Spike crumbled the cigarette pack and threw it in the back. He searched the console for the spare pack, finding it under a myriad of junk. Gotta clean this heap out, he thought. The spare held one lone and crumbly specimen; that was enough.
He checked one pocket then another for a lighter, finally finding one. He tried it but it would not light. …really hate disposables, he thought.
After several unsuccessful thumb wrenching tries and one flying flint it joined the credit and debit cards and the crumpled pack on the floor of the back seat. He let out a scoffing sigh.
Buffy reached deep into her jeans pocket. She handed him the lighter. He took it and lit the cigarette, then started to hand it back to her when he noticed the nick on the bottom edge.
He flipped the lighter upside down in his one free hand and examined the bottom carefully, trying to keep one eye on the road. He looked at the dent on the one side and the scratch on the top. This was his lighter. He hadn't seen it since... Wait a minute; she has had it all this time, must have taken it with her when we went through the seal to face the First. He thought about the implications of that and almost ran another light.
He glanced sideways at her, hoping she would not see. She didn't, she was busy trying to hold back the tears by looking out the side window, completely avoiding him. That's good...he thought. I don't have to worry about her seeing me.
She looked over at him with her best 'I'm not crying I'm just very upset and angry face' and held out her hand for the lighter.
She wants it back, what's that mean... His eyes met hers for a moment before he hurriedly looked back to the road in front of them.
He couldn't stay mad at her, well, he could, but not as mad as he wanted to be. He handed it back to her, his hand lingering in hers a lot longer than, or not as long as, he intended it to, he wasn't sure. They both looked out their respective side windows for a moment then he had to remember to drive. It was very quiet for the rest of the ride.
He checked one pocket then another for a lighter, finally finding one. He tried it but it would not light. …really hate disposables, he thought.
After several unsuccessful thumb wrenching tries and one flying flint it joined the credit and debit cards and the crumpled pack on the floor of the back seat. He let out a scoffing sigh.
Buffy reached deep into her jeans pocket. She handed him the lighter. He took it and lit the cigarette, then started to hand it back to her when he noticed the nick on the bottom edge.
He flipped the lighter upside down in his one free hand and examined the bottom carefully, trying to keep one eye on the road. He looked at the dent on the one side and the scratch on the top. This was his lighter. He hadn't seen it since... Wait a minute; she has had it all this time, must have taken it with her when we went through the seal to face the First. He thought about the implications of that and almost ran another light.
He glanced sideways at her, hoping she would not see. She didn't, she was busy trying to hold back the tears by looking out the side window, completely avoiding him. That's good...he thought. I don't have to worry about her seeing me.
She looked over at him with her best 'I'm not crying I'm just very upset and angry face' and held out her hand for the lighter.
She wants it back, what's that mean... His eyes met hers for a moment before he hurriedly looked back to the road in front of them.
He couldn't stay mad at her, well, he could, but not as mad as he wanted to be. He handed it back to her, his hand lingering in hers a lot longer than, or not as long as, he intended it to, he wasn't sure. They both looked out their respective side windows for a moment then he had to remember to drive. It was very quiet for the rest of the ride.
