I do not own the characters from Angel or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They belong to Joss Whedon, and I must content myself with just taking them out to play once in a while. Sigh.

Not Time's Fool

Rose fumbled for the alarm with a groan. She never realized it was so loud before. And her fingers couldn't seem to find the shut off button. Her groping digits still hadn't managed to turn it off when a gentle hand came down on top of hers and made the annoying beeping stop. She could swear she could still hear lingering echoes from it.

"Time to rise and shine, luv." Spike spoke cheerfully, but it wasn't reflected in his features. Most days Rose would be half-way to the shower by now, usually tugging the covers off him on her way. "You all right, babe?"

"I don't think so." Rose made a feeble attempt to sit up, then fell back onto the bed.

Spike sat down beside her and gently stroked her cheek. He frowned, and laid his hand palm down on her forehead. "You're burning up, sweetheart."

"Am I going to die?" Rose felt a stab of panic. Her life force and Spike's were intertwined. If one of them died, both would. She'd invested far too much time and effort into Spike's well-being to allow him to die.

"I doubt it." Spike didn't like seeing her like this, but reason told him that she'd probably just picked up a flu bug or some such. But it had to be frightening to her, she'd never been ill before. And it had been so long since he'd had to deal with such things for himself, that he wasn't sure how to handle it. But he steeled himself not to show the rising panic he was starting to feel. Get a grip, he told himself. People get sick all the time and they get over it. Nothing to worry about. And since he was a vampire, she probably felt a lot hotter to him than she would to someone else. But they had literally zero supplies to deal with the problem. No thermometer, not so much as a bottle of aspirin.

"Spike?" Rose suddenly clutched her stomach. Spike got the hint and got her into the bathroom, just in time. Almost assuredly the flu. He got her tidied up and back into bed.

&&&&&

He left her laying in bed with a cool cloth on her head, the best he could do at the moment. He went into the living room and picked up the phone, and halted. Who in the hell was he going to call? Who could or would be able to give him the advice he needed to take care of her? He let his thoughts wander back over their relationship, then broke into a grin.

"Hello Lorne? This is Spike. Of course I know what bloody time of the morning it is, you git. Sorry, it's just I'm a little worried. Rose seems to have a touch of the flu, and I know absolutely diddly about taking care of her. And we don't have any stuff here if I did. Don't know, we don't have a thermometer. You will? Thanks a million, mate. Yeah, about an hour? I'll be waiting." Spike hung up with a sigh of relief. The cavalry was on its way.

&&&&&&&

Spike spent most of the waiting time sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Rose's hand. Either that or replacing the cloth on her forehead, or helping her to the loo. She'd been sick two more times since he'd called Lorne. She currently had the blankets flung back, sweating profusely. Five minutes ago, she'd been huddled under them, shivering.

He practically sprinted to the door when he heard Lorne's knock. "I can't tell you how bloody glad I am to see you, mate," he told the demon.

"Yeah, later," Lorne said. He seemed a little distracted. "I take it she's in the bedroom?"

"Well where else would she be?" Spike demanded irritably. "She's sick. You know, fever, chills, nausea. Think she'd be in the kitchen having a hearty breakfast?"

"Calm down, Spikester," Lorne soothed. He started heading for the bedroom. "Let's just concentrate on getting our little blossom all better, shall we?"

In the few minutes that he'd been out of the room, Rose had progressed from fever to chills again. She was curled up in a ball with the bed clothes drawn up tightly about her.

Lorne started rummaging in the sack of supplies he'd brought, and unearthed a thermometer. "Think you could open up and put this under you tongue for a minute, Rosebud?"

"I'll try," Rose muttered miserably. And she actually was able to keep the thermometer in her mouth long enough for the Pylean to get a reading. But as soon as he took the instrument out of her mouth, she went bolting for the bathroom again.

&&&&&&

Angel was waiting at the front entrance when Spike and Lorne arrived. "You're both late," he stated, looking at his watch for show. "And where's Rose?"

"Home. Sick." Spike said the words slowly and enunciated them carefully, as if he were talking to an idiot.

"She's running a fever of 101.7," Lorne put in. "Looks like a nasty case of the flu, poor, sick kitten."

Angel looked from vampire to demon. Rose had spent countless eons as one of The Powers That Be, but only a short time as a human. It was her first time being sick, and he was wondering why two people who professed to care for her so much were here at work. "You left here there alone?" he asked incredulously. "How could you leave her there all by herself?"

"She wouldn't let us stay," Spike muttered in disgust. "Said she didn't want us to see her like that. Don't know what else there could be to see after the morning I went through."

"When we tried to take a stand and say no," Lorne elaborated. "She started crying. And she wouldn't stop until we agreed to leave. For such a sweet little girl, she sure plays dirty pool."

Spike growled something under his breath and swung his fist at a convenient wall. Angel caught it just before it landed and ran up an expensive repair bill. For the wall, not Spike.

"You're staying away from ops today," Angel ordered. "The mood that you're in, you'll end up killing somebody. Why don't you give Wes a hand?"

Spike looked like he was about to take another swing, and this time with something other than an innocent wall as his target. Indeed, his hand had already begun to describe an arc in Angel's direction before he caught himself. "Whatever," he mumbled, and slouched off to the research department.

Despite his busy schedule, Lorne still remained. "Listen, big guy, I know it's just the flu, and no big deal, but I was thinking of arranging a little get well gift. Flowers, probably. You in?"

Angel reached for his wallet. "Make it roses," he suggested, handing the demon a twenty.

&&&&&&

Rose spent the time in utter misery. While all the humans ills and pains were small enough price to pay to be with Spike, she wondered how people could take such things in stride. At least the nausea had passed. One of the medicines in Lorne's little bag had taken care of that. She still didn't feel like eating, though. In fact, at the moment, she didn't think she'd ever feel like eating again. She had been faithfully taking various medications according to the demon's instructions, though. The rest of the time she slept, and dreamed fever dreams. That was what had brought her awake this time. For some reason, this last dream had seemed to be particularly real. In the dream, she'd seen Spike with another woman, and somehow, she couldn't bring herself to just let it slide as a product of her illness. And why, if she had to dream about Spike making love to someone else, did she see in her dream a pretty blond girl that she had never seen before. It was disquieting in the extreme, and she resolved not to tell Spike about it. Maybe not anyone. She looked at the clock and realized that it was time for some more medicine. She was about to reach for it, and some of the ginger ale that Lorne had brought along, when there was a knock at the door. She moaned theatrically and fumbled her robe on. She hoped it wasn't another Jehovah's Witness. The one other time one had shown up at the door, it had been all Spike could do to keep her from telling him how things actually were. Well, she had been there.

As she shuffled slowly to the door, the knock came again. "I'm coming," she grumbled. But she wondered about it. Whoever it was must be pretty sure that there was someone at home.

When she opened the door, at first all she saw was a pair of arms laden down with roses. Lots of roses, and in every color that roses come in. She stood there gawking for a moment when a voice came from behind the floral arrangement. "You have to invite me in, Rose. I haven't been here before."

"Come in, Angel." No wonder her visitor had been certain that someone was at home. Angel came in and looked for a place to set his burden. Without asking, he headed for the kitchen.

"Do you have some vases, Rose?" Angel asked.

"One," she replied, trailing after him. "But all those won't fit in it." Her knees wobbled a bit, and Angel set the flowers down on the table and got her into a chair. He laid a hand on her forehead. "Oh please, don't you start too, Angel," she begged. "I had enough fussing from Spike and Lorne this morning."

"Someone has to take care of you," Angel observed. "And you chased Lorne and Spike out this morning, or so I'm told." He started rummaging through the cabinets until he found the vase. He put water in it, and as many of the flowers as would fit. Then, he started looking out other suitable vessels, and used whatever was large enough to work as a substitute until all the roses had been attended to.

"You didn't have to do that," Rose protested.

"Sure I did," he replied. "If you didn't keep them in water, they'd die a lot sooner. Don't you want to be able to enjoy them for a while?"

"I didn't mean that," she clarified. "I mean getting them in the first place. It was very sweet, but roses are dreadfully expensive. I know. Spike got me a dozen roses once, and I found the receipt."

"They're not just from me," Angel said. "They're from everyone. Lorne took up a collection. I am merely a lone contributor and the delivery man." He stopped and fumbled around in his jacket pocket, and pulled an envelope. "This is for you too. A get well card. Everyone who chipped in for the flowers signed it."

Rose opened the card without reading it. She was more interested in seeing who all had signed it. At the very top, in large letters, was Lorne's name. She saw Angel's, and Wesley's and Gunn's and Fred's, even Harmony's. There were even several names that she didn't immediately recognize, but they must be people with whom she'd had some contact. Tucked away down in a corner was even Josh Maxwell's name, with the word monster in parenthesis. Something bothered her, though. "I don't see Spike's name on this. Don't tell me that he wasn't involved."

Angel looked embarrassed. He didn't think that anyone had even thought of asking Spike. "We've sort of been keeping our distance from Spike today," he hedged. "His mood hasn't been the best."

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Rose asked. Her eyes fixed on the card. There were roses on it, too.

Angel hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. "Don't act like it's your fault, Rose," he ordered softly. "You didn't choose to get sick. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that if someone had asked first, you'd have passed on the whole deal, right?"

Rose managed a feeble grin. Spike, she loved to distraction, but Angel was probably her closest friend. The one she could talk to about practically anything.

"That's better," Angel remarked. "And maybe I'd better see about getting you back to bed. If you take longer to get better just because you catch a chill from sitting out here, Spike will try to stake me." He helped Rose to her feet and back to the bedroom.

"I can't believe how worn out I feel just from that little effort," Rose muttered. "It must be enough to make you glad you can't get sick."

"There are pros and cons to the arrangement," Angel admitted. "But you don't regret that you're here, do you?"

Rose's face took on a dreamy expression. "I couldn't regret anything that keeps me with Spike," she declared. Then, she got more serious. "Angel, I know it's been a long time for you, but do you know if fevers make you dream.., odd things?"

"They can." He gave her a searching look. "Did you dream about something that bothered you, Rose?"

Her face took on a pink flush beneath the pallor of illness. "It's probably nothing," she mumbled.

"Then tell me about it so I can tell you it's nothing," Angel prompted. "You obviously don't seem to feel that it's nothing, or it wouldn't be affecting you this way."

"I dreamed that I saw Spike," she began. So far, all true, but none of what unsettled her. She wasn't sure how to say it, or even if she could. But having started, she ought to finish. She gathered her fever-jangled wits about her. "He was with someone else."

"When you say with someone, you don't mean that they were just there in the same place, do you?" Angel asked. "You dreamed about Spike with another woman?"

Rose nodded. "It sounds silly, now doesn't it? Spike is constantly telling me, and showing me, how much he loves me. So why should it be so disquieting?" She sighed. "Maybe if she hadn't been so pretty. She was adorable looking, petite with blond hair. Something about her seemed to suggest that she was a lot stronger than she looked. Isn't it odd how you know things in dreams that aren't actually spelled out in the actions?"

Angel abruptly sat on the edge of the bed. A pretty, petite blond who was a lot stronger than she looked. As far as he was concerned, it could only mean one person. Buffy.

"Angel?" Rose leaned forward and touched his arm gently. "What's wrong? Who is that girl? Someone you know? Or that Spike knows?"

"Both," Angel confessed. "I can't be one hundred percent sure from what you gave me to go on, but I could almost swear that the woman in your dreams is Buffy."

"The Slayer?" Rose fell back against the pillows. "I saw Spike making love to the Slayer?"

"It was just a dream, Rose," Angel said, without much conviction. "Just a dream brought on by the fever."

"Then why did I see the Slayer when I've never even met her before?" Rose wondered.

&&&&&&&

By tacit consent, Rose and Angel had dropped the subject of her dream and the Slayer. They chatted about relatively inconsequential things, and Angel saw to it that Rose took her medicine, and that she got plenty of fluids down her. He even suggested food, once, but only once. The look on Rose's face was enough to keep him from mentioning it again.

The afternoon waned, and Rose had dozed off again, but Angel hung around. He'd find his desk piled up with paperwork tomorrow, but she needed someone to take care of her. Or maybe, he needed to take care of her. Something.

There was a noise that sounded like someone kicking the door. "Open up ya ponce!" Spike shouted. "I know you're there, so make yourself useful for a change."

Angel got up and answered the door. There was no more of Spike visible than there had been of him when he'd arrived. "Do you want me to take some of that for you?" he asked.

"I've got it," Spike replied grouchily. "Nice of you all to include me in the get-well present. I only live with her, you know."

"It was just an oversight," Angel answered. "And you've got to admit that you haven't exactly been approachable today."

Spike staggered on past him. It wasn't that he couldn't walk with his burden, he just couldn't see where he was going. "'Spose not," he conceded. "How's she doing then?"

"Well, she hasn't been sick once since I've been here," Angel replied. "And her temperature's down about a degree. She'll probably still have to stay in bed tomorrow. But, look on the bright side, tomorrow's Saturday, she can't throw you out." As Spike headed into the bedroom, Angel cautioned him. "Be quiet, she's sleeping."

"No, she's not." Rose's voice floated out of the bedroom. "All that kicking and shouting would wake the dead."

Spike half-fell as he unceremoniously emptied his arms on the bed at Roses feet. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, sitting beside her and pulling her into his arms. "I wasn't thinking."

"It's all right," she mumbled from where she had her face buried in his shoulder. "I've slept half the day away as it is."

Spike pulled back from her a bit. Not enough that he had to let her go, but just enough so that he could look at her. "Sleep is probably the best medicine for you, pet. Sleep all that you need to."

"And miss out on all the lovely presents?" she teased. She looked down at the pile at the foot of the bed. "Is all that for me?"

Spike looked a little embarrassed. He was starting to think that maybe, just maybe he had gone a little overboard. There were a couple of balloon bouquets, a box containing another dozen roses (and later, when he saw the array that still sat in the kitchen, he was glad he'd gotten another vase for them), and several stuffed animals.

Angel was getting that three's a crowd feeling again. He'd often had occasion to feel that way around the two of them. "Why don't I just leave now?" he suggested.

"Good-bye, Angel," Rose said politely enough. Her eyes were darting back and forth between the get-well presents and Spike. How could she have been so silly as to think he'd leave her, dream or no dream? Spike loved her.

Spike walked Angel to the door. Not so much out of inherent good manners, as it was that Rose would probably scold him for being bad-mannered if he didn't. Still, the pouf had taken care of Rose, even if he'd have preferred to do it himself. "Thanks for looking after her," he mumbled, a little less than graciously.

Angel just barely refrained from laughing. He knew how much that one sentence had cost Spike, and laughter would just be rubbing salt in the wound. "No problem," he said lightly. "She's easy to take care of."

"She is," Spike agreed, tension smoothing out of his features. "So why don't you get your nancy-boy ass on home and leave me to it?"

When Spike returned to the bedroom, Rose lay there with one of the stuffed animals in her arms, curled up, sound asleep. He just stood and looked at her for a while, thinking the whole time how lucky he was to have her. Then, moving as quietly as a cat, he started clearing the miscellany off the bed so it wouldn't be in her way.

&&&&&&&

Rose was dreaming again. Whether her dreams would have taken the turn they had without Angel's suggestion, or if that was their natural progression, was anybody's guess. This time it was obvious that the girl in her dreams was the Slayer. She and Spike fought side by side, staking vampires, fighting demons. When the last foe was vanquished, they kissed. Passionately. Rose woke up with a gasp and a start, sitting bolt upright, heart pounding. It had seemed so real.

Spike had been in the other room watching the telly with the sound down low so as not to disturb Rose, and also so he'd have no trouble hearing her if she needed him. He heard the gasp and was at Rose's side in a moment.

"Is something wrong, sweetheart?" He brushed her tousled hair away from her face.

Rose didn't answer, but wrapped her arms around him and clung to him. Spike held her and murmured soothing nothings until the frenetic beating of her heart slowed to a more normal pace, and the tension eased out of her body.

"Bad dreams?" he asked, giving her a gentle squeeze.

Rose nodded against his shoulder, still unwilling to relinquish the feeling of security that being in his arms always produced in her.

"Don't want to talk about it, or can't you remember?" Spike pressed on. He supposed that he should have let it go, but it bothered him a bit. Rose wasn't generally so jumpy. Maybe it was just because she was sick.

"Mm-hmm," she mumbled non-commitally. Time to distract him from the subject. Besides, she was feeling a little dehydrated. "I hate to be a bother, love, but could you get me something to drink? I'm terribly thirsty."

"It's not a bother," he said firmly, tucking the covers back around her. "You're not a bother. Not to me, not ever." He gave her a quick kiss and got to his feet. "And just in case it still hasn't sunk through that pretty mop of yours, I love you." He left to get her a drink.

As Rose watched him walk away from her, she just couldn't banish the niggling little doubt. He loved her, but did he love the Slayer more?