"Umm…Spike? What's that?"
He turned to the store window she was pointing at and bit back a grin.
"That Slayer, is a toy."
"No, it can't be," she said, frowning. "It's in the shop with all the bottles of lotion and romantic stuff. Maybe it's a massager?"
"Certain kind of massage, yes."
She gave him a quizzical look before seeing the notice tacked on the wooden door of the shop and squinting.
"Pleasure Island," she read. "Home to the wildest toys…oh. You told me it was a massager!"
"To be fair love, you said it was a massager."
"Well, you didn't correct me! It's like a big, huge –" her voice dropped and she turned red " – vibrator thing."
"That it is," he agreed, giving her a sloe eyed look. "Want a demonstration, pet?"
"Bastard."
"Bitch."
"Vampire asshole."
"Slayer with more issues than the Titanic."
"For the last time, I have no issues! Issueless me. And like you've even seen the Titanic."
"Course I have. The movie's a bloody classic."
"Yeah," she reminisced. "I remember watching it with Dawn and crying. Everyone cries when they watch that movie. Bet even you did."
He scratched behind his neck and stared at the ground.
"Did spill a tear, must confess love. Which part was it for you?"
"Which part? There's only one cry-worthy part. When Jack dies, and she lets him go, and then throws the necklace off…"
"Bloody stupid place to cry," he insisted. "Was the middle for me."
"The middle!" she shrieked. "The middle's happy. Why would you cry?"
"Appreciated the topless girl a bit too much, and Dru decided she wanted to punish me. Got a little out of hand."
Buffy shut her mouth, speechless. Then she began to laugh. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand and gave him a quick squeeze.
"Only you, Spike," she said with something akin to tenderness, "Would say that."
"Yeah," he agreed, eyeing her warily. The slayer was smiling and holding his hand. Was she on drugs?
"We should get some more information about where we are," she commented, looking around. "There's a tavern right across the street, we could go there."
Shrugging, he followed her to the wooden door, and they stepped in.
The smell of alcohol was the first thing that hit her. Not beer, but some specific kind that she'd smelled somewhere before, but couldn't remember where. Men were crowded at the tables, some on benches, some on the floor. Women were all over the place too, serving drinks or lolling around the men's laps.
"Welcome," Spike said in her ear, "To the past millennia."
Pressing his hand into her back, he led her to a free table, gesturing for a waitress to come to them. He was fitting right in, Buffy noticed, graceful and catlike, sprawled on his chair.
Her stomach rumbled and she looked around anxiously for the waitress, hoping she'd get there soon. When footsteps were heard at the foot of their table she smiled.
"Could we get some chicken please? Or maybe some soup, or something? What are your specials?"
"That all depends, girly, on what yer here for," said a voice that was decidedly not female.