Title:  A Two-Part Harmony

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  Hard R or NC-17.  I never know how to rate these things.  Somewhat more explicit sex than the first part.  Also, since this is a Harmony fic, there are  cute pink things.  Consider yourself warned.

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  There are pairings that scream to be written because you can think of so much beauty that the couple can express through their love, because there is something transcendent in the idea of the two of them together, and because as a writer you yearn to give meaning to that passion.

And then, there are Spike and Harmony.

Zyrya, a lovely writer and person, won me in the Writercon auction. She wanted a pairing that I would never have considered writing otherwise, and I'm very glad she did.  This 'ship deserves to be explored, if for no other reason than the two vamps most involved don't seem to have given it a hell of a lot of thought themselves. Harmony was there from the beginning of BtVS to the end of AtS, but as far as I'm concerned, we never saw enough of her. And she and Spike are hot as well as funny on screen together.

I hope they are also hot and funny in Two-Part Harmony. 

Thanks: To DorothyL and Keswindhover for the beta, to Devil Piglet for fashion advice, and, because it bears repeating, to Zyrya for encouraging me to write this pairing and for providing so many insights into the characters.

Part Two

(Part One is here.)      

A bittersweet romance shagfest with a chorus of intermittent whining

AtS, Season Five.  This section begins just as “Harm’s Way” ends.

         Spike looked around him.  This LA bar was posher than the dive in Sunnydale where he'd once picked up a newly-fledged bimbo.  But his Harm hadn't changed much.  She was still easy to read, and cheering her up had been no job at all.  She was as happy thinking that the vamp from the typing pool had hated her as she’d once been jazzed at the absurd notion she’d been Buffy’s arch-nemesis.

         He hadn’t been able to walk past Harm’s woebegone face without saying a few words.  Then he’d felt compelled to buy her a drink and try to cheer her out of her funk.  He’d no intention of turning into a bloody philanthropist, but there were only so many brooding and sulking vamps he could stand having about, after all. 

Harmony was gazing at the spot where her image should have been reflected in the mirror behind the bar, her eyes dancing with excitement and pleasure that someone had hated her enough to concoct an elaborate murder plot.  Spike smiled crookedly as he examined that enchanting profile.  Harm was adorable when she pouted, and even more smashing when she smiled.

         But after a minute or two, the pout returned. 

         “It would be kind of nice to matter to someone who was alive, or at least still undead.”  Harm poked at her drink with a swizzle stick.  “I should have known better, hoping to be accepted, just because you and Angel are vampires like me.  I mean, everyone knows you two are perverts—"

         "Hey!" said Spike.  "I told you that when you walked in on us in his office, I'd just dropped something under the desk, not being accustomed to being corporeal again just yet, and General Broody-Pants tripped over his own feet with no such excuse, and—"

         She gave no sign of having heard his hasty explanation.  "Well, you are.  I mean—in love with a Slayer."  Her forehead crinkled with such distaste she appeared about to morph into game face.

         Spike shifted uncomfortably on the bar stool.  "Oh.  That.  Well—"        

         "Besides, you were way mean to me before you got your soul, and you still are most of the time.  And Angel treats me even worse than you do."

         He’d forgotten that interrupting him was one of her many annoying habits. "So, why do you stick around?"

         She bent her head in despair, almost dipping her hair in her mojito.  "You don't understand.  I tried being evil, but it never worked out.  All my plans just fell apart, and I wound up feeling so stupid.  But I need to belong somewhere.  So I thought I'd try this job.  But then Angel took over, and the rules changed again, and it's all hard trying to be good when you don't have a soul."

         "Yeah . . . Not always easy even when you do.”

         "I mean, it's not like I was very good at being good when I was alive, so I don't even have any practice." 

          Once, he wouldn’t have bothered trying not to smile at her words.  Now, he tried but failed, just as he always failed to curb his tongue when she made some asinine comment.

         Her face crinkled again, and this time she looked ready to cry.  “You think I’m just a big joke.  You’re laughing at me!”

         She was sniffling now, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, like a child.  “You don’t know what it feels like.  Trying to understand what people want, but not being able to please them.  Even when I do get things right, they yell anyway because they’re so used to me getting it wrong.” 

He remembered her anger just after he’d become corporeal, when she’d gone all bloody-eyed and bloody-minded in the middle of what had been a very promising shag.  She’d said he was using her, and raged at him for making her feel like she belonged to him.  At the time, he hadn’t let her words remind him of his own past with Buffy. 

These days, he found he couldn’t hide from uncomfortable thoughts forever.

Harm did belong to him, of course.  He’d just never cared enough to take care of his pretty toy.

Poor silly little Harm.  She was such a daft, gorgeous, sexy bitch.  He couldn’t love her.  But his soul insisted that he make her feel better.   And his earthier parts were telling him just how to accomplish that.

         Harmony hit the snooze button on her alarm and rolled over, prepared to snuggle into the sheets for a few more minutes.  Instead, she jumped to a sitting position when her hand encountered a naked body lying next to her. 

         For one horrid moment, she thought she was in that Bill Murray movie with the hamster thingie where the same icky day kept happening over and over and over.  She was lying next to a dead astronaut again! 

Then she realized it was just Spike.

         Of course, Spike was a corpse, but no one was about to blame that on her.  He'd been dead since, like, the Middle Ages or something, and he sure wasn't an astronaut.  And lying completely still and not breathing was normal for him, if anything about Spike could be called normal.

         She poked at his bare shoulder. 

         "Sod off," he muttered.

         "I have to go to work," she said.

         "Good.  Go."  He pulled a pillow over his head.

         "Will you be here when I get back?"

         The pillow was raised momentarily.  "If that means will I shag you again, the answer is 'yes,' if you promise to shut up and let me sleep now."

         Harmony dropped back on her pillow and stared at the ceiling, remembering the previous night.

         Spike hadn't wanted to wait until they got to her apartment, so she'd wound up with her skirt yanked up way high, bent over the hood of somebody's SUV in an alley, with his cock up inside her, one of his arms around her waist while the other hand worked her clit.  She'd started to protest the rough treatment, but once his fingers started to move against her pussy, she'd forgotten how to say actual words, and had growled and cried out so loudly a cop had come down the alley, gun drawn, looking like he wasn't sure if he would find a homicide in progress or an escaped zoo animal.  He'd stared for a long moment, then dropped his gun and fled in horror, just as Harmony realized she was in vamp face.  From the raspy sound to Spike's laughter as he came inside her, he was too.

         She'd yelled at him for a while as she straightened her clothes, because he'd come without waiting for her, and because she didn't find it sexy to have people see her with her forehead and, even worse, her skirt all wrinkly, but he'd just laughed and promised to make it up to her once they got to her place. 

         And he had, going down on her before she'd even gotten all her clothes off, until she'd been whimpering and sighing instead of just screaming.  By the time he'd yanked off his jeans, she'd been so grateful she'd dropped to her knees, ready to return the favor, but he'd tossed her back on the bed and pushed her legs in the air.  He'd fucked her again while her ankles were up on his shoulders and his hands pulled her ass tight against him.  She'd come twice that time, even though she knew her outfit would be completely ruined, and it wasn't as if she could afford to keep replacing her wardrobe on what Angel paid her.   Wolfram & Hart might reimburse her dry cleaning if she got guts all over her on the job, but the trolls down in Accounting would turn to stone and refuse to accept any voucher claiming clothing damage from after-hours demon encounters.

         When she'd told Spike off afterwards, he'd pulled off the rags that remained of her jacket and once-pretty lacy top and tugged her into the bathroom, where he'd gone down on her again in the shower.  Then he'd shoved her back into the bedroom and onto her knees, and before she'd known what was happening, she'd been on all fours while he screwed her again. 

         It was about then she'd figured out something was strange, even considering it was Spike who was moving behind her, his cock thrusting deep, the taut muscles of his stomach moving against her ass, one hand pressing on her shoulder.

         She'd tried to shove him away, and he'd stilled for a second, but didn't pull back.  "What's wrong, pet?"

         "I want to do it on the bed," she'd said.  "On my back."

         "Been there, done that," he'd said, thrusting again. 

         She'd squirmed some more, but she couldn't get away from him.  It felt great, though, so she'd kept squirming while she'd argued.  "Okay, me on top then."

         "I don't think so."  The hand on her shoulder had pushed down harder.

         She'd squeaked, partly because his other hand had pinched her nipple, but mostly because she'd been hit with a sudden realization.  "You think I'm really stupid, don't you?"

         "Yeah," he'd agreed with unflattering rapidity. 

         "I know what's up with you, Spike."

         "Should be obvious." 

She'd squealed in delight at the actions that accompanied his retort, but refused to be distracted. "You're afraid I'll bite you again, like I did in the office!"

         "Ah--!"  She'd screamed really loud then, as he lifted her up against him, one hand on her crotch and the other squeezing her breasts.  Her knees had been off the floor, and her back hard against his chest.  Blunt teeth had been worrying the back of her neck and arched spine, in between licks and kisses that made her body spasm almost as much as the pressure deep in her quim.

         Then he'd pulled her even closer, his arm a tight band across her chest, that hand grasping one breast so tightly she screamed again, just before the pressure of his fingers made her come.

         He'd pushed her onto the bed then, and she'd collapsed, face down, her legs trailing off the side of the mattress to the carpet, while he pumped madly for a few minutes before howling out his own orgasm.  A few seconds later, he'd released her at last, rolling over to sit on the floor, his back resting against the bed.

         "You are so a coward," she'd said weakly as she crawled up the side of the bed and burrowed under the covers.  "Scaredy cat. Afraid of a little biting from a girl."

         "Meooow," was all he'd muttered as he slipped between the sheets next to her.  She'd poked his shoulder to make him look at her so she could yell some more, but he was already asleep.

         She poked his shoulder again now, but there was no reaction.  Briefly, she contemplated biting him, just because, but decided that might make him take off and not come back.

         So what if last night hadn't been like Romeo and Juliet, or Jessica and Nick?  So what if she was still pretty sure he'd run off after Buffy if she showed up, no matter what dumb story he'd told her in the bar?

         Spike was rude, and he was a freaky Slayer-lover, and he said things she didn’t understand—well, most people did that—but it was good to be with him again.  He still had those gorgeous eyes, and he still did it for her the way no other guy or vamp had ever been able to do. 

         Harmony smiled as the alarm went off again and incomprehensible curses flowed from under the pillow next to her.  It was good to have her platinum baby back.

An afternoon at Wolfram & Hart, after "Damage"

         "Hi, Harmony!"  Fred was determined to be cheerful and friendly, but when Harmony looked up from her computer monitor, she took a few steps back, glancing in the direction of one of the guards stationed around the huge atrium.

         "What's wrong—" Harmony broke off her words with a look of surprise, touched a hand to her fangs, and switched back to human face.  "Oh, sorry.  I'm just really pissed off, you know."

         Fred moved back to the desk and leaned on the ledge, sympathetic again.  "I don’t know yet, but you can tell me.  What's wrong?"

         Harmony pointed at her computer.  "I have to get these new forms back to Non-Human Resources because the dental insurance disallowed my last check-up, even though vampires are allowed extra cleanings under the company plan.   Mistress Shivra said she'd threaten to eat their entrails if they didn't reimburse me, but I can't email the documents she needs."

         "Why not?"  Fred stepped around the desk, eager to help with a technological problem.

         "That new shaman in Spells and Philters may be cute, but he's such a brown-nose!  He's always sending Angel PowerPoint presentations boasting about his workgroup's latest potions, with lots of charts about how many people they can enchant per ounce for a lower overall production cost.  Of course, the boss hates that, so he's had all the mail forwarded to me, and these stupid files are filling up my mailbox so I can't send anything."

         Harmony seemed ready to cry or go wrinkly-faced again, so Fred pulled up a chair next to the dropping blonde figure and easily disposed of the offending files.  As she moved the computer mouse with one hand, she waved the other behind her.  "At least you have an admirer.  Look at those beautiful flowers!"

         But Harmony just sighed as she regarded the huge vase of pink roses.  "I bought those for Spike."

         It was an uphill struggle, but Fred kept an upbeat tone.  "That's great!  I was just going to suggest we go to the hospital wing and visit him together."

         This invitation had the opposite effect from the one she'd anticipated.

         "I can't," sniffled Harmony.

         Fred glanced towards the office doors.  "If Angel won't let you—"

         "It's not him.  It's the doctors.  They banned me from the ward.  They said I agitated him too much.  I told them that Spike likes to be agitated, but they made me take the flowers and everything else and get out."

         "Everything else?"  Fred looked around and noticed another bouquet, this one of balloons tied to a cup, sitting on the floor behind the desk.   Bobbing among several pink heart-shapes, the bloated body of a unicorn smirked at her, its plastic teeth bared.

         "I was late coming back from lunch and Angel yelled at me and everything because I spent so much time picking them out."  Harmony pointed at the balloon bouquet.  "But all Spike said was that it was a nefurious—nincinerous—some kind of torture to make a man spend all day staring at a bunch of bloody balloons."  She dropped her head on her desk.  "He said it was worse than having his arms chopped off."

         Fred reached out a tentative hand to touch the vampire's hair and soothe her, but felt compelled to point out, "Well, lot of men don't really care for pink things like balloons or flowers.  Or unicorns.  They're funny that way."

         Harmony raised her head.  "But Spike said once he likes inflatable toys!  That's why I got him that instead of the really cute stuffed animal I saw in another store.  And I thought the saying on the cup was perfect but he said it was only good for making him want to get well enough to smash it."  She bent over and set the balloon bouquet on her desk so that Fred could read the words on its ceramic anchor.  Your friends are here to give you a hand.

         To Fred's embarrassment and horror, Harmony dropped her head on her friend's shoulder and wailed, "Why can I never figure out what's the right thing to do?"

One morning, just after "Smile Time"

         “Spike!”  Harmony hammered on the bathroom door. 

         No reaction came from inside.  She put her ear to the panel and listened.  She could hear some noises inside, but they didn’t sound like someone was showering or doing any normal bathroom-type things.  No running water, no tooth or fang-brushing sounds.  No flushing either.

         She’d been patient for a few minutes when the alarm clock had woken her up, and she’d realized Spike was in the bathroom instead of muttering in annoyance next to her, like he usually was when he spent the whole night.   After about five minutes, she’d tapped lightly on the door and asked if everything was okay.  She was told not to get her knickers in a twist.

         She wasn’t wearing knickers, or anything else for that matter, but five minutes later she was starting to get really angry.  Her more forceful knock earned a response of, “Sod off!”

         Now she kicked the door, her bare toes making a small dent.  She was about to kick harder when she remembered the fuss her landlord had made the time she forgot her strength and flooded the three floors below her by twisting the kitchen faucet too hard.

          Harmony cast her eyes towards the ceiling and slipped into vamp face out of pure frustration.  “Spike, get out of my bathroom, you big freak!  I have to leave for work in a half hour, and you’ve made me late twice this week already.  If Angel isn’t de-Muppetized yet, he’ll get so mad he’ll bust a seam.  And if he’s himself again, he’ll probably fire me!  Maybe with real fire!”

         She yanked hard on the door handle and flew backwards, landing on the bed as the knob twisted unexpectedly under her grip.  Fangs bared, limbs splayed inelegantly across the sheets, she glared at Spike’s smirking face. 

         “Love the view, pet,” he said, leering at her spread legs.  “And don’t worry about the wee puppet man.  I’ll tell him it was my fault, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll do something to get him so mad he’ll forget all about you.”

         “Oh—gah!” she spat at him, jumping to her feet and pushing him out of the doorway.  “You didn’t even shave, you—you weirdo.  If you’ve messed up my bathroom—Aiiiiii!”

         Her shriek was so loud that the upstairs tenant thumped on the ceiling.   Harmony barely noticed.  She grabbed hold of the bathroom sink, her eyes wild and shocked.  If she’d needed oxygen to function, she would have been hyperventilating.

         Because she could see just how wide, astonished, and yellow her eyes were.  She could see her ridged brow, her nasty bed-hair, and her gaping mouth with her fangs bared.  She could see it all in—

         Not in the mirror.  The mirror was gone, she realized suddenly.  Slowly, she began to realize what had happened.  Her features smoothed and became human, her stunned expression shifting to a delighted smile.

         And she was able to watch it all.  In real time.  Because of—

         “Spike!”  She turned around and threw herself back through the doorway, landing in his arms so suddenly and forcefully he fell back on the bed with her wrapped around him.  “Oh, my Blondie Bear, my sweet platinum baby, you really do love me!”

         “Let’s not get carried away here, pet,” he said quickly, although his dismayed response didn’t stop him from copping a feel. 

         She let him paw her breasts and ignored his protests, showering his face with kisses as she bounced up and down on top of him.  “I can see myself!  How did you do it?”

         “Pinched one of those video camera things from your boss and set a monitor up where your mirror used to be.  Got tired of looking at the poncy ‘Be your best’ slogan you had up there.  Got tired of your bloody Polaroids every morning too.”

         His hands had obviously not gotten tired of playing with her tits, but she shoved them aside and rushed back to the bathroom. 

         “I thought I’d give you your very own Smile Time.”  He got up more slowly, and as she gazed in the monitor, she saw him smirking over her shoulder.  “Want to take a few hours and prove how grateful you are, Harm?  I’ll make things right with Angel the Grouch."

         “Oh, yes, tell Angel I’m going to be late today.  Thank you, thank you, Spike.  I am truly, forever, everlastingly grateful.”  She put out a hand, shoved him hard in the center of his chest so that he stumbled back, slammed the door in his face and locked it. She turned to glory in the radiance of her very own face beaming at her from the monitor.  After almost five years, Harmony was finally alone again with the person she loved most.

During "Time Bomb"

         Screaming as if she were being chased by a horde of Slayers, Harmony ran out of the bathroom, only to trip over the huge mess in the living room.  Cords snaked around the living room like deformed octopuses—optopi—centerfuges—no, centerpedals. 

Harmony gave up.  Like something with lots of leggy tentacly things.

         “What happened?” she yelled.  "My monitor is blank!  I can't see myself!"

         Spike gave her a distracted look and went back to playing with the electrical cords.  “Don’t whine, pet.  This is much more important than your morning beautification ritual."

         “What could be more important than that?”

         He rose from his hands and knees and sat on the couch, staring fixedly at the television.  “Man U is playing Arsenal and your Tivo's blown a gasket or something.  If I set it up right, this video camera will take a feed from the cable box.”

         Harmony stamped her foot.  “So—just sit and watch the game!”

         “Love to, but I have figure out how to help the lonely hearts tame the Blue Meanie,” said Spike.  “I promised Angel.”

         She crossed her arms and glared.  “See, I don’t get that.  Why do you let Illyria beat up on you?  She’s hit me, and it’s not fun at all.”

         “I’m studying her, Harm.  I have a clipboard and everything.”  He manhandled the remote.  “Bugger!  What channel is the English Football League?”

         Harmony pouted.  “I can’t believe you’re missing a game to go to work, especially since you don't even really have a job there.  I think you like that skanky unFred-god better than you do me.”

         He ignored her, and she upped the ante.  “Sometimes, I think you even like Angel better than you do me!  You’re always running off to help him these days.  I’m starting to wonder just what’s up with that, you know.”

         Amazingly, even that didn’t get a rise out of him, perhaps because he finally managed to get the station he wanted.  “Brilliant!  Now, whatever you do, don’t change the channel, that’s my good girl.”  He snatched up his coat and was gone.

         Harmony pouted at the door that had just closed behind him.  “I am not a good girl.  I am an evil vampire, and I’m going to— I’m going to—”

         With sudden decision, she sat down on the couch and snatched up the remote, pushing buttons past one vapid morning news show after another until—

         “And now,” announced a voice from the set, “we resume our Queer Eye for the Straight Guy marathon.”

         “There!” said Harmony with immense satisfaction, dropping the remote on the coffee table.  “Serves him right.”  She turned back to the bedroom to dig her old Polaroid camera out of a dresser drawer.

After "The Girl in Question"

         Angel was grouchy again.  Big surprise.  He was all mad because Harmony hadn't remembered to call Senator Bruckner's campaign office or Archduke Sebassis' slaves, even though she'd been busy picking up his dry cleaning and heating up his coffee.  Then he'd tossed some papers at her and asked if it was too much to expect that she'd get them to the right department before noon. 

         Harmony slipped the papers into an envelope and drooped in her chair, feeling almost as broody as her boss.  He'd been worse than usual since that dumb trip to Italy, and she didn't even have Fred to talk to any more, and even when Illyria was pretending to be Fred she didn't smell like anything, which creeped Harmony's vampire senses out big time.  Not that it would be the same, because even with Fred's smell, Illyria could never really be Fred.  And Wes was just nuts, and Gunn and Lorne had taken grumpy lessons from Angel.

         There was only one thing keeping Harmony at Wolfram & Hart at this point, and he hadn't talked to her in days.  He hadn't fucked her either, which was even more worrying.

         But just as Harmony was about to run Angel's papers down to Interdimensional Disasters, Spike strode through the elevator doors into the atrium.  She could tell right away he was in one of his own broody moods, the ones that were almost like Angel's except instead of sitting in an office and staring out a window for hours and hours and hours, Spike did things to cheer himself up.  Sometimes he drank, or played poker, or watched what he called football even though even she knew it was really soccer, or he got into fights, or—

         Spike caught her eye and crooked his finger.  Without waiting for her response, he strode down the hallway, glancing into offices as he went. 

         Harmony dropped the envelope marked "urgent" on her desk and scurried after him.

         Spike flung wide the door of an empty office, not holding it open for her, but giving it a strong enough shove that she was able to scuttle inside before it swung shut. 

         "Mr. Arbuthnot's only out to lunch," she said nervously. 

         "He'd better be having three martinis and ordering the tiramisu for afters, then," said Spike, reaching for his belt buckle.

"Spike, you're going to get me in trouble!"

"Can't happen any more, pet.  You're a vampire, remember?"  Spike's lips were moving over Harm's throat and downward.  He could feel that strong, fabulously beautiful body quiver under his touch.

"Not like that!"  She squirmed beneath him on the huge mahogany desk.  "We knocked down that computer, and I think it's broken."

"I'm sure it is," he said.  "So, some wanker won't be able to cook the books of some corporation that raises babies for food or raises the price of heating oil so a bunch of old ladies freeze to death.  I won't cry over that."

"Angel—"

"Fuck Angel.  But you first."   He raised himself up, palms down on the desk, moving smoothly as he thrust into the gorgeous woman spread beneath him.  Her quim was tight, and he was hard, and she almost made him forget past and future horrors.

         But Harm kept nattering on about how the Master of Melodrama would be brassed off if she didn't take care of some sodding contract or make sure his mid-morning blood was at 98.6, and Spike wasn't getting off on it.  He'd come here to forget Angel, to forget Angel's problems, to forget everything for an hour or five.  So he pulled her off the desk, dropped into the executive chair behind it, and gave her something else to do with her mouth.

         He'd taught her well, back in Sunnydale.  She'd been a good student too; surprisingly enthusiastic for such a self-absorbed little bint.  His hand stroked her hair gently as she knelt in front of him, holding the shaft of his cock firmly as she began to slip the head between her lips, teasing it.  He dropped his head back against the leather of the huge chair as she slipped one hand down to cup his balls and took him more deeply into her mouth. 

He was glad he'd gotten over that little phobia about her biting him—

         "Spike!" yelled Angel.

         "Yow!" howled Spike, grabbing his crotch. 

         "Boss!" Harmony leapt to her feet, meeting Angel's eyes and squeaking as she followed his gaze down to her exposed breasts.  She ducked back under the desk, sorting out her clothes.

         Angel was standing in the doorway, his dark eyes smoldering, a manila envelope in one upraised hand.  Spike groaned, and not just from the nip Harmony'd given him.  If his grandsire ever gave up the superhero gig, he could make a fortune playing sufferers from constipation in adverts on the telly.

         Spike straightened, gingerly pulling up his jeans as Harm stood again, still tugging on her skirt.

         Angel snarled at her.  "Harmony, I'm pretty sure that when I came in this morning my list of instructions to you didn't include trashing Arbuthnot's office and blowing Spike."

         "Sorry, boss."  Harmony sidled around her employer, coming just close enough to snatch the envelope from his hand before she slipped out the door.

         Angel glowered at Spike, who merely retorted, "Spoilsport."

         "This place isn't about games."  Angel stepped closer to the desk, looming over Spike.  "You should know that."

         Not in the least intimidated, Spike leaned back in his chair.  "Look at you, all stern and disapproving, just as if you weren't encouraging that pretty little puppy Nina to pant along at your heels and lick your, uh, hand."

         Angel looked away.  “I am not!”

         Spike smirked.  It'd taken him less than thirty seconds to move Angel from self-righteous to guilty.  Possibly a personal best.  "Bugger that.  I saw her penciled in on your schedule tonight.  The moon's not full, so what's she sniffing around here for then?"

         Angel rapidly shifted tactics.  "It's called moving on, Spike."

         Spike leaned back further in the chair, linking his hands behind his head.  "Well, then, I can make a few moves myself."

         "With Harmony?  That's taking three steps back."  Angel glanced at the door.  "Maybe a few dozen."

"Very witty.  But what you really mean is, how could I pick someone even more likely to bite than your vapid little bitch?"

         "Nina doesn't bite me—well, not since that time I was a puppet.  And she's human—well, most of the time."  Angel stopped floundering and found a more solid argument.  "And she's got a soul.  Harmony isn't just evil.  She's shallow, stupid, and she's betrayed us before.  How could you be with her after—after Buffy?"

         In a flash, Spike was on his feet, leaning across the desk.  He bit back the first words that came to mind, and spat out instead, "Harm never betrayed anyone, mate.  She's no more capable of betrayal than she is of fidelity."

         Angel leaned forward too, almost nose to nose with Spike.  "You weren't here when she handed us over to a vampire running a pyramid scheme.  It didn't take an hour for her to fall for his stupid con game, and to turn on Cordelia."

         "Why don't you stake her, then?"

         "Because Cordelia couldn't." 

         Of course, it would be some mawkish reason like that.  Bloody hell, but Spike wished it was as easy to get into a fight with Angel as it had been a century ago.  Or even as easy as it had been few weeks ago.

         Instead of popping the great poof one in the face, he walked slowly around to the front of the desk.  They stared at each other for a long time. 

         Spike hated himself for feeling the need to explain, but eventually he heard the words coming out of his mouth.  "I know she can't be trusted.  But you see, Angel, for my pretty little Harm, the past doesn't really exist and the future is too confusing a concept for her to worry about for longer than it takes to watch a perfume commercial.  The silly bitch can barely make up her mind what to wear each morning, and the one time she did try an evil plan, she wound up on the lam with her minions slaughtered.  She can't be good, but she's bloody incompetent when it comes to being bad.  Not harmless—" He sought for a word to describe her and wound up weakly, "She's just Harm."

         "Then how can you—"

         Spike leaned closer.  "Because when she's with me, that vapid little cow is mine.  All mine.  When I'm putting it to her, I get the closest thing to devotion she's capable of.  For those few minutes—well, or hours, because we are talking about me here—I've got unconditional love.  She's got no thought of anything in this world but her Blondie Bear—at least until some other bloke catches her eye."

         Angel turned away.  "That's disgusting."

         "Why?  Because I take from her everything she's able to give?  It's the best she can do, and I let her do it."

         Angel still wasn't looking at him.  "You're a real philanthropist, Spike."

         Spike buckled his belt and reached for his coat.  "Not her fault if I find her snogging with a bloke from Public Relations, Spins, and Cover-ups a half-hour later.  Doesn't bother me either, because I never forget what she is."

         "She's a soulless demon.  One of the creatures we fight.  That's why I've never liked her, and why I can't condone your sleeping with her."

         Spike reached out and spun Angel around to face him.  "Bollocks!  You smug bastard!  You don't like her because that weak, self-centered little bint still manages to be a better person without a soul than you ever did.  Excuse me, better than Angelus ever did."  There was some mutual shoving as the two men circled each other, hands balling into fists, eyes glinting with gold flecks as their rage flared. 

         "Now who's being smug?  You were no saint either, Spike."

"Grow up, Angel.  I'm capable of more than she is.  So are you.  But that doesn't make you better than her.  It just means you can do better—or worse—than she can.  Let poor little Harm be what she is.  It's all the silly bitch has got, and I’m not some stuck-up, clinically depressed slayer who’s too tight-arsed to let her have what she wants."

         Angel's hands reached out and seized Spike then.  “How did Buffy come into this?”

Spike didn't bother answering.  Buffy always came into it, somehow. 

         Angel released Spike’s arms, turned, and left the office with much banging of doors and stalking down corridors.

         When Harmony got back from Interdimensional Disasters, a short, slender demon with a plum-colored complexion that coordinated well with his mauve business suit was waiting at her desk.  She smiled at him and he batted purple lids at her over crystal-clear eyes, complementing her on her dress and the artful way it was slit up the back.

         Harmony repressed an urge to squeal and felt behind her.  That skirt hadn't had a slit when she left for work in the morning.  She sat down hastily.

         The demon leaned over her desk and smirked as he admired the artful disarray of her blonde locks and the paleness of her lips.

         Harmony tried to smooth the tangles out of her hair, realizing she'd forgotten to redo her lipstick.  "And that's a very nice tie," she said.  "Is it silk?"

         "Yes, indeed.  I have one made from cured human entrails, but I understand Angel doesn't appreciate that sort of thing.  I put this on because—"  He leaned forward and whispered, "—I need to talk to the big boss about that Mongolian affair, and I was hoping you could get me in to see him for a few minutes."

         She batted her eyes at him.  "You're having an affair in Mongolia?"

         He chuckled in flattering appreciation of her joke.  "No, although I wish I was!  I need approval to ship four dozen virgins out there, and a very lovely lot they are too.  Some of them are almost as pretty as you are."

         Harmony blushed and dropped her voice to a confidential tone.  "You know Angel has this thing against virgin sacrifices, don't you?"

"Oh, they're not going to be eaten, just married to the Crown Prince of the Fuljanti tribe.  He's celebrating his six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday next month, so it's time for him to set up his harem."

         "I'm not supposed to change any of the boss' appointments without permission.  But—"  Harmony was trying to remember what she'd overheard Jenny from Facilities say about this particular demon's extra appendages and what he could do with them.

         As she reached for Angel's appointment book, she heard a familiar voice drawl, "Flirting with the purple people eater now, are we?"

Harmony turned, meaning to frown haughtily, but found herself smiling into quizzical blue eyes. 

Spike stepped behind her desk, leaning forward to nuzzle her neck.  "Sorry our parade got rained out, pet.  I'll stop by again—sometime."  He turned away and stalked off to the elevator without a backwards glance.

         Harmony sulked for a few seconds until the demon, who was still leaning on her desk, said in a coaxing tone, "I'm sure that you'll have no problems finding a few moments in Angel's schedule for me."

         She was reaching for the appointment book again when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angel himself in the doorway to his office.  She half-turned to see him standing with his arms crossed, his gaze locked on her.  Uneasily, she shifted from one foot to another and fussed with her hair some more.

"I expect," the demon was saying, "that Angel trusts you implicitly."

         She didn't feel very trusted.  The book dropped to the desk as she stared back at Angel, confused and worried.  She half-heard the demon continuing to talk to her, but she wasn't absorbing his words, and after a while he walked away.

         Harmony expected Angel to stalk over and give her another order or to scold her for something she'd done wrong, but he just turned around and went into his office, the door slamming behind him.

         Harmony sat behind her desk, wondering if she'd done something wrong.  Or perhaps, since Angel hadn't yelled for once, she'd done something right?  She wondered what it could be.

She sighed and reached for her makeup case.  Being a vampire was hard.

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