The Aftermath of the Big Musical Number
Spike kneeled on the cold ground next to the fresh grave, the spot where he and Buffy had been only hours before, him singing his undead guts out in a desperate plea for her to give him some kind of absolution. In accordance with her usual ways, the slayer had done the exact opposite. Buffy had left him standing dumbfounded in an alley, his lips still warmed from her kiss. The slayer had left with her Scooby pals, completely ignoring the incident that had taken place seconds before hand. No, she hadn't helped clear things up much at all.
He scooped up a handful of dirt from the gravesite and sifted it through his fingers, trying desperately to come up with a way to approach Buffy again. Damn musical demon had ruined everything.
As he sat in solitude, his thoughts began to drift farther away. It took him a moment to notice that the dark, wet earth beside him was moving. He didn't really comprehend the situation until a bloodless, dirt-ridden hand shot up through the soil.
"Oh, bloody hell," Spike said, rising to his feet. He strolled over to the nearest tree and snapped off one of teh smaller branches. Returning to the grave, he waited until the vamp had two feet firmly on the ground before driving the makeshift stake into its chest.
"Well," he thought as he dusted himself off and started out of the graveyard, "At least I have an excuse to go have a chat with the slayer."