No, it wasn't in a blaze of glory - it wasn't even an ignoble but exciting end like having main course Anna Nichole Smith crush him when she landed on top of him in the middle of a celebrity lunch break.
No, it was the tragic combination of a stuffed piggy, a set of hot rollers and a white picket fence that finished off our emaciated friend...
...Spike could hear the soft, regular breathing of his victim, his obsession, through her open bedroom window as he crouched on the roof of her mother's front porch.
It was time, now or never, to bring the Slayer over to seeing things his way. He'd done two already, Buffy would be his third.
Catlike Spike eased over the sill, his narrow body outlined by the rising full moon.
Like a shadow he slipped across the room, posing as he always did, you never knew who might be watching.. Buffy rolled over, moaning softly.
Spike froze, and then resumed his stalk, when.. "Squeeeeeeeeeeelllllll!" Mr. Gordo, Buffy's stuffed piglet went off under his feet.
Spike froze again.
Buffy murmured something about the bulk price of tomato stakes and was silent once more.
Spike advanced menacingly - he was almost within touching distance when crash rattlerattlerattle, "Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck! Ahhhhhhhhh!" he trips over the cord of Buffy's hot rollers, pulling them off her dressing table so that they spill in all directions underfoot.
Spike screams as his boots betray him with a truly show-stopping interpretation of the "Dance of the Vanity Appliances" that could get him a job as lead male dancer for Riverdance without a formal audition.
Falling backwards, Spike flies screaming headfirst out of Buffy's window in a shower of hot rollers, mousse bottles, designer hairbrushes and a box of heavy duty tampons.
The last we see of our thuggish albino charmer is a puff of dust blowing away in the midnight wind because he landed on Buffy's mother's new white picket fence out front.
Buffy sits up, rubs her eyes, "What was that?" she mumbles, before going back to sleep.