Spike blamed his immediate problem on weeks of takeaway which conditioned him to open the door when there was a knock.

He made a mental note. The mental note said If you don't remember ordering takeaway, it's not the bloody delivery boy. He tacked on an addendum and it might be Rupert.

"What do you want? Phone's not good enough for you anymore?"

"Where is Xander, Spike?"

"Occupational therapy. Weaving baskets. Sod off."

"Not," Rupert said, one foot in the door and eyes that told a tale of dusty Spikes if that foot was abused by the door's closure, "this time."

Spike quickly weighed his options which involved a choice between letting Rupert in or giving up his cushy accommodations and the opportunity to live in comfort courtesy of the Council of Watchers. As enablers went, Rupert wasn't all bad. Good bloke for turning a blind eye on a spot of Council-funded recreational vice.

Spike shrugged and let him in.. "Stay here."

"Where is he?" Rupert said, looking around like he thought Spike had chopped him up and shoved him into the closet.

Tch. As if the stench of rotting flesh wouldn't give that away.

"In the bath. Give a bloke some privacy, would you?" Spike said and marched into the bathroom, leaving Rupert behind.

"Modesty has no meaning to you, does it?" Xander asked, flannel midway and appealingly across his chest. Spike took it from him and did the job properly. "I mean - not normal behavior walking in on a bathing man and taking over."

Spike had a fine selection of replies to that, beginning with the ridiculous human assumptions about normal and ending with shut up, Harris.

Instead he said, "Rupert's here," and watched every muscle in Xander's body lock tight and cramp. He dunked the cloth into the water and squeezed it over a broad and bony shoulder. "What're you doing in here anyway? Trying to drown again?"

"Because that was so successful last time."

"Mind telling me why?"

Xander shrugged, engaged in a brief tug-of-war over the flannel before giving up the halfhearted effort and letting Spike do as he wanted. Spike liked this side of Harris. Very agreeable. "Already did. Demon in the desert. Blah blah. Stupid wish. Blah blah. See my friends safe and happy. Blah blah. My life in payment to keep them that way. The end."

The flannel made a satisfying smack against Xander's cheek. "Git."

"I can't die until I've seen my friends."

"Well one of your friends has come calling, mate. And he's taking up my space until he sees you."

"So?"

"So bath time's over, luv. Duty calls." Spike wrung the cloth over Xander's head, washing away the last of the suds, then pulled the plug. "Blah bloody blah. Robe's hanging on the door," he added as an afterthought and left Harris to struggle his way out of the tub. "And hurry up. Don't plan on offering him drinksies."

Spike left the bathroom door ajar behind him and swept into the other room. Good or evil - they were all penny-pinchers with the rent. "The lady of the house will be out once her hair is dry. You know how it is." Spike dropped onto the couch, mouthed the last cigarette out of a crumpled pack and lit up.

"No, Spike. I do not know how it is. But I'm extremely anxious to hear what Xander has to say." Rupert picked up an empty beer bottle - Xander's - and sniffed it. "Why hasn't he been by?"

"Hasn't been well," Spike mumbled around the cigarette and hooked a thumb into his belt. "Been feeding him chicken soup like his dear departed mum used to."

"Mrs. Harris is alive and living in Pasadena."

That threw Spike a moment. "Huh."

Rupert set down the beer bottle. "It does smell like the Harris family recipe."

"I'll give his folks that - they had the good stuff." Spike lifted his bottle in toast to the Harris family liquor cabinet.

"Which I'm certain you helped yourself to at regular intervals."

"You're jealous, mate. The way the boy tells it, his mum never offered you ought but punch."

"W-well it was good punch."

"And you never sneaked upstairs when Mom was passed out and helped yourself the way he did." Xander emerged from the bathroom, bundled up to the neck in Spike's robe. With his ribs hidden, he looked gaunt shuffling from bare foot to bare foot, arms wrapped tightly around his chest and a damp lock of hair obscuring his empty socket. He looked skinny and too young - but not skeletal. Spike felt an absurd sense of relief. "Hi, Giles."

Rupert looked like he wanted to stand, made an abortive gesture to do so and Spike left him to it. English social awkwardness got boring to him decades ago. "Oh hug him already, Rupert. Have your touching little reunion scene." Spike polished off his cigarette and fished his boots out from beneath the table.

"Where're you going?"

Spike had to give Harris credit for the restraint in his voice. Still sounded like a bloody little boy being left at school for the first time - but an older boy. One makin' a brave face of it. Trying to make his mum proud and -

It was clearly time for Spike to make his exit. "Giving you two manly blokes your privacy. Rupert's got my mobile number. Give me a ring when visiting hours are over, yeah?"

Spike risked a look at Xander and wished he hadn't. It was the kind of look that grabbed onto a bloke's coat tails and wobbled its lip.

He tossed Xander his smokes and lighter. "I'll pick up more, yeah?"

Xander looked down at them - was already tapping one out with shaky hands and getting it lit. Good boy. "Don't order him curry, Rupes. He doesn't like it."

And then, Spike made the kind of coat-swirling exit he'd spent decades honing for superhero drama. *Let's see bloody Captain America make an exit with that much sex appeal.*

Spike stood on his own landing and realized the problem with grand exits. A man needed a follow up plan or he stood on his own landing, patting himself down for smokes he didn't have and feeling awkward.

Sod that for a game of soldiers.

Spike had never needed a bloody plan and he didn't intend to start now.

He stepped out into the rain and reminded himself he was a vampire. Grrrr and tough and didn't need a bloody brolly either.

"You're dripping," Xander said. He was nude again, the bathrobe draped across the foot of the bed and Spike wondered if Xander took it off while Rupert was there or after.

Not that he cared, mind.

"Yeah, well - it's raining."

"What's the matter? Umbrellas not manly?"

Spike flipped Xander a two fingered salute and a packet of Marlboros. The bottles littering the coffee table had been cleared away - he checked the kitchen - and put into a bag labeled 'recycling' in Rupert's familiar hand.

Spike tossed the lot into the trash.

"Thanks," Xander said - after the click-hiss of the lighter and the crackling of burning tobacco. Spike couldn't fault him that.

Spike skinned out of his coat and wet shirt - toed off his boots and left them in the entry. He brought two beers to the couch and passed one to Xander. Xander - in return - offered the cigarette packet and held the lighter for Spike to light up. "Ta."

Two beers hissed open.

Two pairs of feet found the edge of the coffee table.

"Rupert stay long?"

"Nah." Xander dragged on his cigarette and slouched. His thigh fell against Spike's, spot of warm contact.

Spike stomped on the feeling of relief doing a jig in his head.

Xander stared at the dark television screen where a tiny naked Xander stared back at them. He scooped up the remote and clicked it on. Chelsea vs. Manchester United. Spike braced for a quick switch to Doctor bloody Who that never came. "Is it too late to order pizza in England?"

"Never too late to order pizza."

"No anchovies."

"Sodding hell - what do you take me for?"

No answer so Spike looked up. As soon as he'd made eye contact, Xander answered.

"Evil," he said and Spike felt the warm glow where a heart used to beat.

"Right. No anchovies. And no bloody pineapple."

"I like pineapple."

"Too fucking bad."