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Cicirossi
Joss Whedon is God and owns all. It's still his world, although we like to sneak in the side door and cover Xander with chocolate sauce and whipped cream when no one's looking.
"Should we wake them up?"
"I don't know. They look cute."
"But what if they did that thing, you know? We don't have enough chocolate."
"They still have clothes on. I think we're safe."
"You can do it with your clothes on, Will."
"Well, yeah, but there's no shaking, puking, or... or bleeding. So I think they just fell asleep. It kinda looks like they're cuddling."
Why was it, Xander wondered, that every time he woke up lately someone was talking about him? Or maybe it was that way all the time, they were just usually talking about him somewhere else. Talk, talk, talk. That's all they did these days. And all he did was have sex with Spike. Hey look, a new full time job.
Despite the fact that Buffy, then Willow, then Buffy and so on were talking, he was disinclined to move. He was cool and comfy and not quite as loopy as he'd been before. The first real sleep he'd had in days.
Someone poked him in the ribs and he grunted. And poked the ribs under him. Somehow Spike had gotten beneath him as they slept. His mattress shifted and snuffled, and then licked his neck, making him jump. "Spike! Stop it. The girls are back. We have to get up."
"I am up, pet, but I don't think it's the way you mean."
"Oh man."
With a heave and a groan, Xander levered himself up off Spike and the couch, and landed in a heap on the floor, blinking up at Buffy and Willow owlishly. Those little stars that usually appeared in cartoons circled around his head for a minute and he almost went horizontal, but Spike caught his shoulder, and he stayed upright. "So what did you find out?"
"Are you feeling better?"
That from Willow, who looked permanently worried these days. Maybe he wasn't looking too good. Xander knew he hadn't been yesterday, and if his looks reflected how much worse he felt, then maybe she should be worried. His barometer these days was Spike, and Xander glanced over his shoulder to check the expression he was getting. Frowny concern with just a bit of bemused goofy. Must not be that bad then.
"We didn't do the wild thing, if that's what you mean."
"More's the pity."
"Shut up, Spike. I'm still way too weak, though. And I feel like I have the flu. I hurt all over."
"Well at least you didn't compound the problem with having sex with the undead again."
Sarcasm dripped from Spike's voice when he answered Buffy. "Yeah, love. You should know first hand how that compounds things."
"Okay children, play nice. What did you come up with? Anyone make a mail run?"
Now Buffy was all serious looking, and she and Willow shared an uneasy glance. Then Buffy seemed to stiffen her resolve and drew herself up. "Someone emptied the PO Box, yeah. No one we knew, but we followed him."
"Him?"
"Yep," Willow chimed in. "We think he worked for a messenger service."
"Oh that's wonderful, isn't it?" They all looked at Spike. "Did you happen to see who he delivered it to?"
"Um, maybe? I mean it isn't conclusive. He could've just been meeting someone there. I mean it's just right downtown and kind of convenient, especially if you need that kind of stuff, which the person doing this would, you know."
"Willow. English," Xander said at the same time Spike said, "Spit it out, Red."
"He went to the Magic Box, Xand."
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