Owner	Pose
Spike	Twenty-four minutes past midnight in the Summers home, and there were still lights on in the living room and kitchen. The bedrooms were dark. And there was movement that could be made out from the street. A figure was skulking. Inside the three bedroom home, Dawn's bed was made and empty, but had the look of being lived in. Joyce was fast asleep in the Master Bedroom. And Buffy's, well, it was just the way the Slayer had left it, except, er, there were boxers from the gallery. The temporary storage had turned into long term storage. But down below, there was the rapid movement of one Spike, no last name, just like Cher. He was moving back and forward, from one room to the other. Each walk was swift and purposeful. He wasn't wearing his trademark duster coat. That was laid on the banister to the upstairs. Instead, he had on a black t-shirt, snug in all the right places, and a red shirt, unbuttoned. Black jeans as always. It was practically a uniform for him. Not perspiring was a great help. Had he gone bad? What had he done with Dawn? He couldn't be here to hurt Joyce, could he? No, this was... well, downright domestic. He was carrying bowls with melted ice cream in the bottom from the living room to the kitchen at the moment. And he was singing. Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra in fact. And there were other signs of domesticity. A blanket that was draped on the couch, all balled up, as if someone had been using it. A pillow with signs of a body pressed against it. The TV was still warm, but had been turned off. There was a mug that had tea in it, and another with, was that blood? Just what was going on here?
Buffy Summers	Buffy was out no patrol. Not that she lived in the Summers' family home anymore. She was rooming with Willow out of town. Though she made her trek daily to do her tasks as was befitting of a Slayer. Yet there was this wonderful thing called a cellphone now. How did the world ever survive without those? Did they just sit around waiting for their loved ones to show up with no way to reach them immediately?! It had to be like living in the dark ages. Admittedly, Buffy did not have a fancy phone. It was some off brand that was cheap. That being the important part because thanks to the whole fighting monsters thing, here phone was often lost or broken. Mostly broken. She might as well be living in those dark ages when she didn't have one so she would replace it when she could with a burner as they were called. Thus she got a call from a concerned neighbor. Who thankfully called her and not the cops. Then Buffy headed to the house at a jog. Probably didn't need to be a run. Maybe her Mom had gotten up. Or Dawn. Either might leave the upstairs lights off so as not to disturb the other. She peeked in a window then just opened the front door and stepped inside. To be greeted by the sound of singing though it was coming from maybe the kitchen. Which had her frowning as she didn't see Spike immediately. She moved into the living area to look at the couch, the two cups, then turned to continued toward the kitchen. Her hand was in the pocket of her coat, the rest of her outfit being jeans with boots and a t-shirt in plain red. She stopped at the edge of the kitchen and stared.
Spike	The tap was running, which helped to interfere with Spike's vampiric hearing. He was currently washing the ice cream bowls, soap and water, the old fashioned way, rather than using the dishwasher. And he had been mid song when Buffy stopped and stared. As if something had alerted him, sense of smell, hearing, timing, fate, whatever it was, he turned his head, "oh, hey Buffy," as if there was nothing unusual about this at all. He was so nonchalant. "Could you pass me the mugs?" He asked, what the hell was this? Why was he in her mother and sister's home at this time of night, and doing the dishes? Okay, maybe the time of night wasn't that strange, he was still a vampire, so he had to move about during the night, but still. "You want something? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?"
Buffy Summers	At first she didn't budge. Then she let out a frustrated sigh and went back to grab those mugs before bringing them to the kitchen. She did /not/ look at them too deeply nor did she take any deep breaths for scent. Instead she tried to pretend it was nothing and just shoved them over the counter in his general direction. "Let's start with something simpler, Spike." That clipped way Buffy had of saying his hame when she was annoyed audible. "Why are you in my house in the middle of the night playing housekeeper?" And she said her house in the loosest of terms since obviously she didn't live there. But it was still the home her family lived in so counted.
Spike	Spike wasn't easily phased, and this, banter, whatever it was, always amused him. He loved the back and forth, good or bad. When he got to spar with Buffy, to talk with her, to be around her, it just lifted his heart. So a wry grin came across his lips, though he did his best to keep it in check. "Well, right now, I'm washing dishes," he finished up with the bowls of ice cream, the spoons, and moved onto the mugs she had offered. He did his first, not wanting to upset her with the smell of his blood any longer than he had to. Though where he got blood in the Summers House would be one hell of a good question. "Before that, I watched Space Cowboys with yer mum. Dawn's off at a sleepover with that Thompson girl she's always rabbiting on about." It was all so casual. When he reached for Joyce's mug, he saw how little she had drank. His body sank a little. Not much, but there was a reaction. He poured the contents into the sink, and began washing it out. "Yer mum misses you." He added, hopefully.
Buffy Summers	"I see here like every other week and she texts like daily." It used to be calls but Buffy finally got it through to her Mom that it was easier to just send a text as Buffy couldn't always answer a phone. Where she could, a lot of times, tappity-tap out a message and fire it back. She watched as he washed out the mugs, still frowning slightly even though it sounded innocent enough. "And the blood? I know we don't have any here so you just showed up with your own?" Then she had a thought and her eyes widened slightly. She rushed to the fridge to open it, checking to see if he had brought some in a cooler and perhaps transferred it to the fridge instead. "And why are you watching movies with my mother?"
Spike	When Buffy said so emphatically that they do not have blood at the Summers House, Spike looked well, embarrassed, sad, there was something in his face. A nervousness really. And when her eyes widened before she rushed to the fridge. She would find that there was a clear pitcher, with a lid on it, and two pieces of beige masking tape on it. The top one said in black marker 'Spike's' and the lower one said 'Cranberry Juice'. It was about a third full, and by the look of it, had been there a while. "Um, Buffy," why was Spike mincing words? He had words easier than anyone, and that included Xander. He looked down, pausing, then back up at Buffy, "there's no easy way to say this, but I think you should get yer mum checked." He had said it in a heartfelt, quiet, and sombre manner. His tone was sad. His body language screamed that he didn't want to be the one to say it. And inside, he had a feeling that it might lead to a row, maybe even a staking.
Buffy Summers	The pitcher had Buffy staring for a long time. Then she frowned a little. A glance at the writing on the masking tape. "Dawn." Because that's who made those labels. That was a concern for another time. She closed the fridge a little harder than necessary, but still normal human levels so nothing was going to be breaking. Then spun to face Spike. Why was he hedging? He never hedged. No matter the circumstance, Spike could always uses his words. That actually was perhaps the scariest thing ever where he was concerned. Him acting like this. When he finally got the words out, the frown was back. Not as severe and not accusatory, just a little droop of the lip as she glanced up at the ceiling. Which obviously meant she was thinking of her mother upstairs. Then back to the vampire in the room. "Why? What's going on with Mom?"
Spike	"I don't know," he said, honestly, and without pretence. "I don't even know for sure that something is wrong, I just... I have suspicions." He bit his lower lip, still nervous, but there was a certain amount of relief in the way that Buffy had taken this. "It's little stuff, things I've been noticing," he's been noticing? How often was he hanging out with her mother and Dawn? "She's lost weight, she's not eating as much as she used to," one can result from the other there. "I think she's been tired." All things that can easily be explained away. But together? It could be something. And Spike wasn't the type to make a mountain over a molehill. He wasn't a worrywart.
Buffy Summers	Having seen her mother every two weeks or so, Buffy wasn't sure she agreed with Spike. Certainly her mother was tired sometimes but she also worked a lot of hours on top of keeping up with Dawn around the house. After all, her baby sister was 20 now, dealing with that whole being an adult thing. And Dawn really wasn't that mature either way. At least in Buffy's big sister opinion. "I'll talk to her. See what's going on and suggest she see a doctor." Because that's all she could do, right? Though she did narrow her eyes at his slightly. "How often are you over here anyway?"
Spike	"That's all we can ever do," he said we, because it was fitting, and because he wanted to include himself. He liked the lady. She always has a cuppa for him. She treats him as a man, not a monster. He took a deep breath, yes, he can breathe. He smokes. It's a vital part of the experience. He can also speak. Air was part of that. He just doesn't need it to live. This was more habit and for dramatic purposes. "More of late. I saw some things, I didn't like, thought I'd keep an eye on her as much as I can, hope it wasn't, whatever it might be."
Buffy Summers	That made sense. Buffy gave a little nod then sat down on the barstool there, sort of unsure what to do do now. She could go back on patrol. But now she had this weird feeling she should stay here, talk to her Mom in the morning. Though it was late, she knew Willow would worry so she pulled out her cellphone and fired off a text to her roomie that she would be staying at her Mom's after patrol so not to worry if she wasn't home. Then she tucked the phone into her pocket again and glanced to Spike. Silence stretched then she just brought up randomly something from recently. "Got my brain looked at by a wizard. Or was she a witch? I don't know the proper terminology and don't want to misgender or something. But she said my memory itself hasn't been tampered with. She's seen memory tampering and this looks completely different." She shrugged. "Unless it another form of memory tampering I've not heard of. I keep missing Willow to tell her."
Spike	Spike moved towards her when she sort of slumped into the stool, concerned that she might lose her balance in case this was getting to her. But no, she took it remarkably well. His hand, which had been near her back, never touched her. His efforts were just in case. He continued to stand as Buffy made a note to Willow, and decided he would take the stool beside her. It was his way of comforting her, there for whatever she needed. Thankful for the change of subject, as it was a happier thought, well, less depressing anyway. "Oh, is that right? So, what's the working theory. That there was another you, time travel, alternate dimensions, magical duplicates?"
Buffy Summers	"Any of the above," was her response with a little, wry smile. Buffy gave a half shrug. "If it isn't memory, it could be almost anything. Would be weird if I wasn't me though. Like a duplicate or an alternate dimension. Though I guess it's possible. But an alternate me would have some memory for the years in between, right? Same for a magical duplicate. Even if I was a duplicate, why would I only have part of the memories? Unless I was made two years again and again, I'd have the memories of those two years as opposed to her two years." She was going to get a headache from all this.
Spike	Some days, okay, some nights, there was something incredible about the way she spoke, or thought. Spike couldn't quite place it. But it was enticing. He couldn't help but grin as she kept on, trying to rationalise the irrational. "Everything happens for a reason. Not always a good reason, but there's reason." Like if he hadn't been bitten by Drusilla all those years ago, he couldn't be here to see Buffy deal with her existential crisis. "Until you do suss it out, I suggest that you just accept it for what it is, be the best Buffy you can be, and keep doing what you do best."
Buffy Summers	"That's what I've been trying to do. Just getting on with getting on. When we hit a dead end, I just left it be for a while. When Willow brought up Molly and how she could see in people's heads, I took a shot. We learned something, even if we couldn't fix the problem. Yet." That positive outlook that they might be able to in the future. "I'll just keep doing what I do. I'll stay here tonight an talk to Mom in the morning. See if I can get her to be less stubborn and go get check out if she needs to." Stubbornness? In the Summers' Family? Say it ain't so! "Though I should finish my patrol." And she slid off the seat, glancing up toward the ceiling. "Would..." A drop of her eyes to the floor then glancing over at him. "Would you stay and watch over them for me?"
Spike	Spike listened, he heard, he nodded, he wanted to reach out, to place his hand on hers, on the table, to comfort her, but they didn't have that level, not yet, probably not ever. But he did put a hand there, close, without actually doing it. He was here for her. And when her thoughts moved back to patrolling, he had to admit, "of course, but..." he let that hang in the air for a moment, he thought about offering to go patrol for her, but then, she'd be here, Joyce asleep, Dawn at a sleepover. What twenty year old still had sleepovers anyway? Slaying was probably what she wanted right now, but it might not have been what she needed. "Why don't you stay here, watch after yer mum. I'll handle the nasties tonight." Whether from this or something else, eventually, Joyce would leave them. And even if she were asleep, Spike could give her one more night with her mum.
Buffy Summers	She didn't know Spike's full story. She didn't understand his feelings where a Mom might be involved, that he had cared for his deeply enough to want to give her eternity. Only for her to hurt him in the worst of ways as the curse effected her so horribly. Those were details that were not known to Buffy. She did know he had been hurt by a woman in his human days but that was another tale. For a moment, she looked as if she would decline. Then another glance to the ceiling. Then a small release of the tension in her shoulders she hadn't even realized was there. She reached out a hand to touch his. "Thank you, Spike." Then the hand was gone as quickly as it had touched and she turned to wander off, heading for the stairs. She fully intended to sit and watch her Mom sleep for a while, creepy as that might sound.