced, mentally forming his first impression of the man who was holding his grandson, and it was not in the least bit flattering.

Spike snorted. "Yeah right." His mouth opened to properly identify himself when he felt a rapid change in Blake's breathing pattern.

Blake gazed back up at him with haunted eyes and whimpered, "I sick."

Spike's own frame of mind turned into one of downright panic, and he completely missed the look of utter confusion on Hank's face. "Shh, it's ok," Spike soothed, shifting him around so he lay against a cooler portion of Spike's chest, remembering Rupert's instructions about not feeding the fever.

Hank opened his mouth to make an inquiry as to who exactly Spike was, when he was suddenly rendered speechless.

With absolutely no warning, Hank found himself the unwilling target of Blake's projectile vomiting.

Hank's eyes widened with disbelief as he stared from his grandson, to the man holding him; Blake's stomach contents dripping off of him to fall to the ground.

If Spike thought he was worried before, it was nothing compared to what suddenly slammed through him. Vampires didn't vomit, this was beyond his realm of dealing.

Ignoring the fact that he himself had not come away from the incident unscathed, Spike's eyes frantically found those of Buffy's father.

"What do I do?" he demanded, not caring that he was close to begging.

Hank had forgotten much of raising a child, but the horrors of childhood vomit had lingered. The scars of midnight carpet cleanup and load after load of vomit drenched bedclothes were memories that just didn't go away.

Shrugging out of his ruined sports coat, Hank hung it over the porch rail before turning to the blonde stranger holding his grandson. "We can start by getting him in the bathtub."

Without waiting for a response, Hank crossed the threshold and disappeared inside, leaving Spike to follow behind in a daze.

An insane sire, a century worth of murder, torture and evil- he could handle.

But a sick, vomiting child he could not.

a/n-wow the reviews!! You guys are so great! Esp. since it has been long since I've worked on this one! Special thanks to megan, irishwoman, cordykitten, kar, cynthia, so, lucy, buffyrat, txjmfan, brunettepet, reciprocity, elanor, kate, buffandspikeforever, sarah g, kerrylee, kimber, and spuffy404 for taking the time to review the last chapter! Thank you!





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