So just to show him, Angel throws the shirts away. Spike doesn't seem to notice or care. Until a month later when they're fighting over the remote (Angel: "You were watching infomercials, for chrissake." Spike: "I want to see the turtle wax. And what the hell are you going to watch? Skinemax?" Actually, Angel'd just picked up the controller to turn the tv off, and take the cerial box out of his hand, and yank him up and shove him back to bed because it's the middle of the damned night, but instead they'd ended up brawling on the floor having this weird, unfathomable argument with the old tired themes of ownership and entitlement and possession, and Angel doesn't even know how they *got* on this), when Spike says, "You chucked my shirts." Angel drops his fist and says, "what." And Spike says, "They were *mine*."

So the next day Angel orders more shirts. When they come, Angel takes them (not just because it's a shirtless day and Spike is lounging against the door frame just *leering* at this poor boy wearing the tan UPS uniform) and tells Spike, "These are mine. You so much as *look* at them, I'll bash your chin up through your fucking skull."

The next day Spike wears black for the first time in a month.