"What you wanted, right, pet?" he muttered. "Me, not me."
"I didn't want you to be crazy. Never asked you for this. Not a soul."
"Evil soulless thing. What you said, innit? Evil, soulless thing." The fingernails of his right hand bit into the skin on the top of his left. "Not soulless, now. Maybe evil. Not soulless."
She reached for his cheek with her fingertips, but he flinched back. "Spike, we have to talk about this. You can't stay like this. It's not healthy."
He started to giggle. "Healthy," he chortled. "When were we ever healthy?"
"Please, Spike. Just come with me. Get out of here. You'll never get better if you stay here."
Spike looked over her shoulder at the approaching figure. Her face was set and severe, her fists balled tight. "Oh, there you are," he stated. "Makes sense, now."
Buffy stared at him. "I've been here for ten minutes. And what makes sense? I'd love for something to make sense."
The second Buffy glared at him. "I've had enough of this. Stay or not. Just stay away from me. I work here, now. I can't be looking after you. I have enough to do."
Tears filled Spike's eyes. "I know. Know you don't care. But I don't know where to go."
"Don't tell me how I feel," the first Buffy complained.
"Wasn't talking to you. Talking to her. The real Buffy." Spike pointed over her shoulder to the darkly clad blonde.
Buffy looked back over her shoulder. "Spike, there's nobody there. Just us. Me and you."
Spike squeezed her hand. "You seem so real. You always feel so real. You and Dru, Adam and Glory. So real." His head slumped to his chest. "But you can go, now. Fade away. I'm tired." He gestured to the hallway. "And real Buffy wants to play now. I'm so tired."
The first Buffy sat beside him, holding his hand. "But Spike, there's really nobody there."
"I don't care anymore," he whispered. "I don't care."
Dark clad Buffy crossed her arms, triumph on her face.