Thanks to everyone who read and Big Bad Thanks to everyone who took the time to review. Reviews are always welcome.
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Disclaimer: Joss said I could borrow Spike for the night. What do you think? Should I take him up on the offer? Joss owns and rules the story, the character and the rights.
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Last week on WWHH? Buffybot observed that Giles has really bad taste in clothes. She went to visit her friends, Willow and Tara. I don't think they liked getting a visit at 3:00 a.m., but hey, what are friends for? *** Buffy tested her Spikebot thoroughly. *** Spike found out that he has a chance if only he'd quit tricking Buffy into stuff. Oops.
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Chapter 8 - Strawberry Clueage


The sun was peeking above the eastern mountain ridge when Spike’s empty stomach growled and woke him up. Buffy sprawled on his chest, her golden hair tangled and fanned out on her pillow, her hand resting on his hand, her legs wrapped around his. Her lacy white bra and white nurse’s stockings were knotted around his neck. He’d never dreamed he would be in her bed holding her like this, not to mention all the other things they’d done and said last night. He’d never dreamed the Slayer snored so much, either.

It nearly killed him, picking the locks on the handcuffs and pulling himself out of the sleeping Buffy’s arms, but he was starving. If he didn’t get some blood soon, he’d pass out. He kissed her lips softly so she wouldn’t wake up, dressed and slipped down the stairs. The handle of the front door was in his hand and his coat was over his head when he heard a noise in the kitchen.

He crept through the dining room hoping to surprise whatever beastie was lurking in Buffy’s kitchen, and puffed a sigh of relief when he saw Dawn. He turned to sneak out to avoid a confrontation with Little Sis, who was too smart for anybody’s good.

“Spike! What are you doing here? Does Buffy know you’re skulking around our house? How’d you get in, anyway? Willow made you vampira non grata after you chained Buffy up in your crypt.”

“I’ll have you know, Fangsome …” Just in time, he remembered he was supposed to be a robot and not the real Spike. “You are Buffy’s sister, Dawn.”

Dawn got down off the kitchen stool where she’d been eating a tasty breakfast of Count Chocula cereal puffs. She licked off her spoon and boinked Spike on the head. “You’re the Spikebot, aren’t you?”

“Ow! I don’t think I’m a robot.” He had to get out of here.

“Are you like Buffy’s personal slave? Do you have to do anything she says?”

“I bloody hell do n -- too have to help the Slayer in her Slaying duties.”

Dawn walked around Spike and tapped her spoon on her hand. “Are you a sexbot, like the Buffybot? Did you have sex with Buffy? Cause that is so cool in a totally gross kind of way. Why’s your hair standing up all crazy? Can I see your manly parts? I never saw a robot’s manly parts before. Or a manly man’s parts for that matter.”

Spike spluttered, “You can not – that does not compute.”

Dawn smirked. “How about me? Are you my personal slave, too?”

Spike eyed the back door with longing. If only he could douse himself with another spray of the suntan stuff Warren gave him, he could run out the back door and escape the Dawn Devil before she figured out he was the dead flesh and blood Spike and not Buffy’s damn cyborg boy toy.

Dawn poked him in the belly with her spoon. “Make me a poptart, Spikebot. I command you.”

Spike picked up the box of strawberry poptarts next to Dawn’s cereal bowl and dropped one in the toaster. He pushed the lever and waited. The toaster smoked.

Dawn snuck up right behind him. “Poptarts are a delicious radioactive treat that come in many flavors,” she said. “You can use them to make blowtorches.”

Blowtorches? Buffy’s sister was unbelievably scary, without half trying.

“Poptart is slang for slutty girls, too.”

Spike choked. Where did she learn stuff like that? The toaster ejected the flaming tart in a smooth arc three feet above the countertop. Spike caught the flying tart and swore as it burned his hands. “Bleeding Christ!” He dropped the poptart on a plate. He composed himself and handed it to Dawn.

“Here is your flat, rectangular toaster pastry. It is Evil,” he said in his robot voice.

Dawn pinched off the crispy corners while she waited for the poptart to cool enough to eat. “She’s going to kick your ass to the Cleveland Hellmouth, you know.”

Spike sighed. Should have known Niblet would suss him out in a dead man’s heartbeat. “How’d you know?”

“No reflection in the toaster, dumbass.”

“Swell. I’ve got to go home.”

“When are you going to tell her?”

“Tell her? Are you off your gourd? She’ll cut my head off with a Weed Whacker.”

“She’s going to find out. She’s not stupid, well she is pretty stupid, but eventually Buffy will figure out you aren’t the world’s largest walking, talking vibrator.”

“Where did you learn to talk like that? Are you going to tell?”

Dawn bit off a hunk of poptart and chewed while she thought about it. “Yeah, pretty much have to tell her. Normally, I wouldn’t squeal you out, you know if you were just stealing Giles’s booze or cheating at dominoes, but you’re doing the grubby with my sister and she has a right to know who it is she’s grubbying with. Don’t you think?”

Spike slumped down on one of the counter stools. “Don’t suppose you could give me a week or two to work her around?”

“Sundown tonight. And, thanks for the poptart.”



Spike jumped into the sewer outside Buffy’s front door and hurried back to his crypt and entered through the basement.

“Hope the Bot remembered to put my blood in the refrigerator.” He didn’t relish a room-temperature bag of day-old blood even if it was human. He also didn’t relish telling Buffy he’d tricked her into sleeping with him, when she thought she was sleeping with a damn robot, which, now he thought of it, she ought to be ashamed of herself and be damn grateful it was him and not some damn sexbot she hopped in the sack with last night. Eight times.

He checked the bedroom nook of his crypt. “Buffy, I’m home.” No Bot. She’d run off somewhere. He was going to have to get her a g-sat bracelet so he could keep track of her. He took off his coat and dropped it on his bed. The bed was covered with small women’s panties in various styles and colors. The panties were neatly lined up in rows. He picked one up and sniffed it. Buffy. Where the hell did these come from?

He climbed up the ladder.

Clem dozed in front of the television. Several empty chip bags and cans of root beer surrounded the chair. He woke up when Spike popped open the refrigerator.

“Hey, Spike. Buffy was here yesterday. She was looking for you.”

Spike tore open a bag of blood with his teeth and guzzled half of it. “Git. That was me with her.”

“Oh. You mean you’re not a robot?”

“There is no robot. Well, there’s a Buffybot, but there’s no Spikebot. I tricked Buffy. She thinks I’m her robot.”

Clem rustled around the empty chip bags looking for breakfast. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, tricking Buffy. She has a temper.”

It was a double bad idea now that he knew what she thought about his tricks. Nothing he could do about it now. He’d just have to think of some way around her. “It’s under control, mate.” Spike took another drink from his bag of blood and belched. Under control until sundown and Kid Twist started blabbing her head off.

The door to the crypt slammed open and Buffy stomped in. She’d run out of her house without brushing her hair or putting on a bra. Her tangled pelt made her look like she’d just had a long night of wild, satisfying sex, which Spike knew for a certainty she had. His dick sprang to attention as he ran his eyes over her taut nipples.

“Have either of you seen my robot? What do you think you’re doing?” Buffy snatched the blood bag out of Spike’s hands.

“Give that back! I’m starving!”

Clem jumped out of the chair and ran for the door. “Gosh, look at the time. I’m late for work. Nice seeing you, Buffy. Oh, and Mazel Tov. Hope I’m invited.” He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Invited to what?”

Buffy read the label on the blood bag. “This is human. Where’d you get this? Did you steal it from the hospital? You’re supposed to be drinking pig’s blood.”

“Sod that. Pig blood is swill. I’m a vampire. I drink human blood.”

She tossed the bag back to him. “Don’t let me catch you stealing human blood again. Where’s my bot?”

“Haven’t seen him. Just got home myself. Look’s like you had quite a night of it, Slayer. Anybody I know?”

“Shut up, Spike.” Buffy leaned over the hole to the lower level. “Spikebot? Are you here?” She jumped down.

Spike smacked his forehead. “Bloody hell. The panties.” He ran for the front door, but it was bright daylight outside and he couldn’t escape. Not without another dose of suntan spray which was downstairs in his coat pocket. He considered hiding in the stone coffin, but Buffy was poking her head out of the hole in the floor.

She waved around a fistful of panties. “What are you doing with my panties?”

“I can explain.” Which he couldn’t explain since the Buffybot made Buffy’s panties appear on his bed and the Bot was the last subject he wanted to bring up at this or any other moment. “Magicks. Must be. Red and Gaia Girl twitched them over here.”

She threw the panties in his face. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my underwear drawer? You know what? I thought you’d changed. I thought when you protected Dawn, that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to straighten out and act like a human -- well, like a regular nice person. I was even thinking of going out on a date with you. But, I can see you haven’t changed a bit. Pervert.”

He’d mucked things up this time. No, he hadn’t mucked up anything. It was that bleeding Buffybot leaving thongs and panties lying all over his crypt. And, where did Miss High and Mighty get off calling him a pervert. After the wicked things she did last night. Things he didn’t even know she knew about. Well, he wasn’t having any of it from her. “You should talk about being a pervert. You and your little sex toy. Oh, Spikebot, do that thing with your tongue again.”

Buffy didn’t hesitate. She popped Spike in the face as hard as she could. He sailed across the crypt, slammed into the wall and slid down to the floor. “That’s for spying on me and stealing my underwear. You’re despicable,” she said. She marched out of the crypt and slammed the door behind her.

He’d mucked things up this time.



Buffy sat on the park swing and bobbled back and forth. She was tired of searching for her robot and too miserable to swing. Her Spikebot had disappeared and Spike was perving on her, as usual. She didn’t go running around stealing his underwear, did she? He probably didn’t wear any, the pig.

“That’ll teach me to listen to a robot for love advice. Spike hasn’t changed a bit. He’s still a pig. What’s a girl have to do to get a decent guy in this town?”



Spike spun the channels on his television and held the cold blood bag to his shiner. He’d got his wrinklies in a wringer this time. Buffy was mad at him for stealing her underwear, which he didn’t even do, and she’d turf him right out of Sunnydale when she found out how he’d tricked her over the Spikebot, which he did do.

Why couldn’t he nick some flowers and ask her out on a date like a normal bloke? Why, cause he wasn’t a normal bloke, that’s why!

“I’m a vampire, and I’m Evil and she’s just going to have to accept me the way I am and -- I’m screwed.”

All My Children came on and he’d settled back to watch Erica and Kendall fighting and drink his blood, when someone tapped his crypt door. After letting a few choice curse words fly, he answered the door. A man in a brown uniform was leaning a large package against his door.

“Universal Parcel Service, sir. Package from Warren Meers for Spike. If you’d just sign here.” He held out an electronic clipboard.

“It’s about bloody time.” Spike signed his name to the clipboard and dragged the box into the crypt. He opened the box and unwrapped Warren’s latest creation.

“Yeah, you’ll do.”