Spike took up the rear. He'd follow them out, make sure that they got to the hotel back all safe and sound like the real gentleman that he was. Who said he couldn't be nice?
"Love 'em, hate 'em, doesn't matter because none of us can lay a single finger on their lot," he reminded them both. It was a frustrating thing for someone like Spike to admit, but there they were. He knew the truth. It wasn't a happy truth, not for him, but in all their time here they had not once even seen those bastards up front and center. What made them think that there was a chance that they ever would?
"The other you, as cute and...pink as she was, was a bit of a moron." And by a bit, Spike meant entirely. "She wanted to screw Harris, for starters," he added, frowning. "And I think she even preferred him over me." Spike looked out the two of them, brows rising in disbelief. "How does that happen, exactly?"
He could smell her blood. Blood of a Slayer, always strong. Always appetizing. Spike wasn't going to lie to himself by saying that he didn't want it. It was delicious, Slayer blood - he knew it from personal experience - but it certainly wasn't his to take. Nor did he want to. He rather enjoyed having Buffy alive and well, thank you. Even if it was a tempting thing to consider.
Spike kept his nose down and focused on the priority. Slayer to the hotel. Blood at the hotel. Cure the Slayer, make sure she settles in all right. Skip off to harass Harmony over the switch. Mission accomplished.
"Because she's a bloody pain in the ass, that's how," Spike addressed, rolling his eyes. "But, right, yeah. I'll get on keeping Miss Perky all sorts of updated for the sake of your sanity. And I'll take payment for my wonderful deed in the forms of cash, blood, or sex. Take your pick."