Spike was loitering in the hallway, a common occupation
for him. "If he'd just give me a bleedin' office, like I've asked," he grumped
to himself. "Not so hard, is it? Got a nice one up near Gunn's, too, all vacant
now, isn't it? Still smells like blood, even."
He wasn't going to, though, not unless Angel found him a job to go with the
fancy office. Chief Executive of Annoying Angel, maybe? Supervisor of Sarcasm?
The area around Harmony's desk emptied while he toyed with different names, so
he headed over. "Harm," he greeted, eyeing her mug of blood. She could be
stingy with the damned things, sometimes.
"Blondie Bear!" Harmony's squeal was as ear-piercing as always. "I'm off in a
few minutes, want to buy me lunch?"
"Uh, isn't it pretty much daylight outside?" Couldn't a bloke just get a mug of
blood now and again? Without having to dig into the reserve Angel'd given him?
Then again, Harm probably had a corporate card of some kind.
"Silly. What kind of evil law-firm doesn't have sunless ways of getting to the
really interesting places?"
Point. He'd just thought most of them were Angel-reserved. Plus, Spike still
had no idea what was happening about the reindeer-cum-people, and Harm
seemed to be right in the thick of things. "This wouldn't be lunch of the
solid-kind, would it?"
Delicate eyebrows rose and then, slowly, understanding dawned. "Oh, you mean
human food. Well, sure, we're going to Camile's. It's owned by a vampire, so
they've got everything. Her blood-pudding is to die for. If we weren't already
dead, of course. Now, you just go stand right there," she pointed to the
specific spot, "and I'll just grab my card."
"Right, then. Just no talking about sodding clothes or shopping," he demanded,
moving to where she had pointed. She did have a corporate credit card,
the lucky bint. Angel set her up real nice, and what did Spike get? Bit of
cash. Stingy bastard. Spike contemplated stealing the card, but gave up on that
quickly. More fun to steal cash from Angel—more profitable, too, since cash
couldn't get cancelled. "I mean it, now, no talking about some new frock
or—Harm!"
She smiled radiantly, pointing above his head. "Mistletoe, silly. Now hold
still."
"No, I am bloody well not holding—Harm!" Dancing back a few steps, Spike kept
himself poised and ready to run. Bit of a shag was one thing, but kissing?
"You're making everyone look," she told him.
"I don't give a damn about—what the hell are you doing?"
"Mist-le-toe," she said slowly. "It's when you stand under a bit of that green
stuff—what's it called?"
"Holly."
"Thanks! I knew you'd know that, you always know such weird stuff. Anyway, you
stand under this little spriggy-thing of Holly and you get to kiss whoever is
standing under it with you. So, since you're standing under the
mistletoe, and so am I, we get to kiss." Satisfied she'd explained everything,
and ignoring that Spike was no longer under the mistletoe so much as cowering
from it, Harmony leaned forward to claim her reward.
Spike shied away, backing up until he thumped into a wall. "Harm, that's a game
for tweenies trying to find their first sweetheart."
"Tweenies? What a cool word! And no, it's not. I once saw a movie where, like,
these really old married people did it. And why are you way over there, anyway?
That's not where the mistletoe is!"
By now there was a crowd. Not a large one, but gossip flew on winged sandals in
this bloody office, and Spike knew he better stop this and stop it now. "Harm,
I'm not int—"
Spike remembered how quickly Harmony had melted into a puddle of goo after his
come-hither look. She'd obviously been taking notes, or maybe the soul was
making him more vulnerable to unhappy females. 'Sorry sod' was a term that
sprang easily to mind. Or 'sucker'.
"Fine." Stepping back under the mistletoe, he gave her a short peck on the
check.
She pouted, adding in two liquid eyes, and why the hell wasn't he running off
now? "Oh, for bloody—Harm, I gave you your kiss."
"That wasn't a real kiss, Spike." No stupid cutsifying of his name or the
insipid nicknames she frequently used. None of her ear-stabbing whining,
either, just a small comment, free of any kind of affectation.
So he kissed her for real.
When they finally broke apart, there was cheering and wolf-whistles coming from
the enlarging crowd. Simpering under the attention and waving little hellos,
Harmony linked her arm through his and started prattling on about Camile's and
the lovely treats it had to offer a bloke who liked his blood with a little
substance.
And Spike. . . let her.
TBC