Light streams in through the open kitchen slats and, unthinkingly, Buffy moves to close them for Spike before he even approaches the edge of the kitchen. It's a little thing, but the action of it—automatic as though his comfort was at the forefront of her subconscious—feels so intensely weighted that it gives Spike pause, stunned by a surge of love that makes his throat raw.

Just for a second.

Until he notices Xander's sweater.

"God, I thought the Hawaiian shirt was bad."

Xander glares at him, prickling noticeably in his red and black lopsided monstrosity. "Anya made it."

"Well, she shouldn't've," he smirks, moving towards the coffee pot and pouring a cup. He presses it into Buffy's hands, fingers grazing hers for a heartbeat, and his stomach drops as she turns to smile gratefully. He'd dreamed of her looking at him that way...

Neither gesture—the light touch of fingers nor the shared smile—goes unnoticed.

"So we're all okay with this?" Xander gestures at him, confused eyes bouncing from Tara to Dawn to Anya. Avoiding Buffy's instinctively. "This super weirdness?"

"Take it down a peg, Dennis the Menace," Spike grumbles, a small uptick of anger lacing his words at the moment being interrupted. He's heartened though when no one joins chorus with Xander's attempt to oust him from the group. Tara simply sips her coffee. Dawn crunches her cereal with complete lack of concern. Buffy does nothing more but smile into her mug as she thumbs the rim, obviously pleased at the lack of strong reactions from everyone else. He leans next to her, shoulder to shoulder, savoring the warmth of her skin that doesn't pull away from his.

There's an awkward pause before Anya leans in and whispers, "I think it's weird, Xander." She beams in an entirely unconvincing way that all but enunciates she doesn't really care but is angling for sex later and knows how sensitive he gets if she doesn't bat his corner.

Xander huffs a breath out through his nose but drops the matter.

"Th-there's blood in the fridge," Tara says to Spike from the other side of the kitchen. "Cow."

"Thanks, big sis," he mutters as he heads to the fridge.

"Weird," Xander insists, though a shade less vehemently.

"Speaking of weird," Buffy says, cutting down any further protests from Xander by simultaneously acknowledging and dismissing them. "I heard the word that summons me. What's the weird this time?"

"Ghosts," Dawn mumbles around another mouthful of cereal.

"Ugh," Buffy grouches into her coffee. "So not a fan, not after the whole Initiative house party."

"Oh yeah!" Spike chuckles, jovial at the memory as he sets the blood in the microwave. "That was a laugh."

"Strongly disagree," Buffy says sternly, though mentally admits she doesn't have as much of a reason as others to do so. Or maybe more of a reason. I do not appreciate being used as a creepy sex zombie, thank you very much. "Can't I just go back to basics? Vampires only? Get Bill Murray to deal with it, ghosts were not in the Slayer job description."

"Don't they come under the whole… forces-of-evil thing?" Dawn asks, gesturing loosely with her spoon.

Buffy shrugs, unconcerned. "Well, I say if they're minding their own damn business, not that evil. You must be this evil to be slayed," she adds, holding her hand flat up to her shoulders.

"Too right," Spike chimes in as the microwave pings.

Buffy narrows her eyes at him. "Hush," she says, but it only gets a gleefully wicked glint in his eyes, peering over at her from over the rim of his mug of blood.

"But they're in my business," Anya grouches, her words laced with a petulant five-year-old stomp.

"And are apparently me shaped," Tara nods, concern knotting her eyebrows. "N-not that that's evil but… is definitely spooky."

"S'pose," Buffy huffs in a way that implies she still feels put upon but is playing it up. "Fine, I'll get dressed and then we can evict Tara The Friendly Ghost. Seems mean. She's probably happy there."

"It'd be on my top haunting spots," Tara nods, then fidgets awkwardly. "If I was dead. Which I'm not."

"Certain?" Spike smirks, as he finishes the blood in his mug. "It can kind of sneak up on ya," he adds, earning a friendly glare from Tara.

"It's an opportunity wasted, for sure. Could be a good, like, sales-assistanty shop ghost that you don't need to pay," Dawn says around a full mouth to Anya.

Who hums in consideration.

"Sure you're happy to stay here?" Buffy asks, partially buried in her closet as she searches for clothes to wear, pulling out jeans and a cream-colored sweater.

"Happier than being set to extra crispy," Spike replies from where he's sitting on the bed. There's a smirk in his voice but he isn't entirely happy.

Coulda done with a few more hours curled up with her.

Few more days.

An eternity would be nice…

"Didn't bring that raggedy blanket, huh?" she smirks over her shoulder.

Spike smiles a tight-lipped smile at being so teased. It feels so good when she teases. So…

Couple-y.

"Plum forgot," he says. "Guess I'll just stay here and be a good little guard dog for you." He hopes she doesn't notice his eyes dilating at the mixture of thoughts that drift across his consciousness from that sentence.

Some perverted, naturally. Thoughts of being on his knees for her… Plenty of imagery there to while away the afternoon with. He's been exceedingly careful not to let himself go too far, keeping himself on a tight leash—damn, that sentence—and it's paying off big time as she wanders about collecting her things together wearing just shorts and a t-shirt and God, nothing underneath it, I'll never get used to that—

But other thoughts surface too… just of being around for her. Being here for her. Getting to be protective of her—

Girl doesn't need protecting, you muppet, he chides himself, briefly remembering every broken nose and black eye he's ever received.

Although parts of her do.

Her heart does. She might be tough as nails on the outside but that fleshy fragile muscle is all too easily bruised. She's sustained far too many little cuts to her self-confidence, anyone can see that…

She won't get any from me. Never.

"Good plan," Buffy answers, snapping him out of his train of thought as she bundles her things up into her arms. "And hey, already got the name!"

He manages a smirk, even as his stomach knots. "Hardy har har."

She chuckles too, heading for the bathroom, but he stops her with his hand on her arm, catching her just as she passes him.

Last night's kiss still burns in his heart. And in his brain. Every move. Every playful bite of his lips that he'd answered just as keenly. Every flutter of her fingers over his shoulders.

Need to tell her how much it meant…

"Buffy…" he says, somewhat softly, as though to hide the unsure tremor in his voice. He swallows, unsure how to go about putting words to his thoughts. "Last night-" he starts, and her eyes fix on his face with greater attention. "I just want you to know… to say… if that's all, it's-I don't care if that's all, if that's all we—I'm not expecting- I don't care if we never-" he cuts himself off with a sigh. "Ballsing this up-"

She ends his mad rambling with a kiss, soft lips pressed over his then moving along with him once his brain catches up. Still clutching her things to her chest and leaning down over him it doesn't have the position to be whirlwind-romantic. But he feels swept away by it regardless.

After a few moments, she pulls back. Smiles at him. And with a bop on his nose says, "Stay, Spike."

He gives out a relieved huff that's almost a chuckle, and once the door is closed takes a deep breath to try and calm the rushing feeling that's surging through his silent heart.

The early morning sun is pleasant but not overbearing. Birds chirping in trees, fluffy white clouds drifting by on a gentle breeze.

Buffy breathes it in, savoring it for a moment. A perfect day for a ghost hunt.

"Shame Spike couldn't come with us," Dawn sighs as they all march down the street towards the Magic Box.

"Is it?" Xander mumbles quietly under his breath, adjusting his sweater for the eighth time.

Buffy smiles at her sister, appreciative of the sentiment. More than appreciative. Love her for being such a champion for him. "It is daylight. Wouldn't want him turning into a heap of dust."

"Wouldn't we?" Xander grunts, at an even lower volume.

Anya unlocks the shop door and pushes it open, and without any trepidation or apprehension, they all traipse in. After all, it's just another day in Sunnydale solving mysteries. What's to be scared of?

Absolutely nothing it turns out.

Soft light filters into the shop and illuminates dust motes as the tinkling chimes of the bell above the door fade. Anya flicks on the lights, and the shop floor brightens, but still nothing materializes.

"Anticlimactic," Buffy huffs, folding her arms. It's been a while since she's been in the shop but nothing has changed. Same dust-slash-candle-slash-patchouli oil scent. The same assortment of crystals and ooky talismans on the shelves. All of it is pleasantly boring in an overly familiar way.

"Very," Dawn agrees, drifting off to look at a display of necklaces with astrology charms. "No slime or anything."

"Great," Anya grumbles. "I shut the shop for nothing. You were right there." She adds, indicating Tara and pointing at the large round table at the back.

"Well, just give her a minute," Xander soothes, making his way to the counter and taking a seat on the stool behind it. "Maybe she startles easy."

"Almost definitely," Tara says with a slight smile. "A-at least if it is a me-ghost."

They wait around, getting as comfortable as possible on shop chairs lining the edges of the supposed sighting area like theatergoers waiting for the curtain to rise. Minutes tick by in a drag. After an hour Dawn goes for a coffee run with a twenty-dollar bill Xander finds in his pocket and comes back with lattes. They drink them in expectant silence.

"This is so boring," Dawn groans once she finishes her coffee, aimlessly ripping the cardboard holder into flower shapes. "I thought ghost hunting was supposed to be all recording equipment going crazy and shaky camera angles."

"Well, this isn't ghost hunting," Xander says, leaning on his elbows on the counter glass. "It's more like… ghost bird watching. A whole lot of nothing and then bam! A blue-footed booby."

There's a beat of amused silence.

"That's the only bird you know, isn't it?" Buffy smirks.

"I also know about Great Tits," Xander nods with an air of expertise.

A movement by the door makes Anya perk up, thinking it's a customer. "Welcome to the Magic Bo-OH!" she points, alarmed. "OH! OH-OH!"

They all turn and watch as a slightly translucent Tara makes her way down from the door, down the steps into the shop.

"Whoa," Dawn breathes, leaning forward on her seat, scattering cardboard flowers onto the floor.

Buffy's eyebrows rise in disbelief. "You have a dead twin with unfinished business we don't know about?" she asks Tara, who's turned white.

Tara tracks the ghost as it takes a seat at the table, talking silently as though having a conversation with someone not there. A mute chuckle. A shy smile from under her waterfall of hair. And then her arms out in front of her and her fingers lightly clenched over as if holding hands with someone on the other side, eyes closing in reverence…

"That's not a ghost," Tara says quietly, her normal stutter shocked into submission, head cocked in confused interest. "...It's a memory."