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SPIKE: You listen to me. I’ve been alive a bit longer than you and dead a lot longer than that. I’ve seen things you couldn’t imagine and done things I’d prefer you didn’t. I don’t exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood which doesn’t exactly rush in the direction of my brain so I make a lot of mistakes. A lot of wrong bloody calls. A hundred plus years and there’s only one thing I’ve ever been sure of. You. Hey, look at me. I’m not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it’s not because I want you, or because I can’t have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You are a hell of a woman. You’re the one, Buffy.
BUFFY: (teary) I don’t want to be the one.
SPIKE: I don’t want to be this good-looking and athletic. We all have crosses to bear. (she smiles) You get some rest now. I’ll check in before first light. You can decide how you want—
BUFFY: Spike?
BUFFY: Could you stay here?
SPIKE: Sure. That diabolical torture device, the comfy chair. Do me fine.
BUFFY: No. I mean… here. Will you just hold me?