A Model Buffy
Sometimes when he stepped into the kitchen of the Summers' house, and she was there, her back to him, doing something at the sink perhaps or looking inquisitively inside the refrigerator, Spike almost believed that he was looking at Buffy, the real Buffy. Long golden hair, like the Slayer's, flowed down her back, perfect and shiny. Her shape was the same, a tiny and delicate looking frame disguising a wealth of power. But when the Buffybot turned around and looked at Spike with those too bright eyes and spoke with that perpetually upbeat voice, all resemblance ended. It was a robot, nothing more.
Her presence pained and soothed at the same time. Buffy was dead, but every day they heard a voice that sounded like hers and looked at the same pretty face. If you cut her open you would find wires and circuits instead of muscle and bone. Sparks flew when it was damaged. Blood did not flow. The Buffybot was the only thing keeping the world from knowing that the Slayer was dead. For that fact alone it was a treasure, something to be valued and taken care of. Everyone alternated between calling the Buffybot 'it' and 'she'. Her presence was confusing and profoundly moving. Occasionally Spike had the urge to smash the thing to bits, eradicate the reminder of Buffy from his life. But he knew that he hadn't the heart. It was originally his after all.
Spike himself had purchased her almost a year earlier from Warren. He hadn't thought of the implications then. Sometimes he wasn't good at thinking things through. The vampire, believing himself in love with the Slayer, and unable to touch and hold her like a man should touch and hold his woman, had simply put in an order for his own Buffy. It had come complete with all the programming he had requested of Warren, a genius at such things. And the Buffybot had been remarkable. For a time then too, he could almost believe that it was really Buffy he made love too, really Buffy who spoke to him and of him with complete and vapid adoration. The robot had been the ultimate expression of his fantasy and Spike had enjoyed every minute with her. Somewhere deep down, he knew that it was wrong, what he had done. He had never thought of Buffy's reaction or her feelings. Then again, when had she ever considered his?
Eh, what did it matter now anyway? That machine and their memories were all Spike and Willow, Xander and Dawn, Giles, Tara and Anya had left of the Slayer. The rest was beneath six feet of dirt, wearing a frumpy dress inside a too expensive coffin that Giles had generously purchased. The funeral and their grieving had both been quiet and subdued. No one could make the association between Buffy Summers and the Slayer. No one could know the Slayer was dead. All hell, literally, would break loose, and Sunnydale, built over a hellmouth, would quickly become home to every demon imaginable. There was a time, not so very long ago, when Spike would have relished that possibility and loudly proclaimed the Slayer's death, had he discovered it. But he was different now or perhaps he had simply accepted his true nature.
"Spike, oh, Spike, I'm so happy to see you." The robot approached the vampire wearing a smile and the same pleated pink skirt she had come with. "Would you like breakfast? I'm making pancakes for everyone. I like to cook. It is fun."
"Yeah, well, no thanks." Spike frowned. The robot stubbornly hung on to its 'Spike is the entire world' programming despite the tinkering that Willow had done. Once its words of love had thrilled Spike; now they just hurt.
The smell of cooking pancakes filled the kitchen along with brilliant sunshine. Both belied the grief that hung like a thick shroud over the house. The robot, undeterred by Spike's refusal, piled some pancakes on a plate and smothered them with thick syrup.
"I know that you're a scary vampire and you drink blood. But I think you might like some pancakes anyway; here." Cheerfully she thrust the plate at Spike and watched while he obligingly picked at the stack, dipping his finger into the syrup and giving it a lick.
"Where's everybody? Still sleeping, are they?" Spike peered into the living room and listened carefully for any signs of stirring from Dawn or Willow or Tara.
"Yes, and what a nice surprise the pancakes will be." The robot set about making more.
Spike stared at her back once again. He sniffed the air. One thing Warren had not been able to duplicate was Buffy's scent; human, woman, Slayer. It had been intoxicating and simply recalling it made things start to happen down below.
"Damn it, Spike," he chastised himself. "Get a bloody hold of yourself. Slayer's dead and she's not coming back."
"Yes," the Buffybot agreed far too happily. "The Slayer is dead. But I can't say anything to anyone. I'm the Slayer now. Isn't that right, Spike?" She didn't bother to wait for a reply. "Oh, you look so handsome in that duster." He could swear that the robot swooned.
"Yeah, yeah." He brushed off the compliment. It made him uncomfortable. Spike was tempted to take off his duster and toss it over the back of a chair. But along with being a large part of his fashion statement, the black leather coat was a lifeline of sorts; it made him feel safe and secure. Sometimes now in the presence of the robot, he really needed that. "Look, I'm going to wait in the living room." Without a glance back, Spike strode into the next room and plopped down onto the sofa. He slouched casually and put his booted feet up onto the coffee table.
While he sat, startlingly blue eyes closed, Spike couldn't help but hear the Buffy replica busy itself in the kitchen, making stack after stack of pancakes. It always overdid everything. The sound of orange juice being poured into glasses came next and then the sound of water running.
"Maybe I should wake everyone before the food gets cold and the juice gets warm." The robot trotted up the stairs, smile still plastered on its face.
He should have protested. The girls all loved their sleep after all and who knew what Willow and Tara might be getting up to. Spike's own lips curved upward a bit at the thought. He was happy for the pair. The relationship had changed both young women for the better and Buffy's death had brought them even closer. He hoped the bond would last. There was darkness enough in all their lives now. A little positivity and light was definitely a good thing. He shook his head then and wondered at William the Bloody, slayer of Slayers, contemplating such things. He really had changed since meeting Buffy and all of her friends. Something in him had shifted gradually. That shouldn't be possible for a 'soulless demon'. But it seemed as though he was some sort of exception rather than the rule.
A few minutes later, a grumbling trio of girls followed the perky robot down the stairs. Willow and Tara, both tousle-haired, hands linked, spoke softly together once they had awakened a bit more. Dawn kept sneaking glances at the Buffybot. Her expression was heartbreaking; big blue eyes full of love, wistful twist to her mouth, hope that if she closed those eyes and opened them again, the real Buffy, her sister, would be back. Those hopes were continually dashed, naturally, and every time Spike saw the despair on the little bit's face, his own heart shattered.
Best he could do was protect Dawn. Buffy would have wanted that. So the vampire threw himself into the role of caretaker with the intensity and vigor that he approached living with. She accepted his position in her daily life readily enough and trusted him with an ease that Spike as unused to. It was gratifying and a little bit overwhelming too. Dawn, this young human girl, ate with him, did homework with him, played games with him and watched films with him; never once did she turn questioning or doubtful eyes upon him. Spike hoped that he never betrayed that exquisite trust.
Giving his head a shake, he joined the girls in the kitchen.
"Morning," he greeted them all.
Tara stifled a yawn and gave him a shy smile while Willow grinned around her mouthful of pancake.
"Spike!" Dawn exclaimed. "I didn't see you."
"Oh, he's been here for awhile," the Buffybot informed her. "He already had pancakes."
"Really, pancakes, huh?" Willow smirked at Spike then. "Seems rather un-vampire-y."
"You needn't worry about what I eat, Red." He itched to light a cigarette but did not want to invite the wrath of the young women. And the bright morning sunlight dissuaded him from going outside. Pushing aside the urge, he sat down beside Dawn and watched her dig into breakfast.
"As long as you're not eating people, I don't really care," the witch responded affably.
The Buffybot defended the vampire almost instantly. "Spike's being a good vampire, aren't you Spike?" She moved around the kitchen island and placed a hand on the vampire's shoulder.
"Not doing much for my reputation as a demon, all this talk of goodness," he griped ineffectually. Really, he didn't mind at all. The hand on his shoulder felt heavy, though, and he shrugged it off. "So, what are the plans for today then?"
"I wanted to tweak her programming a bit more," Willow stated, glancing pointedly at the robot. "There are still a few glitches."
Dawn looked down at her plate. Spike reached over, letting his hand hover over hers before retracting it again. A silence fell over the kitchen, a silence finally broken by the model Buffy.
"Anyone for more pancakes?"