Heathrow
NOTES AND SUMMARY: Just a little "jeu d'esprit"; set the day after the events of Going Underground. May I say that it's perfectly possible for a sensible, rational traveler to make the same mistake Spike does, and I won't tell you how I know that. ;-)
A conversation overheard on the Piccadilly line, on a train going to Heathrow Airport:
"Oh bloody, bollocky hell. And damn."
"What now..."
"Nothing."
"The way you say 'nothing' always fills me with dread."
"Okay. I just realized I'm out of fags."
"Since I'll be wrapping you up in heavy-duty cotton batting for your 'sun allergy' once we get to Heathrow, I can't see as instruments of fire will be at all useful to you."
"Before then, pillock. I'll need some before then."
"Yes. And? Something wrong with the duty-free shops? Do they discriminate against vampires?"
"Heh. Well. Here's the thing--"
"Oh dear Lord."
"Bloody hell, nothin' to warrant an 'oh dear Lord,' don't polish the spectacles. It's just-- you know how you asked me to 'change our money at the Thomas Cook's before we got the Tube? 'Cause you had to try to ring Anya for the fifteenth time, I might add..."
"Right, and I could ask you why Buffy's answerphone picked up when I hit Redial this morning. But-- oh, go on."
"Well. I accidentally 'changed ALL our money."
"You 'changed ALL our money."
"Yes. Nothing but dollars and cents in my pockets. Not a pence, not a pound, just Yank money."
"You. Are. An. Idiot."
"It's a perfectly understandable mistake, old man. 'S just... I'm sure you'll want a cuppa before we catch the plane. And I'd really like some Silk Cut."
"Silk Cut! What kind of poncey smoke is that?"
"There's no need for name-calling, tosser."
"Yes, well, I think you'll just have to do without. And let this be a lesson to you."
"You know, Giles, how I said you were a miserly old git because you insisted we take the Tube rather than the Heathrow Express?"
"I vaguely recall."
"Well, on a positive note, it means we haven't checked our luggage yet."
"And that means... oh no no no. And might I add, no."
"C'mon! We have enough time, it'll bring in a few bob for tea and fags, and it'll be bloody good fun! And if you do, I promise not to complain until, what, we're at least over Ireland."
"Which is 30 minutes from take-off. On a 14-hour flight."
"Exactly. Will I ever make such a self-sacrificing vow again? I think not."
"Spike..."
"You know you want to. Or, you can just let me borrow your Access card-- they take plastic in the duty-free, don't they?"
"You have a 'conscience' now, remember."
"I'd pay you back! At some point before you die."
"No. No. And thrice No... Okay, fine. But I get to play the guitar this time. You only know three chords."
"Which is one more than necessary. But all right, have it your way."
"And once you're wrapped up, I get to tell everyone you're Michael Jackson, slumming it in the British Airways economy section so you can get in touch with the 'little people.'"
"Rupert Giles, you are one sick, twisted bastard. Thank you for being my friend."
"Stop saying that! And you're welcome."