Spike threw himself up, like a cartoon, blanket pooling around his midsection as he sat up to greet her. And luckily for her, he was indeed wearing pants. He drew a cigarette out of seemingly nowhere and lit it, before trading her for the book.

"Looks like a load of rubbish to me."

It should have felt strange, or even, invasive for her to greet him in this way, but it had been years since he'd had concern for privacy and he had one Buffy Anne Summers to thank for that. There was also just something about Faith, the strong sense of a kindred spirit, perhaps.