oh, you pretty things

by SoulVamp and Dylan Adams

Summary: He's crazy. She's a ditz. It's comedy gold.
Rating: PG-13 for goat mutilation (kidding)
Characters: Spike and Harmony
Pairing: Not Sparmony, thank you.
Spoilers: If you haven't seen Season 7, that's not our fault.

Author Notes: There's two of us. One of us doesn't sleep. Fear him.

Acknowledgements: Dylan would like to acknowledge that Elvis Costello is a genius. He would also like acknowledge that he enjoys Cameron Crowe films and can't wear turtlenecks. He would further like to acknowledge that he stole this bit from Dave Eggers.

Disclaimer: SoulVamp would like to emphatically state for the record that while Elvis Costello is a genius, he would never have gotten where he is today without David Bowie's influence. And if Dylan feels the need to argue with that, she'll have his hair gel replaced with Nair.

Warning: Any attempts to meddle with Dylan's hair care products will result in a sudden termination of the perpetrator's record collection by way of flame. That includes all of their Clash and Beatles albums.

Spike stood in the school basement, his hair tangled, his brown roots showing. His balance was perfectly worrying - he looked like he should have already fallen down, but not even a strong shove would yield that result.

"It's all come down now. William can't have any pudding," he said to whoever he was staring at.

Whoever he was staring at, however, said nothing back. It's very difficult to formulate a reply when you don't exist. Try it sometime once you've ceased being.

"I can work this. I have to - I have to be whole. For her." He looked up, as if some completely random thought had just bounced off of his noggin like a quarter. "Must be off, then."

He toddled away, out of the dank room, out of the basement, and out of the school. Making it downtown was a bit of a hike, and the number of people who just looked at him was quite disconcerting.

He needed something to do, somebody to stop it. Stop the pain. Chastize him for his naughty and - bugger.

"Spikey?"

Harmony, tinged in pink. Her outfit screamed of, well, desperation. Vampires as a rule weren't into flashy, bright colors - they kind of made the nightly hunt's stalking part pretty moot. Harmony, however, was accessorizing in "watch-me" shades. The dress was inescapably tacky - in an alternate dimension of nothing but shrimp, it might have been the rage, but not here. Perched atop her head was a raspberry beret.

Spike simply regarded her. "You're a surprise. Not s'posed to be here. Ran off. Ran off because of the girl. Far, far away."

"What are you talking about?"

"Talking. That's a good one. Jabber jabber but do my lips actually speak? Do yours?"

Her eyes blanked out for a second, and then lit up again. "Look, Spike. I - Do you want to get a mocha or something? Just as friends? I'm totally over you now, but I think that I'm strong enough that we can just, you know, hang out. Like buddies. But not fuck buddies, cuz that's, like, still kinda weird. So, what do you think?"

Spike cocked his head to one side and blinked hard. "Naughty words out of pretty mouths," he mumbled. "Not so pretty, though, when she's feastin' on the blood of the innocent." He covered his face in his hands and started to sob quietly.

Harmony sighed. "Well, yeah, HELLO! Blood of the innocent is yum!" She grasped Spike by the arm and began to tug him along the sidewalk. A whiff of the air around him made her scowl. "Ew, shower much, sweetie? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's kinda like eau de Brad Pitt, but still. A little Drakkar might do wonders."

Spike allowed himself to be led. "Go somewhere with people and light," he pleaded. "Make the little voices stop, that might." He started to laugh when he realized this rhymed.

The little voices were very put out -- not only by the idea of being silenced, but by the terrifying thought that Spike might soon begin composing copious amounts of poetry. They ratcheted their amps up to eleven in response.

Noise and light became deafening, blinding, maddening. Spike pressed his free hand against his forehead. "Stop!" he cried. He ripped his arm away from Harmony's and began to run.

Harmony threw up her hands in disgust. "AGAIN with the commitment issues. Why do I bother? Why?" She regarded Spike's retreating figure and shamelessly checked out his ass. "Okay, that's why." She grinned to herself and proceeded to make chase.

She found him around the corner huddled against a newspaper box, picking at the buttons on his shirt, and muttering.

"What about bonding time?" Harmony asked. "And by that I do mean just catching up. Not like the other time, with the bungee cords and the paddle."

Spike raised his head. "I hurt the girl," he said softly.

Harmony frowned. "Huh? Noooo, I seem to recall I was doing the hurting that night." She blushed and smiled slyly. "That was, um, kinda. WEIRD, you know, but..." Her smile broadened. "Okay, look, I admit we had some good times, but we're SO not getting back together."

Spike pressed fingertips to his temples and moaned. "Things not together in HERE," he said, tapping along the sides of his head. "Bad bits of stuff I done and seen, and so I go off to see the wizard to give me a heart."

Harmony looked at her watch. "You know, if we're gonna go get happy foamy beverages, we should really get a move on. I have to catch the midnight Greyhound back to L.A." She held out her hand to Spike, expecting him to take it and get up. Instead, he just looked at her hand dumbly.

"Come ON," she said. "I haven't got all night."

He shrank back against the side of the building and shook his head. "Night bloomin' jasmine and fleur de lis," he said cryptically. "'S all we're left to, our kind. Evil and dark and --"

Harmony moved quickly and yanked Spike to his feet before he had a chance to protest. "Now, come on, blondie bear," she urged gently. "Seriously, I want to know what's left you in this state."

Spike's shoulders sagged. "This state. dear God, it's all 'cause of..." His voice trailed off, and he pressed a palm against the left side of his chest.

Harmony gestured toward him. "I mean, the smell, the clothes, the HAIR!" she said disdainfully. "If this is some new look you're working on, it's, like, just. ew." She peered at him carefully. "And, as much as I hate to say this, I don't even think Buffy would like it." She grimaced. "That's all I'm saying about HER, though. Stupid mean Slayer bitch."

Spike's eyes widened. "Not to say that! Not to..." He stopped when a phantom version of Buffy started whispering in his ear. He couldn't quite catch her words, but it sounded suspiciously like bits of Dr. Seuss.

"Okay. Whatever. I don't want to talk about her anyway. She's boring." She guided Spike away from the wall and toward the Espresso Pump.

Spike, for his part, kept staring off in all different directions, looking for Buffy. She'd been there just a minute ago... something about...

"Another torture, that is. Keep right on with it, love, you'll get nothing from William. William's sewn his mouth shut with thread."

"What is your problem, Spike? Why do you keep calling yourself William? Is that, like, your stupid name from when you were the bullied kid in grade school? God, don't tell me I'm in love with somebody who was a total dweeb in third grade."

Spike started shooting meaningful glances at the mailbox on the corner.

"Oh. My. God. I didn't mean that. It was a slip, Spikey-baby, it was a slip. I really just want to be friends. That's all I want. Well, that and a mocha. And to get done with this before midnight. Are we going yet or not?"

A slight cocking of Spike's head responded where his words did not.

"Great! Well, I tell you what. You sit here," she said as she gently brought Spike to a bench, "and I will go grab us two mochas."

"I can't get you what you need, pet. I haven't got the right forms."

"Right. Okay. I'll be back."

He sat down. "Comfortable, this is. I can feel it. 'S gonna eat me. 'S gonna eat the world - and I'll be all munched up. Bad man, I am. Bad bad, and I deserve to be eaten and spit out again, the birds pickin' at my gristle."

While Harmony skipped off in search of libations - becoming only momentarily distracted by a homeless man on a bench at the corner of Third and Delancey - Spike began to rock back and forth, singing softly to himself.

"How could you use a poor maiden…”

A phantom materialized, coalescing from dark, insubstantial vapor to full, Technicolor amorphousness, before crouching down beside Spike.

"It'll be okay," purred a silky feminine voice. Elegantly manicured nails whispered inches from his face. "You know what you have to do."

Spike looked up at her. "Beg pardon?"

The woman frowned. "Wait, you're not Angelus," she noted.

Spike let out an insanity-filled giggle. "Not so much, no," he replied. "Know I'm well off my trolley, I do, but still aware o' that much."

The woman stood up and started to pace. "Wait a minute," she said, more than a little irritated. "I heard that the vampire with a soul was ready to be brought over to the dark side. Again. And it's NOT Angel?!"

Spike frowned in confusion. "Aren't you that bird what Rupert used to shag?" he asked quietly.

Jenny gaped at him in open-mouthed horror. "NO!" she said indignantly. "There was no shagging!" She gulped. "Well, I mean, there might've been, if your grandsire hadn't snapped my neck before..." She shuddered before going on. "Anyway, I'm not really her. I'm --"

"Wearin' her form to taunt me? Source of all bleedin' evil in the universe? Vaporous bugger what's goin' to make life a livin' hell for me and mine for the next nine months? 'Sides bein' just about the most pathetic nasty we've ever faced?" Spike proffered. "Right. Got that." His brief moment of lucidity slipped from his grasp, and he resumed rocking. "You came and you gave without taking, but I sent you away…"

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Okay, either this isn't working, or this is working way too well." She raised her arms and winked out in a small fizzle of golden light.

Harmony scampered back, two large paper cups filled to brimming with chocolate-laden espresso. "I come bearing peace offerings!" she chirped, handing one of the cups to Spike.

"Nice cuppa," Spike murmured, holding the mocha in a death-grip, his hands trembling. "Warm and safe, warm and safe..."

Harmony sat down beside him and sipped her own drink thoughtfully. "This is nice," she said. "Kind of like old times. Except we're not naked, and you're not making me listen to the Sex Bristols."

"Pistols," Spike muttered.

"Whatever."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Harmony announced, "I've been to France now."

"Petticoats and motorbikes," Spike said wistfully. "Harsh fags and blood red wine." He abruptly started crying again.

"It was really smelly," Harmony continued, ignoring Spike's tears. "All the people I ate there tasted like they'd been living in a mildewy basement for about three months."

Spike looked at Harmony with wide, unfocused eyes. "Terribly underrated, that," he informed her. "Dust and air ducts, boxes and rats. All quite cozy, really."

Harmony regarded him oddly. "Okayyyyy," she drawled. Something in the fluffy recesses of her grey matter started to coalesce, the hint of something dawning on her. Just as it was about to come together, her watch beeped.

"Dammit!" she said with a petulant pout. "I'm sorry, Spikey, but I've really gotta run if I'm gonna make my bus." She stood up and ruffled his hair, then wiped her suddenly greasy palm on the side of her skirt. "Yeah, um, we'll do this again soon. Promise. Toodles!"

She scampered off down the sidewalk. Spike stared after her until she disappeared to nothing but a blurry pink dot.

"Time to make the doughnuts," he sighed sadly. He rose and began the arduous trek back to the high school.

"I made the doughnuts," came a nagging whisper inside his head.