Part 11

“Henderson,” the site manager introduced himself, shaking hands and gesturing to a seat in front of his makeshift desk. “So, I appreciate you coming all the way down to the site, Doctor, uh . . .”

“Osbourne,” Oz replied. He brushed away a wrinkle on his pilfered lab coat and smiled.

The site head looked at him strangely. “You’re a little young, aren’t you, to be a--”

“Specialist of Gastro-Intestinal Disruption Syndrome?” Oz supplied with an arched brow.

“Uh. Yeah,” Henderson said uneasily.

“I get that a lot,” Oz acknowledged. He took a deep breath. “But the salient issue at hand is the critical disturbance experienced by Mr. Harris due to this grave and recently-discovered disorder.”

Henderson took a swallow from his coffee mug and frowned. “When you called and described it, it sounded kind of . . . I don’t know, weird.”

“Oh, it’s weird all right,” Oz said. “As I’ve already explained, symptoms render the victim unable to operate machinery, perform mechanical tasks, or even stay on their feet for extended periods, incapacitating them for weeks at a time.”

Henderson’s eyes glazed over. “Yeah, well. That’s too bad. But if Harris is sick, I need to hire someone else. I can’t just keep his job open until he recovers from, uh . . .”

“GIDS,” Oz supplied. “I think you’ll find that you can.”

Henderson shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Oz took another breath and jumped in before he could start. “Especially considering that the production of waste materials not only in your particular industry but on this very site matches the top suspected environmental factors which scientists now believe cause the manifestation of this malady.”

The other man gaped at him for a moment. “You mean . . . Harris got sick because of the site?”

“Yeah,” Oz nodded. “That’s pretty much it.”

There was a long silence during which Henderson stared at the ceiling and Oz sat calmly in his chair.

“But he doesn’t want disability,” Henderson asked in a guarded voice.

“Not so much,” Oz answered with a slight cough. “Hey, can I have some water?”

“Sure, sure,” Henderson said distractedly. He left the room briefly and returned with a styrofoam cup.

After a few gulps, Oz cleared his throat. “All Mr. Harris wants is the assurance that he’ll return to his job without penalty when he’s better.”

“How long will that take?”

“Six weeks, we’re thinking,” Oz said off-handedly. Then he sat up a little straighter. “That is, the team of scientists with whom I’ve consulted think that. That’s the ‘we’.”

Henderson rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “But the other guys on site -- are they at risk from this thing too? I can’t afford to lose my entire crew right now.”

“Actually, my office would supply you with the treatment used for those with latent symptoms.”

“Well . . .”

“Free of charge,” Oz added.

“Great, that’s great,” Henderson breathed, relief clear in his voice. “Okay. Harris can count on working here as soon as he’s better.” He extended his hand across the desk and Oz shook it heartily before breaking into a cough once more. “You okay there, Doctor Osbourne?” Henderson asked.

“Yeah, fine,” Oz said with a small grin. “This is just way more talking than I’ve had to do in a while.”

* * *

Giles looked up from his research with a start at the slightly smoking vampire who had rushed into his apartment wearing a blanket. “Spike! Aren’t you supposed to be helping with Xander’s move to the new apartment? Did something go amiss? I had thought that the building manager had agreed to his early tenancy once Angel supplied the requested sum.”

“Yeah, he did agree, and everything’s set,” Spike said. “And right now, Buffy’s doing the heavy lifting outside, and Angel’s rearranging everything inside.”

“And Angel didn’t want any help from you?” Giles inquired skeptically.

Spike snorted. “Not as much as he wanted me out of his carefully-styled hair.”

“Ah,” Giles nodded. “I see.” He gave Spike a curt nod, and then looked back down at the book he had open.

When he turned to lay it aside and reach for another volume, he raised his eyes and frowned to find the vampire still there. “Was there something in particular you wanted? I mean, besides hovering about for no reason other than to distract me?”

“Been meaning to ask you about something,” Spike said shortly. “Seemed like right now, with everyone else occupied and Xander going through the last of the things at his parents’ house, was the best time.”

“Ah. You wished to ask me something about Xander’s condition?” Giles asked.

Spike picked up an object on Giles’ desk and hefted it in his hand before putting it down again and meeting the other man’s gaze. “Yeah. No. Well, not exactly, but yeah. About Xander.”

Giles took off his glasses, and crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “Xander isn’t feeling poorly, is he?” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and cast his glasses onto the desk. “Because though we’re not entirely certain, we’ve been thus far charting our expectations of his state of health on a modified model of normal pregnancy for a female human. Any discrepancies or departures are a cause for concern, and you should come to me with any relevant details.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Spike said with a frown. “He’s doing all right. Bit moody, maybe. Does keep trying to do things when I’m there and perfectly willing to take care of everything. That doesn’t show much sense, does it?”

“Well . . . it’s very . . . gallant of you to make an attempt to ease the burden of any arduous tasks for Xander, but I think it unlikely that you need to coddle him to that degree.”

Spike waved that notion away with a flick of his wrist. “Just taking care of him is all. But that’s not the question either.”

“All right then,” Giles sighed. “Go ahead with the question.”

“Well.” Spike glanced away, and then back at Giles. He looked at him blankly for a moment, moving his jaw slightly as though he was attempting to restrain his irritation, and then looked up, seeming to find something fascinating on the ceiling. “Well. You see, the thing is--“

“Yes, yes; do go on,” Giles said impatiently.

“About Xander and his . . . conceiving. How long will it keep up? I mean, he’s not going to keep on adding little . . .’whatever they are’-s if we keep on . . .”

“Keep on,” Giles repeated blankly. Then he nearly jumped in his seat, unfolding his arms with great haste. “Oh! Well, no, you needn’t worry about that. The effects of the spell that resulted in the pregnancy should have worn off the very first night. It’s not as though Xander will suddenly find himself carrying multiple infants if he engages in more, er, activities of that nature.”

Spike looked hard at Giles. “So you’re saying there’s no reason to expect any more new mouths to feed, no worries about additions to stop me and Xander from --”

“Yes, it’s true,” Giles interrupted him hastily. “No obstacle, not in the least, in that particular area.”

“Any other obstacles?” Spike asked gruffly. He brushed down the front of his coat and cleared his throat. “Risks to Xander? Or to the baby?”

Giles leaned forward and flipped through a stack of folders on the desk. “Well, if you’ll just let me consult . . . let’s see, I have the information . . . .ah, here it is.” He slipped his glasses back on and peered at the papers. “Yes, from the looks of what we know, you shouldn’t attempt any . . . erm, acts of penetration after another week. We don’t know all of the details, but with the baby growing, I think it inadvisable after that date.”

Spike rocked back and forth a bit on his heels. “And if we shouldn’t have at it after then, that means that the best time to have a go would really be right now.” He frowned suddenly. “Wish we’d known about all of that last night.”

Giles fumbled around for his glasses and nodded a few times in quick succession. “Well, yes . . . er . . . I think it was best to err on the side of caution.”

“Yeah,” Spike said with a sigh.

Giles regarded him for a few moments before speaking again. “I must say, I appreciate and am quite frankly a little impressed with your consideration for Xander and for the baby. I do hope that you continue this concern, and remember to keep in mind that next week such activities --”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Right, yeah, I get it. Next week, no funny stuff. But right now’s fair game.”

Giles immediately looked down and busied himself with replacing some of the papers, closing the folder, re-stacking the piles as they had been, and taking off his glasses with a flourish. “Well, now that that’s settled . . . ” he said loudly, hoping to move the conversation to something less agonizingly embarrassing. “Er . . . Spike? Spike?” He looked up at the spot where Spike had until recently been standing in vain, for Spike was nowhere to be found.

Buffy came into the shop, and looked backwards in the direction from which she had just entered. “Am I crazy, or did Spike just take off like a shot out of here? All I saw was a blanket, a peroxide blur and rising smoke, and poof, he was gone.”

Giles shook his head. “You’re not crazy.”

“You okay, Giles?” Buffy asked him dubiously. “Want some water or something?”

“Good lord,” Giles said faintly. “Were it not extremely awkward, I might consider actually telephoning Xander to convey a warning.”

* * *

“Hi,” Xander said absently from the couch when Spike entered the apartment. “Buffy and Angel set this all up, and then Oz gave me a ride over here with the last of the clothes. Sounds like his talk with my manager went okay, though from what Oz said, the poor guy was a little freaked. They have all the other guys on the site taking some placebo pill that Oz says is mostly made of Pez.”

He looked up at Spike, who was standing tensely by the doorway, and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not like I’m all about this spot for the couch either. I don’t know what Buffy and Angel were thinking, putting it here. But we can work on it later, where everything is going to go, and right now the main thing is that the heavy drapes are up on the windows. I mean, whatever this baby is, some kind of human-vampire hybrid, or worse, some kid of Glaz’broth-human-vampire hybrid, I don’t want to worry about it coming into this world with one of its parents as a big pile of dust. Or worse, the baby turning into an eensy pile of dust before we figure out what it is. But anyway, that’s set. And I was thinking, after we have some lunch, we should -- Um, hello!” he shouted in alarm when Spike charged at the furniture, scooped him up, and hustled them both into the bedroom. “What the hell has gotten into you? I can still walk, and if you wanted to see how Angel set up the bedroom, you could have just said so!”

Spike didn’t even bother to look about the room as he put Xander on the bed and began stripping off his shirt. “You know how you were worried about the one baby becoming a passel of babies?” Spike asked.

“What the what now?” Xander asked dumbly as he watched Spike wriggle out of his jeans. “I was worried, and . . . oh god. Do you know something that I don’t? Are we all of a sudden having triplets?”

“No, no; only the one,” Spike said as he slipped off Xander’s sneakers and pulled his socks off one by one. “Right, now, off with your jeans, love.”

Xander began to unbutton but then stopped when he was only partway finished to stare at now-naked Spike. “Hey! That’s it? That’s the reason you just--”

“No, that’s not it,” Spike said as he batted Xander’s hands away and undid the jeans himself. “Talked to the watcher, and--”

“Do you want me to go insane from none of this making any sense at all?” Xander demanded, clutching at his pants for all he was worth.

“What I want is for you to take off those jeans,” Spike said in a perturbed voice.

Xander held out a warning hand. “Stop your wacky attempts to strip me nude, and explain everything in clear, simple terms, okay?”

“Fine,” Spike said with a huff. “Watcher said there’s no problem with there being more babies if we have a bit of a slap and tickle. And when I asked if it’d hurt the baby or you if we shagged, he said no chance of problems right now -- not until five days or so. But until then . . .”

Xander let go of the denim as Spike pulled off his jeans, but his forehead still held a crease of worry. “But you actually asked him . . . you know . . .”

“Yeah,” Spike confirmed as he pulled Xander’s t-shirt up his chest and tugged it off.

“And that explains this mad dash to the bedroom how, exactly?” Xander’s muffled voice asked through the fabric temporarily caught over his head.

“Well, if we only have until next week,” Spike said impatiently as Xander, ruffled and rumpled and looking thoroughly confused, was at last naked before him on the bed.

Xander stared at him for a long moment. Then his eyes widened. “Oh! Well, damn. What the hell are you doing all the way over there, then? We only have, what, five days? Let’s get a move on!”

Spike smirked and quickly moved onto the bed. He caught Xander’s hand and pressed blunt teeth against its heel, smiling as Xander’s breath caught. “Fancy taking advantage of the situation, do you then?” Keeping his eyes fixed on Xander’s, he licked from the base of the palm up to the tip of Xander’s middle finger and down again.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Xander said frantically. “But I think there’s some kind of wiggy intensifying happening from hormones, plus the normal thing where I want to have sex all the time. And that pretty much means I want to have sex all the time plus plus plus, so this is a good thing and you really, really need to get up here and put your hands all over me and --”

Spike’s lips covered Xander’s mouth before he could finish, and they kissed each other frantically, moving further back along the bed, both of them panting from excitement.

“Slow down,” Xander pleaded. “Don’t want this to be totally over before--”

“Wasn’t much of a problem last time, yeah?” Spike crooned in a low voice as he stroked his fingers through Xander’s hair and moved on top of him. “What was it, pet, five or six time that night?”

Xander laughed a bit wildly. “Well, yeah, but demonic, Angel-ic spell influence that time.”

“Think so?” Spike asked with a slow roll of his hips.

“Should probably try again to see,” Xander managed to get out just before Spike shifted down to flick his tongue against his nipple. “Just in . . . oh god . . . interests of research.”

“Right, research,” Spike muttered against his chest as he reached to palm and stroke Xander’s balls. “Research means I get to be inside you, right love?” he asked in a growl.

“God, yes,” Xander answered. “Wanted to, last night, just didn’t . . . oh,” he gasped as Spike lifted his legs back a little and moved down to lick along his perineum. “Just didn’t . . . uh . . . something . . . rapidly forgetting what . . . ” he finished weakly. Spike nipped at Xander’s calves before working them over his shoulders and easing further down to trace at the sensitive opening with his tongue.

“Want to get you nice and wet, all ready for me,” Spike purred against him.

“Damn it, Spike, I’m ready already, and you should just. . . oh yeah,” Xander whimpered when Spike darted his tongue in sharply. “Do that some more.”

Spike grinned and obliged him. His appreciative murmurs sent a buzz through Xander’s body until Xander was canting his hips up in quick little thrusts.

Xander pulled him up, fumbling to put the bottle of lube that Spike had tossed onto the bed into Spike’s hand before he started to pull his knees back. But Spike shook his head then turned them both until he was on his back with Xander straddling him.

“You want to start out this way?” Xander asked.

“First time, yeah,” Spike said shortly, his face drawn tight with effort. “Other way -- bound to go a little hard and fast on you right now, and don’t want to hurt you or hurt . . . anything . . . ”

Xander stilled for a moment before nodding, guiding Spike’s hand back and giving a soft cry as one then two fingers worked their way inside him, stroking and caressing.

“You set the pace, love,” Spike grunted out as he pulled his fingers away and finally eased inside Xander.

“Oh . . . oh fuck,” Xander said helplessly once Spike was fully thrust into him. “Holy fuck,” he whispered as he began to move, letting his head drop back as he panted and began a slow but shaky ride.

Spike moaned as Xander rose up and then sank down with his face flushed and eyes shining. “Feel good, baby?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“So good,” Xander whispered.

After a few more thrusts, Spike slid the soles of his feet to the bed, raising his knees up so that Xander could lean back against them. Xander continued to move, alternatively stroking his cock and tweaking at his nipples as Spike helped guide him with his hands at his hips. “That’s right, lovely,” Spike encouraged him when Xander started to move faster. “Fast or slow as you like -- just don’t stop, fuck, yeah . . .”

When Spike moved Xander’s hand aside to pull at Xander’s cock himself, slow suddenly wasn’t an option for either of them anymore. Spike lent his strength to move Xander up and down faster, and Xander shivered with a groan before going rigid and coming hard.

Spike held back until the tremors shaking Xander slowed, snapping his hips up in a rapid volley of thrusts as he rode out his orgasm with a growl.

Xander began to move off Spike, rolling his eyes but accepting the assistance when Spike hurried to help ease him back into a reclining position on the bed. As Spike drew away, Xander caught his shoulder, pulling him back for a series of soft kisses.

“Should probably rest then,” Spike said reluctantly, lifting his head to study Xander’s expression. “Don’t want to wear yourself out.”

“What for?” Xander asked, bumping his hips up against Spike and grinning. “Got to take advantage of the time, right? And crazy as this sounds, I think the sex made me feel more awake and calm and just all around great -- better than I’ve felt since we figured out what was happening.”

Spike stared for a moment, then laughed out loud. “If you say so, pet.”

“I do say so,” Xander said with an expression that was half-humorous, half-petulant. “Now c’mere.”

*******