15933/Dark Places for Dark Deeds

Dark Places for Dark Deeds
Date of Scene:	30 December 2023
Location:	Crawford Mansion, Sunnydale, Avalon, Bludhaven, New Jersey
Synopsis:	Buffy slips into Spike's place to offer some... pie. (It's actually pie! -- Buffy Summers)
Cast of Characters:	Spike, Buffy Summers

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Spike has posed:
Spike had to begrudgingly hand it to Xander Harris. Crawford Mansion had never looked so good. There was still a lot of work to do, but an experienced contractor, who had access to waste materials, was a godsend. Plus, Giles had chipped in a little with the material cost, as there was potential to the enterprise. Spike though, had done much of the heavy lifting, and not just because as a vampire, he was stronger than anyone they knew, besides Buffy Summers.

The Crawford Mansion hadn't exactly been in a crumbling state when Spike, Drusilla, and Angelus, had moved in, after they abandoned the factory. Angelus, and later Angel, stayed on, after Spike and Dru left town, and Angel abandoned it himself still later. There had been some kids throwing parties there, leaving debris.

But that was dealt with easily enough. The living room, the master bedroom, the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the showers were all now in more or less finished condition, though there was a little work to do here and there, clean up, paint cans, and the like. The real issue was the rest of the mansion, other rooms, that might be desired if their idea were to bear fruit.

It was daylight now, and Spike was sitting in the living room, taking a moment. He wore a blue t-shirt, tight, and his trademark black jeans, socks, and shoes, but his duster jacket was conspicuously absent, likely hanging up in the closet or draped over something.

He closed his eyes as he sat on the leather couch, and a moment later, he seemed to drift off quietly, despite sitting upright.

Buffy Summers has posed:
There was no knock. No doorbell. Because that would just be silly as many times as Buffy had been here. Not during the renovations alone, but in the course of years. She'd been here when Angel resided in the building, when he had returned after she'd killed him. Not as weird of a sentence as it sounds if one knew the Scoobies.

Buffy just entered through the garden, in through the doors into the large room with the fireplace that was basically a living area. Or at least it always had been the times she'd seen it occupied. She had something in her hands with aluminum foil over the top, looking probably like a pie of some sort.

"Spike?!"

That was the sound he might hear first as she peered into the room and over toward the building proper, having not spotted him yet on the couch. "You here? I come bearing pumpkiny goodness!"

And that's when she saw the figure on the couch and she paused, sort of hovering there five feet into the room and wondering if she should just leave the pie and come back later.

Spike has posed:
The memories Buffy Summers had of Crawford Mansion were one of the main reasons why Spike had been reluctant to try this. Angel had hidden there for months, after he came back, after she had killed him. Yeah, for the Scoobies, things made perfect sense that would confuse anyone else.

The sound of her voice carried, and Spike had stirred, his head pivoting, though his eyes remained closed. One hand was in his lap, the other on the couch seat next to him. Considering that vampires didn't need to breathe, it was strange that they could. They could be downright domestic at times. Eating, drinking, sleeping, bathing, they could do it all, mimicking all of human experience, except the lack of a soul, and the usual limitations like being vulnerable to fire, but who wasn't; being vulnerable to a wooden steak through the heart, but again, who wasn't; and being vulnerable to sunlight... okay, that one was unique to them, and Mogwais.

In his apparent slumber, Spike let out a low murmur, a mumble, just something, probably nothing. "Bbbuuu..." he said, and a moment later, he added, "ffeeee."

Buffy Summers has posed:
As she heard her name being murmured, Buffy made a little bit of a face. Just a wrinkling of the nose then it was over. "I really hope that's cause you heard me and not some weird dream you're having," she muttered as she looked at him then the pie then around the room as though some butler might appear and take the pie to save her from the situation. Sadly, no butler.

"I...I'll just go put this in the fridge. With a note." Why was she even talking?! She'd smack herself on the forehead sometimes, but thankfully her hands were occupied with pie at the moment so she had an excuse. And she really did try to avoid actually /doing/ the face smacking even when she felt she deserved it.

She headed off in the direction where she knew the kitchen was, though it had not really been used when Angel lived there. Outside blood in the fridge. Which she was now kind of immune to the weirdness of that as well. But as she headed in that direction, she would balance the pie on one hand and look for a piece of paper or a post-it note with a writing implement so that she could leave a note on the pie in the fridge for him to be aware of what it was and why it just appeared. And that it was safe cause it wasn't some weirdo sneaking in leaving food.

Wait, was this weird? She paused again and started to pivot for the doors to exit. Cause it was weird. And she was already weird enough without adding this weirdness. But then she thought that was silly because yes, she was weird. And that was just her lot in life. So she pivoted again toward the kitchen.

This basically resulted in it looking like she was pacing as she would convince herself yes then no in turn.

Spike has posed:
With Spike, who could say? He might be dreaming of playing chess with her. He might be dreaming of fighting demons alongside her. Or he might be dreaming things that would make her turn as red as the demon Sweet. Hell, he might even be pretending to be asleep, and all of this was just to mess with her. With Spike, who could say?

The noise of Buffy moving along the recently polished floor would echo in the mansion, taking advantage of the acoustics there. In time, once it had dried properly, she'd be able to move forward and back without creating that noise, but for now, it was like a flare going off.

Eyes flickering, Spike began to move in his seat on the couch, stirring. His jaw opened and he kind of rotated it a little, letting out a long yawn. Why did people yawn when waking up? And then, without being able to see her, without being able to hear her, he said aloud, clearer, "Buffy?" He knew she was here? How did he know? With Spike, who could say?

Buffy Summers has posed:
And she froze. The only sound was his movement on the couch. Because she was holding her breath. Which didn't last too long as she realized she was yet again being silly but it felt like she'd been caught in the middle of a crime.

Of course, technically she had. She did break into the place. Though just walking in didn't involve breaking yet it still fell in the same category. But wait, he'd told her she was welcome here. And she'd walked into his crypt without announcement all the time. Come to think of it, that was pretty damn rude of her. But at the time, he wasn't really on her Christmas Card list. Not that she actually had a list. Her mother did. And he was on it these days.

"I didn't mean to wake you up. I have pie!" As though that explained everything. She moved to a spot where she'd be in his line-of-sight and offered up the aluminum covered goodie. "Mom cooked like ten pies for the holidays and if I eat any more, I'm going to need to double patrols for my health. So I thought maybe you'd like one? It's pumpkin."

Spike has posed:
Humans didn't need to be invited the way vampires did. But Spike had given her one, because he wanted to, and because it was polite. As big as it was, perhaps one day she might move in as well. It'd have the advantage of being closer to the Hellmouth, without living with her mother, which was a blessing and a curse. There was a time that all children wanted to strike out on their own.

And yet, Sunnydale was a calling. Plus, Joyce Summers, Dawn Summers, and of course Buffy Summers, had long been on his Christmas Card list. He sent one to each Summers girl this year, even though two of them lived at the same address. The way Buffy phrased that had him smiling suggestively, "do you now?" And giving a little wink of his eye when she came within his line-of-sight. "I can think of some ways to help you burn some calories, though," rising from his seated position, with a big a swagger, "you really don't need it." He moved towards her, into her personal space, but only just, as if he were testing her.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy had indeed opted to strike out on her own. She went to university in a neighboring city. She moved into an apartment with Willow. Then at some point she moved in with her boyfriend at the time but all that was lost in memory. Now, she was back with Willow in Gotham. But spending a lot of time back in Sunnydale at her Mom's place cause her Mom seemed to be needing the help. She'd been having a lot of headaches lately and kept saying she was going to visit a doctor about it but her work and the holidays and family. There was always a reason Joyce never quite made it to the doctor.

As he moved into her personal space, Buffy didn't tense like she used to. But he know that bothered her. She couldn't just step backwards because that wasn't her nature. Nor was she really comfortable with that closeness because it was definitely in her personal bubble. He did not respect bubbles as one should, even in the best of times.

Thus, she remained where she was. But the pie did give a little space at least as she held it in front of her. She even lifted it, managing to make the foil crinkle a bit as it brushed his chin but not hitting him with the pie or anything. Though, now that image was in her head, it /was/ amusing. She resisted. "While I ..." She was going to say appreciate the offer but since she didn't, she stopped herself. "Thanks for the offer but I think I'm good. And do you want the pie or no?"

Spike has posed:
Spike had noticed the change in Joyce. He had tried to warn Buffy about it. As he might actually see more of her these days. That hadn't gone well. But no one likes bad news, even just the suspicion of bad news. Reaching out, while he was in her personal bubble, but only just. He was sort of having a toe inside her personal space. Just enough to know that it was closer than he probably should be.

As he reached out to accept the pie, well, her hand held it up towards his chin, so his hand reached up, brushing against her own, gently crossing over her slender little fingertips, as he shifted the weight out from her hand, and onto his. "Thanks for the pie, Buffy," he said, "I like everything you have to give, you know that." His fingers seemed to linger against her own a little longer than they needed to as well.

Buffy Summers has posed:
There was an instant. A moment. Where she felt a little electricity from that touch on her finger. And if she let it remain, she'd probably flush. But she knew the warning signs and she very quickly removed her hands once he had the pie and she stepped back.

Which told him everything. He'd managed to get her feel uncomfortable enough she stepped back. Though, he could only wonder /why/. His words? The touch? Or she just had enough of him and didn't want to punch him and ruin the pie? Any of the above could apply.

"I...should go. Dawn probably is doing something that I need to stop her from doing." Nevermind that her sister was legally an adult now and didn't need big sis looking over her that way. Yet, she did often get herself in situations so she as an easy one to blame for stuff. "Uhm...enjoy the pie, Spike." And she turned toward the door then paused, glancing over her shoulder. "And Merry Christmas, belated. Did..you want to come over with Mom and Dawn and me and watch the New York stuff on tv for new year's?"

Spike has posed:
Of all people, Spike was pretty much the worst person to try and hide your feelings from. The only saving grace was that when those feelings were for him, he sometimes had mild blinders on, and when he just didn't care, he had mild blinders on. But when he was giving even a halfhearted attempt at attention, well, very little escaped him from a social standpoint. He saw it all, he understood it all, and he often knew it before the people involved did.

"The little bit's not that little anymore. She's an adult, able to vote, drink, die for her country, and she's got a few inches on you," though she had that from her mid to late teenage years. But she was set on leaving, and so he made no effort to stop her. "I will, and I'd love to," he answered back, to her blatant offer to kiss him at midnight on New Year's Eve.