[It's over; plague clearing right up, monsters doing their lurch of shame, expedition returned, all's as bright and rosy as it ever got in the mistridden place.
So Spike does what half of Anatole will do next.
As he did nearly every hour since arriving in Anatole, lessened to once a day after starting to work with Lilly, and hasn't done at all since Buffy arrived, he sits alone in a pub.
People all around are toasting the end of the wicked queen.
As is Spike, but a different one.
He sets his forge on the bar beside him, orders something atrociously, uncharacteristically pink, and raises it to the ceiling.
Mutters a toast between himself and the air,]
Cheers,
Mistress Salty. [They never had managed to have a drink together. At least
not for lack of
trying. This would have to do.]
Edit: [OOC: ever suddenly think about something you've written hours later and worry that it looked like passive agressive snark? I do! So to clarify: that's me finding it hilarious that Spike never stopped asking Jennifer out and he never once followed up on it!]