"I know you can't help me, but could you not root for the other team?" Angel asked, folding his arms.
"Hey!" Spike protested. "I'll root for anyone with half a chance of taking you down a notch."
"What is your problem?" Angel snapped.
"You are, you nonce!" Spike snapped back. "You're my problem. You got it too good. You're king of a 30-floor castle, with all the cars, comfort, power, and glory you could ever want, and here I save the world, throw myself onto the proverbial hand grenade for love, honor, and all the right reasons, and what do I get? Bloody well toasted and ghosted is what I get, innit? It's not fair."
"Fair?! You asked for a soul. I didn't!" Angel yelled. "It almost killed me. I spent a hundred years trying to come to terms with infinite remorse. You spent 3 weeks moaning in a basement, and then you were fine! What's fair about that?!"
"Are you getting blurry or is it just me?" Spike asked, grinning as he left the room.
"ARGH!"