Spike had not felt so gleeful in some time. "Oh, this is bloody priceless."

Wesley glared at him - or at least in Spike's general direction because he was really nothing more than a dark blur with a very white ball on top - but his rage was not dampened by his vague glance.

"Once I find my glasses, Spike, I am going to locate something sharp and wooden, and then we'll see who is amused by this insanity."

Spike just kept chuckling to himself, taking a drag from his cigarette. Fred, who was on her knees to help Wesley in his search, wondered how Spike managed to smoke when she was under the impression that vampires not only didn't breathe, but couldn't.

"You do that," Spike taunted in a perky tone entirely incongruous to his dangerous appearance. "I'm off in search of a fag."

Fred straightened so sharply that she banged her head on the lip of the desk. "But I thought--"

"No, dear," Wesley sighed, waving his hand in an attempt to lay it on her shoulder. It instead brushed against her breast, which they both determinedly ignored. "It means cigarette."

"Oh," she said, laughing in embarrassment and thankful Wesley couldn't see her blush. "Sorry. You know, it's funny how you two speak English just the same as me, but half the time, I sure don't know what you mean."

Wesley attempted to share a meaningful glance with Spike. He more or less managed to raise his eyebrow at Spike's elbow.

"Yeah."