Spike kneels in front of her and persists in continuing, saying he's seen and done many things over the years while he was running around following the calls of his groin. Nope, not making that up. "A hundred plus years and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of," he concludes. Put your underpants on before your trousers? Nope. It's Buffy. Pity. The little bit of advice I just gave you is far more reliable. Spike claims to not want anything from Buffy, which is apparently why the writers have forged this exclusive connection from them this season. Bah, I don't believe he doesn't. Also, if we all went around rejecting everyone who seemed to want things from us, we'd have sad, empty lives indeed. I have people I love and am close to. I do, however, expect them to treat me with respect. See me as a person, try to understand my point of view. And I am willing and eager to do all those things for them. So it seems to me that Buffy avoids the love of people who seem to want things, not because she's afraid they'll die or of the burden of them, but because she doesn't want to have to give in return. Poor, sad, miserly Buffy. See Spike. See Spike love Buffy. See Spike love Buffy for what she is, what she does, and how she tries. See Spike love an entirely different Buffy than the one broadcast to millions of households week after week. "I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and worst of you." The love they share seems to go nowhere. He gave her all a boy could give her. She took his tears and that's not nearly all. He tells her she's "a hell of a woman," and I laugh out loud. Is she a "foxy lady" too, Romeo? Cripes. Buffy squeezes out a lone tear. "You're the one, Buffy." Oh God! He's still kneeling. Please tell me he isn't going to propose! He doesn't have a little black velvet box in his coat pocket, does he? Diamonds, like vampires, are forever, you know. Phew, okay. He didn't propose. Buffy murmurs in her little-girl-lost voice, "I don' wanna be the one." God, it just makes me want to smack her. "I don't want to be this good-looking and athletic. We all have crosses to bear," retorts Spike. He rises from his knees to take his leave, but Buffy asks him to stay. Losing the coat, he prepares to make his night on the comfy chair. He even quotes a little Monty Python, but my icy heart does not melt. There seems to be a misunderstanding, though, because what Buffy wants is for Spike to lie next to her and hold her. Buffy reaches into her overnight bag and pulls out her "I'm using you" t-shirt. "Good thing I brought this along," she chirps. Run away, Spike! You've got to get away. Alas, he doesn't hear me. Or he just doesn't care.
Oh, yay! Back to a scene with two characters I actually like. The First Mayor is still working his psychological mojo on Faith. "Deep down you always wanted Buffy to accept you, to love you even. Why do you think that is?" he smiles. "You a shrink now?" snaps Faith. The Mayor tells her she won't find acceptance with the Scooby gang. "The truth is, nobody will ever love you. Not the way I love you," needles the Mayor. Faith tells The Mayor to scram. "They'll always see you as a killer," he continues, undaunted. "I'll always be with you, firecracker. In every-thing you do." He blips out. Ooh. His delivery on that last line was both comforting and creepy. Say what you will about the acting prowess of James Marsters, but the real Emmy crime is that Harry G. was never nominated. The Mayor in the hands of a lesser actor -- Clare Kramer, say -- would never have achieved the emotional resonance so crucial to the success of this character.