Spike hated the Scoobies. Well, he hated them most of the time. He could tolerate them occasionally like when Red made cookies, Watcher actually shared some of the good alcohol not the bloody American piss water though he didn't know he shared it, and Red's girl Glinda was turning out to be right decent. Timid thing she was but sometimes she had that look in her eyes like his Dru used to get right before planning a wicked little play. Whelp was more fun than the rest since he had some sense of humor and cable.

But as he sat in the crypt bloody, sore, and slimy he really hated them.

He had gone along on patrol like the pathetic, chipped love's bitch he was. Watcher had promised him a few bags of human in return, and it'd been too long since the last. In the process of keeping big purple and slimy away from Red he'd gotten bruised, gouged, and worse slimed.

He was really becoming pathetic. What kind of vampire allowed himself to be nothing more than a lap dog? He'd been a doormat enough times as a human: a sniveling, lovesick human. As a vampire he had made a name for himself: the slayer of slayers. No one crossed him. He had demanded respect everywhere he went, and thanks to some overgrown G.I. Joes and a piece of shiny metal in his head he had been transformed back.

He really wanted a shower.

And bugger if the slime wasn't beginning to make him itch.

Right then, he wasn't about to sit there any longer and take it. Grabbing up his duster which had been thankfully been spared the fate he had endured he headed towards in the direction of the idiot's place.