Curious, now, she held his up for comparison. Wider in the palm; sturdier in the fingers. And yet she didn't feel any stronger with them than she did with her apparently tinier and apparently softer hands. Being Spike meant not having her self-possessed strength. His body was strong but it wasn't her strength. She didn't own it. She didn't command it. It was wild and primal in a way she could appreciate but couldn't love. There was a demon inside of her and it wanted out.

"If there's one thing I'm not afraid of," she decided at length, "it's a manicure. From you."

That? That might have been permission. Spike did okay work on nails.