"Thanks for doing what you did… last night… I mean, putting the little ones… away." Perched on the workbench, an unusually subdued Vinnie turned the pirate hook over and over in his hands. "I don't think they got what happened to them – I think all they remember is having fun at a party, They didn't want anybody taking it away from them – so they like, tried to kill you, like they did Jeremy and Mike."

"I understand what the hell happened to me." Maggie said high overhead where she was tightrope walking among the steel beams. "I remember Mr. Raus telling somebody to dump my body into the sewer when nobody was looking, after… after what happened… a sewer worker found me… I saw it in the newspaper…" Then she added in a very, very small voice, "I was… gross."

"How lovely for you both." mumbled Spike, who after dealing with the gooey remains of Mr. Raus earlier in the evening was now a vampire with no fucks left to give. Still, pushing the man's reeking BMW onto a nearby railroad crossing and setting it on fire in the path of an oncoming Amtrak after dumping the mass of slime and bones that had once been the car's owner in the driver's side seat, had been pots of fun. (Even if it meant padding barefoot around in one of Jeremy's uniforms as his socks, Doc Martens, and Diesels dried from a thorough washing in the staff shower because the Hefty bag had burst in mid-carry on the way to the car with Jacob splattering all over his legs and feet. As for his duster, wellllllll… Spike's unscheduled trip to Splattsville meant carrying it home in a garbage bag until he could deal with getting liquefied corpse out of the leather without ruining it… still, worth it mate, worth it!)

Anyway, Spike grinned, hands busy in the guts of the Mangle, the fat roll of singles, fivers, tens and twenties he'd found stashed under the noisome, fly-coated front seat in an old Prince Albert tin, more than made up for the smell. Add that to the now freshly washed bills from Jacob's wallet drying in the loo on a towel rack, plus his gold watch, ring, and tie clip, once pawned on the local demon black market along with his credit cards… AND what he'd made in this anklebiter dumping ground as a temp… bloody hell - it would be more than enough to get him back in Buffy's good graces!

Which meant ten beautiful things as follows:

Buffy could quit her stupid job flipping burgers,

Stay home,

And give all her attention to him once she'd washed the Doublemeat stench out of her hair,

While letting the rest of the Scoobies do… ummmm… whatever it was they did,

Just so long as it got them killed.

Specifically Xander, the big dumb pillock.

Speaking of pillocks, Giles, too, should he ever return.

In as messy a fashion as possible.

However, Spike might let Willow come over and play now and then, but only if she wore that little pink and lavender number AND if Anya stayed home.

However, Tara could come over and play any time she liked because she was, well, the only nice one in the whole lot.

That and unlike Willow, Tara could cook halfway decent and knew what a washing machine was –Buffy shouldn't have to do all that stuff on her own. Which makes eleven, but why care about accurate numbers when things are finally working?

Long story short, Buffy could stay home, pay attention to him and him only, and… oh yeah, right…

12. Buffy could finally properly take care of Dawn. The Niblet was doubtlessly running wild again, what with Joyce gone and Buffy working— out tempting fate, that sort of wossisname. Could get herself killed doin' that, what with all the Big Bads out there hungry for the newest Little Red… whatever sanctimonious twat said money can't buy happiness obviously never had to do without!

Dwelling upon a future which included clean sheets, someone interesting to share them with, and regular hot showers without some daft tosser staring at him while wanking off, Spike stood back to admire his handiwork. What he'd done with the Mangle before the ghosts showed up tonight was classic Spike: messy, improvised, and guaranteed to maim anyone stupid enough to be standing nearby once activated. That last bit was a shame because he was extremely tired of Jeremy and Mike standing wordlessly at his elbow glaring at him – being incorporeal, anything the Mangle could do to a living thing, was totally wasted on them!

"I was helping one of the hostesses fill balloons for one of the parties on the night all the animatronics went nuts." Vinnie looking upwards as he waved at Maggie; the back of his skull was caved in.

Huh? What the hell is the kid wittering on about?

"Dad was wearing the yellow bunny suit by the front door, greeting the party guests – we thought he was cured – but when the animatronics were running around all gonzo an' shit, he hit me. Hard." The boy's tarnished brass eyes glinted green for a second. "Then he stuffed me in the Foxy unit back in Dad's workroom by the kitchen… like he did the little ones in the other units. Only Maggie was found, and we don't know why!"

Yeah. The rabbit. Once I'm done here, he and me are going to have words... Now, where'd I put that roll of duct tape?

"When you didn't come to school Monday, I went to the Toy Location and… snuck past the police – and like whoah! The cops were there but it never made the news even with all those little kids disappearing!" Maggie sat down, thoughtfully kicking her legs over open space, eyes two dark bruises in the shadows. "Anyway, I met the yellow rabbit in the workshop, I mean, your dad, and he hit me… and… and…" Wailing, Maggie crouched down on the steel beam, arms over her head, rocking. "…Mom didn't care!" Vinnie scrambled up a nearby steel shelf unit and put his arms around her.

Wonder if I should install a buzz saw on that third leg thingy? Nah, that'd be gilding the lily!

"Yeah. Right." Spike tightened a connection on the right hand. Eyes on his work, he reached for the keyboard of the diagnostic computer and punched a key, adding, "So sorry to hear about your loss, etc. etc. etc."

The hand clenched.

Spike punched the key again.

The hand opened - brilliant!

Spike didn't understand how any of this shite worked – it was all bollocks as far as he was concerned, but with Vinnie's guidance, he'd finally reassembled the Mangle. All that was left was to rig a deadman's switch for when the crate was opened and put in a freshly charged battery before marching the nasty thing into the shipping crate standing by the back door with the address he'd filched from a postcard he'd nicked earlier from Buffy's mailbox stenciled on the side.

From there, using Jacob Raus's corporate credit card (thoroughly washed and Febrezed), Spike had arranged earlier over the phone in Mrs. Schnelz's office while fiddling with the silver-framed picture she'd knocked over earlier to have UPS pick it up off the outside loading dock sometime after midnight.

From there? Bang! Splat! Ka-pow, crunch, plus assorted screams and gurgles… brilliant!

And then he'd go rabbit hunting.