Spike winced as Harmony’s voice met his ears, slowly setting the bottle of O positive back in the fridge and shutting the door with more force than he intended, making the glasses and bottle of Jack sitting on top rattle dangerously. He swallowed down a mouthful of blood, his nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. He needed to find a way to get himself a fully functioning microwave in the crypt. Pig’s blood tasted foul enough as it was. He didn’t turn, and he heard her speak again, her voice sultry.
“Are you coming to bed?”
He turned to face her, setting his glass down on the top of the sarcophagus in front of him. Harmony was standing near the ladder that led to the lower part of his crypt, leaning seductively on the hand she had propped against the other sarcophagus. She was dressed in one of the tiniest outfits he’d seen her in so far, practically spilling out of the top. She had even tried mixing up the usual purely pink ensemble- wearing a mostly black bodice with a sheer blue hem riding up her thighs. The sultry effect was slightly ruined by the late morning light creeping into the crypt, but she fixed him with a seductive gaze despite it.
She had been dressing steadily more and more scantily when it came to the bedroom- and even just around the crypt, and Spike knew completely that these were all attempts to bed him again. It had been weeks since their last time, and he knew she was getting more and more frustrated because of it.
He felt a tiny twinge of guilt at the hopeful edge to her expression and tone, and he sighed. “No.”
She pouted, but the action only served to remind Spike of another girl, one who, when jutting out her own bottom lip, had him completely under her spell. “C’mon, Spike-y, I—“
“It’s over, Harm.”
“Wh— What?” The girl faltered, moving out of her pose. Her eyes were wide, imploring and innocent, completely at odds with her attire, and Spike felt another pang of guilt at her confused expression. He couldn’t stand the chit at all, sure, but he knew what it was like to be hurt by another. It’d happened to him too many times. Still, he set his jaw and fixed her with a hard glare.
“I need you to get out, Harm.” He told her, gripping the top of the sarcophagus in front of him. “It’s over. Whatever the bloody hell we’ve got going on between us, it’s over. Pack up your stuff, and get out.”
“What?” Harmony asked again. Spike could smell the tears welling up in her eyes, but he avoided looking at her. “Wh— why?”
“Does it bloody matter?” Spike questioned her bitterly. “I don’t care about you. At all. And I need you to go. Now.” He swallowed down another mouthful of blood, keeping his eyes fixed on the glass. He hated to see women cry, and even if he couldn’t stand Harmony, he couldn’t stomach seeing her cry.
“Is... is it because of her?” Harmony spluttered tearfully, and Spike looked up, confused. Tears were running freely down her face now, her cheeks shining with tear tracks. Her eyes, however, were burning with anger. “It is, isn’t it? You... you love her more than me.” She finished pitifully, folding her arms around herself.
“What the bloody hell you talking about, woman?” Spike bluffed. There was no way she could know about his feelings for Buffy. He didn’t exactly advertise them around the crypt. He never left anything where she could have found them, she didn’t even know about the first edition poetry books he had hidden away. There was no way she could know.
“You love the Slayer more than me.”
Bollocks, Spike swore to himself. How the bloody hell did she know? Still, he feigned confusion, snorting a derisive laugh. “What? You are completely off your bird if you think—“
“You think I don’t hear you?” Harmony shot back tearfully, her voice turning almost scathing. “We share a bed, you asshole. You think I don’t hear you mutter her name in your sleep? That I don’t know that that’s where you go every night? To see her.”
Spike opened his mouth again, unsure of how to react to Harmony’s unexpected insight.
“I tried, Spike. I tried.” Harmony was openly crying now, tears running down her face and her voice angry. “I thought, maybe, if I could get your attention, you just might realise that I was here too, right here in front of you, sharing a damn bed with you, but no. You’re too stuck on her. On Buffy.” She spat the other girl’s name and inhaled shakily, fixing him with an almost pitiful glare. “You love someone who will never love you back. She will never love you. And you’re throwing what we have away because you’re obsessed with the damn Slayer.”
“What we ‘have’ is meaningless sex, Harm. We have nothing else.” Spike snarled. His anger rose at her comment, overcoming his pity. He turned away from her, searching his pockets for his lighter, grabbing a cigarette packet off the top of the fridge. He pulled a cigarette out and put it between his lips, finding his lighter in his back pocket and lighting up. He inhaled deeply, exhaling a cloud of smoke before speaking again. “We have nothing between us.”
Harmony tossed her hair over her shoulder, fixing her angry glare on him. “Do you have any idea what it is like to have someone hold you in their arms and know that they’re thinking of someone else?”
Spike flinched at that, but turned back to her with a hard glare. “Get out, Harm. Take your stuff and leave, or I’ll throw you out myself.”
Harmony opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped, her mouth snapping shut. Instead, she walked around the sarcophagus and straight up to him, pulled back, and swung, slapping him hard across the face. Then, she turned on her heel and headed back for the ladder. “Slayer loving freak.”
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