asgardmeridiem | [ closed ] i'm not proud of my address.

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[ closed ] i'm not proud of my address.

Who: FRED, GUNN & SPIKE
What: Spike being beligerent (like he has another setting).
When: Day 445
Where: Odin Haus 101
Rating: PG?

Spike stumbles through the door without shutting it behind himself, muttering at a stage whisper. Nothing intelligible, but he's definitely got a buzz on. Which is why he's hopping over the couch to sit next to Gunn - real close. Like shoulder-to-shoulder. "Hey, Buddy."

There's a six pack in his hand. He takes one out, cracks it, and offers it over. Bros drink beer together, right? This is 100% normal for them. Or something.

Then he's waving to Fred when he sees her in the kitchen. "What's for dinner? Do we have any tea?" Tennyson scampers across the floor pushes his face against Spike's pants. The ex-vampire just frowns, looking back over at Gunn. "What's all this then?" Since when did they have a cat.

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Gunn lifts an eyebrow at the proximity - but he's guessing he probably shouldn't be surprised, considering the visible way Spike had just been stumbling - but he's not going to pass on a free beer. He does cast a slightly dubious look toward the kitchen, as if silently asking Fred if she thinks Spike is alright, before he pops the drink open and takes a drag. Carefully, he scoots to put a little room between the two of them.

"What's all what?"

He's going to need some clarification here, bro.

From her place in the kitchen Fred frowned slightly at the implication she was somehow automatically in charge of dinner. And it was more than that she was just as busy as the rest of them. That long, sometimes desperate summer when both Angel and Cordy missing was still fresh in a lot of ways -- and Fred couldn't help but remember the mounting pressure to somehow keep it all together.

Not just dinners...

But looking after Connor and the hotel and the bills and still somehow solving the mystery of their missing friends and worrying over Wesley. Charles helped, of course. But it'd been a lot when everything was going well. When it was just the two of them?

Her gaze flickered, connecting with Charles. She didn't bother hiding the sliver of concern there. It wasn't obvious, but he'd be able to navigate the look all the same.

Fred looked to Spike again. Then the kitten. And with a definite note in her voice...

"I think you're not the only one concerned with dinner."

"Huh?" he asked blandly, frowning himself when the cat jumped up against his legs, digging her claws into his shins. "No, I mean this. Where did this come from?"

Spike picked the kitten up by the scruff of her neck, frown only growing deeper when Tennyson batted at his nose. There was no recognition to be found in his face, but that could be attributed to being trashed?

Unlikely.

It was clear then that something was actually wrong. This wasn't just a product of the alcohol; it had to run a little deeper than that. So Gunn reached out to take the kitten from Spike - a kitten he'd never been outwardly particularly fond of - and brought it over to himself, settling it in his own lap with vaguely protective air.

Hey there, kitten. You can hang out with his beer.

"When two cats love each other very much..." he started, trailing off when he realized just how flat the joke fell when he cut his eyes over to Fred again. The hell do we do? "I can order us a pizza. Sound good to you guys?"

Don't do that Charles. Only, you know, do. The sight of him with a ball of kitten fluff nestled in his lap was doing very particular things to Fred's insides.

But the distraction could only last so long. Spike once again held her focus, all the while still answering the clearly-important topic of dinner.

"...pizza sounds good."

"Pizza..." Pizza sounded like Heaven. "What kind do we like?" He looked confused by his own question, but held to it, glancing sidelong at the cat in Gunn's lap. She certainly seemed to think she belonged here and Charles and Fred didn't seem alarmed by her presence. Which left only him. A guy who couldn't even remember his own favorite toppings.

"I'm not traditionally very picky," Gunn answered, but his words were careful, slow, as if he weren't really sure that's what he should be saying. He scratched beneath the kitten's chin, before nudging it down to encourage it to actually take a seat in his lap, unconsciously relieved when it acquiesced. "Anything sound particularly good? Or particularly bad? Kind of hard to go wrong with pizza."

He cut his eyes back to Fred, though, eyebrows flashing back up, a clear gesture of -- defeat? Acceptance? They'd deal with this.

Fred's gaze once again shifted from Spike to Charles and then back to Spike once again. Everything Charles was saying was absolutely, utterly true. It really was hard to go wrong with pizza, even when things started getting a little crazy. Honestly, sometimes those ones were the best.

But that was a conversation ( and several hours lost to the kitchen ) for another day.

"...how 'bout you pick," Fred tossed the offer in Spike's direction. Mostly because she found herself curious about what he would say. Curious and and concerned.

"Me?" was more mouthed than spoken, and he thought about it. Hard. What kind of pizza did he want? Why was that such a hard question?? "I like... spicy."

It came out underconfident and strange, and he shook his head a moment later. This shouldn't be so hard, it was just dinner. "No vegetables."

There. That sounded... right. If remarkably unhealthy.

"Sausage and pepperoni it is," Gunn announced, leaning forward to hoist himself from the couch. He moved over to Fred, holding the kitten out for her to take and leaning in to kiss the top of her head. "Spicy sausage and pepperoni sound good to you guys? I'll go see what I can round up."

Considering there was a pizza place not far from the paid housing at all, he wasn't worried about taking a few minutes to go grab them. But then, he paused, glancing back at Spike-

"I'll have my bracelet on me. If you need anything else while I'm out."

Spike stood, awkwardly, blinking up at Gunn. "You want me to come with?" He felt lost and unsure, and entirely incapable of sitting still.

Fred accepts the kitten, doing her best to manage the now squirming bundle of fur and limbs. But hey, she'd object too. Being evicted from the relative warmth and comfort of Charles' lap.

She wasn't sure if Spike getting out of the condo would make things better, or worse. There was just the general sense it wouldn't be the same.

"..I can hold down the fort here."

"Maybe it'll be-" Safer? Did he want to say "safer"? "-..better if you stay here. Keep Fred company, yeah?"

Because Spike was more than a little drunk, or at least it seemed.

"Oh..." He thought about that for a second, eyeing Fred a bit warily. "Right. Okay." But he didn't move to sit back down, waiting for Gunn to leave the house.

Spike just wished he knew what he was supposed to do with himself. Drunk or sober wasn't really the question when one minute he was clear and the next...

"I think I've got some mojo on me," he said suddenly, spinning clumsily to look at Gunn. Memory charms weren't from any God House that he knew of, but there were charms, or just the usual haywire bullshit of the gods themselves. Maybe he wasn't going crazy after all.

Just because his thoughts were working in that direction.

(And mostly because she couldn't be sure of his thoughts at all in that moment)

"I didn't mojo you Spike."

He whirled back around and shook his head, regretting the movement and falling back into the couch. "No-no, not by you. By..." He didn't know okay!! Just something. "My head's not on right. And it's not just the booze."

At Spike's outburst Fred's expression softened. She moved to join him on the couch, carrying a slightly more relaxed kitten with her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" he asked, no irony in his tone whatever.

"It's this place, Spike," Gunn says as he tugs his jacket on, slips on his shoes. "Weird shit. Just happens sometimes. It'll sort itself out soon."

"Yeah... this place." He doesn't know why but it's assuring in a way, especially from Gunn. He leans back into the couch and sighs, reaching over Fred to give the kitten a scritch behind the ears. "Not sure if this would be worse or better if I were soberer."

Probably worse lbr.

Better and worse is all a matter of paper-thin degrees. That's the opinion experience had helped Fred form. But she also prefers to pick the first one, if she has any say on the matter.

So impulsively she settles the soft ball of fluff back in Spike's lap. For the kitten it's not an unfamiliar place, and it immediately stars to purr and knead at it's new bed.

"...better."

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[ closed ] i'm not proud of my address.

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so the tracking on this thread broke for me when my paid expired.

Reaches

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butting in here real quick

butt away :P

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