Even if he hadn't intended to, he shied away from her touch and let the pack of smokes hit the ground. Even just the smell of cigarette smoke was enough to make him heave, so he wisely abstained. And he knew that Angel was jealous, but that just brought back old memories of Angelus - always jealous, always possessive. Who dared to say that Angelus with a soul was an entirely different, was a bloody idiot, because he still lurked beneath the surface, coming out only in the smallest of gestures. But then Spike drew in a long suffering sigh and grudgingly let it all go. The last look Angel deemed them worthy of, was met with an icy blue gaze. It looked like they were in control of the situation, so what the fuck was he doing here? And for once, he willingly started his retreat.
Back to bed. "Take care of her," he told Buffy before he took a wobbly step back inside.