WHO: Spike and Harmony. WHAT: A reunion. Sort of. WHEN: Evening. WHERE: The Factory; Spike's personal area. RATING: TBD. STATUS: In progress.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was stupid. Why, oh why, did Spike always do this to himself? Always looking to impress the girl; sad thing was, he was going to be working to impress the wrong one and he knew it. He'd do this for Buffy, she'd be grateful, but when it came down to it Spike knew that she wasn't going to see all of this the same way that the Buffy he had grown close to would. She would have understood as to how difficult and headache inducing this entire thing was going to be for him. She would understand and accept that everything he was doing here and now was for her. This Buffy, on the other hand, would not. Which made Spike wonder why he even bothered in the first place. For the others? The good of the world? Puppies and Christmas? No. Fuck Christmas. He'd do it for...for, well, he wasn't quite certain yet, but he knew that he'd have to find some sort of excuse for his actions that didn't center on a certain Slayer he knew.
Except that was just it, wasn't it? No matter what he'd claim, it was all going to go back to her. He was loyal to her. Even if that meant that they'd never end up back where he wanted them to be, Spike still cared for her. That was who he was. It was what he did best.
"Fuck my life," he growled, shoving the bottle of whiskey he'd planted onto the table aside. He was sitting in the corner of the back room that he'd kept for himself, one hand gripping at the back of the spare chair behind him while his eyes gloomily set themselves on the door ahead. She'd be coming around soon. Begging for attention. Whining about how wonderful she was and about how he'd need to take her to France and - as he glanced down at the cardboard box at his feet - how he'd have to buy her more ceramic ponies. He'd wanted to smash them in the street the second that the salesperson had handed the package over to him, containing the ponies that Harmony had requested all carefully wrapped on the inside. Instead, he'd toted them back to The Factory, placed them on the floor, and had spent the past half hour drinking, glaring at the stupid box all the while as he fumed over everything that was going on.
Him. And Harmony. Together. In the same building. That was bad enough. But to actually have to pretend that he was keen on her as well? Spike reached for the bottle again and took a heavy swig. Fuck, yeah. He was going to need this.
Spike had already told the demon working at the bar up front to let Harmony into to back area as soon as she'd arrived. She'd be led to his room and then the beginnings of a very long and painful evening would very likely begin.