Sleeper

After a "previously on Buffy" reminder that Holden the thera-pire claimed sireage by Spike, Buffy makes a beeline to said sire's new digs. Xander the Expander and his trusty man-boobs respond to her frenzied late-night knocking. Buffy's looking for Spike, which must hurt Xander just a touch -- but Spike's not around at the moment, being, as he is, a creature of the night who, Xander opines, is likely out "creaturing." As Buffy wanders over to the many-blinded windows of Casa Xander, where she enjoys a refreshing bath of blue light, Xander senses that Buffy's desire to find Spike is not of the sexual sort, and wonders if Spike's in trouble. "I hope not," responds Buffy.

In this case, "trouble" is a poorly lit and rather cluttered room, made more troublesome by a grunty sort of humming and a pile of dirt, which is growing, thanks to regular contributions from a shovel. Spike, not surprisingly, is the hummer and the digger -- he plants his shovel and turns to gaze down at the lass he munched upon last week. She's slumped on the floor, still clad in denim jacket and pants (is there a gender-appropriate equivalent here for "Guido tuxedo"?) and looking quite open-eyed dead. Spike hoists her by her collar, throws her into the freshly dug hole, and begins burying the body. He keeps humming. I wish he'd stop humming.

Digital video of a red phone booth, a distinctive black taxicab, fish and chips, Queen Elizabeth, a pub, some bad teeth, and the words "London, England" make me think we're in London, England. But then, I'm pretty quick on the uptake. Now we're on a soundstage, far away from London, England -- oh, but we're supposed to think we're still in London, England, because there's a man wearing a blazer and reading a book. And speaking with a funny accent -- after entering an apartment (or maybe a house), prying himself away from his tome, and noticing an overturned side table and vase, he begins calling for "Nora," or "Laura." Luckily, her name isn't very important, because she's dead dead dead, lying on the floor in a pool of blood, which is probably ruining the rather expensive-looking rug to which she's inconveniently adjacent.

Upset, British Guy races to Nora/Laura's side; she's been stabbed in the back. One of the knife-wielding, black-clad assassins from weeks past quickly interrupts his grief. Wow, BG can read and fight -- he uses his briefcase to block the business end of the ninja's knife and whack the ninja across the melon. As BG makes for a long sword hanging on the wall, another ninja (or perhaps the same one, if s/he's nimble) jumps around the corner and plunges the extremely impressive knife into BG's back. BG staggers and falls to the floor.

Willow barrels through the front door of Chez Summers, calling for Buffy. "She's not here," drones Dawn, sitting on the floor of the trashed living room, clutching a pillow. "Dawn," says Willow, stating the obvious. Willow rushes over and crouches down to Dawn, wondering what happened. Sticking to the plainly visible, Willow tells Dawn, "You're cut." After claiming she's fine, which is clearly not (nor has it ever been) the case, Dawn begins to tell Willow about her evening. "I saw Mom," she says. "She was here and she spoke to me." Willow adopts a standard you-poor-delusional-tripped-out-insane-girl tone, but Dawn sticks to her story. "She was right here and then she wasn't." Finally piecing together Dawn's cut face, her claims of maternal visitation, and the state of the living room, Willow realizes that Dawn was also visited by the big bad, "the one we knew was coming," and explains that they can't trust anything it said. Quite an entrance it made, I must say. Dawn, in her inimitable wisdom, decides to lie about what her freaky mommy said, omitting the part about Buffy not being there when times got tough, and works overtime to convince herself that Joyce meant protection rather than harm.

Good God almighty -- nine minutes in and the credits are still rolling. Super-Duper Extra Special Guest Star Anthony Stewart Head makes his umpteenth appearance this season.

Xander, pouring coffee in his kitchen, wonders why a vampire would lie about his sire. "Some kind of status symbol for the undead? My sire can beat up your sire?" Hey, Xander? Shut up. After Buffy waffles about believing Holden, Xander makes another stupid comment about approaching Spike's maybe-killing in a detached, "CSI-like manner," since they're "a couple of carpet fibers away from a case." Maybe the CSI folks can come over and find something fun in the fresh puke all over my couch. Buffy tells Xander that Spike, all pain-chipped and soulful, couldn't be doing this even if he wanted to, but Xander reminds her that "it didn't stop him from hurting you." Busted, says Buffy's combination speedy look-away/hair touch.

Still, she maintains that she's seen Spike's chip at work; Xander thinks it might be an act. No, says Buffy, "there's something. I can feel it. He's different, he's changed. And if it is an act, then the Oscar goes to" Not you, apparently. And that would be an Emmy. But you know what I'm saying. And then in walks tonight's non-Oscar winner, immediately sensing that a Buffy/Xander confab that falls silent at his entrance "can't be good." No trouble at all, lies Buffy, like she'd be hanging at Xander's crib at 5 AM just because he's such an interesting conversationalist. Spike makes a move for his closet (feel free to take it there, because I'm not going to) as Buffy steps toward him and asks, as though she was just wondering in a friendly sort of way, "How was your night?" "All right," he replies, and then returns the courtesy, wondering if she "bagged any baddies." One, she reveals, whom she sort of knew, back in the day. Spike imagines that killing an acquaintance must have been difficult, and then goes to hit the sack. Xander marvels over Spike's "cool as Cool Whip" reaction to news of Holden's death, and Buffy decides that they need to keep an eye on him. While she goes to check on Dawn. Which means Xander needs to do the eye-keeping. But he's got a client meeting. Where will they find someone for the job?

Daylight. Anya. Wearing a butt-ugly shirt with a silhouette of Mickey Mouse bordered in black lace and an "I'm going through some personal issues right now" hairdo. Complaining that she no longer wants to watch Spike, alone, now that she knows he's killing again. Xander whines that she didn't mind being alone with Spike before, as though that had anything to do with present circumstances. He then explains, half-assedly, that they're not sure if he's actually killing. Anya points out that Xander clearly believes in Spike's malevolent intentions, and wonders if anyone has searched his room for clues, trophies from victims. "Killers like to keep trophies sometimes, scalps, necklaces made from human teeth," says she. Xander thinks she's being silly, yet he's the one wearing the suit and tie. As he rushes out the door, explaining that Anya's got plenty of living room sunlight to keep her safe and that if Spike makes a move, she should just call Buffy, Anya yells, "If I get vamped, I'm gonna bite your ass!" "Wouldn't be the first time," giggles Xander, closing the door. Ah, there was a day when I'd have bitten Xander's ass gladly, but now I'm afraid it would be like trying to bite Alaska.

Buffy, yelling for Dawn, finds Willow in the hallway. No sweat, says Willow. Dawn's fine, and finally asleep. Yay! Buffy wants to know what the hell happened last night, as downstairs looks like"Hell happened?" asks Willow. "This big evil that's been promising to devour us, well, I think it's started chomping." Hey, witchy woman, why don't you conjure up some better lines for yourself? She goes on to explain that the big bad knows them, made them think they were talking to someone they knew. Due to contractual issues, Willow just got a message from Tara, but Dawn actually "saw your mother." And if Willow was taken in by the lies of Cassie, the lezzie stand-in, just imagine what havoc the phantom Joyce wreaked on poor Dawn's pea brain! "Lies," says Buffy, as the puzzle pieces wrench themselves into place. She tells Willow about the lineage claims of last night's kill; Willow echoes Buffy's initial disbelief, assuming that she, too, was visited by a liar, a fake. But when Buffy says that Holden "dusted real enough," Willow begins to wonder as well. Buffy says she hopes that Spike isn't killing again, but that if he is, she has to see it for herself. She has to be there to stop it. And this little piggy goes me, me, me, all the way home.

Back in Xander's overwhelmingly beige abode, Anya lounges on the sectional. Loving the '70s retro phone. Spike's door is closed, but not for long. Carrying a stake, she tiptoes into his room, past the bed, where he's sleeping shirtless -- oh, more than shirtless. As she hits the dresser, a side view reveals a glimpse of Spike's strangely ubiquitous loin. Hold on, wait a minute: this is the tiny room that Xander called a "closet"? Mariah Carey's, perhaps (her Cribs rocks, by the way) -- maybe Xander needs a spacious bedroom for his growing collection of caftans. Anyway, Anya rifles through drawers (both the furniture and pant sorts) and then picks up Spike's jacket. As she goes for the pockets, Spike turns on his side, but remains asleep. Or not. His hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, as he not-so-sleepily demands that she tell him exactly why she's in his room. "Well, Spike," says Anya. "I'm here. Obviously. For."

"Sex." Spike gets a bit weirded out, quickly covering his loin with the sheet, and sits up. Anya begins a deadpan, utterly unconvincing, and rather funny seduction monologue of the "You and me. Here and now" variety. She calls Spike a "big, bad boy," claims that the stake adds a bit of kink, and swears that she can't get their "brief but unforgettable time together" out of her head. Maybe she'll bite his ass, as it seems readily accessible. "Why else would I be here?" she asks. "It's not like I'm snooping around for proof that you're some whacked-out serial killer. I don't know why I said that. Forget I said that." She professes nerves and horniness, and then goes for the hickey zone. Clearly, Spike's not interested. She understands. She accuses Spike of thinking she's fat -- or else he doesn't like her haircut. Well, I know where I stand, Mademoiselle Eating Disorder. A little hint: it could also be the shirt. In the face of rejection, Anya seems honestly interested in bagging Spike, and tells him that a soul has made him boring. "Soulless Spike," she claims, "would have had me upside down and halfway to happyland by now." Eww. And hee.

Nightness. Anya, in a more colorful section of the apartment, reads a magazine with the vehemence of a woman scorned. Spike, still dressing, appears and says he didn't mean to hurt Anya's feelings. "Who's hurt?" asks Anya, hurt. Spike leaves, claiming things to do; Anya verbally shoos him out, and then immediately picks up my telephone to call Buffy. "It's me. He's leaving."

Sunnydale's brand new pedestrian mall has opened, and it's a success! This is far and away the most crowded Sunnydale has ever been, so they must have bussed in people from neighboring towns, including Grandpa "Hobo" Joe on the harmonica (more annoying music, thanks). Or else Sunnydale is the new Manhattan. Spike strides past Grandpa Joe -- kill him, Spike, kill him! Damn. Spike looks hungry. Buffy strides past Grandpa Joe -- kill him, Buffy, kill him! Damn. Weaving her way through the ridiculously dense crowd, startled by ominous strolling, male bonding, and other nefarious activities, Buffy, brow furrowed, sees Spike chatting up a dark-haired honey in line for something. Spike leans in, whispers a sweet nothing or two, the honey giggles, and off they walk. Well, Spike's clearly found Easy Street. Buffy, perplexed by the sudden population explosion, loses Spike and his unfortunately dressed lady friend in the crowd.

"So, um, what kind of name is Spike?" queries the nameless brunette. It's a lesbian's name, honey. Actually, let's shorten that to Ho. Spike remains silent while Ho says some dippy flirty things, guesses that Spike's "a little bit bad," and then leads him behind a dumpster for some incredibly romantic hoochie-koo. Buffy runs through the crowd. Faster, Buffy, faster! Ho tells Spike that she doesn't mind a bad boy, that she was tired of waiting in that line, that she hates waiting. She kisses his neck. Hey, put the breaks on there for a second, sweetheart. I'm all for getting down to business, but your desperation stinks worse than that dumpster. Maybe she's a horny vampire. Spike starts kissing her neck, no sign of vampiric tendencies in either of them.

And then there's Buffy. She walks up to Spike and purrs, "You know you want it. You know I want you too." Spike looks confused, and then aroused as Ho begins to worry. Okay, she's no vamp. Spike changes, Ho screams, and he sinks his teeth into her neck. Buffy looks on, smiling, and coos, "There's my guy."

Post-commercial, Spike finishes feeding. Buffy (or at least Sarah Michelle) wonders, "Doesn't that feel better?" Spike, confused, drops Ho like, well, a Ho potato, stares at the newly bloodthirsty slayer, and takes off around the corner. Buffy turns and smiles. And then turns into Spike. And then asks, "How could you use a poor maiden so?" So the big bad can assume the forms of the living. And, like the other characters on the show, it enjoys no immunity from bad dialogue. Little by little, all is being revealed.

Casa "Puff Daddy" Xander. Buffy, presumably the real one, rolls Spike, presumably the real one, out of his bed, presumably the real one. She wants to know if Spike killed the girl from last night. "I caught the first act," says Buffy. "I missed the curtain call." Could we perhaps institute a ban on the self-referential "acting" quips? Oh, wait, forgot what show I'm watching. Sorry. Did Spike turn her? Into a vampire? Buffy lays into him with patented Buffy-style rapid-fire questions. Confused, half-asleep, and presumably peeved by Buffy's rather aggressive tone, Spike springs into defensive mode, maintaining that all they did was talk ("It looked like more than talking to me," counters La Buff) and that he hasn't the slightest idea where she is. Besides, says Spike, "You know I can't." Ah yes, says Buffy, chips ahoy. Try the soul, sister. Spike wonders if Buffy is clueless enough the think that "[he'd] go to the end of the underworld and back to get [his] soul" and then start killing again. Yes, she is. She may be strong and able and what have you, but sometimes she's got a thick head on her skinny shoulders. But then again, she's usually right. Spike continues that he can barely live with what he's already done, as Buffy remains in stone-face mode. After Buffy refers to a "drunk co-ed," it hits him: she's jealous. Ix-nay on the ealous-jay, says Buffy. No more games. She brings up Holden's claims, and then Spike goes all quivery, explaining that he goes out at night and talks to girls, because he can't talk to Buffy. Buffy: skeptical. Spike: "As daft a notion as soulful Spike the killer is, it's nothing compared to the idea that another girl could mean anything to me." Me: Spike, get over it. Move on. Please. I'm happy that you're out of the basement and using full sentences again and all, but for the love of God, stop whining. You sound like Dawn.

Buffy seems a bit flattered, but she's still not buying it. Returning to Holden and her confrontational tone, she tells Spike that she did follow him last night, and that he looked neither "lonely [n]or casual" but like he was "on the prowl." Spike asserts that all he and Girlie did was talk -- at least, that's all he remembers. And the needle screeches off the record and the entire bar turns around. Discombobulated, Spike says, "I go out, I talk to people, or I don't. It's boring. It all bleeds together." Welcome to my world. Buffy suggests that Spike might have forgotten feeding on someone, but he's sure that he'd never forget the taste of human blood. It's kind of like chicken. Buffy reminds him that he was "camped on the Hellmouth, talking to invisible people. Recently." Spike clutches his delusions of innocence, but it's pretty clear; he's eating meat again. And meat is murder. Buffy stalks off to find proof.

To accelerate the implication process, Buffy assembles Sunnydale's version of The View -- four women, all thin, white, and young. She wants evidence that he did it. Or evidence that he didn't. Dawn bleats that since all Buffy has is the word of a potentially fake vamp-liar, and since all of them were subjected to fibbery the other night, maybe Spike is innocent. Not so fast, interjects Willow. Just because those were evil spirits "doesn't mean what they said can't be true." So maybe Buffy won't choose Dawn when the going gets tough -- there's hope yet! Anya, whose hair indicates that she's taken large strides toward inner peace, says, "I used to tell the truth all the time when I was evil." Buffy wants facts. Anya suggests looking for a surge of bodies with neck trauma; Willow taps on her keyboard, but comes up empty. "But that's easy to find," says Anya. "That computer's a moron." And the truth-telling continues. But the computer does discover that there are ten people missing, mostly young, mostly girls. "So it's true," says Dawn. "What that vampire told Buffy turned out to be true." Oh, Dawn, those little wheels are turning so fast, but going nowhere. It proves nothing of the sort. So go play in traffic. Buffy says that only Spike knows for sure.

Spike's dressing for another lackluster night on the town. As he slides on his jacket, he seems to experience a strange pang. Sure enough, when he takes his cigarettes out of his coat pocket, he has a flashback -- to talking with the blonde girl at the Bronze, and then to the blonde girl lying dead on the ground. Back in his bedroom, Spike looks at the cigarettes as though they've just spoken to him, which they kind of have. He slips them back into his pocket and heads into the living/dining area of the apartment, where Xander's in front of the television, enjoying a beer and shoveling food into his mouth. Xander jumps up and blocks the door, saying, "Buffy was very clear about the not leaving of you." Spike knows why, and he wants to go out and prove her wrong. Xander stands firm, so Spike punches him in the face, winces in pain, and steps over Xander's now-unconscious form.

At the Bronze, Aimee Mann sings to an audience of about fourteen swaying people. Do these kids have any idea how lucky they are? The Breeders, and then Aimee Mann, in a tiny club with plenty of personal space. In the land of me, we go to concerts in crowded halls, get jostled while trying to drink our overpriced beers, and stand on tiptoe just to catch a glimpse of the band. Anyway, she's singing an exquisitely melodic song about self-loathing and other Mann-ish subjects, and looks kind of cute, if extremely angular, in jeans, a vertically striped jacket (red, white, and blue -- go team USA!), white shirt, and tie (though I'm not generally an advocate of ties on women -- yes, that means you, Avril Lavigne). She could totally be a vampire. Not liking so much the zoot suit and fedora on the guy to her. But then, he's playing guitar with Aimee Mann, and I'm not, so I'll just shut up now.

So she's singing, and Spike's asking around, trying to find the blonde in the denim suit, which he can't do, since she's dead and buried. No one remembers her -- not the Asian bartender, not the woman with pre-Raphaelite hair. Not surprising, since, truthfully, she wasn't that memorable. Spike's slipping, he is. Aimee sings; Spike glowers and heads upstairs. Buffy asks her cell phone, "He hit you?" On the line, Xander cops to a knockout, and says Spike's been gone for at least half an hour. As Buffy wonders where to, we're back at the Bronze. Spike sips from a flask and surveys the crowd below as a female voice beside him asks, "One of them take your wallet?" Oh, she's quite a number -- and I had no idea that brown people go to Aimee Mann shows! The world never ceases to amaze. She thinks he's watching the folks below like he's out for blood. Just looking for "a certain bird" from the other night, says Spike. Tonight's vixen asks if it might be her, as she leans down to caress Spike's arm -- dude, he really is a hoochie magnet these days. She gets a bit miffed when he tells her no, but doesn't quit. "Not even if I ask nice? Or are you the type that needs to be convinced?" she purrs, as she slinks over and sits down to Spike, who really just wants to be left alone.

Fat chance. A bit more flirty banter, and then, suddenly -- it's Blacula! She goes full vamp, asking if Spike wants to pick the crowd off one by one, or block the exits and get jiggy with it. Wondering what's up with Spike's wallflower act, she says, "You didn't seem so shy when you werebiting me." Spike looks confused and repulsed as she continues. She's not seeking an LTR -- just a little fun, she explains, eyeing an all-American dancing couple. "I take him, you take her. Or the other way around. Whatever," she suggests. Kinky and open-minded -- I love that in a blood-sucking demon. Not Spike, however. He grabs her shoulder, she lands a solid punch to his face, and he responds with a kick to the rack and an equally strong punch, which send her to the floor. She turns and asks, "Is that all I was to you? A one-bite stand?" Oh no, she di-in't. As two Latvian midgets in sequined thongs appear out of nowhere to bestow the Stupidest Line Of The Evening sash on this toothsome bit player, the camera cuts back to Aimee Mann, and then back to the fight, which continues in earnest. Aimee. Fight. Drummer. Fight. Aimee. Fight. And so on and so yawn, until Spike topples the hopefully mortified vampette over the railing and she crashes to the floor, exploding into a cloud of dust. The music grinds to a halt, as both band and crowd stare at the now empty space. Ever the showperson, Aimee starts playing and singing again, mesmerizing the crowd with her sonic spell, as Spike looks down from above, utterly perplexed.

Unable to resist the allure of Sunnydale's suddenly booming nightlife, Buffy strides to the front of a velvet-roped line. Generic techno seeps out of frosted glass doors. She heads for the doorman, but it's the bouncer (who I wish were DB Woodside moonlighting, but alas) who got this scene's speaking part. He opens the door and offers her entrance, since reed-like blonde things should never know the pain and humiliation of waiting in line, but she doesn't want to just sail inside -- she wants to flirt with the bouncer, thus ensuring immediate entrance at any moment in the future. She's tells Bouncer Boy that she's looking for Spike -- "bleach blond hair, leather jacket, British accent, kind of sallow, but in a hot way." Huh. I'm not sure I've ever heard her call Spike hot. But then, I'm not usually going over an episode with a fine-tooth (and oh so finely tuned) comb. And we're walking, we're walking. BB refers to Spike as a "Billy Idol wannabe," which inspires Buffy to reveal that "actually, Billy Idol stole his look from" The verging-on-annoyance expression on BB's face stops that remark cold; he wants to know if Spike's her boyfriend. He's not. Probably a good thing, since BB's seen Spike, who shows up often and leaves with a different girl every night. "How many girls?" asks Buffy. Look, says BB, lose the zero and get with a hero -- this blond bloke's "a real player." And Buffy Summers is nothing if not a player hater.

Back at the Bronze, Spike walks down a hall and turns a corner just as Aimee Mann and her band are leaving the stage -- or at least they're walking down some stairs. "Man, I hate playing vampire towns," says Mann. Is she talking to herself? I've been dreading that line for the entire episode, because it looked so stupid in last week's preview vignette. In context, it's not quite so grating, but I will take advantage of my soapbox for a moment to get all Richard Gere on a very important issue: the musical guest. The musical guest often does nothing of value for a show, unless completely interrupting the flow of an episode qualifies as "good." And actually having the musician speak is generally a terrible idea (three words: Mariah. Carey. Glitter. Oh, all right, six: Madonna. In. Anything.), and while I applaud the fact that no one was forced to exhibit false enthusiasm that Aimee Mann was coming to town, and that Aimee Mann doesn't stick around to help out, my advice is to stick with the singing. There, I've said my piece, and I feel good about it. Go Tibet!

Spike picks up a pay phone (another retro speaking device!), dials, and starts speaking without identifying himself. Where are your manners, mister? "Hello. It's me. I'm seeingI think I'm remembering. I think I've done some very bad things." Buffy wants to know where he is, and Spike tells her to come to a house in the Jewish section of town: 634 Hoffman Terrace. She'll meet him. Spike hangs up and walks past the other Spike. The unSpike. UnSpike tells Spike that he shouldn't have done that -- called Buffy, I'm assuming. "It's not time yet," says unSpike. "Not nearly. You're going against the plan." Calling Ruth Fisher! Spike adopts the perplexed look that's fast becoming his signature expression, as unSpike assures him that they can make other arrangements.

634 Hoffman Terrace looks lovely indeed, although the basement's all dank and cobwebby -- this is most likely "trouble," where Spike was digging earlier. Spike walks down the rickety wooden staircase, but Buffy's reluctant to descend, and stays at the top, clutching a stake. Well-founded reluctance -- Spike almost bumps into unSpike at the bottom of the stairs; apparently, Buffy can't see unSpike, as she doesn't make a snarky comment about cloning. UnSpike's worried about "an order, and the Slayer's not in order." Great, an anal big bad. Nevertheless, unSpike supports the idea of playing with Buffy, "get your claws in the mouse, you know." UnSpike is trite and annoying. "You are not here," says Spike -- which does seem to be the case, as Buffy's decided to venture down into the basement. Maybe the big bad is actually Spike himself, and the other him is simply an actualized metaphor for the war raging in his mind, the war between good and evil. Democrats and Republicans -- oh, wait, that would be evil vs. evil. Spike's noggin as microcosm.

"What do you want to show me?" inquires Buffy. Spike's remembering -- in addition to talking to girls, he walked them home. Sinner! "I think I killed the lady who lived here," he says. "And there might be others." Buffy's shocked, and, as usual, right. Spike thinks he buried them in this very basement -- he's done an amazing job, really. The floor is completely flat and resurfaced; there's no sign of any recent activity. If he ever gets tired of killing, or being professionally tormented, Spike could easily get work as a contractor -- maybe he could work for Xander. Buffy wants to know why. "Well, I don't know, do I," says Spike. "I don't even know how. I shouldn't be able" And then it starts. UnSpike begins to sing, some olde-sounding dirge about mornings and fair maidens. My eyes roll back into my head; the song has a related, but different, effect on Spike, who promptly changes into his bad vampire self and lunges for Buffy. Surprised, she raises her stake, but Spike tears it out of her hand and throws it into a cluster of bottles, shattering them. Buffy punches; Spike goes down, but grabs a shard of broken glass and lunges again, cutting Buffy's arm. She's both flummoxed and pissed. She kicks him, and pins him down. "Listen to me, Spike. You don't want to do this," she pleads. But evidently he does; the fight continues.

"And it's just about to get fun," says unSpike, watching from the sidelines, as hands thrust up from beneath the floor. Spike's freshly-minted victims crawl out of the ground and start attacking Buffy, and suddenly she's trapped in the middle of hell -- the "Thriller" video (the assailants do actually bear a striking resemblance to present-day Michael Jackson). Buffy defends herself as unSpike crouches down to Spike and hisses, "You know what I want you to do." The band of vamps manages to subdue Buffy, one holding each of her shoulders, as unSpike invites Spike to "take her, taste her, make her weak." Naughty. Spike saunters slowly toward Buffy as she begs him to stop; they stare each other down for a moment before he moves his lips toward her neck (good luck finding the flesh inside that massive cowl) and then to the cut on her arm. As he licks the blood from her wound, he flashes back to his recent kills. Still at Buffy's arm, Spike's changed back into human form -- as the flashbacks continue. He stands, glares at Buffy, and then suddenly realizes what he's done; the memory washes over him (we get the flashback sequence in double time, for good effect), and he staggers backward and falls to the floor, overcome by the weight of his responsibility. Buffy finds strength in his weakness and throws off her captors, quickly dispatching the lot of them with well-choreographed kicks and stakes, as unSpike stands over Spike, lording Spike's failure over him. "Now she's gonna kill you," he says, as Spike cowers.

After eradicating the band of vampires, Buffy sees another hand jut out of the floor. She walks over and pulls the latecomer out of its grave; no wonder it's slow, it's an older woman. "Sorry, ma'am, but it's my job," deadpans Buffy, as she stakes the matron. She turns and sees Spike, alone, curled up in the corner. She walks to him, stake in hand, as he looks up at her and pulls his jacket back from his shoulders. "Do it fast, okay," he says as she stares at him, silently disappointed. "He said you would do it," says Spike. Buffy wants to know who said that; Spike haltingly says that it was him, that "he saw it. He was here the whole time, talking and singing." Spike and I both cringe at the memory of unSpike's song. "What are you talking about?" Buffy wants to know, but Spike isn't sure. He can't remember, and starts yelling at the unseen unSpike, or into thin air, as Buffy realizes, "There's something here." She throws down the stake, as Spike begs her to kill him, since he can't get rid of his soul, and he can feel his victims. And it cuts like a knife.

Buffy kneels down in front of Spike. "There's something playing with us. All of us," she says, as Spike looks confused. Again. Buffy doesn't know what it is, or why it's doing what it's doing. Spike asks for her help, as unSpike sits on the stairs and shakes his head, dismayed by the wussiness of his bleach-blond plaything. That would be Spike, not Buffy.

Evidently, Spike's plea worked, since he now sits wrapped in a blanket at Buffy's house as she defends her decision to the gang. Buffy says he wasn't in control, and Xander cracks that an out-of-control serial killer is an ideal houseguest. Could Xander and Spike just have sex already? Coming out of her stupor, Dawn wants to know if Spike will be staying there. Buffy doesn't know, but she does know that she's not letting him out of her sight. "He's been feeding," says Willow, "on human blood. That's got to do stuff." Not sure she's got any right to jump on the judgment train at this juncture. Buffy explains that she's not just keeping him around to help him. I mean, duh, there's always an agenda, Willow. Haven't you learned anything over the past seven years? Buffy think there was something with them in that basement, "talking to him, making him do things." Oh, like Cassie the Unfriendly Ghost, says Willow. Shut up, Xander. Buffy says that whatever has been screwing with them has turned it up to eleven with Spike, and she wants to know everything there is to know about this evil so she can figure out a way to fight it. To do that, "I'm gonna have to get close to Spike." Shut up, Xander. "It's bad," says Buffy, "and it's only getting worse." Until last week, I'd have said that was an apt description of this season, but I'm willing to forgive and forget. This episode wasn't great, but it didn't suck either. So perhaps there's still hope.

Back on Soundstage London, England, Giles throws open the door, walks in, and sees Nora/Laura lying on the floor. He starts yelling, "Robson," and then sees BG lying on the floor, head propped against an easy chair. Giles does the "Giles" (takes off his glasses and bows his head) as Robson's eyes flutter open and he moans, "Gather them. It's started." Giles begins to blather something pseudo-comforting as one of the black-clad assassins appears behind him, raises a giant axe, and swings toward Giles's neck. The blade slices through the air, and the screen goes black. Wow. Might Giles actually bite the big one? As I ponder that, I really don't want to have my nose rubbed in the fact that promotional consideration was furnished by Aimee Mann's record label. Of course they paid -- why broadcast it? What's ? A big white screen that says "This Space Available," with Joss Whedon's phone number?