~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SPIKE: Ow! (beat) Wait. Not ow. You feeling all right, Slayer? This stuff usually hurts.

BUFFY: Don't even start, Spike.

SPIKE: What do you want?

BUFFY: Slayers. You killed two of them.

SPIKE: I did.

BUFFY: You're gonna show me how.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SPIKE: You know, there quite a few American beers that are highly underrated. This unfortunately is not one of them.

BUFFY: Update, Spike. We're not here to discuss the fine choice of hops. It's about two Slayers: one in China during the Boxer Rebellion, one in New York -- Both got killed by you. Tell the tale, you get the cash.

SPIKE: Right. You want to learn all about how I bested the Slayers and you want to learn fast. Right, then. We fought. I won. The end. Pay up.

BUFFY: That's not what I-

SPIKE: What did you want, eh? A quick demo? A blow-for-blow description you can map out and memorize? It's not about the moves, love. And since I agreed to your little proposition, we can do this my way. Wings.

BUFFY: What?

SPIKE: Spicy buffalo wings. Order me up a plate. I'm feelin' peckish.

BUFFY: Excuse me- (winces)

SPIKE: As I thought. Some nasty thing got a taste of you.

BUFFY: Don't get all excited. I'm fine.

SPIKE: Oh, right. Stuck in a dark corner with a creature you loathe, diggin' up past uglies, 'cause you're fine.

BUFFY: Just tell me what I want to know.

SPIKE: I told you. No one's narrating on an empty stomach here.

BUFFY: Were you born this big a pain in the ass?

SPIKE: What can I tell you, baby? I've always been bad.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

WILLIAM: Luminous... oh, no, no, no. Irradiant's better.

WAITER: Care for an hors d'oeuvre, sir?

SPIKE: Oh, quickly! I'm the very spirit of vexation. What's another word for "gleaming"? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see. (pause) Cecily...

ARISTOCRAT #1: I mean to point out that it's something of a mystery and the police should keep an open mind.

ARISTOCRAT #2: Ah, William! Favor us with your opinion. What do you make of this rash of disappearances sweeping through our town? Animals or thieves?

SPIKE: I prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all. That's what the police are for. (looks at Cecily) I prefer placing my energies into creating things of beauty.

ARISTOCRAT #3: I see. Well, don't withhold, William.

ARISTOCRAT #1: Rescue us from a dreary topic.

SPIKE: Careful. The inks are still wet. Please, it's not finished.

ARISTOCRAT #3: Don't be shy. "My heart expands/'tis grown a bulge in it/inspired by your beauty, effulgent." (laughs) Effulgent?

ARISTOCRAT #2: And that's actually one of his better compositions.

ARISTOCRAT #1: Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his bloody awful poetry!

ARISTOCRAT #3: It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!


SPIKE: Cecily?

CECILY: Oh. Leave me alone.

SPIKE: Oh, they're vulgarians. They're not like you and I.

CECILY: You and I? I'm going to ask you a very personal question and I demand an honest answer. Do you understand? Your poetry, it's... they're... not written about me, are they?

SPIKE: They're about how I feel.

CECILY: Yes, but are they about me?

SPIKE: Every syllable.

CECILY: Oh, God!

SPIKE: Oh, I know... it's sudden and... please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Cecily.

CECILY: Please stop!

SPIKE: I know I'm a bad poet but I'm a good man and all I ask is that... that you try to see me-

CECILY: I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

DRUSILLA: And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?

SPIKE: Nothing. I wish to be alone.

DRUSILLA: Oh, I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory. (beat) That and burning baby fish swimming all around your head.

SPIKE: That's quite close enough. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you.

DRUSILLA: Don't need a purse. Your wealth lies here... and here. In the spirit and... imagination. You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine.

SPIKE: Oh, yes! I mean, no. I mean... mother's expecting me.

DRUSILLA: I see what you want. Something glowing and glistening. Something... effulgent.

SPIKE: Effulgent.

DRUSILLA: Do you want it?

SPIKE: Oh, yes! God, yes.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

BUFFY: So you traded up on the food chain. Then what?

SPIKE: No, please. Don't make it sound like something you'd flip past on the Discovery Channel. Becoming a vampire is a profound and powerful experience. I could feel this new strength coursing through me. Getting killed made me feel alive for the very first time. I was through living by society's rules. Decided to make a few of my own. Of course, in order to do that... I had to get myself a gang.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

ANGELUS: Perhaps it's my advancing years that makes me so forgetful, William. Remind me. Why don't we kill you?

SPIKE: ...ike.

ANGELUS: What's that?

SPIKE: It's Spike now. You'd do well to remember it, mate.

ANGELUS: I'm not your mate. And when did you start talking like that?

DARLA: Look, we barely got out of London alive because of you. Everywhere we go, it's the same story and now--

ANGELUS: You've got me and my women hiding in the luxury of a mine shaft, all because William the Bloody likes the attention. This is not a reputation we need.

SPIKE: Oh, I'm sorry. Did I sully our good name? We're vampires.

ANGELUS: All the more reason to use a certain amount of finesse.

SPIKE: Bollocks! That stuff's for the frilly cuffs-and-collars crowd. I'll take a good brawl any day.

ANGELUS: And every time you do, we become the hunted.

DARLA: I think our boys are going to fight.

DRUSILLA: The King of Cups expects a picnic! But this is not his birthday.

DARLA: Good point...

SPIKE: Yeah, you know what I prefer to being hunted? Getting caught.

ANGELUS: That's a brilliant strategy really... pure cunning.

SPIKE: Sod off! Come on. When was the last time you unleashed it? All out fight in a mob, back against the wall, nothing but fists and fangs? Don't you ever get tired of fights you know you're going to win?

ANGELUS: No. A real kill. A good kill. It takes pure artistry. Without that, we're just animals.

SPIKE: Poofter! Now you're gettin' it!

ANGELUS: You can't keep this up forever. If I can't teach you, maybe someday an angry crowd will. That... or the Slayer.

SPIKE: What's a Slayer?
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SPIKE: After that, I was obsessed. I mean, to most vampires, the Slayer was the subject of cold sweat and frightened whispers. But I never hid. Hell, I sought her out. I mean, if you're looking for fun, there's death, there's glory and sod all else, right? I was young.

BUFFY: So how'd you kill her?

SPIKE: Funny you should ask. Lesson the first: a Slayer must always reach for her weapon. I've already got mine. A good thing, too. Become a vampire, you've got nothing to fear. Nothing but one girl. That's you, honey. Back then... it was her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SPIKE: That was the best night of my life. And I've had some sweet ones. What are you looking at?

BUFFY: You got off on it.

SPIKE: Well, yeah. I suppose you're telling me you don't? (laughs) How many of my kind reckon you've done?

BUFFY: Not enough.

SPIKE: And we just keep coming. But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the enemies of Hell besides and all we need is for one of us- just one- sooner or later to have the thing we're all hoping for.

BUFFY: And that would be what?

SPIKE: One... good... day. (laughs when Buffy shoves him away) Hey! You asked and I'm tellin'. The problem with you, Summers, is you've gotten so good, you're starting to think you're immortal.

BUFFY: Not really. I just know I can handle myself.

SPIKE: Oh? Then how do you explain this?

He reaches out and punches Buffy in her wound. Both Buffy and Spike cry out in pain as Buffy doubles over and Spike's chip lights his brain on fire.

BUFFY: So that's it? Lesson over?

SPIKE: Not even close. Come on.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

BUFFY: Give it to me. What?

SPIKE: Lesson the second: ask the right questions. You want to know how I beat 'em? The question isn't "How'd I win?". The question is "Why'd they lose?".

BUFFY: What's the difference?

SPIKE: There's a big difference, love.

BUFFY: How'd you kill the second one?

SPIKE: Hmm? A bit like this.

BUFFY: That didn't hurt

SPIKE: I knew I couldn't touch you. If there's no intent to hurt you, then that chip they shoved up my brain never activates. If, on the other hand...See, now that hurt.

BUFFY: Yeah? This hurt too? How'd you kill 'em, Spike?

SPIKE: You're not ready to know.

BUFFY: I'm ready.

SPIKE: Okay, then. Went like this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SPIKE: The first was all business but the second, she had a touch of your style. She was cunning, resourceful... oh, did I mention? Hot. I could have danced all night with that one.

BUFFY: You think we're dancing?

SPIKE: That's all we've ever done. And the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop. Every day you wake up, it's the same bloody question that haunts you: is today the day I die? Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it's gonna catch you. And part of you wants it... not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it. Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: What's it like? Where does it lead you? And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. Every Slayer... has a death wish. Even you. The only reason you've lasted as long as you have is you've got ties to the world... your mum, your brat kid sister, the Scoobies. They all tie you here but you're just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second- the second- that happens... You know I'll be there. I'll slip in... have myself a real good day. Here endeth the lesson. I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did.

BUFFY: Get out of my sight. Now.

SPIKE: Oh... did I scare ya? You're the Slayer. Do something about it. Hit me. Come on. One good swing. You know you want to.

BUFFY: I mean it.

SPIKE: So do I. Give it me good, Buffy. Do it!

BUFFY: Spike...

Spike leans in to kiss her.

BUFFY: What the hell are you doing?

SPIKE: Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance.

BUFFY: Say it's true. Say I do want to. It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you. You're beneath me.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

DRUSILLA: Why can't you kill her?

SPIKE: You're the one who keeps bringing her up! I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California. She's on the other side of the planet, Dru!

DRUSILLA: But you're lying! I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away?

SPIKE: But I did, pet. I did it for you. You keep punishing me. Carrying on with creatures like this.

CHAOS DEMON: Okay, you guys obviously have a thing going on here.

DRUSILLA: I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes.

SPIKE: So this is my fault now?

CHAOS DEMON: I didn't know she was seeing somebody. (off Spike's look) I should take off.

SPIKE: Yeah, why don't you do that?

DRUSILLA: You can't blame the ghoul, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spike watches her from the bushes, then moves forward, striding purposefully toward her, gun at his side. He raises the gun and cocks it. Buffy looks up at the sound, her face wet with tears.

BUFFY: What do you want now?

SPIKE: What's wrong?

BUFFY: I don't want to talk about it.

SPIKE: Is there something I can do?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Please see disclaimer for credit for screen caps