"The interest doesn't hold forever," Spike pointed out, "she's always winning. Imagine how many people want to get into a ring with a Slayer who doesn't stop beating the hell out of everyone who tries to fight. Might mix up the hype a bit - who doesn't want to come in and watch a Slayer kick someone's ass? - but after a while..." Spike dragged a hand across the bartop, sweeping up some of the smashed up peanut shells that the bartender had yet to confiscate. Lazy bastard. "It's useless. I need money. Means I need people willing to fight. Can't do anything if there's an audience and no show, see?"
Spike smirked again. Psychic. He'd met a few of those in his lifetime. All pains in the ass, too. "Not psychic. Just know how to read you." It wasn't difficult if one knew her. The key to Buffy was looking into the eyes. The smiles and words held no relevance when it came to what she was feeling deep down on the inside.
"Seems to me more like Harm chickened out and ran," Spike replied, shrugging. "In battle, you look at two enemies and the side that ends up retreating is usually the one that has lost. Harmony lost." That was how Spike saw it and it wasn't going to change anytime soon. "Sure, the consequences are gonna be a bitch to see through, but you can't worry yourself to death over it. You can't do anything, Buffy. Look around you. You're stuck here. If you keep on dreading what might happen if those other girls don't watch themselves, you're going to hurt yourself. It's not going to do you any good, so I suggest you take a look at the bigger picture, eh? The whole entire dream team is out there somewhere, working on the rest of the world. They were able to help you with the apocalypses back in Sunnydale, I imagine they can handle Harmony and her stupidity. Have a little..." He rolled his eyes. This was what happened when he hung out with Faith too often here at the bar. "Have a little faith."