Thanks to everyone who read and to Priyanka, W1986, Mushishixxholic, and a guest for reviewing.

Crosses over with Meaning Makes It ch. 30, but both stories can be read separately.


Someone was nudging insistently at his shoulder, and Roddy twisted away, trying to curl himself tighter into a ball. Unfortunately that didn't accomplish much when said nudger could lift him upright as a ball, and he glared at Barry as the blanket fell away from his shoulders.

"Sorry, but Dad says that you have to wake up long enough to let Ms. Calvert check you."

The name tugged at his memory, but even if it hadn't arguing with Barry wasn't the same as arguing with Mr. Rabe, and he blinked against the light. And then swallowed hard when the few sips of water he'd had earlier tried to return.

"Rosalee is fine," Rosalee said, crouching in front of them. "Hey, Roddy."

Oh. "Hey." He swiped at his eyes. "What're you doing here?" Which maybe wasn't the most polite thing to ask, or at least not the most polite way to ask it, but it was the first thing that crossed his mind. And she smiled anyway.

"Frank said that you took a bump to the head last night, and I stopped by to see if I could take a look."

"Um...okay?" He hadn't even known that Rosalee knew the Rabes. "But it's not that bad. I just need to rest for a while."

"That's probably true, but as long as I'm here I might be able to give you something to make your headache a little more bearable. Or maybe your stomachache?"

Either option sounded pretty good. "I guess, if you don't mind. I didn't know you could do that."

"I don't mind at all, and while I can't say that I've got any medical degrees hiding anywhere, my parents were apothecaries. My brother too. I used to help when I was younger, and as it turns out I picked up a lot more than I thought."

That explained her shop, and an apothecary stood a much better chance of being able to help him than the doctors who rotated through the free clinic in his neighborhood. Not that they wouldn't try, at least if Roddy could manage a visit in their very limited and even more crowded walk-in hours, but Roddy wasn't human, and not everything was as universal as stitches.

"Could you tell me what happened?" Rosalee asked.

He repeated his story, ignoring the grumbling from Barry behind him, and then let her poke at his skull. And rephrased 'like shit' as politely as he could when she asked how he felt.

After a few minutes she shifted back and nodded, pulling her bag around. "I'll join the chorus of concussion, but I do have a couple teas here that I think will help. They're labeled for head and stomach, and for now I'd suggest alternating until your symptoms start resolving. It wouldn't do you any harm if you wanted to mix them, but the flavors aren't what I'd call complimentary."

"Thanks," Roddy said, taking the packets she handed him. "How long do you think it'll last? Feeling sick, I mean."

"Well, concussions aren't an exact science, but if you take it easy for the next week—and I mean very easy, staying here and staying quiet would be a good idea—and then build up to your normal activities slowly over the rest of your break, you ought to be just fine by the time your school starts again."

"But I can't stay here for a week."

"Why not?" Barry asked. "Dad brought back your violin and stuff."

Aside from the fact that that was just stomping on someone's hospitality? "You're going camping in a couple days," Roddy pointed out. "On Christmas, you said."

"Christmas?" Rosalee asked before Barry could say anything else. "Were you planning on doing anything special?"

"Not me. I'm not much for holidays in general."

She smiled. "Me either, my day is going to involve Chinese takeout and inventory. Actually that's probably going to be most of my next week, if I'm being honest." A tilt of her head. "What would you say to joining me if staying here doesn't make sense? I could use another set of hands whenever you're feeling up for it, and there shouldn't be too much movement involved in filling out labels. Or if you'd rather nap instead, there's a perfectly good cot. And a sofa at Freddy's."

"Inventory like for your shop?" he asked, before he thought better of it. Not that he wasn't curious, but he didn't need a babysitter. He'd be fine on his own.

"Yeah. Freddy was a very good apothecary, but his business skills.…" Her smile turned into a wince. "You saw the basement. I did some work before I left, collected the paperwork that he did have, and I've got a much better idea of what's down there now, but it's still nowhere near a full list. Even the main floor looks more organized than it really is. I suspect that's why he ended up involved in some of what he did. And while it was wonderful of Monroe to keep things going while I was out of town, I do have to have a full accounting of what's there to have any chance of keeping the place open, and I couldn't ask him to do all of that."

Roddy was pretty sure that Monroe would have happily gone along with anything she'd asked for, but even now his brains weren't rattled enough to say that out loud.

"Really, I'd be happy to have you," she said. "Although Monroe will be back on Thursday, and I suspect you'll end up at his place for a day or two regardless."

That was probably true no matter where Roddy went from here. And not that Roddy minded, except maybe to the part where he'd have to tell Monroe about his stupid concussion and there was no way he'd be less fussy than Rosalee or the Rabes.

"I don't know where your shop is, but assuming that we're talking somewhere in downtown Portland, why doesn't Roddy stay here for the next couple days, and then I'll drop him off on Christmas Eve," Mr. Rabe suggested. "I have a trial that'll be wrapping up down at the courthouse anyway."

Roddy looked up at him.

"That'd be perfect," Rosalee said. "Roddy, as long as you're okay with it?"

His life or not, it was pretty obvious from their expressions that he had no chance of arguing either of them into sending him home, and he gave in at the expectant stares. "Sure. Thanks." It wasn't like it wasn't nice here, and Rosalee's place was probably great too. It was just kind of a waste for all involved when he could sleep just as easily in his own bed.

"You're welcome." Rosalee pushed herself to her feet. "I have one more errand to run this evening so I'd better get going, but while you're here drink as much of that tea as you need to, okay? I have plenty more at the shop. And let me know what time you'll be by on Christmas Eve so I can make sure that I'm there to meet you."

"I'll walk you out," Mr. Rabe said as Roddy nodded again. "Roddy, why don't you give me those, and I'll figure out which cabinet Diane's tea kettle ended up in, too."

"Oh. Thanks." Roddy handed the tea packets over.

"Preference as to which one first?"

"Head, I guess?" He wasn't planning to try eating anything else anytime soon, anyway.

Mr. Rabe nodded.

"It was nice to meet you, Barry," Rosalee said as they turned for the stairs.

"You too." Barry shifted around beside Roddy as the two of them headed upstairs, and then once they were out of earshot, "So she's a friend of Monroe's? I mean, if you're okay talking. If you want to go back to sleep, you can do that instead. "

"No, it's cool, I ought to stay awake for a little bit." If Mr. Rabe had already left and come back he must have missed a whole bunch of the afternoon, and sleeping too much could give you a headache too. Plus Mr. Rabe was making tea. "And yeah." He paused, trying to remember what Monroe had actually said about her. "They're sort of dating, I think? It might not be official or whatever, though."

"Huh?"

"I don't know. Adults are weird."

Barry grinned.

"How do you guys know her?"

"We don't. Or at least we didn't, but Dad talked to Monroe earlier, and I guess he gave him her name and number and everything."

"Oh." Roddy hadn't realized that Monroe and Mr. Rabe had kept in touch after Thanksgiving. Not that there was any good reason that they shouldn't have; they'd gotten along fine and found plenty to talk about despite Nick's complete lack of common sense. Barry was the only one who'd been weird.

"He's how you know her too?" Barry asked. "Rosalee, I mean."

"Yeah, I met her right after Dad died. I think she came back to Portland a little before that, when her brother—that was Freddy, the one who had the shop first—got killed, and when Monroe was trying to help me with some paperwork about Dad's…." He shook his head before remembering not to, but at least trying to swallow back the water that tried to come up gave him an excuse not to finish that sentence. "Anyway, he called her when we got stuck, and she helped me sort it out."

Barry frowned, looking back towards the stairs. "She's a Blutbad?"

"Fuchsbau."

He looked surprised, but then again considering what he'd said about his mom freaking when his friend wanted to date a human maybe that made sense. And he seemed to shrug it off just as fast. "So what's this shop she was talking about? Is it really that much of a mess?"

"Spices and teas. Exotic Spices and Teas, I think the sign said, which I guess explains the apothecary part, and I wouldn't have said it was that bad, but I'm probably not the best person to take cleaning advice from, you know?" Not that he didn't do his laundry and occasionally wipe the kitchen counters and all of that, but he was eighteen, and he no longer had the threat of Dad getting home soon to drive the occasional mad vacuuming spree.

Barry grinned. "Yeah, I guess nobody'd want to buy anything out of my room, either." A sudden frown. "I wonder what happened to Mrs. Robinson."

"Who?"

"Our housekeeper. Or she used to be, anyway, but I haven't seen her since I got home."

Roddy had exactly zero concept of what having a housekeeper would be like and was just as glad when Barry waved it off.

"Are you feeling well enough to try a video game or something?"

Roddy glanced at the television and then away again just as quickly. Barry must have muted it before waking him, but the images bouncing around didn't help with his queasiness.

"Not so much then. I—hang on a second. Don't fall over." Barry hit the remote and turned the television off entirely and then pushed himself up and headed over to the cabinet. The chess board he pulled down Roddy recognized easily enough, but a couple boxes of varying colors followed, and then Barry came to drop back down and put the stack of old games on the ground between them. "We can try one of these, if you want. Since Dad mostly winces when I try to play chess."


"All right, all right, it's a word," Roddy said, shoving Barry's hand and the actual paper dictionary he'd found somewhere away. "It's a fucking stupid word, but whatever."

Barry grinned. "Told you so. Now, how many points is that?"

"Negative fifty. Don't forget the negative part, I know you have trouble with the minus signs."

"Ha ha."

Roddy downed the last of the tea in the mug beside him. Shit spelling skills aside, he was feeling a lot better today than he had been yesterday. Trying to look at a screen, even just the television, still made him nauseous so he and Barry had been working their way slowly through the Rabes' supply of board games, and while he still couldn't see why he hadn't been allowed to declare Barry the Scrabble champion by default, it hadn't been a bad way to spend the morning otherwise.

After another look at his tray of letters, he made a face and pushed himself to his feet. Slowly, because better still didn't quite mean good, and Mr. Rabe had insisted that he try at least one piece of toast to go with some soup for breakfast on the grounds that starvation wasn't going to make anything better. Roddy'd kept his mouth shut about the fact that he'd skipped meals plenty of times before. "Back in a minute."

"Do you need something?" Barry asked. "More tea? I'll get it for you."

"More like I need to get rid of the ocean of tea I've been drinking." Roddy was pretty sure that said tea had a lot to do with why he was feeling better, but doing everything short of mainlining the stuff had some pretty specific consequences.

"Oh. Right."

"If you want to be helpful, you can figure out what I'm supposed to do with four Es, two Is, and a Q." Although since the tea was helping he snagged his mug too and after a stop at the bathroom made his way back upstairs.

"Roddy, could I speak with you for a minute?" Mr. Rabe asked as he started to turn into the kitchen, and Roddy jumped a little because he hadn't even realized the man was there. "Yeah. Course."

"It's not critical, if you'd like some more tea, go ahead and get the water started," he said with a smile. "Or a snack, if you'd like one?"

Roddy ignored the snack part and put the kettle on again before going to join Mr. Rabe in the living room. "Is there something you need?"

"Come have a seat," Mr. Rabe said, waving at the opposite couch. "You're looking a little better today. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Roddy much preferred having Barry around when Mr. Rabe was, even if Mr. Rabe had yet to be unkind, but unfortunately Barry was still downstairs, and Roddy hadn't been gone long enough for him to come looking. He took a cautious seat.

"It's okay, you're not in any trouble," Mr. Rabe said. "But I wanted to ask, is everything okay at home?"

"Huh?" Roddy wasn't sure what he'd expected, but that definitely hadn't been it. "Yeah, sure, why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, when I went to pick up your things, it felt like with the exception of the wind there was barely any change in temperature between inside and outside. And I say that as someone who doesn't normally have an issue with low temperatures."

"It's not…," Roddy felt himself flush and focused on his hands. "The heater just cuts out sometimes. It's not a big deal when I'm there to kick it, but it probably shut off sometime after I got on the bus." And once that happened the fact that it was a trailer and not something with more insulation meant that the inside temperature would only hold for so long.

"Hm. Has anyone taken a look at it?"

"Like a repair guy? No. I told the landlord, but it's had problems before, and it's not like I can't get it restarted." Eventually.

Despite omitting the last part, Mr. Rabe didn't look very convinced. "And I think I told you that I just tossed everything in the dryer into your backpack?"

"Yeah." It was something that Roddy very much appreciated in retrospect, because while he'd been feeling too crappy to care at the time, the idea of someone not him or Dad going into his dresser felt kind of weird.

"Well, it looked like there were some dishes on the bathroom counter and a note on your kitchen faucet. Are you having plumbing problems as well?"

Oh. Right. "It's not...it's nothing major. Really, the line to the kitchen sink split during the cold snap at Thanksgiving, but it's just me and I don't need that many dishes anyway. I only put the note there because I kept forgetting in the mornings and trying to turn the faucet on."

The skeptical look remained. "Your landlord is aware of that also?"

"Yeah."

Mr. Rabe 'hm'd again.

Roddy was bracing for some other unpredictable question when the kettle suddenly whistled, and he pushed himself up quickly. Possibly more quickly than he should have, but he cared a lot more about ending this conversation than a gross taste in his mouth. "I better get that."