It's a bloody good thing he doesn't need to breathe, but the impact of a snarling Slayer isn't any too pleasant on a maybe fractured rib either (or a smiling Slayer either, he remembers. Good times.)

Sheer habit and his little walk down memory lane has Spike rolling the pair of them over so he's straddling a hundred-mumble pounds of pissed off Slayer. He runs his tongue over suddenly longer teeth. He's got a stake in his hand, heading for her throat. Stupid weapon for this fight but it's whats in his pocket these days.