Alone - they were alone and Spike found himself looking away for a split second to make sure. And then he grabbed the man closer. "John Mitchell." That was right - he knew the man's full name, and he wasn't afraid to use it. "You ain't bloody well gonna go off into the hereafter like some damn hero in distress." Wrong time, wrong world. "Not on me and not today, you sodding Irishman. Plenty of póg mo thóin's left to say." Panic and distress reserved for a guy that he'd liked in some world, now unattainable. Dammit. Mitchell had been his friend. And he liked to believe that he'd do the same for him.
Alone ... and then they weren't. Barely managing to bite back a remark about Kristina's words - supposedly Mitchell's own, even - Spike's grip on the man's shoulder tightened.
Even surrounded by the worst of worse scenarios and holding on to a man who wasn't even supposed to be alive, Spike still managed to find his bark. And unfortunately, it was Kristina who got the brunt of it. "What'd you want for doing what a decent human should do, a bloody biscuit?" Damn humans, always expecting rewards for doing the right thing.
But there it was, that look he knew so well - of people too tired to fight. Ready to give up. "You don't," Spike warned him with all the fury a pissed off and worried vampire had.