Title: A Spot of Bother (3/5)
Author: Gail Christison

(notes and disclaimer with part one)

"Chicken pox? As in teeny-tiny scabby spots and copious itching?"

"Those are the ones," Giles confirmed dryly.

"Well then it's a good thing I had those when I was four, for which I am eternally grateful, since all I can remember about the fun-age that is Buffy and chicken pox, is the barfing, the stinky pink stuff they used to stop the itching and a lot of get well presents, mostly of the 'keep me busy so I won't scratch' variety."

"In that case, I think Xander would probably appreciate a visit next time you're here. We won't be able to train until Monday, but I'm relying on you to do some work on your own and to keep me informed. And remember..."

"...Be careful," Buffy quoted, smiling into the phone. "I know. I will. And you know that I'm totally heart-broken about not training on my weekend away from the joy that is Sunnydale High, right?"

Giles smiled back. "Absolutely. Devastated," he agreed dryly, still smiling when she said bye and rang off.

He cradled the receiver thoughtfully and went to start lunch for himself and Xander. Jenny had gone home to shower and change and to run some necessary errands, including stopping by the drug store to pick up something for Xander's spots.

She returned close to dinner time and sniffed appreciatively. "Is that chili I can smell?"

Giles chuckled. "I wasn't sure if you'd like it, but yes. Xander felt the need for Mexican food, and I took the opportunity to try out my own chili con carne recipe on a willing guinea pig. I-I've been working on it almost since I arrived in California. It's improved immensely, I think, but it will be interesting to have a reaction from a near...um... native, as it were."

She grinned back, her eyes alive with pleasure at his uncharacteristically boyish enthusiasm. "Not to mention mine. I'm pretty fussy about my chili, myself."

The meal was a raging success. Giles had found a good balance between the spices and the bite of the chili, and made a few embellishments of his own, browning chopped chorizo with the meat, and adding a can of crushed tomatoes to the mix, along the way.

Xander ate two bowls and consumed four sodas and a half a jug of water before he was sated, a good indicator that he was soon to be on the road to recovery.

The others ate their meal in the living room, acutely aware that neither of them really wanted to be eating at that moment, but enjoying the food nonetheless.

Giles wiped his brow for the third time, surprised by the potency of the chili, though no one else had complained. He had thought he was reasonably judicious about the amount of chili powder, cayenne and chopped jalapeno he'd allowed.

When they were done he immediately suggested they go out for ice cream, as much for the cool of the night as for the promised chill of the ice cream. Xander, still hearty after his meal and complaining about the lack of television in Giles-land, assured them he was quite well enough to amuse himself with a brain-teaser puzzle Giles had dug up in desperation.

The evening was lovely, the slightest of sea breezes rippling through Sunnydale as they left the car and walked down the main street to the twenty-four hour supermarket. They spent a long time agonizing over flavors, Giles complaining about the sheer number of them, when his childhood listed just chocolate, strawberry or vanilla as comfortably familiar, though memories of Cornish ice cream still made his mouth water. Ultimately, they left armed with a pint each of something decadent: double chocolate, filled with cookie dough, chocolate chips and nuts for Xander, a confection of chocolate and mint for Jenny, and for Giles an intriguing combination of liqueur, chocolate fudge, raisins and caramel ice cream. On the way out, Giles paused at the donut counter to buy a box for old time's sake, and also to sate the beast that was Xander in snack mode. He hadn't quite counted on the young man feeling so much better so quickly.

He carried the sacks in one hand and held Jenny's with the other, incredibly content just to be alongside her, aware of everything about her from her scent to the way her hair moved in the breeze...even the sheer energy that radiated from her when she laughed or chuckled.

"When Xander has quite recovered, we should do something," he said suddenly, getting her full attention. "I'm sure there are some lovely 'bed and breakfasts' up the coast...possibly somewhere you'd like to see...? Monterey, perhaps? I think a weekend is doable. A-and we'd have your beeper thingy if an apocalypse decides to happen just to spite us..."

Jenny stopped and turned, sliding her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. "Rupert Giles, you old romantic," she teased. "I can't think of anything I'd like better. And you're right, there are plenty of places...A part of me would give anything to be on the road now, heading up the coast...just the two of us...no baggage, no strings...just us..."

For a long moment Giles mentally indulged in the same fantasy, imagining what it might be like to be ordinary...to simply be able to say 'let's go'...to have a choice. Eventually, he smiled ruefully. "Much as I would also love it, this ice cream probably wouldn't last much past San Luis Obispo..."

She wrinkled her nose. "Spoilsport." Then she smiled conspiratorially. "Okay, so we go back and eat ice cream instead. I can live with that."

His responding smile was just as rueful as the first one. "As can I...reluctantly. But we will have our day..."

They reached the car, Giles rubbing his neck, then his temple, as he unlocked the doors.

"I know," she said, sliding into the passenger seat. "I'm just not sure how we're going to fit our day into everyone else's schedules. You've got Buffy and her group. I've got class schedules and Snyder constantly on my back to get the Sunnydale sports heroes through their curriculum, especially the swim team. If he had his way they wouldn't even have to show up to class to get a passing grade. And they know it. I'm getting quite the collection of comic books and magazines from jocks who should be reading text books, not Marvel and Playboy..."

"If you'd like me to talk to him...Snyder that is, I'd be happy to," Giles offered, starting the car.

Jenny shook her head. "I can handle the little toad. You don't need him snooping around the library trying to get something on you...because of me."

"Snyder doesn't frighten me, nor should he, you. Just let me know if you ever need someone to deal with him for you."

She chuckled. "Easy, there big guy. It'll be fine. Just make sure we get that weekend some time soon. I'm sure Buffy and the others can handle one weekend without you on perpetual standby."

*******

"Rupert?"

The world came into focus very slowly.

"Rupert? Are you okay?"

"Jenny? Mm-hm...fine..." He grimaced. "Other than a broken back. And..." He stopped trying to sit up. "...Oww...every bone in my body is aching. I don't remember this couch being so damned uncomfortable."

"Well, you don't look fine. You look like hell. You have a fever and your color's horrible. And good morning to you too."

"What are you talking about? I'm..." He sat up too fast and grabbed his head. "Good God," he moaned as the top of his head threatened to blow off. "What time is it?"

"Ten forty-three," she told him dryly.

"There must be some mistake. I never sleep that late," he objected, rubbing his temples.

"I think the mistake might be in the assumption that someone your age must have had chickenpox at some point."

He sat up straight at that, then winced again. "I do *not* have chicken pox!"

Jenny grinned and leaned across to pull his T-shirt over his head and to throw it over the back of the couch, before he could object. "Wanna bet?"

Giles looked down at his stomach. "Oh dear lord..." he sighed miserably. And repeated the observation as the door opened again and Willow and Buffy spilled into the room chattering about something of no consequence.

Until they reached the living room and found Miss Calendar standing over a half-naked, spotty Giles.

"Oh my God...Giles...Chickenpox...!" Willow spluttered.

"Actually I was using most of my wiggins to deal with the nakedness," Buffy said dryly. "Who knew there was actually nakedness under all that tweed? I just thought there'd be more tweed..."

Giles gave both of them filthy looks. "This doesn't make sense. The incubation period for most viruses is significantly longer than the period for which I've been exposed to Xander's illness."

At that, Willow bubbled up. "Oh, I meant to tell you. I know where Xander got his chicken pox from. They're going around the school. Snyder has them too. It's the lunch-lady, Miss Schmid. They think she caught them from her pre-schooler grandson and then kinda did the 'Typhoid Mary' thing without knowing it. She's kinda in the hospital right now with pneumonia, but they think she'll be okay. Chicken pox is way harsh on older adults..."

As Willow trailed off, all eyes fell on Giles, who snorted.

"I'll be fine. I don't know how I could have missed the bloody things when I was a child. I remember enough mates missing school because of them. I'd always assumed I had them as a toddler or something. Typical. Bloody typical. And I can't even sulk in my own bed."

"Xander's much better now. He can stay at my place for a couple more days, till the spots scab over, at least. I think you need the bed more," Willow proposed.

Jenny Calendar moved closer to Giles and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Willow's right. Willow, you and Buffy go upstairs and tell Xander he's moving this afternoon. I'll drive you all over in the Citroen once we get our new patient settled."

Giles looked mutinous. "Jolly nice of you all to plan my illness for me. Who says I'm going to bed, or that I intend to let anyone dice with the clutch on my car? It's very tricky."

Jenny smiled fondly, ignoring the grumpiness. "Rupert, that clutch has been faulty ever since I've known you. I know just how to baby it, exactly the same as you do. Now, are you two going to go and get Xander ready to go home, or are we going to have two impossible patients to nurse, here?"

Giles stood up. "Don't be ridiculous!" he grumbled as he clutched at his forehead and snatched his t-shirt off the back of the couch.

Nobody said a word about the shorts. They all just watched him walking like a spotty nonagenarian toward the stairs, then start climbing them, resting every couple of steps, but refusing to look back at his audience.

"This should be good," Buffy said under her breath when he reached the landing.

"You're leaving," Giles announced in a surly voice.

"I am?" Xander's startled one echoed down to the other room.

Then his eyes widened, taking in the extensive rash of spots the older man was now sporting. "Oh, wow, Giles....welcome to the land of Pox...Uh...let me rephrase that..."

"No rephrasing. Just getting dressed. I'm driving you over to the Rosenberg's. Willow has invited you to finish recuperating at her house."

"She has?" The flicker of disappointment was quickly covered. "I mean...woo and hoo...it's been fun, big guy. I hope they take care of you as well as they did me."

"I'll be taking care of myself," Giles groused. "I'm perfectly capable..."

Xander grinned crookedly. "Yeah, right. That's why your spotty self is standing there, swaying...in nothing but a pair of boxers. Look on the bright side, though...you'll have Miss Calendar to administer the tender loving care...hopefully in large and enthusiastic portions."

"Xander," Giles said with a little less strength, his color waning even further.

"Giles, you better sit down." Xander raised his voice. "Whoever's down there, you better come up here now. I need my clothes, Giles needs the bed made and I'm thinking he needs to get horizontal as soon as possible..."

Within half an hour the bed was remade, Xander showered and clothed, though still scratching far too much, and Giles was tucked up and completely out to it. He'd fallen asleep even before he could complain about the fuss.

"He's going to be okay, right?" Xander asked, just before leaving for Willow's house. There was genuine concern in the dark eyes. "I mean everyone said this thing is way harsher on adults. I mean...Snyder actually taking days off, and Miss Schmid with pneumonia. Just because I had it pretty easy, obviously doesn't mean..."

Jenny put a hand briefly on his shoulder. "He'll be fine, Xander. As far as I know his immune system isn't depressed and he's in pretty good physical condition...and despite what you all think, he's actually in his prime. I'm going to stay with him for as long as he needs me. Willow, you'll have to take my classes for a few days. Go see the vice-principal and explain...in a way that will sound, y'know, good, and tell him I said that you're to take my classes and to follow the lesson plan, as is. I'll call when I can to confirm."

Willow grinned widely. "Sure...I can do that...no problem," she gushed breathlessly, then looked up at the loft. "Take care of him. It is kinda serious, even if Giles is pretty fit."

Buffy looked from one to the other, then up to the loft. "Yeah. Don't let anything happen to him. Losing one Watcher was one too many and I'm not planning on trading this one in any time soon."

Jenny looked at her sharply. The words were almost casual, but the tone was tense and the blue-grey eyes kept flicking up to the loft the whole time.

"He's going to be okay, Buffy. I won't let anything happen to him. If there are any complications I'll see he gets treatment immediately. I know at least two doctors who'll do house calls...for me."

Buffy looked at her speculatively. "Technopagans, right?"

Jenny smiled. "Yeah, but also qualified doctors. One is a G.P. and one works at Sunnydale General."

"Wow, if he works the Emergency Room, he may have treated Giles before...maybe more than once, even..." Xander shrugged when all of the women looked at him. "Well, why not? He's been there more times than any of us put together."

"Maybe," Jenny conceded, amused. "But there are a lot of doctors at Sunnydale General. The point is you don't have to worry. He's in good hands."

She watched them all leave, then followed, more than a little reluctantly, though still amused. It was clear that young Xander really didn't want to leave and she suspected it had a lot to do with being the center of attention, for once, and being properly taken care of. She regretted having to move him, but there was only one bed, and despite her reassurances to the contrary, chicken pox was potentially a very serious disease in adults, though she wouldn't have traded seeing the priceless look on her lover's face when he realized what he had, for anything less than a healthy Rupert.

It was several hours after her return, and a half dozen visits to check on him before settling herself, when Giles finally stirred from the exhaustion induced slumber, only to realize several things. First, he was not immune to 'morning' breath by a long shot, second his head was threatening to explode with the force of several atom bombs, and third, Jenny was asleep alongside him. And...Oh, God, there was a number four. A very inconvenient one. He wondered if there was anything worse than having to go to the bathroom when you felt like you'd tied one on for three days and nothing short of a steam shovel would get you up.

The problem was moot however. For all his efforts at sitting up stealthily so as not to disturb her, Jenny was woken by his effort to swing his legs out of bed, anyway.

She wasn't sure if it was the grunting noise, the hiss of cursing or the sound and lurch of the bedsprings as his weight shifted, but it didn't really matter.

"So exactly where do you think you're going, Buster?"

Giles raised an eyebrow but deferred to the tom-toms in his head and didn't turn. "I have an urgent need to relieve myself, but I didn't want to wake you up," he snorted. Or at least he thought it was going to be an impressive delivery. That was before his voice trailed off into a limp croak, among the labored breaths he needed to get it all out.

In a moment she'd slid out silently and padded around his side in nothing but one of his longer t-shirts, to stand in front of him.

"Logistical problem," she pointed out. "You're six...what...two?" He nodded, then winced. "And I'd say about a hundred and eighty pounds. Not exactly the dimensions I'd pick for something someone my size might have to carry, except you don't have a bathroom up here. So we have two choices. Either I find you something to go potty in or we move you downstairs for the duration. Except I'm not sure your body is up to several days on the couch."

Giles rolled his eyes, getting more frustrated by the moment. He was sure Jenny could help him downstairs, but the effort to get back up to the loft every time he needed to go to the bathroom was going to be very wearing, if not rather unrealistic.

"So here's the plan: we're going down, now, to get you to the bathroom. While you're in there you should wash up and comb your hair. I'll get some clothes and stuff together for you, and then I'm taking you to my apartment. It's all one level, for one thing, and for another it's only half the distance to Sunnydale General if there are any problems later."

"There won't be any problems," he croaked. "And I can't leave here. What if Buffy needs me? What if ..."

"Rupert," she growled. "They can take care of themselves. Trust me on this. And I'll call Buffy and tell her that I've moved you. She can come to my place just as easily as yours. It's not like all your books are here. They'd still have to research anything important in the library on their own."

"I really don't think... That git of a substitute librarian will probably move my books to the back of the stacks again. It'll take me a week to find them all. And, bloody hell, I've left Rourke's Compendium of Demon Toxicology in my desk drawer, not to mention several of Buffy's stakes and an amulet I was working on to help Buffy fight those Cetlar demons in the cave on Miller's point without falling under their thrall. Snyder sprang a surprise visit last week and I had to clear the decks rather hastily. Since then, of course, there have been multiple distractions."

"Wow, our little Mister 'Leon F. Ripley...no relation to...' is going to have an exciting visit. Where does Snyder find them?"

"Under rocks, I've no doubt," Giles growled. He still hadn't forgiven the skinny, officious little substitute librarian, with his self-importance and delusions of actual intelligence, for the chaos he'd caused last time Giles needed a substitute, interfering in things he'd no business touching, much less reorganizing or moving. Not to mention locking the library after school hours so that Buffy had been forced to break in at least once, in order to find a book with a spell in it that would banish several large new demons.

Necessary, since it didn't seem to matter if she skewered, shish kabob-bed, or beheaded or even did a hemi-corporectomy or two, they still got up again...sort of...just in more angry bits than before. The Monty-Pythonesque element hadn't been lost on her, but, she had informed him, they smelled bad and looked even more gruesome in bits than their usual 'handsome' selves. He smiled to himself, not least because their normal selves looked exactly like yellow-green bipedal...trout; homicidal trout, it had to be said, but nonetheless...

"Okay, then are we agreed that you're going to my place? I'll get the gang to go to the library and pick up your stuff, including all the books they know you use most and bring them to my place. With Snyder off sick, I doubt he'd have organized substitutes yet, and our dear vice-principal will be too busy basking to remember that she's supposed to actually run the place."

"Clarissa isn't that bad," Giles pointed out. "She's just tired of being overlooked. For all intents and purposes, she should have been made Principal after Flutie was eat-um-killed. I hope you're right about getting access to the books before that prat comes back." His head dropped a little and he made a noise that Jenny recognized as extremely...not good.

She helped him to his feet and shuffled him down the steps as fast as they could go, which is to say not very fast, then across the room to the hallway and the bathroom. By the time they'd reached the archway she knew she'd have to park him and make a run for it. She only just made it back with the bucket in time. He was already in the throes of his first hurl.

At least, she thought, wrinkling her nose as she waited for him to finish, she wouldn't need to clean the floor. She did, however, resolve to take him right back up to bed. He was in no condition to travel, even the relatively short distance to her apartment. Buffy would have to be enlisted to help move him in the morning.

Getting Rupert back to bed turned out not to be quite as difficult as first thought. After throwing up, headache tablets and going to the bathroom, Jenny opted, with his grudging co-operation, to put Giles in the shower to bring down his high temperature enough to hopefully relieve both headache and nausea. The long shower helped considerably, despite the difficulty of getting into the bath to take it. He actually made most of the journey back under his own steam, grumpier than ever, but seemingly a little stronger and less distressed. In a few hours it would be time to get up anyway, so she climbed back in alongside him once he'd settled and curled up to try and get at least a little more rest.

End part 3