Spike had only just started settling back into the hotel himself. After he had lost and regained his soul all over again, it was more than difficult for him to join into the ranks of the very people that he had tried to kill. And then there was Willow. He might have been fond enough of the witch in the past, but now it seemed as though he'd never exchange a pleasant word with her again. He didn't care what anyone said. Back when Willow was bent on destroying the world, it had been her the entire time. She was capable of stopping herself. There wasn't a demon lurking under her skin like there was with Spike. And that was why he was hardly hesitant about holding his grudge with her when it came down to the simple fact that she was the one who had ripped his soul. He would never forgive her for that, nor would he stand for anyone who gave him hell for his feelings about the matter. Between Willow and Peter, Spike knew that he had his enemies at the hotel.
But then there was Dawn and Cordelia. And now? Buffy. As soon as he finished exchanging words with her on the boards, Spike stepped out of his room and started for the elevator. He pressed the button and stepped inside, one hand fumbling in the pocket of his trademark duster for the pack of cigarettes that he suddenly found a desperate need to smoke his way through. He had managed to dig the pack out when the elevator fell to a halt on the ground floor. He didn't look up at first, as he was busy with the task of wrestling a single cigarette from the pack, but when he did he found himself staring straight off at no other than Buffy Summers herself.
His mouth opened a little and he knew that, if he had a heart, it would have stopped right then and there.