Dead Men Walking - 2

The atmosphere between them changed noticeably after this conversation. Although they now trod warily around certain issues, they felt a companionship previously unfelt. Giles suddenly realised that having the journals made Spike's role in the project almost redundant, but he thought about the coming two weeks and said nothing of this to Spike.

By the evening, Spike was becoming restless. He glanced every so often at the darkening sky, clearly feeling the confinement. Eventually Giles took the hint and pushed the papers away from him, albeit with one last glance at a particularly interesting paragraph. 'I suppose you plan on going out tonight, Spike.' Giles' voice was almost wistful. What did he want… to socialise as well as work with a vampire?

'Hmm.' Spike hardly seemed to be listening; he was standing idly tracing a pattern across the small leaded pane of the window.

'Well, I've heard there are some rather lively spots in Bath… University town and all that….' He only just caught Spike's soft, sad reply.

'Won't be going there then… not being all that lively. Being dead, in fact.'

Spike heard a low snort from Giles and turned. 'Feeling sorry for yourself, Spike?'

Spike was, but he was damned if he was going to admit it. 'Just stating the obvious, watcher.'

Giles came over to stand by him in the window. He did not know what had brought on this strange depression of spirits in the normally ebullient vampire, but he felt it was genuine, and this worried him more than he cared to admit. He looked at Spike's profile as he spoke. 'Spike, what is the definition of life?'

'Ehh….' Spike gave him a puzzled look.

'Life… what does something have to do to be considered alive?'

'How the fucking hell should I know? Shag, smoke, and swear?'

Giles smiled. 'Very amusing, Spike. No, funnily enough, it's rather more prosaic than that. At one time it was thought that all you had to be able to do was ingest, excrete, reproduce, breathe and move….'

Spike raised his eyebrows in mock horror and interrupted, 'Two outa five, you git! Are you trying to cheer me up or make me stake meself?'

'Spike, you can breathe… all right, you don't have to, but you do… a lot. You've been breathing while we've being working today; I've been listening to you. And this may surprise you, but there are verifiable accounts of vampires reproducing, too.'

Spike looked genuinely aghast at this. 'Fuck. What the hell was spawned out of those little rolls in the hay then?'

'I don't know; the records don't show unfortunately. But it has happened. So, even on the narrow definition I gave you, you're up to four and, believe me, you aren't missing much with the fifth. But Spike, it's much more complicated that that. Think about viruses….'

Spike's horror was becoming less and less feigned. 'Hey! Are you comparing me to a soddin' virus?'

'Oh shut up, will you? Viruses don't really do any of the things you can do, have even fewer of the requisites, and they are thought to be alive… all I'm trying to say, Spike, is that there is more to life than is dreamt of in our philosophy. I've had to revise some of my more ingrained beliefs since meeting… since… all right; I admit it. Since meeting you. From where I stand, you seem very alive indeed.'

Given their earlier conversation, they both knew that this last declaration was an open door through which Spike could walk if he chose. He took a long drag of his cigarette, blew a cloud of smoke between them, and grinned. 'One hour, back here, and ready to go.'

'What, me?'

'Yeah.' Spike leant close to Giles, stubbed his cigarette out in a saucer, and said with a laugh, 'I'm taking you out, pet.'

Giles couldn't have said which thought flicked through his mind first, "Oh God, some raucous, ghastly pub", or "Is this a date?"

Showered and changed, he met Spike at the appointed time. Spike almost seemed to have armoured himself against something. He had it all on: the duster, the leather jeans, the jewellery, and the Docs. He looked hard and mean. They could not have made a more unlikely pair.

'So, where are we going, Spike?'

Spike smiled, and the tip of his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. 'On an illustrated history lesson. Thought you might want to see where Dru went for real - what she did.'

Giles was stunned once more. 'Drusilla came to Bath?'

'We all did, mate. We followed the seasons, following the food. When the season started in Bath, we came.'

'We?'

Spike looked him in the eye steadfastly. 'Me, Dru, Darla and… Angelus. The family.'

Giles was glad he drove; it gave him an excuse not to talk. Spike sat quietly, too, chain smoking and biting his nails. They parked in the city centre, and Spike started to walk purposefully away. Giles jogged to catch up with him, a little annoyed at Spike's assumption he would just follow. 'So, where are we going first?'

Spike grinned a small, evil grin. 'Church, Giles. We're going to church.'

Spike took them unerringly towards the great abbey. Giles caught hold of his sleeve. 'You can't, can you?'

'I can go in, yeah. Have to be careful what I touch, but I can go in. Great feeding grounds, churches… all those bowed heads, exposed necks, and quiet confessionals. It's great.'

The abbey was almost deserted, only a last few tourists wandering around. Spike strode down one aisle, disappearing into the gloom. Giles felt furtive, as if he were smuggling or shoplifting something… in reverse. He was bringing a demon into this sacred house of God. Even for an agnostic, it felt wrong. He didn't personally think Spike looked at all wrong tonight, but coming here had shaken his complacency about his houseguest a little. It was almost as if Spike deliberately wanted to challenge Giles' easy hospitality and remind him what he was under the deceptive skin.

He caught up with Spike in the Chantry Chapel. He was lying on his stomach, looking for something under one of the stone carvings that lined the walls. Suddenly he chuckled and beckoned to Giles. 'There, look.'

Giles glanced around to ensure they were alone, then knelt alongside Spike and looked where he was indicating. A large 'D' had been inexpertly carved into the soft Bath stone.

Giles looked at Spike. 'You're not telling me Drusilla did that… here?'

'She sure did.'

'Why under there?'

'She was on 'er back. I was shagging 'er at the time.'

Giles reared back, horrified. 'No!'

Spike shrugged. 'Demon, remember? I told you… dead. 'Sides, it's fun… shagging in churches. Wanna try it with me sometime?'

Spike didn't wait for a reaction to this, but strode off again, clearly looking for something else. Giles sat on his heels for a moment, bewildered. He was not one to lie to himself. He knew that the only part of Spike's offer that had revolted him had been the thought of doing it in the abbey. The thought of… sleeping with Spike had not revolted him at all.

He followed slowly, looking for the demon, and found it in another dark corner, inspecting the side of a tomb. However hard he tried to think of Spike this way, though, Giles just couldn't. Spike was still Spike.

Giles stood next to him and ran his hands over the damaged effigy lying on the tomb. Spike suddenly reached out, took Giles' hand and guided it to some faint scratches on the pillar. 'There, look, that's me.'

Giles was concentrating so hard on the feel of cool fingers on his that he hardly heard what Spike had said. 'What? You did that?'

'No, it's meant to be me. It's a tiny stick figure… if you look closely… squint a bit… use your imagination….' He smiled fondly at some memory. 'He didn't have long to do it, see. Said he couldn't get it anatomically correct.'

Giles reluctantly took his hand out of Spike's and said quietly, 'Angelus carved that?'

'Uh huh.'

'A stick figure you.'

'Us. That's him alongside me.'

Giles looked once more at the faint marks in wonder and ran his finger over them. 'What's he doing?'

Spike's voice was so low, Giles had to strain to hear his reply. 'For once, pet… nothing. He just said I looked lonely, so he added himself.'

Giles looked at Spike in the deepening gloom. 'It makes you sad looking at it?'

'Well, it's all gone, isn't it? It was my 'life', and it's all gone.'

'Well, he's not really gone… Angel's only two hours….'

He never finished. Spike stormed off, and Giles spent some time wandering around trying to find him. He eventually spotted the blond hair shining in the light of a flickering candle and made his way over to where Spike was standing, looking at a small, rough, wooden cross.

When he knew Giles was looking, he stretched out and took it in his hand. The sound of roasting flesh made Giles' skin creep, and a wave of nausea washed over him at the smell. He hit Spike's hand away and spoke furiously to him in a low voice. 'What the hell, Spike?'

'See, Watcher?' Spike held up his blistered palm. 'See? More than two hours. He's so much more than two hours away from me.'

Giles started to reply as best he could to this, but Spike stormed off once more. Giles followed him out of the abbey, across the square, and over to a small pub. When he got to the bar, Spike wheeled around and stuck out his good hand, his voice desperate. 'Can I have an advance?'

Giles put a light, reassuring hand on Spike's arm. 'Sit down, I'm buying… you can owe me if you want, okay?'

Spike nodded and sat in a dark corner. He did not speak again until he had downed a considerable number of pints of the rich, murky beer. Giles watched the almost desperate concentration on Spike's face as he drank. Like the external armour of his clothes, Spike also seemed to need this internal armour against the world. Eventually, realising that if he left it any longer Spike might become insensible to rational thought, he risked a quiet question. 'Are you going to tell me what this is all about?' He took Spike's hand gently in his and turned it over, wincing at the raw flesh.

Spike did not pull his hand away but looked Giles intently in the eyes.

'Your father died last year, didn't he?'

Giles looked up, surprised at the abrupt change of subject, and surprised that Spike knew this. He had only told Anya to explain his two-week absence from the shop. He nodded sadly at Spike.

'Well, what if I told you he was still alive, Giles… young and vital. Would you be pleased?'

'Don't do this, Spike, please.'

Spike continued as if Giles had not spoken. 'You'd be desperate to go to him, wouldn't you? He'd love you and want you and care for you like no one else. You'd feel like a little boy again, safe and protected.'

'Stop it, Spike, for God's sake.'

Spike paused this time, but he did not stop. 'But when you got to him… when he saw you… you revolted him, he spat on you… he hated you… even tried to kill you. Wouldn't matter too much then if he was only two hours away, would it Giles?'

He tried to get up and leave, but Giles put a restraining hand on his arm. 'Sit down, Spike.'

Spike's legs just seemed to buckle under him, and he sat heavily down on the old wooden bench. Giles got up to buy another round, keeping a wary eye on Spike to make sure he did not bolt. He was only drinking to keep Spike company and already felt light-headed. He was bemused by Spike's behaviour, utterly at a loss as to how to help him. He had brought Spike here to get his help, not the other way around. He thought anxiously about the amount of work they still had to do, pictured his living room with the hundreds of books scattered around… and had something of a revelation. He had the beginnings of an idea how he might help Spike.

He carried the drinks back to the table and pushed one glass over to the distracted vampire. Spike looked up at him. Giles thought for a moment he saw the glistening of unshed tears in his eyes, but thought this unlikely, so just indicated the beers with a wave of his hand. 'Come on, Spike, drink up.'

'You shouldn't be here, drinking with me.'

'And how do you work that out, Spike.'

'I'm not what you think you see when you look at me.'

'I know that.'

'This body died a long time ago. It's just kept upright by the demon inside it, Giles. I have no real memories; the demon just uses this body's old thoughts as its own. That's all I am.'

That was the final straw for Giles. He'd put up with this introspection for long enough. He put his glass down, carefully and slowly, on the old stained table and suddenly took Spike's face between his hands. Spike was genuinely shocked and tried to pull away, but Giles' grip was surprisingly strong. He made Spike look at him and said with incredible distinction. 'We both know that that is bloody nonsense.'

Spike finally pulled away and slid further down the bench so Giles could not reach him again. He rubbed at his damaged cheekbone to try and make Giles feel guilty, saw the ploy wasn't working, so merely pursed his lips and said neutrally. 'I don't know what you mean.'

Giles laughed. 'Yes you do, Spike, you know exactly what I mean, but you won't argue it with me. Vampires never will.'

'Fuck you, watcher. Don't be so bloody smug.'

'Well, come off it, Spike; it's me, remember? I not only know you pretty well, I know a hell of a lot about vampires.'

Spike spoke with gritted teeth. 'I've heard you say it yourself enough times, Giles. "Don't think Spike is human; he's just a demon using a dead man's body… using the corpse's memories".'

'Yes, but I was talking to teenagers, Spike. I was talking to people with no conception of ambiguity. They needed certainties: black and white. They had to believe in what they were doing. Vampire equals evil… human equals good. Vampire, dead… human, alive. You know very well that it is far more complex than that. You are a lot more complex than a dead body reanimated by a demon….' Spike was about to interrupt this and irrationally defend the cause of his depression, when Giles subtly added. 'I think Angel rather proves my point, don't you?'

Spike flung his head back. 'Don't speak of him, Giles.'

'I think we've done nothing else but speak of him since you arrived, Spike, although neither of us has actually named him.'

'Shut up, shut up, shut up.' Spike wished he could put his hands over his ears, too, but didn't want to look quite that stupid.

'You know talking about Angel is hardly easy for me either, Spike. I don't do this lightly. How can what you say be true, if Angel can just have his soul restored? He's clearly more than a dead body with a demon and a patched-on soul. He has become….'

'A poof?'

They both smiled, and some of the tension dissipated in those wry looks. 'I can't answer for that, Spike, but given some of the things Angelus did to me… but then you know that, don't you. You watched most of it.'

'Stopped it though, didn't I?'

'Hmm, for totally altruistic reasons, of course.'

Spike grinned openly now, 'Totally. But I don't see how Angel being a poof should make me feel less dead.'

'Stop being obtuse, Spike. It's difficult enough discussing metaphysics without you clowning around.'

'Think I'd rather be depressed than this.'

'So, you don't want me to go to the council's headquarters this weekend and look at some new research on Angel's soul?'

'Research… on Angel?'

Giles smiled now. 'They've been doing a secret study on Angel's soul and its implications for demonology. He is unique, after all. When I went to borrow the books I have now, I heard on the grapevine that the paper is finished. It's all highly top secret of course. Can't have that sort of thing getting out in the demon world. Everyone might want a soul. So, even I can't officially see it, but I could… unofficially.'

'And why would I want to know any thing about Angel and his poofy soul?'

'Why do you think I am so convinced that our old beliefs about vampires - demons merely taking over corpses and such like - are wrong? It's all discussed in the paper, with conclusions! We've been gossiping about nothing else for months in the watchers' circles.'

'You're telling me that this paper proves I'm alive?'

'Good grief, Spike, don't take up academic research, will you? No, that's a bit of a leap I'm afraid. But essentially, I think it will shed considerable light on the subject. Suffice to say, you might be able to go back to Buffy and say 'up yours'… in a more constructive way than you have been saying 'up yours' to her recently.'

Spike's look of amazed outrage was so human that Giles smiled ruefully at his earlier attempts to think of him as an 'it'. He reached out and laid one soft finger on the still swollen cheekbone. 'Sometimes, Spike, you say it loudest when you say nothing at all.'

With that, he stood up and made his way slowly, on foot, back to his flat. He knew Spike was trailing some way behind but made no effort to wait for him. He left the front door ajar and heard Spike come in and go immediately into his own room, slamming the door in yet another oh-so-human mannerism. Giles smiled at the thought of Spike as a sulky teenager but doubted his houseguest would appreciate the humour.

Spike was still sulking the next day and did not get up until after lunch. Giles would have stayed in bed, too; his head throbbed, and his throat was raw from sharing Spike's smoke all night. He was too old, however, to lie in bed during the day and too young to not to notice one way or the other.

He did a little work, read some more of the journals and made a few notes, but his mind repeatedly returned to his promise to visit the headquarters that weekend. He had a good excuse to go, needing to return some of the books that were overdue. He finally heard Spike moving around in the kitchen and went in to find him downing several pints of the blood he had bought for him. The sight still revolted him no matter how many times he had seen it. Spike seemed to sense this and made a show of licking his lips, dipped one finger into the thick, cold fluid and sucked it provocatively. Giles huffed and put the kettle on.

'What time do the shops shut here?'

Giles was startled by yet another of Spike's strange out-of-the-blue questions. 'I don't know really, five, five thirty, why?'

'Still light then.'

'Well yes, but there's late night shopping tonight; it's Thursday. What do you want?'

Spike made a vague reply and distracted Giles by asking an intelligent question about the research. He could occasionally think of one.

They sort of worked all afternoon. Giles wrote up his notes from the previous day; Spike made houses out of the books and flipped through them for illicit pictures of demon sexual practices. As most of these were black and white lithographs, reproduced badly for the books, he was more aroused by the tea Giles kept flowing than by anything remotely interesting on the pages. He yawned. He complained. He turned on the television. He dozed, and he drank endless cups of the scalding, strong liquid. Giles wondered if he was trying to achieve the fifth qualification for life, but didn't risk the ribald comments that would probably follow if he enquired.

When it got dark, Spike went to his room to fetch his duster and came back hesitantly to Giles. He didn't have to ask a second time; Giles handed him a considerable stack of notes. Spike looked at the money in his hand, and then up at Giles. He gave a very genuine smile. 'Sorry, mate. I've not really earned this today.'

'You brought the journals, Spike. It was enough.'

Spike perked up a bit. 'Oh, yeah… so I did. Right, I'll be off. See ya!'

Giles did not see Spike again until Friday evening. He had packed a weekend bag, planning on making the visit to the council last until Sunday. He rather enjoyed the atmosphere of the watchers' inner sanctum and looked forward to a couple of hearty breakfasts and the morning papers served on best silver in the impressive dinning room. He stood outside Spike's door, hesitating, then decided to just leave him a note and go. He went into the kitchen to find some paper when he heard Spike's door open.

He turned and couldn't help saying in shock, 'Bloody hell!'

Spike had been shopping. He stood in the hallway, bag also packed, dressed in flannels and a sports jacket… for all the world as if he had just stepped out of a rather good regimental do. He even had on an old school tie and polished, black shoes.

'Bloody hell.' Giles repeated. 'Err… and… you are.…'

'I'm your research assistant, Mr Giles, have you forgotten?'

Giles started to laugh.

'Hey, what the friggin' hell are you laughing at? Took me fucking ages to buy all this crap.'

'No.…' Giles had to wipe his eyes. 'No, you look really… sorry… it's just….' He tried desperately to sober up. 'Err… maybe lose the thumb ring, Spike?'

Spike just shrugged and took it off, but Giles realised he had started with the wrong point. 'No, Spike, I mean... you aren't coming with me; if that's what you think. It's out of the question. I'm not taking William the Bloody into the innermost heart of the Watchers' Council. It's worse than the abbey, and that was bad enough. So, sorry, you'd better change and maybe you could take some of that kit back.'

'Fuck off, I am coming.'

'No, you are not.'

Spike put his most stubborn look on his face. 'Have you ever heard of the bleeding data protection act?'

Giles looked wary. 'No, and neither have you.'

'Hah… that's where you are wrong, watcher. I have, and it's illegal to hold any info on a bloke that he can't see. I'm mentioned in that research - I want to see it.'

'Spike, the data protection act does not apply to the dead.'

'Hah! Hah!' Spike was beside himself now. 'You've just proved it, you git… I am dead. See! Bloody hypocrite you are. All that reassuring, Gilesy talk last night, all that.… "Oh, you're not really dead, Spike… I really fancy you… and I want to shag you" talk was just bloody bollocks to get in me trousers, wasn't it?'

'What? What? How dare you! I said no such thing. I did not imply that. I do not want to… good grief, the very thought… it's revolting. I mean… I don't think you are dead… not completely - as I said, it's complex… it's difficult. You are not dead per se….'

'Well, there you are then, I'm covered under the act, and I'm coming,' and with that he picked up both bags and made his way to the car, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Giles was furious. He'd been out-manoeuvred by Spike, and he knew it. He refused to speak for the first hour of the trip, but then said rather cattily, 'That tie looks utterly ridiculous on you; there's bound to be a genuine old boy at dinner tonight. You'll sound as foolish as you bloody look.'

'Uh huh, you think so?'

'I hope he does give you the third degree.'

'Well, my knowledge may be a bit out-of-date, but I think I'll be able to hold me own.'

Giles turned to him, attempting at the same time to keep his eyes on the road. 'Are you actually trying to tell me that you are an old Harrovian?'

Spike turned slightly in his seat, leaning nonchalantly against the door and lit a cigarette. He raised one eyebrow at Giles in a challenging manner. 'Are you so sure that I'm not?'

Suddenly on unsafe ground, Giles pouted slightly and turned back to the road. Spike laughed. This set Giles off again. 'If you're supposed to be my research assistant, you'd better start being a damn sight more humble and obsequious than that. I want major creeping this weekend… you can bloody well lick my boots for this.'

'Okay, Giles. You let me know what you want licking, and I'll oblige.'

Out-manoeuvred once more, Giles resorted to angry silence. He could not rightly have said whether he was angrier at Spike for being so manipulative, or at himself for having unwanted thoughts about Spike's tongue.

The silence in the car became almost unbearable, but before Giles could attempt some neutral comment on the state of the traffic, Spike looked away out of the window and said deliberately, 'So, how did you know it was her?'

Giles felt relief flood through him. He had not really wanted to spend the entire weekend avoiding Spike or being icily polite to him. He had almost reconciled himself to Spike's company, and now they could lighten the atmosphere between them once more.

He looked over at Spike. 'I didn't really; I just suspected it might be. Do you want to tell me what happened?'

Spike did not reply immediately. He took his time taking out another cigarette, lighting it and taking long, soothing drags. He continued to stare out of his window, and Giles decided not to push him for an answer until he was ready. He glanced across at him every once in a while. He looked at the immaculate garb, marvelled at the fit on the slim body. Spike certainly looked the part, looked almost too good: the crisp, cream flannels clinging to his hard thighs, the jacket loose fitting and casual over the starched shirt. Giles smiled at the tie once again. It even looked slightly worn, but Giles did not put it past Spike to have engineered this to fit his purpose. He was almost sure that Spike was taking the proverbial about being at Harrow, but he couldn't be sure enough to question him on it further.

Finally, Spike took a deep, reflexive sigh and said with a studied air of calm, 'We finally got it together, Giles, and it just made the gulf between us like a bleedin' chasm. Every time she… every time we did it, it disgusted her more, 'til she couldn't take it any longer, and I think she wanted to cleanse herself.' He touched his swollen face gently. 'This did the job for her, I guess.'

Giles didn't know what to say. He wondered if Buffy would give such a generous account of their relationship, if asked. The depression in Spike's spirits seemed very understandable now: he had taken all her hatred and all her disgust into himself. Giles could have wept for the stupidity of it all.

He saw that Spike didn't really expect or need a reply, so kept his own counsel but, after a few more miles, he was startled out of his reverie by another quiet question. 'Giles, with all your knowledge as a watcher, what do you think a soul is?'

Giles turned to the expressive, insistent face. 'You don't beat around the bush, do you, Spike?'

'Can't afford to, pet. So, are you going to answer?'

'I'm not sure I can. I'd be a theologian, Spike, if I could give you an answer to that, not a mere watcher.'

'But you must have some idea; you must have thought about it.'

'I read once that we are not humans on a spiritual path but spirits on a human one. Makes your condition rather more interesting, wouldn't you say? What do you think it is?'

Spike laughed… the first genuine sound of pleasure from him for a long time. 'Touché, watcher. Okay, obviously I think about it… a lot in fact. I'd say it was conscience, except I think I've got one of those… when I want one. People I love, I won't hurt… I'd die for even. So guess it's not conscience. Maybe it's the selective nature of my love that rules out my conscience being a soul. Maybe if I loved everyone, then I'd have that elusive soul.'

'But no human loves everyone.'

'I know, I know. But maybe you all have some latitude to start with. You're human, so you get a head start: a kind of 'get out of jail free' card. You can be pretty shit but still have a soul. I'd have to be perfect… a bleedin' saint before I qualified.'

'Like Angel, you mean.'

'Huh… he's no saint.'

'He tries to be, doesn't he?'

'No, I think his soul just makes him fucking miserable when he can't live up to his own expectations.'

'Maybe that's it, then. Maybe a soul is the level of unhappiness we can give ourselves.'

'Oh, fucking hell, I'm still confused then, cus I've been doing a right self-flagellation job recently.'

'I've noticed.'

'Yeah well, it's not everyday I get me bleedin' heart… I get shat on.'

'Do you think all humans have a soul, Spike?'

'What do you mean? 'Course they do.'

'Do they? You've lived a long time; you must have seen things most of us don't even want to imagine.'

Spike looked thoughtfully at Giles and considered his answer. 'I've seen some things in war I'd rather forget, yes.'

'Done by humans?'

'Yeah, I would like to qualify that with 'sort of human', but I can't. Who knows, maybe they were demons.'

'No cop-outs, Spike. They were human. So, where does that leave you?'

Spike laughed. 'Hey, thanks for answering my question so thoroughly then, watcher.'

Giles turned and smiled at him. 'I think I'll do a chapter on you in my book.'

Spike looked aghast. 'What, in a book about bloody female religious shit? Don't you dare! I'd never be able to hold me head up again.'

'What, at old school reunions?'

Spike looked sideward at Giles and laughed. 'Exactly.'

They both enjoyed the rest of the trip. They chatted easily about the old days in Sunnydale. Spike brought Giles up to date on the various intrigues and love lives of his old friends; Giles chatted about the council, and told Spike what to expect when they got there.

Spike grinned at him. 'So, you looking forward to shafting the council then?'

'What on earth do you mean?'

'Oh, come on, mate. They came to Sunnydale, pushed you around, sacked you, ran you down, and now you smuggle William the Bloody into their sanctuary under their very scrotums. Don't tell me you don't enjoy the thought of that.'

'Spike, I can honestly say, I've never, ever thought about a single council scrotum. And that is the truth!'