Maurice is quite the opposite. He's shifting from foot to foot, turning at sounds, having trouble keeping his eyes on Spike. He looks at his mug. At the wall. At the sink. At his mug.

"Yeah, well, trouble's me." He huffs and takes another long drink, hoping the savory stuff will soothe his nerves. "It's not right. I can't just sit around and let that happen. What good am I then?"