Spike: How long did you know I was there?
Fred: Just since the lobby . . . But that popping up behind me was really scary. Look, I dropped my papers.
Spike: Nice touch.
Fred: You know what I mean. You're more than a common spectral disturbance. I've never seen anything like you.
Spike: Bet you say that to all the spirits.
Fred: Oh. Your radiant heat signature's dropped another .02 degrees.
Spike: Thought it was a bit nippy.
Spike: Don't mean to interrupt the sitting in the dark basement, mate, but could you point the quickest way back to the lab? As the ghost flies?
[He sees that the man is chopping off his own fingers.]
Spike: Take that as a "no," then.
Fred: Sorry. Little preoccupied.
Wesley: The Magdalene Grimoire, Necronomicon des Mortes, Hochstadter's Treatise on Fractal Geometry in 12-dimensional Space. "Preoccupied" might not be the word we're looking for.
Fred: It's okay. Wes just gave me the talk. And I'm going to have a good meal and at least 6 hours of sleep, so everybody can just stop worrying. I'm fine. Really.
Angel: Good. That's . . . Actually, there's some concern about how much the Practical Science Department's been spending.
Fred: We accepted the offer to take over the L.A. Branch of an evil, multi-dimensional law firm because we thought we could make a difference. Use the resources of Wolfram & Hart to do something decent.
Angel: And how does that have anything to do with Spike?
Fred: I know he's been playing me with the looks and the smiles. I'm not some idiot schoolgirl with a crush.
Angel: Then what is it?
Fred: It's about doing what's right. Remember?
Angel: Your department. Your call. Just don't be disappointed if it doesn't work. Some people can't be saved.
[A light blinks on and off.]
Spike: Right. Vampire ghost here, ya sod. Bloody well invented afraid of the dark.
Spike (to Angel): Just thought we could hang is all. Couple of vampires from the old days doing our... hangy thing.
Spike: What if I am? Not like it's such a big, bleeding deal, is it? If a ponce like you could break out?
Angel: I never escaped from hell. All I got was a short reprieve. Not even sure how I managed that.
Spike: Oh, put your martyr away, Mahatma.
Angel: You think any of it matters? The things we did. The lives we destroyed. That's all that's ever gonna count. So, yeah - surprise! You're going to hell. We both are.
Spike: Then why even bother? Try to do the right thing, make a difference . . .
Angel: What else are we gonna do?
Angel: And your hair. What color do they call that? Radioactive?
Spike: Never much cared for you, Liam. Even when we were evil.
Angel: Cared for you less.
Spike: Fine.
Angel: Good. There was one thing about you...
Spike: Really?
Angel: Yeah, I never told anybody about this, but I...I liked your poems.
Spike: You like Barry Manilow!
Angel: So how many are we dealing with?
Gunn: None. Last sweep was 10 minutes ago: Spike's the only noncorporeal in the building.
Ghost Woman (whispering to Spike): It's coming for you.
Spike (to Gunn): Check again.
Spike: Is this the part where I say, "Who's there?" and something creepy happens?
[A shadow moves nearby.]
Spike: Thought so.
Wesley: Spike has been unintentionally disapparating more and more frequently.
Gunn: Give him twenty minutes: he'll be popping up next to you in the bathroom, making cracks about your . . . Am I the only one he does that to?
Psychic: Now, I have pilates at the crack of why-am-I-awake? So we're gonna move this right along. I will mutter a few calming words to get us into the zone, and then we'll see if we can scare up your missing spook. OK. Clear your minds... which, judging by the looks of you, won't be that hard.
Fred: Should we hold hands?
Psychic: Only if you're lonely. Now, zip it and let me do my sweet funky.
Gunn (reading): Got it. The dark soul.
Angel: What's it say?
Gunn: A lot. There are over thirty-two hundred different references. Four of them are about you.
Pavayne: You dare!
Spike: Quite a bit, mate. "Reality bends to desire." That was it, right? That's why I could touch Fred, write your name in the glass. All I had to do was want it bad enough . . . And guess what I want to do now, you prissy son of a bitch!
Pavayne: No. No! Defilers! I'll cut you into nothing! I'll feast on your brains. I'll swim in lakes of your own blood.
Angel (punches Pavayne): You'll shut the hell up.
Spike: Don't kill him. If he becomes a spirit again, we'll never stop him.
Angel: Fine. No killing. Just a whole lot of bruisin'.
Spike: No. I'm not gonna end up like Pavayne. Cheating hell any way he could, no matter who it hurt.
Fred: Just proves what I've been telling everybody.
Spike: That I'm a handsome devil who brightens the place up?
Fred: That you're worth saving.
Angel (to Pavayne): Congratulations. You get to live, forever. Unable to move, to touch, or to feel, or to affect anything in the world around you. But don't worry, I had them give you a window. Welcome to Hell.
