Xander woke up to Anya's bright red shoes - the ones she sometimes wore to bed - on his pillow, and her singing in the shower. He felt awful, truly *awful* - so bad that there wasn't even time to complain about her stuff on his *pillow*, before he threw up.
"Oh, honey," she said, coming out of the shower, damp and naked and sexy and god, Xander really hated himself at that moment, because he didn't want to touch Anya at all not even as she was touching his shoulder gently and rubbing the back of his neck. no, all he wanted to do was clutch the toilet bowl for a while.
Obviously, today wasn't going to get any worse.
Obviously, Xander was wrong.
Willow was the first one to say something logical. "Xander, that's not possible."
He rubbed his stomach, and felt nauseous. Wasn't morning sickness only supposed to hit in the, y'know, morning? "Neither is the fact that we haven't staked Spike yet. And yet, he's still here."
"Shut *up*," Spike called out. he was currently watching Passions; Giles was at his kitchen counter, surreptitiously trying to watch and not let anyone know. Xander was even too sick to make a joke about *that*. the day was definitely worse.
"A little sympathy wouldn't be out of line, y'know, Spike," he called back, against his instincts. Those instincts proved to be correct, when Spike yelled,
"then you should have read the back of the box, mate,"
and Xander threw a hand over his mouth. Willow grimaced, patted his shoulder tentatively a few times, then looked at Giles. Giles tried to keep an eye on the television and look sympathetic while Xander threw up in his bin.