"Xander?"


"I still look like me right?" he replied.


"You're sick?" asked Buffy.


"It appears that way. I feel like I house the earth's core."


"Yeah you do look a bit drippy."


"Fell asleep watching the boob tube this afternoon and woke up like this. Been trying to psych myself up for the move to my room but…"


"it's ok. might as well just make this germ central and stay put. Do you want anything? Uh...mini-mart-ish?"


"Patrol?"


"Yep. Can find something for you after if my outfit has not been accessorized with innards, blood, and the like."


"Anything from a freezer would be swell." he replied.


"K... Xan?... you want me to stay?"


"Yeah right, that would make me feel manly. You're heading out armed for supernatural combat but let's worry about the man whose hot."


Buffy smiled. Ok, I'm off. Be back with a frozen treat. Don't melt."








several hours later…








"Uh. Buffy here. 3:14 on um… well still feels like today to me but technically it's… shit.. uh, hold on…" She strode over to the fridge and looked at the calendar. "Friday. It's Friday."





"Ok. Checked out sub-train tunnel 4,5, and 6, blue line. Small homeless population in 5. Makes me feel grateful for this place you got us. I should have said that before now. At least we have somewhere to call home. Anyway, a lot of them seemed really young Giles. As long as they're together they have some safety in numbers but I wonder if the baddies have managed to stay under the radar here because they have easy victims that wouldn't be missed. I did sense one vamp all night, trailing me. No contact though. I couldn't tell if he knew I am a slayer."


She let out a sigh.


"I know you want us low profile but I really hate that I can't do my job unless I don't have witnesses. Not such a good feeling to let him go. Well.. I'm dirty, hungry, tired, that's it. I'll call again soon."


Buffy hung up and set her weapons down on the counter. Her glance landed at the top of the stairs. Silence. She walked back over to the fridge, opened up the freezer door, and tossed the bag of popsicles inside. Her cell phone rang as the door swung closed. She pulled it out of her back pocket and answered.


"Giles?"


"Buffy I just got home. I need to talk to you. I caught the last bit of your message but unless it's urgent, I would prefer to get right to the matter at hand."


"No it can wait, just a routine report. Shoot," she said.


"Well, Andrew phoned me earlier today with a matter of importance." He sighed and continued. "It seems that Angel had some business In Italy yesterday."


"Oh."


"He tried to see you as well. It got to him somehow that you had been sighted there."


"Yeah?"


"I'm surprised you haven't let him know where you are Buffy. Be that as it may, …he had company."


"So he must have talked to Andrew?"


"Yes, caught up with him at Dawn's flat, but your double wasn't there. You see…."


"So he knows…"


"Buffy listen…"


"I can call him tomorrow. After everything, I have just been dealing, you know, and it never felt like the right time to get back in touch. He'll understand that…"


"No. Andrew didn't know what to do", Giles interrupted. "He didn't explain our little setup, wasn't sure if it was ok to tell them where you really..."


"So what did he say?"


"Look, if you would just let me speak."


"Sorry, still pumped from patrol. Shutting up."


"Wake up Willow."


"Now?"


"Yes. I think you should have company."


"Giles..."


"Just please do it Buffy. I'll stay on the line."


Moments later a groggy but willing Willow padded down the stairs with Buffy in tow. They both sat at the kitchen table and switched Giles to speaker setting.


"Four ears here. Hey Giles," Willow began.


"Yes, right then. You see I was just telling Buffy that Angel just surfaced in Italy... Spike was with him."


The two women exchanged a look but it was Willow who pushed out a reply.


"Huh? Um. Should we be interpreting that in a metaphorical sorta way?"


"According to Andrew he is alive and looks better than ever, his words obviously. And before you inquire further, I called Angel. As far as I can ascertain from him, it's true, given the assumption that it was really Andrew and Angel I was in fact talking to. Our respective conversations were obviously not face to face."


"We, we don't understand Giles."


"Of course, the feeling is mutual I assure you. When I reached Angel he just put me on hold and then returned to tell me he would ring me momentarily. When he did, Spike was with him. Well, someone sounding much like Spike at least. They didn't give me details about what has occurred in the interim between Sunnydale and the present, but apparently they saw our slayer stand-in with the Immortal and pouted their way back to L.A."


"Both of them?" Willow questioned.


Buffy continued to stare at the tiled floor, seemingly devoid of emotion aside from a slight shake of her head from side to side.


"And?"


"And I told them about Buffy's decoys and your current location. It was a secure line. I called from headquarters. Then quite frankly they devolved into little boys as far as I could tell. When it became clear by all the ruckus I could hear that a rowdy altercation was ensuing, I hung up. Spike called me back an hour later and gave me a phone number to give to Buffy. Angel yelled in the background to call him later if she wants to talk with him instead. By the sounds of it, he was trying to pry himself loose of some restraints. I must say if this is all a ploy of some sorts it is a very convincing one, complete with the usual display of childishness those two bring out in each other."


"When was this?", Willow asked the former watcher."


"Two hours, more or less. I have the phone number. Buffy?"


"I'm here," she murmured.


"I propose you stay guarded for now until we know more and you three stay together just in case. I can come if you want but I won't make it my business unless you want it to be or unless there are some mystical implications of his return we should consider."


"Alright. I'll call you tomorrow to let you know how Bu… uh we….are doing." said Willow.


Giles said goodbye and hung up. Buffy looked up at her friend and stood.


"Will, I might come into your room later if that's alright." "Of course, anything you need", she replied without hesitation. They both sat in silence and then took turns shuffling off to retire to their rooms.


Buffy had completely forgotten about checking up on Xander downstairs.











xxxxx

"Hello?"
There were three clues. One, no one answered. Two, his eyelids remained surely fastened. Three, although his right hand managed a twitch, it held no phone. So it stood to reason that Xander had only heard the ring coming from upstairs and his mind remained ignorant of his surroundings. Had Buffy taken up his offer to change her ringtone to donkey brays like he had wanted, just the one ring/bray (whatever) would not have been shrill enough to tunnel into the odd dream he was inhabiting. And, as dream participants do not recognize nonsensical elements in whatever their subconscious is creating, it seemed perfectly reasonable that Anya was phoning him from the bottom of a water slide, asking him to stop being a chicken. Xander's sleep often starred Anya. She had a recurring role almost every night. Sometimes he remembered in the morning. Sometimes he didn't. When he did he would smile and think she would be quite pleased to have reclaimed immortality in some way. He didn't put it past her to have found such an invasive method of haunting him, but in truth, he enjoyed still having her around in some capacity.
Xander had come-to a couple hours after Buffy had left to go on patrol the night before, but only for a minute or so, and not completely reaching the surface. His sole utterance was an exclamation of disgust. Face down on the bean bag he was sprawled across, he had mistaken the slickness of the bag's pleather surface to his tendency to drool, promptly turned the "chair" over to its dry side, and returned to fitful slumber and where his dream had left off. Anya was now arms akimbo at the bottom of the chute exclaiming that he should get some balls and take the plunge. Whined snarls threatened from impatient youth held up in line. By the time he splashed into the pool at the end of the ride, Xander actually WAS a chicken. Of course Anya, being a participant in his fantasy, didn't find this odd at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Aaaah, her REAL refuge." Mouth tweaked to one side, Willow looked down upon her roommate.
Buffy huffed a small puff of air out her nose in amusement and wanted to smile but then didn't. "Mmmm mmm," she returned. Her eyes remained closed.
"Slept then?"
"Sort of. I wink out now and then I think. No clock in here."
"You slept with your sword?"
"Oh. Her head rolled to the side. I was just training and laid down on the mat with it in my hand. Finally fell asleep I guess. Was trying not to think. Damn thinking. Xander!"
"What!" Willow returned alarmed. "Did I miss something?"
"I totally forgot. He was sick last night." Buffy sat back on her elbows and motioned to the wall with a tilt of the head. "Next door."
Affectionately named the "boob room", the room one door down was instantly claimed by the man of the house upon their first whirl through the basement. The extent of it's decor consisted of an old CRT television and a peach bean bag, both remnants of a prior tenant. Surrounding the chair like so many escaping insects, tiny, round, white balls had rolled out in a ring. Xander had faced his first house project with glee. Within an hour, the beads were replaced and a pink elbow patch from a junk drawer upstairs painstakingly superglued to the guilty tear. "Fixer-upper #1 completed!" immediately followed by an extended grin. "My very own breast!" Buffy refused to lounge on it. Willow found it comforting.
"Awww. Come see," Willow let out a giggle. Buffy walked in and looked over her shoulder.
"Watch. He gets himself all situated and then… wait for it… look! slides back down. There is about a two minute interval between scooches. Why is he shirtless? Is the bag leaking?"
"Fever I think," said Buffy. "Hence the slip and slide."
"Splains the shirt too."
"I found him like this yesterday."
"K, I'm feeling bad about making fun of him now."
"Will, you wake him up, I'm gonna get a glass of water." The blonde slayer bounded upstairs, four steps at a time.
"Buff, this isn't working!" A tinge of panic marred Willow's holler.
"What do you mean?"
"Get back down here! Bring your phone!"
The Samsung within her tightening grasp rang before she was even to the bottom stair. She answered.
"Spike?"

And just like that, the present crisis evaded her concentration. Halting too suddenly not to sway forward at the base of the stairs, Buffy said not a word.
"Summers? I can't hear breathing. You there?"
"Yeah, sans breathing apparently."
"Only us fanged foes can get away with that luv. I couldn't wait. Not one for patience you know, don't want you to think… don't want too much time to pass since you found out about me. Courtesy and all."
"Courtesy?"
"Buffy! Xander! Ambulance! Please!" Willow shrieked just a few feet away.
"Oh God, forgive me. Spike I have to go to the hospital. Do you want me to call you back?"
"Wait. Tell me what's going on."
"Xander. "Gotta call an ambulance, like now."
Spike could hear unsteadiness in her voice. He knew she was flashing back to another time of helplessness, that day her mom was taken from her.
"I have a car."
"Can't wait."
"I'm out front pet."
"Huh? Here?"
"You're gonna have to come to me. Sun out and all."
With a grace reflecting her love for her friend, the slayer raised Xander with ease, despite the seizures now jerking his frame. Her phone lay dropped and abandoned, forgotten with her possession of the young man. Again, she swallowed the stairs with admirable strides. This she could do. Panic, engaged, pleaded with her to move. Feelings yielded to the need for motion. Willow followed her with the same effort but less speed. She retrieved the cell from the floor without stopping. Already outside, Buffy was settling Xander's head upon her lap in the back seat. Spike started the car.
"Me!" was all Willow forced out.
Now running across the street, hurried breath hindered her speech. The word choked in her throat but was heard by the vampire nonetheless. When the front passenger door swung open in silent obedience to a whispered spell, Spike started rolling slowly.
"Come on Red, quick-like. You have shotgun, gotta navigate. Don't have my bearings on me."
"Uh, lets see… right on Maple street first. Soonish."
He responded with a dramatic spin of the wheel, albeit with a slight screech of the tires.
"Little earlier luv. Not usually shy with imminent death but the boy's color is approaching mine. He can't afford the scenic route. We almost didn't make that one."
Occasional glances in the rearview mirror afforded him a view of Buffy and Xander."
"I'll try," Willow replied.
"Right again, uh, four lights down… I think. Sorry, we haven't lived here long and I can't see. Maybe an ambulance would have been better. My memory isn't so good under pressure."
"No, I can get you there faster. Peel the duct tape back to make a peep hole."
"Oh! Good plan! I can peel under pressure!" she said.
Probably can make all the lights green too if I concentrate! One good plan for me!"
"Wait!" Buffy exclaimed from the back. "ALL lights green? or just those in the direction we are going?"
"Right. Bad plan," Willow frowned.
"That would be kinda a scary trial and error experiment. Spike, you see the building way over there with the big blue cross on the side? Tall one."
"I see it. Hell. Let me guess, I need to go towards the sodden cross."
"Not denying the irony, but easy to see, yeah?" she replied. "St. Vincent is the only one I know."
Buffy listened to their exchange but was focused with intensity on her hand upon Xander's chest, irrationally convincing herself that his breath and strong heartbeat were somehow dependent on her watching and feeling for both. Not looking away felt like her job. She needed to be doing something.
The seizures had been brief. It occurred to her that the fit may not have been the first. She didn't know if he had just now worsened or suffered the new symptoms throughout the night.
They jerked to a stop.
"Be in the parking structure. Go on now."
Both women exited with urgency, Buffy distraught that with all the movement and noise, Xander had still been unresponsive.
"Well. At least I proved useful," Spike said to himself as he directed the car forward again.

With one emotional trial withstood, Buffy set out for the concrete parking structure adjacent to Emergency, looking for Spike. She knew Willow had stayed behind with Xand to give them time to address each other, but hesitation claimed her once she found his car, parked in a far corner. Seemingly inanimate, she just stood and stared. Black plastic sheeting and duct tape blocked any view of the interior, but her body could feel him. Little prickles traipsed up her spine. She felt a habitual inclination to roll her eyes and smiled at that for an instant. Months of soulful Spike had not yet outweighed this often subconscious reaction to his presence, a vestige of his "menace" years. Years? "Ugh, how did that happen?" she wondered.
Standing there felt instinctual. She remained as is. Emotional defenses were locked in. This was a threat of a different nature, the "normal life stuff", she called it. Such a stance allowed ideal readiness, to flee, exits unobstructed. Buffy was weary of trusting that things were ok. She resisted such an assumption.
It was true that the hospital staff had given immediate care to Xander. They had calmed their fears. The fever could be lowered, which would address the seizing. Still, the what and the why remained. If she was better at detangling a slayers psyche, she may have understood that relief would have felt like betrayal. Relief led to relaxing. Somehow relaxing in the interim between threats, between sacrifices, seemed wrong. Buffy always tried to do what was right. Besides, she regarded letting one's guard down an invitation for all sorts of nasties. Believing in Xander's permanence now, at least this day, was enough of a presumption.
And then Spike? Approaching his existence equalled swallowing a miracle. To be sick and then better was one thing, but dead and then alive? Well,.. reconstituted, whatever. "Who could possibly be rooting for the Big Bad? Must be help of the highest order?" She took oxygen deep into her lungs as if it would bring answers, clarity to her brain's grip on it all. Buffy didn't accept that this being could be the same one she knew, all passion, skill, vulnerability, evil and goodness, uncomfortably combined. "What gall," she thought. All that need to fight grief every day, for the girls, and home, and Anya. Such a devastating sequel to losing her mother and Tara just before. Evading is what Buffy did best when her world demanded too much of course. Demons were no problem. Ideally one moved towards violence and away from heartache, at least in her world. It would have been easier, a little bit, with him around.
"Ohhkaaay, one soulful vampire that confuses the hell out of me coming up. Is fate a person? Cuz I'd like to have a word, maybe inflict some bodily harm," she said out loud to no one. It was fate she supposed, that had thought nothing of slapping that last body on to the pile, even though that last body had been the hardest comrade to lose thus far. He stopped existing. "It's a trick," she told herself. Spike, now, in this car, in this parking lot, in this city, in this world, made all her sadness ridiculous. What a cost she had paid. "I mourned him for nothing," which came out a little bit louder. A spark of anger prompted her to resume her path to the two-door, but she cooled as she walked. Motion affected her like it always did. Less thinking, more doing. A slayer thrived on action, particularly the violent kind. Even putting one foot in front of the other felt better than immobility, much less, immobility with pondering.
Spike jumped at the sound of the door handle.
Buffy hurrumphed with an exhale into the front seat.
"Where's Red?" he asked.
She eased into the effort of an answer. "Said she would be right behind me." A pause stretched until she continued. "So what's with the car? Too flashy for you. Don't you go for antiques?... Course you are an antique in a sense, appropriate."
Spike suppressed a grin at that. "A classic is not to be scoffed," he replied. "Never gonna get over losin' my black baby, she's buried with the lot in Sunnydale…" He winced. "Sorry for that, was out before I thought about it. A car of course doesn't compare with lost souls... Xander?" he transitioned jarringly.
"It's ok," she quickly replied. "And he's ok."
It was then that another voice interrupted his attention, despite a resumed silence within the car.
"Spike?"
"Right hate it when you do that Red. Get your magic out of my head."
"Listen, somethings not right here."
"Lotta things luv, gotta be more specific…You know… I'm not against an old fashioned conversation," he said with obvious irritation. "You're still taking shortcuts?"
"Not usually," she answered. "I'm someone else at the moment, did a glamour so that I could access a computer in private."
Spike raised his eyebrows, capturing Buffy's attention beside him. She gave him a perplexed look.
"Your witch," he explained turning to face her.
"Nothing like a sodden inner body experience," he said dourly out loud. "Well, go on."
"I'm just seeing if there have been other patients recently like Xander."
"Couldn't you do that from home?"
"Look I know I haven't exactly inspired faith in you with the witchiness in the past, but listen… there's a guy in the waiting room still filling out an admission form he was supposedly penciling in hours ago when we got here. Plus, the nurse attending to Xand isn't on the posted rounds, like he doesn't normally work here. And I snuck a peek at Xander's chart earlier. There are sedatives listed, but I've been told we are just waiting for him to wake up on his own so we can take him home. Something's wiggy."
"Ok look," Spike interrupted with a tone of resignation. "Can you wing a three-way so we can do this proper?"
Buffy's eyes widened.
"No," Willow said. "Too distracting. I'm already multitasking… You said that out loud didn't you?"
Spike answered with a smile that only his passenger could see, obviously proud of himself. She glared at the crass innuendo, having worked out that he was referring to her inclusion in the conversation.
"What else then," he prompted.
"Well, there wasn't time to bring it up before, but I picked up a strong mystical signature from Xand back at our place. As soon as his symptoms were under control from his treatment here, it disappeared."
"WAIT GOT IT!"
"Eh! I can hear you just fine on this end, a notch less enthusiasm please!" echoed inside the vehicle.
Buffy let out a snort unbecoming enough to cut her mirth immediately.
Willow pushed her face up closer to the monitor.
"I see three people in the last eight weeks who mimic Xander's condition. Oh wait, make that four. One is deceased, an eighty-four year old. He died on-route here from a rest home. They did ask me in a questionnaire if he has recently been in contact with the very young or the very old. Anyway, same fever, same seizures for all of em."
"So he's sick and their trying to figure it out. I'm not seeing the problem here Red."
"But," she stammered. "The sleeping pills all covert-like?"
Spike sighed. "I don't know…look…"
"Why not just tell me they need to keep him a while to do tests or whatever? Why stall his discharge?"
He considered that.
"Cuz they want everyone to think we have overreacted to a simple flu strain that's why. Alright, you want to yank him don't you?"
"Mm hmm," she said. "Good things don't usually come our way in hospitals."
"Then why did we come?" he said exasperated.
"Because we didn't know what to do!" she returned trying to earn his understanding. "Even if this is something supernatural, it presents itself normally enough on the surface. He could have died before I had a chance to throw spell ingredients together to investigate a source."
"Bring him out front then," he said calmly.
"Uh… ok," she said.
"You do still resemble some lucky fellow to anyone who sees you right?" he assured himself.
"Yeah, an administrator of sorts I think, high up enough to have their own office. And a woman I might add. I'm not sure for how long though."
"Best get moving then, do this whole escapade in reverse."
"Yeah, got it. I'll go get him, ugh…somehow."
"Willow?" Spike said back, again aloud. He turned once again to Buffy.
"Guess she hung up," he told her.
"What's going on? Willow never uses this much magic unless she thinks it's justified."
He turned the ignition and said with too much nonchalance, "I'm thinking CDC."
"Um," Buffy spoke with a tone of someone who is lost. "Critical, Dire, Catastrophe?"