It was a cold winter night and Restfield Cemetery was covered in snow, but in one secluded tunnel, disguised by a coat of pure, white disfigurement, was a blazing fire. "Tell me a story, master." A monotone voice shrilled from the dimness.

"I'm a little under the weather, no time for tales and trials, so I'll skip the mumbles and go straight to the grumbles tonight love." The master replied.

"But master, Willow is gay, Xander likes construction and Anya hates bunnies, you like Buffy". The owner of the voice was nestled in the lap of the master, casually slumped upon one of his shoulders. Her touch was comforting, but empty. The master was not impressed by her malfunctioning performance.

"Yes, I like Buffy. My heart's crumbling, broken's what it is. Now everything's tumbling down into the oblivion, never returning, always burning.

"Spike likes poetry, Buffy hates poetry, Spike likes sex. Do you want me to perform the sex function for you Spike?"

"I'll just have a beer."

The servant rose from the ground and away from the comfort of the fire. She walked towards the kitchen in an attention deficit manner. When she returned with a bottle of Spike's favourite beer, she looked at him with interest. It took her a while for her to work out what to say next as she gained a knowledge of the new room she had entered. "Dawn drinks lots of beer. Dawn doesn't like the stamp on her hand when she goes to the Bronze. Dawn adores Spike, Buffy hates Spike, Buffy wants Spike, Buffy loves Spike."

"Just give me the beer." Spike was not impressed with his waitress, everything was wrong about it. Yes, she was a makedo, but it was all he had in the world.

"Shall I repeat that program again master?"

"Cease bloody function." Spike moaned.

The robot stared at him with its arm outstretched towards him. It was still holding the unopened bottle of ice-cold beer. Spike snatched the beverage from the electronic device, whilst being careful about releasing the grip of the fingers that were wrapped tightly around it. She felt cold, but so real. "About time you shut up and got down to the silent treatment." Spike reflected.

It did not respond. Short circuited, perhaps? Or was it just being unreasonable? Buffy could be cold and calculating at times, but needy. She was just the thing that Spike needed in his life; a toy. He'd got his wish, in a way, but this object was so demanding that he wanted to shag it and be done with it. It was his way of showing affection. Dumbfounded as he was, by the robot's enchanting captivation. It could not replace the shining blossom of fresh, succulent Slayer blood that lie in wait for him inside her veins. How he wanted to suckle the goodness from the flesh.

She would suck his fingers as he bit into her skin. The softness was sensual. He smothered himself in her breasts and she was aroused by every bite. The sex was immortal, but he could sense something was soulless, and it wasn't him.

The robot was a constant reminder of these times, the hard times. Burrowing deep within its sockets, he saw the careful wiring that was gradually turning to mush. Like the command he had given his machine. It ceased its function to satisfy his ever raging hunger for her.

Sleep was not a release from this starvation.

He was desperately seeking comfort from this nightmare. An existence without her was an all too promising, torturous prospect. The Nibblet trusted him for protection, through this he gained some acceptance from Buffy. It wasn't the sort of recognition he desired. Kindness was just a phase. Only cruelty and bondage would get the required results. Spike pulled the wires from out of the battery pack and trussed them up over the beams of the crypt. She hung there like a gibbet for her treachery. "This is how we treat those who don't obey for their insolence!" He shouted across the room. He was silenced by the following echo, which raced around the room tormenting him. What had he become? "Where is a good book when you bloody damn need one?" The vampire rushed towards the bookcase with large, pounding strides. He stared at it for a moment before crashing it to the floor with a hefty heave. A fit of panting followed. "Blasphemous cow!"

Spike gazed at the machine in front of him. Tears started to flow somehow. "What are you?" came from his lips as he looked at it in awe. "My prayers were answered, but this is not God." He asked himself how the creature was made, artificial by human hands, but with a form and an enchantment so evolutionary it made him believe. It looked like the girl, it felt like the girl, at times he had faith it spoke like the girl, but it wasn't. She was hung, drawn and quartered, stung by carelessness and cheap, nasty chip in the head. There were two of those in the room.

Spike grabbed a knife and pried her skull open. "We are one and the same." He commented. The dissection was complete. "Nothing can harm you now, but." Spike pointed to his head. "They can still hurt me, still control me and put me in a locked facility, but they cannot make me hate you." The atmosphere in the room was becoming a haze as the vision gradually faded from view. The immortal held the microchip in his hand and looked at the faulty craftsmanship within. "You are so perfect, unlike this beast I call you. Why have you done this to me? We are the same, we are both controlled, we feel the same things, and still you say you can't love me? If I get a soul will you love me? I am a thing, like.... like this... robot. You are just a disguise love, a sexual frustrating device with a horny special discount from the geeky warehouse, but I love you."

Spike collapsed in front of his idol. He sacrificed himself in front of it and called her sacred. His hunger pined for divine intervention and his soul cried to be reunited with it's body. Then he sank deeply into unconsciousness.