Very small chunk, to try and prime the pump

As Buffy entered the kitchen, she heard sounds from the laundry room. "Dawn? You'll wake Mom."

Joyce came out of the laundry room, wearing her robe and leaning on her hated walker. "It's me, Buffy."

"Mom?" Buffy went to help her into a chair. "Oh, Mom, you've only been home for two days, you're supposed to be still resting, not worrying about the laundry."

"Well, from the size of the piles in there, someone should be." She looked down uncomfortably. "Actually, I was hoping to get a few things done before either of you woke up. I--had a little accident--spilled ..."

Buffy noticed her mother wasn't wearing anything under her robe, and she suddenly realized just what kind of accident Joyce meant. She called on every ounce of Slayer stoicism not to react to her mother's embarrassment. "You could have called. I'd have heard. I'd have been glad to help."

Pride replaced embarrassment. "I'm never going to get better if I don't do things for myself. But I will let you move things from the washer to the dryer."

"OK. And while we're waiting for the washer to finish, I'll make some breakfast."

"Thank you, dear."

Buffy took a few extra moments looking at the contents of the fridge, trying not to cry. It was just one of those bobbles on the road to recovery. Compared to how she was just a few weeks ago, Joyce was practically ready to run a marathon. They'd had the hospital's resources to depend on, though, before. Now, while Joyce might not still need extensive care, it was up to Buffy and Dawn to see to the needs of an invalid. And that on top of trying to make sure the world didn't end. Again.

She got a grip and pulled out the eggs and ham. Lesser mortals did this sort of thing every day. A Slayer could take care of her recuperating mother and protect the Key. All before breakfast. Which she could cook too.

She took the eggs and a bowl to Joyce. "Here, crack the eggs into this. I keep smooshing them in my fingers, stupid fragile things. Don't worry about any little bits of shell or anything like that. Dawn and I are used to that. I'm going to go get the paper." She hurried out before Joyce could finish her disbelieving look and move on to Lecture on Proper Breakfast Preparation.

More, please.

Be patient, please, my muse has gone off to Bimini again. Darn her, she disappears in the middle of the night, just leaving a note behind.

Okay, I can do patience. It sounded like them. That's always my first criteria, I think. So, that was good. I just want more, but I can wait.

Did you want me to track down your muse? I can do it. I'll even rough her up a little if you like.

You'll go to Bimini for me? I know it's a sacrifice and all, but I'd appreciate it. There's a cabana boy named Raoul she's spoken of ...

Hmm. Maybe if I distract Raoul she'll come back to you. I must think of a cunning plan.

Yargh. Anyone remember without me having to dig through my screencaps if Wes's bedroom floor is carpeted?

I would go to Bimini and take her place, but I don't know if Raoul is prepared to midwife. Hmmm, still, Bimini.

yes, carpet, ugly carpet, I think.