Untitled Document

For the World

The stone cold walls of the crypt stood strong, not crippling over like the rest of the world. The dim sunlight poured through like molten volcano ashes, not caring whether it destroyed everything in its path, choking the life out of a living thing. The air in the crypt felt dirtied, the breath of the dead soiling the solemn area. Even the charred beer bottles were desperate, the shards of the green glass shimmering as though they were crying. Spike sat, slumping over his hunter green chair, just staring at the statue of a forlorn angel in front of him.

The angel's body was draped with a white cloth, matching its equally white skin. "Buffy," Spike whispered hoarsely, making the only sound in the crypt. Not even little Dawn huddling in the corner, her head resting upon her knees, and her dark hair flowing upon her back, said anything. Her eyes had been closed for an hour now, and almost every 10 minutes she'd start shaking, her eyes still squeezed shut with pain.

Spike had held her in his arms the first two times, smoothing her hair out and keeping her from hurting herself with the crossbows leaned haphazardly against the gray stone tomb. But the eigth time, he'd decided to stop holding. Looking at her pain filled face only reminded him that his Slayer was dead. Gone. Finished. Deceased. Swan dive to her death.

The only slayer he'd met and fallen so completely in love with, had died for the world. Not because a vampire drained her, leaving her without any blood to take her to the afterlife, not because a demon had smashed her head into tiny little bottle blond pieces, and not because of the bloody pneumonia. *Buffy* had died for the world. Had died for the blue-eyed girl in the corner.

Had died for her sister's blood to run. The Slayer was a warrior. Warrior for the world. Spike slumped against the couch even farther, resting his head on one hand. His ribs hurt from the fall he took, and the stab wound in his stomach. His nature knew it would heal. But his brain said that Buffy would not heal. She would just be- dead. Spike felt a shiver run up his back.

For some reason, Spike didn't feel those five seconds of satisfaction after he had watched the other two Slayers die. Part of him, the demon side, was telling him that he should be proud of himself- he had helped in the killing of her, in some damned way. Yet, another part- whether it was chip or human- or something completely different from his vampiric nature- just felt overwhelming sadness.

The kind you get where there's something crushing your chest, and heavy pressure on all parts of your body. Pain hammering *everywhere.* The pain was almost enough to crush the darker nature away, but it still couldn't win the battle. Suddenly, a loud clatter arose from the corner of the room where Dawn was, surprising the blond vampire. Spike sprang up and came to her, asking her what was wrong.

Dawn bit her lip and let out a muffled cry, bringing blood to the pouted pink lip. A loud wailing cry rose out of her. No words, just a heart piercing, deafening sound. Spike gathered his arms around the crying girl, and crushed her to his chest.

"Love, it's all right," he said as he tried to soothe her, looking up and closing his eyes for a while. He could feel her shake her head against his thin black shirt, letting two large wet spots where his pectorals were. Dawn pressed her face into his t-shirt and gripped his back tightly.

"Buffy Buffy Buffy Buffy Buffy Buffy Buffy Buffy...." Dawn started to shake again, even more violently than before, calling out her dead sister's name monotonously over and over again. Spike swallowed a gulp of unnecessary air and glanced up toward the ceiling, caressing the young girl's soft hair, and trying to keep the girl from hurting herself. Spike's hands shook around her middle, every time Buffy's name was called. A sledgehammer through his heart.

Dawn clawed at her own face, making long streaks of red down past the puffy eyes and red nose. Where her fingernails followed, blood made little dots.

"No, no, don't do that, little one," Spike told her, drawing his hands out from her back and gripping her hands tightly. Dawn kneeled in front of Spike, her hands in a praying position inside Spike's hands. The blood on her cheeks and her mouth make her look like the angel statue in front of his chair. White marble skin with painted on doll cheeks and lips. Spike stared down the Slayer's little sister- the small lost angel girl. Dawn shook her head continuously, with tears pouring down her face that were probably making the cuts sting painfully.

"Buffy!" She screamed, the sound ripping out of her lungs. Spike tried to regain his composure, and really tried not to think of Buffy. But that scream left him practically helpless. Spike had helped Drusilla in her fits before- but she was insane. Seeing Dawn like that meant a lot more- because he'd known her when she wasn't insane. Seeing Dawn like this made him want to rot in hell forever.

She was an *innocent,* not a sodding vampire or demon or hell god. She was just a human girl, whether or not she wanted to believe it. He didn't want to believe he was taking care of her either. "Baby, shhh," he said in a singingly soft voice. Dawn gave one last shudder and collapsed into his arms again, the shaking taking her human energy away from her.

"I want Buffy back, Spike," she said softly, only loud enough for a vampire to hear. "I want my mom back. I hate this, Spike. I. Hate. It." She spat out as loud as she could muster, her vocal cords strained from the screaming.

"I know, love, I know. I miss them," Spike told her tenderly. Dawn turned around in his arms, and laid her burning head on his lap. Spike leaned against the cool stone of the walls, placing his legs straight out in front of him.

For the rest of the day, they sat like that, Vampire and Key not talking or moving in the slightest. Night drew its shade upon the two creatures, and Dawn softly touched her face, and drew her arms up. She looked at the oddly still wet blood shimmering silver in the moonlight. In the darker patches of the area, she could see a faint glowing green in the blood, swirling around.

Spike stared at the blood complacently for a second, pointing out the oddly oozing stuff.. "That's your life energy, lass. That green glowy stuff." Spike told the girl with shimmering tears in her eyes. Dawn looked up into his angled face and midnight blue eyes in the soft darkness.

"Buffy's life energy. It's probably gone by now," she choked out. She observed it again. The green was looking a little bit fainter now. Dawn furrowed her eyebrows and winced at the pain in her cheeks and lips. "Spike?" She asked softly.

"That's my name," he told her.

"I know. Why is the green stuff still glowing?" She looked searchingly into his shawdowed face.

He shrugged his shoulders sadly. "I don't really know. Maybe you're turning human. No more key after you've used it once."

Dawn nodded, still looking a little disagreeable. "Maybe. But since Buffy ended her energy- maybe-maybe.... No, there's something-something about my blood." Dawn's brain was racing- something was in there, telling her something. She just had this- feeling. Suddenly, Dawn gasped a little, bringing her head up from his lap.

Her face looked hopeful for a girl who'd just had several seizures and had scratched her face up. "Spike- I have an idea, maybe. Don't stop me now, I gotta tell you. What- what if Buffy's not dead yet?" Dawn stuttered, staring at the vampire, with deep shawdows in his face.

Spike shook his head discontently, knowing that he had to disappoint himself again and Dawn. "I know dead, bits, and your sister," he stumbled on the words a little, "is pretty far gone."

Dawn shook her head furiously. "Then why is it still glowing? Buffy told us herself that I was made out of *her.* I still have the key energy. I still am the Key, Spike. I'm still what killed my sister. We have to go save her, or at least do something! I can't stay like this. I can't. Unlike some people I'm not immortal."

Spike looked at her pointedly. "The only places you are going are the Wiccas, the Watcher, and the floppy haired bloke's. I told your sister I'd look after you and that's what I'm doing." Dawn looked at him impatiently, leaning against the wall next to him. "If there's any chance I can save my sister I might as well *try* and see if my energy will do something. You can look after me the morgue."

Spike took a deep drag of an unlit cigarrette he found on the floor earlier, and thought for a second of what would happen if he were to let her go. It only took him a half second to figure out that what the bitty-Buffy was saying was right.

His Buffy could bloody well be alive, and they weren't doing bull. "I've said it before, and I'm going to say it again. I hate to see you Summers women down in the dumps. I also would hate seeing myself down in the dumps, but since I don't own a bloody mirror, I spose I can't do that, now can I?"

Dawn shook her head. "Not really. Can we go now?" She asked, like a little kid begging for a lollipop. "Please?" Dawn stuck out her lower lip, the blood gone, and made her eyes droop a little and her eyebrows begging.

Spike looked at her as though she was insane, and chuckled throatily. The laugh hurt his broken ribs. "We can go now, girl." Dawn jumped up and brushed the rubbish off her soft velvet pants, and realized that she had blood all over her cheeks.

"Do you have a Kleenex?" She asked Spike, who was examining a rip on his black t-shirt.

Spike shook his head saying, "Yeah, cos you know I get those colds so often."

Dawn sighed loudly. "Fine. I'll just go out with blood on my cheeks." Spike disregarded the ornery tone of her voice, knowing she was hurting just as badly as he was. Spike tugged off his already ripped shirt and handed it to Dawn.

Her face turned a beet red color when she saw his firm six pack and muscle bound arms, all looking rather like marble in the night. Spike shook his head at the girl, and opened the tomb to find another black t-shirt, pulling it on quickly. Dawn wiped the blood off her face with the shirt that smelled like cigarrettes and vanilla, and dropped it on the tomb.

"We have to go, Spike. Now."

The blonde vampire opened the heavy door for her, and motioned quickly for her to come out. "So what are we doing, exactly?" Spike asked her. Dawn crept to the side of the mausoleum as Spike walked steadily behind her.

"I think I can do something with my blood. That'll save Buffy," she told him confidently.

"Don't get all cheery, little bit. Sometimes things like these can go and cock up everything." Spike took her small hand in his own cool, roughend hand, protecting her like he'd told Buffy he would. Dawn shook her head furiously.

"It'll work, Spike. It has to. I need her." Spike nodded slowly, understanding the whole depth of the situation. The world needed her. He needed her. "Alright then, love." Together they walked to the morgue in the hospital, Spike's hand jumping every once in a while when he thought about the possibility of Buffy being alive. __________________________________

Rupert Giles leaned against the headboard of his bed, fully clothed, in the loft, staring up at the dark wooden beams supporting the ceiling. His bedspread was a soft cream color, with satin designs over velvety soft fabric. An ornate ancient vase stood on a small table, blue swirls decorating its surface, brightening up the dark night space of his bedroom.

A picture of Buffy, Joyce, and Dawn rested on his night table, the three girls smiling at the somber man with dried salt tears on his face. He silently picked up the framed picture and gave a wistful smile at the three of them. Joyce, and the beautiful Buffy. And Dawn, whom he had let Spike take care of. All three beautiful women.

Giles felt a shudder rack his torso, one of deep sadness. "Buffy... Wherever you are- I just want you to know I was honored to have you as my Slayer. The world has never seen such power, strength, stamina, and love come out of a Slayer. You are the first of a new line of Slayers," he told the photograph sadly.

How he missed the witty girl and her mother. How he wanted her back, back in the Magic Shop with everybody rushing around, saving the world and not dying. She'd done it before- why couldn't she have done it now? A small tear glided serenely down his face.

There was no way he could ever get her back- of course, there were spells that could do resurrection and such- but it wouldn't have been natural. Buffy and Joyce wouldn't have liked it. So Giles slowly set the picture of the three back down on the table, and pulled the comforter over him and took off his glasses.

"Goodnight, Buffy," he told no one in particular. "Good night, Moon," he said as he gave a sad chuckle, staring out the window, tears dripping down his face ever slowly.

________________________________________

Muffled sobs came from the Magic Shop, stopping at the front door. The large store was dark, and full of odd knick-knacks and extremely powerful magicks. If a passerby happened to look in, they wouldn't find anything but a "closed" sign. Xander and Willow laid on a training mat in the training room without the lights on.

Willow laid on Xander's chest, crying loudly, while Xander did his best not to start crying again. "Willow," Xander moved her face more comfortably on his burgundy sweatered chest.

"Willow, babe."

Willow shook her head against his chest. "Don't talk," she told him strainingly. "I can't talk... It hurts my throat."

Xander nodded and swallowed, holding the sobbing girl. "What are we going to do?" He asked her. She bit her lip, the tears still swimming down her face. "I- I- I don't know, Xander. I," she hiccuped softly, "miss Buffy."

Xander swallowed a large sob wanting to come out of his mouth. "I feel like we have to do something. Why-why did we have to leave her in the hospital morgue? She deserve-" he choked on his words a little, "deserves more than that. She saved the world."

Willow smacked her fist against the soft blue mat angrily. "I hate this. I hate her dead. I hate all of this. I-I-I don't know how to do funeral reservations. I don't know how to do any of this. She would have known what to do. She was Buffy." Xander nodded.

"She was our Super Hero Buffy." Willow coughed softly, and Xander wrapped his arms around her.

"I wonder what Tara and Anya are doing. I feel bad for leaving them-but-" Xander stopped. Willow turned her beautiful green-blue eyes up at him, "they wouldn't understand," she finished for him. Xander hugged her even more tightly and nestled his head on the mat, spooning Willow into his arms protectively. "I'll always take care of you, Will, you know that. I'm not leaving you. Not even for Anya."

Willow turned to face Xander in his strong arms. She gently kissed his cheek and murmured, "Thank you."

________________________________________

Anya fidgeted on the couch in Tara and Willow's dorm room. This was not fun, she decided. Tara sat on another chair, made of white whicker, reading a book while leaning her head against one hand.

"Tara?" Anya asked rather nervously. Tara looked up from her reading a bit tiredly. "Yeah?" Anya bit her lip. "Buffy's not coming back, is she?"

Tara shook her head softly. "No. She's dead, Anya. Dead people don't come back unless they're vampires." Anya nodded slowly. This was definitely not fun. Buffy Summers was even stronger than she ever was as a vengeance demon. How could she die?

And how could Xander leave her with Tara, all by herself? She wanted Xander here, and now. Sex would make this much easier. "I don't like being a human," Anya told Tara truthfully.

Tara made a small "ehn" noise and went back to reading "Spells for the 5th Level." Reading would help her get her mind off of everything. Especially Buffy lying down there on the rubble, and having Willow burst out crying in her arms. When Willow was unhappy- it was ten times worse for Tara, who didn't know what to do for her.

Anya folded her arms over her chest and just decided to be quiet for the rest of the night. That's what grieving humans did, wasn't it? I think I'm supposed to cry, Anya told herself. But I don't want to! I want Buffy to be alive and not fornicating with my boyfriend. I want her to stake the bad vampires and fight the naughty demons and be alive. It's hurting Xander. I hate her for dying. Stupid mortals.

___________________________________________

Spike dodged into the double swinging doors of the morgue area quickly, pulling a nervous Dawn behind him.

"Shhh..." He told her warningly, looking around carefully for any signs of a doctor. They found themselves in a corridor full of boxes, and shiny metal tables with nothing on them but some wrapped up cloth and some plastic toilets they used on people who couldn't go to the bathroom. It was extremely dark, and the only light came from a skylight up top, that shed little moonlight on the two.

"Now," Spike murmured. "Where is our little bird?" Dawn looked down another corridor full of doors with windows to look into them.

"Number 13," she whispered, pointing at the door with a number over there. She nodded. "It has to be number 13."

Spike looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "You sure? Cos if you're not, then we bloody well could be in a room full of vampires. It is a hell of a number, you know."

Dawn nodded at him. "Mom was in room number 13. I think I can sense her. Her blood, I mean. We're connected- even if she's kind of dead."

Dawn gave him a hesitant look, then asked, "Are you going to open the door? I really haven't gotten the hang of picking locks yet."

"You're not gettin' any teaching from me, love. If your sister- comes back," he said slowly, "she'd stake me good. Alright?" Spike took out a small stainless steel knife from his duster, and worried the lock a little, until Dawn grabbed his hand, and twisted the doorknob.

Spike looked at her, mock impress on his face. "Well then. We are a smart one, aren't we?" He walked in slowly into the blue tiled room. Four metal stretchers lay strategically placed 8 feet away from each other. Each corpse was covered with a blue starched sheet. Shiny little rollable tables lay next to each steel stretcher upon the corpses lay, full of knives and over devices.

Dawn shuddered a little. Spike placed a hand on her shoulder, and went over to one of the examinating tables. He gingerly lifted up one of the sheets, and grimaced. "What?" Dawn asked, scared. Spike glanced over at her, wrinkling his nose a little.

"Decapitation and, uh, it looks like someone cut off his bollocks." Dawn wrinkled her nose in return.

"Ewww... Spike, why'd you have to go and tell me that?" She inched closer to the glass cupboards with sterilized tools in them, trying to stay as far away as she could from the corpses. Even though it was her idea, the simple idea of finding Buffy was a lot to handle for a 14 year old girl. Small halogen lights barely lit up the examinating room, giving just enough for Dawn to see.

Spike shrugged. "You asked," and lifted up another sheet. *Definitely* not Buffy. The sheet floated softly back down on the dead woman's face, as if an angel had just decided to give her sleep. Dawn gulped loudly.

"There's still two more corpses, you know. We don't have that much time."

Spike nodded in understanding at the girl wringing her hands. He lifted up the 3rd sheet, and didn't say a word. On the steel examinating table, laid Buffy Anne Summers- naked.

Spike took in a deep breath. Glancing at her, he could see her pale skin glowing softly. Her eyes were shut and her eyelashes looked dusted onto her face. No make-up. Her lips stood oddly red, relaxed against her face, not moving like they usually were around him. Buffy's hair splayed around her face, looking like a golden halo. Dawn came over, and took in a breath.

"That's her," she told Spike. Spike nodded slowly. "That's her." She was so fucking beautiful it hurt. He swallowed down a tear. She even hurt his throat. Her soft white arm was laid across her breasts, covering them softly, as if she were trying to hide her heart from death. Dawn stared down at her sister, her blood. She was pale. Everything about her was pale.

Dawn shook her head. "Don't be dead already," she told the lifeless Buffy's blood. "Don't be dead." Dawn took a knife from the small table next to the table Buffy was on, and switched on the light. Spike was too far gone to notice the knife grabbing, looking at his dead love. All he could do was stand helplessly and stare at the goddess before him.

Dawn stared at Buffy conclusively. "I have to do this. I'm getting you back, Buffy," she choked a little on her words. She took the shining metal knife in her hands, and saw before her what she was to do. Dawn drew a two inch line with the knife on her left wrist. "Shallow cuts," she whispered to herself, and came closer to Buffy. Dawn gently lifted up the arm across her breasts and turned it over.

There, she slit a smaller cut across Buffy's cold wrist, except deeper. Dawn's hand shook a little, and Spike reached over and stared at Dawn full in the face. Dawn dropped the knife into Spike's hands, and Spike made a vertical line across the horizontal one Dawn had drawn. A blood cross burnt into Spike's own wrist.

"For Buffy," he told Dawn. The dark haired girl nodded. "For Buffy," and she pinched her wrist, making her blood drip slowly into Buffy's wrist. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Spike hovered over Buffy's body across from Dawn, looking into his wrist. It would never go away, he knew. Buffy's blood cross would be sizzling into him forever. Dawn pursed her lips and grabbed a larger knife, slitting her own blood cross.

She pressed it into Buffy's, hoping this was some sort of symbolic thing that would make her coming back a surefire thing. Spike caressed Buffy's shining hair softly, and noticed some dark brown roots at the base of her head.

"Not a natural blonde, is she?" He asked Dawn. Dawn looked up from her ministrations and shook her head. "She's been dyeing it ever since she turned 13." Spike almost started laughing, but he could almost hear Buffy's rage flying at him for finding out her secret of not actually being a blonde. That was how much he believed she would come back. If his heart could've beaten, he'd have gotten a heart attack.

Dawn went back to squeezing her wrist as hard as she could, trying to make the glowing green stuff spill into Buffy. "Come on," she said urgently. "Just wake up."

Spike stared at the girl trying to revive her sister. "Pet, I don't thin-" Dawn cut him off, looking at him fiercely. "It is going. To. Work." She spat out as she started rubbing her wrist frantically against the cold joint of her sister.

"Please?" she murmured underneath her breath. Dawn let go of Buffy's bloody wrist, and let it drop against the steel table, making a small "clang" as the claddagh ring around her finger hit the side.

"She's wearing his ring," Spike said, as a tear splashed against Dawn's face. "Whose ring?" The young girl asked, not knowing what it meant at all. Spike held Buffy's cold hand in his own for a moment. "The girl was going to die. Oh, God. That-That's what she was going on about. Not me, her... She was trying to tell ole Spike-" Another tear dripped down Dawn's face. "What are you talking about?"

Spike twisted Buffy's Claddaugh ring off her finger, and inspected the inside. "For Angel and Spike," read the scratchings, presumably made with a knife. He glanced back at the goddess with a blue sheet covering her chest down. "She knew she was going to die. Not because of Glory or the world bloody ending- she knew."

All the thoughts in his head were in unison. She had not scratched that out until last night. He knew it. He inspected it a little more, with extreme care. A date was enscripted in the heart. 52201. A sudden urging bubbled up in his chest. Spike cradled the ring in his right hand.

"Love..." He told the unmoving Buffy. "Wake up. Come on. For the poof, wake up. For the chit, wake up. Just wake the feck up!" And with that, Spike collapsed, his torso laying upon Buffy's own. "Please, love..." Spike cradled her face softly. She couldn't be gone now, she couldn't. No. She wasn't gone. She wasn't.

Dawn stared in shock, the tears running freely down her face. "Buffy's gone, isn't she?" She asked Spike. The blonde vampire made no reply, but continued to hold Buffy's limp upper body in his leather clad arms. A crimson blood tear ran down his face, and he kissed Buffy's palm.

"Come on..." He whispered forcefully, trying to get the blonde girl awake. A couple other bloodied tears slid down his face, his head still nestled in her icy hand. Not noticing the soft green glow coming out of Buffy's blood cross, because he had carefully avoided it as to not burn his face, he sobbed out her name in a very unvampire like fashion.

The blood from his eyes had dripped into her bloodstream. "Buffy.... I *love* you. Please.... Come back...."

Dawn gasped suddenly, the cross glowing even greener, lighting up a small radius of the room. "Spike!" She shouted loudly, shaking his shoulders. "Get OFF my sister!" Spike turned his head in surprise, his cheeks red because of the crying.

"Look!" She pointed at the green light, and glanced down at at the own religious scrawl in her wrist, glowing like Buffy's. She gave a quick look over to Spike, where on his wrist, the burning blood from Buffy and her own system glowed the brightest.

The vampire got himself off of Buffy, and looked at their wrist incredulously. "Bloody hell."

Dawn shook her head, pointing at her wrists. "Bloody Key." Spike gave out a little chuckle.

"So then I must be the bloody hell."

Suddenly a finger twitched on the body of the Slayer.

"Spike..." Dawn's voice wobbled a little. "I think it kind of worked." As Buffy's arms started twitching and when it flopped up, Spike nodded in agreement.

"I'd say so."

Both their voices were shocked, and as Buffy's eyes flew open, Dawn gasped loudly and clung to Spike like a little girl.

The Slayer's mouth opened and a croaky voice from somewhere deep came out of her flushed body. "Blood... Need. Blood." Her other arm which used to be unmoving, snapped up and grabbed Dawn's throat

. Buffy pulled herself up and looked at Dawn ravenously with wild eyes. "You have blood... Give me." With that, Buffy weakly tried to bite Dawn's neck, but Spike grasped her hands off a very surprised Dawn, who was left gasping for air.

"That," Dawn pointed at Buffy, "Is not my sister." Dawn looked horrified at her. Buffy flopped back on the table with a bang. In 5 minutes, as Spike held her arms down and Dawn pinned Buffy's legs to the table, Buffy had already moved all parts of her body and was still staring at Dawn's neck hungrily. Spike shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows down at the half-naked not-Buffy. He would have to put a shell up around him and get ready. This was not his Buffy, he continued to tell himself.

"Didn't anybody ever tell you it's not nice to eat your sister?"

Buffy grinned and arched her back. "No... Didn't anybody tell you it's not nice to hurt the one-" she said loudly, "you LOVE?" Buffy asked him seductively, pouting her lips.

Dawn looked in horror as the sister she once knew shifted her face into a line of ridges on her forehead appeared and her eyes turned a deep yellow. "She's a-a-a," stuttered Dawn, "a vamp-p-ire."

Buffy's mouth curled into an evil smile, disregarding her meal for the night. "Hello, sire," she called cheerfully up to her blue eyed "savior."

Spike's mouth went agape. "Not possible," he choked out. "You can't be my Childe- you have to be alive when you drink."

Buffy's eyes went almost innocently wide. "Well, I have my cutie patootie of a sister to thank for that, don't I?" Buffy shook her chest a little and the sheet fell off her body. Leaving her completely naked.

The Slayer crouched up her knees, and slammed Dawn in the stomach with her feet. Dawn flew across the room, and hit her head against the smooth blue wall. "Ow," she muttered, rubbing her head.

Spike looked at her and with a crucial tone, he whispered, "Go- go quick," to the trembling brunette standing against the wall. Dawn nodded, and with a desperate leap, she skidded out of the room and down the hall.

Buffy swung her pale legs over the edge of the examinating table, and smiled coquettishly at Spike, who could only stare astonishly at the girl in front of him. "So, are you gonna examine me or what, Doctor Spike?" Vamp Buffy flirted. She laid down again on the steel examinating table and crossed her arms behind her head.

"Well," Spike told her confidently even though he was scared to death inside, "I can already tell by the smell that you've got something growing down there."Of course, that wasn't true, because he'd already seen those parts, and there was *definitely* nothing wrong there.

Vamp Buffy nodded, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes a little back in her normal face. Which made it even harder for Spike to talk to her. "So, what's up, Sire boy?" Buffy practically mocked up by saying this. "How's *Buffy*?"

Spike shrugged menacingly at her. *This isn't Buffy,* he had to tell himself. *Is not is not is not is not Buffy.* He glanced down at her breasts. *Oh, that's Buffy. He'd know those boobs a mile away.*

Regardless of the state of her breasts, he told her, "She's dead. Took a nice leap into a portal, she did."

The blond female in the room pouted her lips. "Then you'll just have to settle with me, won't you?" Vamp Buffy slid off the table gracefully and walked one step to Spike. She licked her finger with her pink tongue and let her finger trail down his gorgeous cheek bone, going ever lower down his buff chest and abs, just barely stopping at his belt.

Spike scrunched his eyes, and groaned softly. Buffy smiled at him brightly. "No glove," she whispered so very close into his ear, "no love." She bit his ear softly, making Spike bite his lip quickly.

*No, no, no, no, no.* Spike placed his hands steadily on her shoulder and tried to regain his composure. "I hadn't heard that they gave vampires pregnancy test. That's a new one."

Not-Buffy smirked, and switched places on him. She spun around, and pushed Spike's body down on the examination roughly. Her hair hung so enticingly over his face, along with her breasts. *Gahhhh....* thought Spike. *She's hotter than- ow! STRONG! Ow!*

"Maybe I should examine *you* and see what the robot taught you," she whispered, her hands ever so cold as they rubbed his arms. *This is not.. Going to be... Ahhh... Oooooh. No. Easy.* thought Spike, who seriously would have been blushing.