Chapter 3

"Lynda, are you okay in there?" Spike tapped at the bathroom door of Lynda's flat. It had been three weeks since the opening of the new offices and Lynda had grown increasingly nervy leading up to the first edition.

"I'm fine!" came the reply, followed by more retching.

"You don't sound fine," replied Spike with a grin. Lynda hated admitting she was sick almost as much as she hated admitting she was wrong!

"Stop lurking by the bathroom door!" commanded the weak voice from within. "I'm . . ." More retching.

Spike grimaced. Eventually, he heard the sounds of flushing and running water. The door opened a crack.

"Why are you forever hovering around bathroom doors, waiting for me to come out?" asked the green face.

"Oh, it's not just you," replied Spike. "I do this to all the girls."

"Why am I not surprised?" replied Lynda dryly. She closed the door. Spike heard her brushing her teeth and splashing more water on her face before she finally emerged, looking a more acceptable colour, facially.

"Do you think you've caught a bug or something?" he asked, following her up the hallway of her flat.

"Of course not! It was probably the Chinese we had last night," Lynda sat on her bed and pulled on a pair of tights.

"Hey! I cooked that!" Spike looked hurt. "It's your favourite. Peking-style chicken and garlic."

"Well, I'm not sick," replied Lynda, slipping into a pair of shoes. "I'm fine. And what are you doing here, anyway?" She turned to the mirror and ran a comb quickly through her hair.

"Uh, Lynda? I slept here!" Spike grinned. Lynda returned the grin, in spite of herself.

"How could I forget?" she asked, putting down the comb. "But you're supposed to be at work. Tuesday morning? Staff meeting?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," said Spike, sliding his arms around her waist. "I've been crawling to the boss. I think she likes me." Lynda smiled.

"Only because you're the same blood type. She likes to have you around in case of emergency."

"I can deal with that," replied Spike. "Maybe I should be put in a case behind her desk, with 'In Case Of Emergency, Break Glass' on it."

"I've often pictured you like that," replied Lynda. "Maybe not with a glass top but definitely a box."

"Lynda, we've talked about this. No more death jokes!" said Spike warningly. "I still haven't forgiven you for that wind-up after the fire. It's been nearly a year and I still wake up sweating."

"Oh come on, Spike! It was just a little joke. And Colin's fine now. The therapy has really helped him. I think it was long overdue anyway, to tell you the truth."

"I seem to remember an angry young lady once telling me I was the one with the very sick sense of humour," replied Spike.

"You must be rubbing off on me!" said Lynda.

"Well, I'd like to," smirked Spike. "But didn't you say we were late for work?"

"You are disgusting!" Lynda marched from the bedroom, down the hallway and picked up her keys and handbag from the hall stand. "Are you coming?"

"Not yet!" Spike said cheekily to himself and followed her out into the grey Norbridge day. Lynda was making brisk time and he jogged along to keep up with her.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Spike, I told you, it's nothing. I am absolutely fine," said Lynda. "Why do you always overreact?"

Spike stopped and grabbed her by the arm. "It's called caring, Lynda. You should try it sometime. Makes you feel good."

"I do feel good!" she replied.

"Don't I know it!" said Spike gleefully. Lynda rolled her eyes.

"Look, it's okay to be nervous," he said, resuming his serious tone. "I felt the same before the first edition of the Junior Gazette came out. You know, when my story - the one I researched and investigated and saved the paper with - was on the front page. You remember?"

"Spike, you gave me a copy of it for Christmas. Framed and autographed!"

"All I'm saying is relax, Boss. Everything will be fine!"

Lynda allowed herself a smile. "Thanks, Spike. I do feel better."

"You do?" Spike was back to his normal self. "Better let me check!"