PrettyPoppy@worldnet.att.net

Title: The Final Night

Author: PrettyPoppy

Summary: On the eve of the final battle with The First, Angel and the gang come to Sunnydale to join the fight. Faced with her own mortality, Buffy must decide how she wants to spend what might be her final night on earth. S/B

Notes: This is really just a cathartic exercise for me. How I'd like to see things happen in "The Final Hour." Spoilers through Season 7.

Feedback: Yes, please. PrettyPoppy@worldnet.att.net

Distribution: If you want it, just let me know.

Disclaimer: Nope. I don’t own Buffy, Spike, or any of the other characters in this story. Everything belongs to Joss, Mutant Enemy, and whoever else has a legal right to it.

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Chapter One: Enter the Cavalry

They were on the brink. The Apocalypse was coming and it looked like there was no way out.

Buffy paced nervously along the carpet in her bedroom, occasionally stealing furtive glances out the window. She was waiting. The world was coming to an end, and she was spending the early morning hours pacing in front of her window, waiting to catch a glimpse of the cavalry, coming over the horizon.

The cavalry. A fancy name for Angel, Cordelia, and their whole LA gang. It wasn't what Buffy wanted, dragging all of them into it, but it had happened. It was necessary. They were about to face the fight of their lives, and Buffy and the Potentials needed all the help they could get.

Faith had come back weeks earlier, and had ultimately been the one to convince Buffy to call in the reinforcements. Not a pleasant or easy task, but she had had no choice.

Angel and the gang had left LA sometime after midnight. Buffy knew they would arrive before dawn. They had to. It was the way these things worked.

Now, she waited.

There had been some casualties over the passed weeks. Three more Potentials had lost their lives fighting the good fight. What was left of her troops were now huddled downstairs on the living room floor, sleeping.

In spite of Buffy's orders to the contrary, Faith had gone out to, as she put it, "Kick a little demon ass." After spending so long locked up in a prison cell, she couldn't stand being sequestered any longer. Mortal danger never phased Faith. Sometimes it didn't seem to matter to her whether she died today, or ten years down the road. Buffy knew that it was really just an act, a defense mechanism. Faith couldn't deal with the idea that the world was going to end, so she had gone out to release some of her fears with her fists. Buffy didn't mind, as long as she came back in one piece. Hopefully she would. After all, she hadn't gone out alone.

Spike had gone with Faith. Much to Buffy's chagrin. But what could she do? She had forced him to be strong again, to reclaim his desire for bloodlust. What right did she have to keep him tied to the house, babysitting a bunch of teenage girls? He needed to be out fighting. She couldn't ask him to stay.

Buffy stopped her pacing and walked over to the window, to stare out into the street.

Spike.

God, what was she going to do about Spike?

She had told herself so many times that it was over. That she didn't feel anything for him but gratitude and friendship. And yet . . . tonight, when he had chosen to go with Faith, a part of Buffy had ripped in half. She wanted him to stay with her, or at least, to be the one going out with him, fighting by his side. There was nothing romantic between him and Faith, but the potential was there, and Buffy couldn't deny her jealousy. She wanted to be with him, wanted things to be like they had been before - before The First came into their lives, before everyday was possibly the beginning of the Apocalypse. Okay, so things had never been all daffodils and teddy bears for them, but if The First hadn't have come along, they might have had a chance - if not for romance, then at least a chance to cultivate their friendship. Something. Now they had nothing. The world was going to end in two days, if they couldn't come up with a brilliant plan quick. And even if they did, doubtless someone would die. Probably more than one someone. What if it was Spike? What if it was Dawn? Or Willow? Or Xander? Buffy tried to suppress a shuddering sob as she imagined all of her friends dying off, one by one. What if she survived and they didn’t? What if she didn't and they did? It was just too much to bear.

Just as she was about to let tears overtake her, Buffy heard the distinct sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. She lifted her bowed head and stared out into the night. It was Angel. Oh God!

Buffy pushed herself away from the window and flew to the door. She made her way out into the hallway, and tried to hurry down the stairs as quietly as possible. When she got to the front door, she could hear the sound of voices coming from the other side.

"So this is where the Slayer lives," she heard an unfamiliar voice comment. "Not bad, although a little "Leave it to Beaver," if you ask me."

"Welcome to Sunnydale, Lorne," a very familiar voice chimed in. "Manicured lawns, white picket fences, the whole nine yards. It's very deceptive. Kind of gives new meaning to the word "irony." I'm just glad I got out when I did."

"Yeah, so was I," Buffy said as she opened the door and came face to face with Cordelia.

"Well, it's nice to see you too Buffy."

Angel instantly stepped forward and put himself between them. "Hello Buffy."

Buffy caught her breath as she drew back and looked up at him, their eyes locking in mutual accord. "Angel." The word was barely a whisper.

They stood there for a long moment, neither one moving, or speaking. Finally, Cordelia pushed her way forward and grabbed Angel by the arm. "Okay, we get it. Loads of sexual tension, right? Can we just get inside before whatever Big Bad is out there wanting us dead, starts picking us off one by one on your front porch?"

"Uh, yeah." Buffy shook herself and tried to come back to reality. "Come on in." She stepped inside and motioned for them to follow. Still, she couldn't take her eyes off of Angel.

The commotion on the front steps had woken all of the would-be Slayers. Willow and Kennedy - who had been up working on some protection spells - had come downstairs as well. Buffy suddenly found herself in the overcrowded living room, trying to bring order to chaos, and survive all the awkward introductions she could.

"Okay, everyone," she said, to the stuffy room of loud, curious girls. "This is Angel. You already know about him. This is Cordy. Cordelia," she said, motioning to the former cheerleader. "Um," Buffy looked over her shoulder, straining to see who was standing behind her in the entryway, crowded out of the filled-to-capacity living room. "This is Wesley. He's a former watcher."

"A former watcher?" Rhona, the spunky, African-American Slayer-in-training asked.

"Yes former. There is life after Watching, you know?"

"Shouldn't he, like, come out of retirement, now that all our Watcher's are dead?" Kennedy interposed.

Buffy plastered an exasperated smile to her face. "Well, why don't you ask him, once we've gotten all the introductions out of the way."

"Fine. I just asked."

Buffy turned back toward what was left of Angel's group. "I'm afraid I've never met the rest of the gang. Angel." She turned the floor over to him.

"Oh, right. Okay." He turned a little and made room for Fred to step forward. "This is Fred, that's Gunn," he pointed over his shoulder, "and that's Lorne."

Lorne finally stepped into the girls' view and a collective gasp swirled through the room. "Well, thanks. It's really nice to have my uniqueness appreciated." He smiled nervously at the girls.

"Okay, I think that's it," Angel said.

"Not quite," Connor said as he stepped into the house, carrying more of their luggage.

"Oh right, and Connor."

Connor stepped into view and a few of the hormonal, teenage girls giggled.

Buffy just rolled her eyes. "Is that it?"

Angel surveyed the group again. "Yeah, that's it."

"Okay, well," Buffy turned toward the new arrivals, "let's see how quickly I can do this." Buffy ran through the names of all the Potentials, introducing each one in turn. She also had to introduce the Scooby gang - and Andrew - to the strangers Angel had brought. By the time all the introductions were finished, it was half past four in the morning.

"Well, I think we can all turn in now. Thing's are kind of tight here, but Will's set up places for everyone, so she can show you where . . . you'll . . . be sleeping." The sound of the back door opening caught Buffy's attention, momentarily distracting her. She could hear voices in the kitchen.

"God that felt good! B doesn't know what she's missing. Always was more the mother hen type. Stay at home and protect the chickadees. Hold down the fort."

"Yeah, well, believe me, she's not always quite the goody-goody you give her credit for. I could tell you a thing or two about . . ." Spike's voice trailed off as they stepped into the living room and he came face to face with a very pissed off Buffy.

She folded her arms across her chest and stared him down. "Where have you been?"

Spike raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Out. You knew we were . . ." His gaze momentarily flickered from Buffy, and he caught a glimpse of Angel standing behind her.

"What the hell is he doing here?" The growl in Angel's voice was unmistakable.

"It's a long story," Buffy said, refusing to take her eyes off Spike.

Spike looked back to Buffy and smirked. "Yeah, that it is."

"Buffy." Angel grabbed her arm defensively and pulled her a little closer to him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." She finally turned to look at Angel. "He's useful. That's all."

"Yeah right, that's all." Anya finally spoke up. "Let me tell you, sometimes he's a lot more than just useful."

"Anya." Xander grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to him in warning.

"I just meant that he can be really useful for sex sometimes, that's all," she whispered defensively.

"Yeah," Xander said. "I think we all got that."

Angel's grip tightened on Buffy's arm.

Spike just shrugged off the whole exchange. "I'm going to bed," he said, as he crossed out of the room and headed toward the basement. "It's been a long night, and at least some of us, have actually been out fighting. Goodnight kiddies," he said before making his exit.

"I think I'll turn in too," Faith added, as she made for the stairs. Halfway up she turned around. "Goodnight B. Sweet dreams." Then she too left the Slayer slumber party.

"Buffy," Angel growled softly in her ear.

She pulled away from him, breaking the contact and turned to address the room. "It's late. We don't have much time. Everyone goes to sleep, now. We'll devise a plan in the morning. And that's an end to it. Goodnight."

Buffy caught a glance back at Angel and then headed up the stairs. Much to her dismay, he followed her.

When she got inside her bedroom door she turned around. "Angel, not now. Not tonight. I can't do this."

"Buffy, what is going on?"

"It's a very, very long story, okay? The world is probably going to end in two days, can we please discuss this in the morning? I'm not going to be of any use to anyone if I don't get some sleep."

Buffy tried to close the door on him, but he wouldn't let her. "Buffy," he said, leaning his hand against the open door, "there's something I need to tell you."

"Does it in anyway involve the Apocalypse?"

"Well, no, not really, but . . ."

"Then goodnight." She used her Slayer strength to dislodge his arm and force the door closed. She locked it behind her.

"Buffy, there's something I need to tell you."

"Not tonight. Tomorrow. I think I've had about all I can take for one night."

Chapter Two: Angel and Spike

Maybe Buffy could sleep, but Angel couldn't. After leaving her room, he went back downstairs and pulled up a chair next to Willow in the kitchen.

She took a quick glance up at him and then went back to working on the potion in front of her. "I'm not really sure this stuff is gonna work. But I have to be ready, just in case."

"Didn't Buffy command everyone to bed?" he asked, as he pulled one of her open books toward him and started flipping though the pages.

"Yes," she said, grabbing the book and giving him a playfully censorious look, "but there's research to do. And I work better when the kitchen isn't crowded to the ceiling with curious Slayers-in-training."

"They're really getting to everyone, huh?"

"No." After she said it, Willow looked over her shoulder toward the living room to see if anyone was listening. When she saw it was safe, she turned back to Angel and nodded her head, silently mouthing the word, "Yes."

"How's Buffy coping? Really?"

"Really?" Willow started pounding some herbs with a pestle and mortar. "She's dealing. It's tough sometimes, but she's doing the best she can."

"And Spike?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Spike? Spike's coping, I guess."

"That's not what I meant. What is he doing here?"

Willow inhaled a sharp breath and concentrated on the task in front of her. "He helps us, from time to time. Well, actually, these days, he helps us all the time," she corrected.

"And you trust him?" Angel could feel the tension building in his body. He was already tightly wound. Willow was somehow just making it worse.

"Buffy does."

And he snapped. "What do you mean, Buffy trusts him? What about the rest of you?"

"Well," she finally lifted her eyes, "he's kind of, sort of . . . changed? We really don't have much choice but to trust him now. For the longest time he was the only warrior we had - other than Buffy, of course."

Angel shook his head in disbelief. "What do you mean, he's changed? Willow, he's a vampire. An evil, soulless, bloodsucking, creature of the night."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And you're what? Not a bloodsucking, creature of the night?"

"I have a soul."

"So does Spike."

Angel stared at Willow for a long, hard moment. He watched in horror as her face turned ashen and she tore her eyes away from him. Obviously, she had just given away some deeply kept secret.

"What did you just say?" he asked, when he finally regained the ability to speak.

"Nothing." She wouldn't look at him.

"You said that Spike has a soul." Angel got up from the table and moved closer to her. "Is it true? Willow, is it true?"

She refused to answer.

"Willow?"

"Yeah, it's true," a familiar voice interrupted from behind him.

Angel swung around to see Spike standing by the basement door. "Son-of-a-bitch," Angel cursed under his breath.

"Now that's no way to talk about a bloke's mother. I'd never say anything like that about your dear, old mum."

Angel growled and threw himself at Spike, grabbing the other vampire by the collar and slamming him up against the wall.

"Touchy I see." Spike smirked at him. "Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend."

"Spike!" Willow's voice snapped at him from across the room. She stepped away from the table and came up to stand beside the two vampires. "Do you want Buffy to hear? Do you want her to come downstairs and kick both your sorry, vampire asses?"

Neither one moved. They just continued to stand there, staring each other down.

"Angel." Willow tried to reason with him.

Finally, he tore his gaze from his errant grandchilde and looked down at her. As he did, he realized that somewhere, caught up in the moment, he had vamped out. He let his gameface slip and looked apologetically at Willow. "Sorry." He let go of Spike and took a step back.

"There, that's better," Spike said, smoothing down his wrinkled shirt. "That's no way to treat the man of the house, is it?"

Angel went to make another move at Spike, but Willow stopped him.

Spike just laughed. "Has anyone ever thought about getting a leash for you? You know, a nice leather collar attached to a chain?"

"Spike," Willow warned.

"Oh, right, right. Don't want to disturb the Slayer. I forgot." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Angel stared at him and fumed. "A soul?" Angel growled through clenched teeth.

"Yeah. Funny thing about that. Didn't really see it coming, did you? You're not really all that unique anymore, are you?"

Angel tensed. He could feel his blood vessels getting ready to burst. "How?"

"Did it to myself. Stupid git that I am," he mumbled under his breath. "Made a deal with a demon, got my soul back, and oh, yeah, the thing is," he leaned in close, "mine doesn't come with a curse."

"Why the hell should I care?" Angel snapped.

"I don't know." Spike leaned back toward the wall. "Just thought you'd want to know."

"Not that I'm not all for touching family reunions," Willow cut in, "but I think maybe it's time you went to your respective corners and called it a night. The world is ending. If you survive the Apocalypse, then you can kill each other."

Angel tore his eyes away from Spike and looked at Willow. "You're right. Where am I sleeping anyway?"

"Upstairs, in Dawn's room, with Giles and Wesley."

Spike didn't even pretend to suppress his laugh.

Angel shot him a murderous look. "What are you laughing at, Basement Boy?"

"Hey, at least I get my own bed. I'd take the basement any day over sharing a room with two poncey Watchers. You know," he said to himself, "I thought I was going to have trouble sleeping tonight, but it looks like I'll be just fine." He smiled and turned toward the basement. "Night Red."

"Goodnight Spike," she said lamely, as they watched him shut the door behind him. She turned to Angel. "Shall we?" she asked, extending her arm toward the hallway.

"Oh, yes," Angel said, as he continued to stare at the closed door. "Let's."

Chapter Three: Good Morning, Sunnydale!

The next morning dawned bright and early at 1630 Revello Drive. By seven a.m. the kitchen was bustling with what Spike had once called, "the pitter-patter of clomping teenage girlie feet." Buffy found she was spending more time playing referee than making tactical decisions. Finally, she resigned herself to having a bowl of cereal as she listened to the excited buzz of the Slayerettes.

"Well, I think he's just adorable. Absolutely the dreamiest thing I've ever seen."

Dreamy? Buffy rolled her eyes.

"I don't know," another one intoned, "he's not really my type. A little skinny for my tastes. But his dad is kind of yummy."

"Who . . . are we talking about?" Buffy asked, as she looked up from her cereal.

"Oh. Connor," Amanda answered. "I think he's kind of cute."

"You would," Kennedy said snidely.

"Wait, wait," Buffy interrupted. "When, exactly have you seen his dad?"

The entire group looked at her like she had six heads.

"What? Do I have something in my teeth? A cornflake or something?"

"You don't know?" Rhona asked.

"Know what?" Dawn came breezing into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl from the closet. "What don't I know?"

"Not you. Buffy." Kennedy turned to address Buffy again. "You didn't know that Connor is Angel's son? How could you not know that? You’re the Slayer. Aren't you supposed to know everything?"

Buffy put down her spoon and started to laugh. "Okay girls," she said, getting up from the table, "are we going to have to have a lesson in vampire biology? Vampire's cannot father children. It's impossible."

"Yeah," Dawn said as she poured herself some Raisin Bran. "Please, if it wasn't, Buffy would have been popping out vampire babies a long time ago."

"Dawn!" Buffy scolded, horrified.

"Oh please. It's not like we're not all gonna die tomorrow. What are you going to do? Ground me?"

"That isn't funny."

"It's not supposed to be."

"Look," Kennedy interrupted, "you really didn't know?"

Buffy turned her attention away from Dawn. "It isn't possible. I don't know why . . . whoever . . . told you that Angel was Connor's father. But it's not true."

"Yes it is."

Buffy spun on her heals to see Connor entering the kitchen. She stared at him blankly. "What?"

"It's true. Angel is my father. Darla was my mother."

Buffy suddenly felt weak.

Dawn ran forward and helped her sister down onto one of the stools.

"I . . . I don't believe this," Buffy said, the words barely a whisper.

"Yeah, well, it wasn’t too easy for me to take at first either. Who want's to know that both their parents were bloodsucking fiends?"

Buffy looked up at him. "Are you . . .?

"A vampire? No. I've got some of their strength, the supersensitive hearing, all that. But no, I'm not a vampire. Thank God, right?"

"Buffy, are you okay?" Dawn asked.

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine. At least, I think I'm fine." Buffy pushed herself up from the chair. "There's work to be done. I'll be in the dining room if anyone needs me. Dawn, when the others come down, send them into see me, okay?"

"Sure Buff. Whatever you say."

"Oh, and find Willow. I need talk to her. It's urgent."

"Can do." Dawn headed upstairs, and Buffy made her way out of the kitchen.

Good God, Connor was Angel's son?! It didn't make sense. But then again, what the hell ever did?

Buffy entered the dining room and sat down to wait for Willow. She needed a shoulder to cry on. At least Willow would understand.

Chapter Four: Blood and Sympathy

About an hour later, the last of the LA gang made their appearance. Buffy was still reeling from the news about Angel, but she tried her best not to show the inner turmoil that was tearing her apart inside. Why did things always go from bad to worse? Was Connor the thing Angel had wanted to tell her about the night before?

Of course Angel was entitled to his own life. That wasn't the point. It was just painful finding out that he had produced a child with Darla, of all people. Love and a family were the two things that Angel could never give her. Why had he been able to give them to Darla? It just didn't seem fair.

Angel tried to corner Buffy as everyone made their way into the dining room. He said he wanted to talk. But Buffy begged off, telling him that there was too much work to do, that there would be time for talking later. She didn't want to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with Angel. There was too much ground to cover and it was too painful. It was so much easier to wrap herself up in her work, than to face what was really going on inside of her.

Buffy had her own secrets to reveal. Secrets she would much rather keep to herself if possible. She knew that Angel knew about Spike's soul. Willow had told her. But so far, that was all he knew. Buffy was secretly hoping that Angel wouldn't find out about her and Spike. Of course, in a house just brimming with people who knew, that was a distinct impossibility, but she was hoping nonetheless.

It didn't take long for everyone to get settled and start working. Within a quarter of an hour, they were well into preparing their strategy for the coming battle.

The showdown would be the following day. There was no avoiding it. The First was in control, and it was naming the time and the place. They were running out of time. Every last moment was suddenly invaluably precious.

Within hours, the dining room looked more like a war room, than part of a suburban sanctuary. There were tactical diagrams spread out on the walls, and mounds of books covering every surface. Everyone needed to know their place and what was expected of them, if they were going to have any chance of coming out of this alive.

Despite the obvious tensions and frustrations in both camps, everyone did their best to pull together. Buffy, Angel, Giles, and Wesley were doing most of the planning. At least leadership wasn't in short supply. Willow was trying to find ways to cover their weaknesses with magic, but being the only witch, she was having a difficult time with it. Even with Giles and Anya's assistance, she wasn't sure how much good she could do them in the end.

Faith kept drifting in and out, restlessly. If something wasn't to her liking - some tactic not bold or dangerous enough - she never hesitated to let everyone know. It was starting to get on Buffy's nerves, but there was little she could do about it.

In all the chaos, Spike had taken up a place in the back of the room. He spent hours leaning up against the wall watching them, not saying a single word. Every so often Angel would throw him a suspicious glance, but there was no other contact between them.

Around six o'clock, Buffy forced all non-essential personnel to break for dinner. Spike grabbed a mug of warm blood and went outside, to sit on the steps of the back porch. Not long after, Cordelia joined him.

"It's not easy, is it?" she asked, as she stood behind him, staring out into the night, a cup of tea warming her hands.

"What's that?"

"Watching them together. It's not easy for me either."

Spike turned slightly to look up at her, raising a scarred eyebrow in question. "You and the poof? I mean . . . Angel?"

"Yeah." She sighed and lowered herself to sit next to him. "It's complicated. Things seemed to be going well for a while, and then . . . you know . . . things happen."

"Yeah. Tell me about it." He turned back to his mug and took a long swig. "So, I take it you've never broken his happiness clause."

"What? Ewww gross Spike. As if that's really any of your business."

"Well," he shrugged, "with the world ending tomorrow, I figured it couldn't hurt to ask. Besides, it's kind of obvious, him being all soul-having."

"You would think, wouldn't you?" She lowered her gaze and started swirling the liquid in her cup.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, just that the curse . . .? It's gone."

"What?" Spike nearly dropped his mug. "What do you mean, it's gone?"

"I mean, it's gone. It's been removed. It's a very long story, but basically, Angel is free to love whomever he wants. To be as happy as he wants."

"Bloody hell!" Spike cursed under his breath.

"Exactly."

He looked up at her. "So you think he's come here to . . .? Of course he has."

"We don't know that."

"How serious were things between you two?"

"Pretty serious."

"What do you think are the chances that he would turn to Buffy? Now of all times?"

"Pretty good. He's been through a lot. We've been through a lot. All of us. There was this demon, this demon that took my form. Angel thought it was me. And it did some unspeakable, unforgivable things. He knows I'm not responsible, but a part of him can't seem to forget what he's seen. I know that - given time - he'd heal. We'd get passed everything. But time is something we don't have right now. Angel has been through hell, and he doesn't trust me anymore. He can't help it. Buffy, he trusts. Buffy is safe, and comfortable, and like a dream to him. I know he's still drawn to her. I know that if circumstances were different - if life and death weren't on the line, if he had time to deal with everything he's been through - we wouldn't even be having this conversation. But we are. If we die tomorrow, it's going to be Buffy that he's thinking about, not me." A tremulous sob escaped her throat. She stood up and retraced her steps back up the porch. "I'm sorry Spike. Truly I am. But you're not the only one suffering. I'm going through it too. I know how it feels. I just wanted you to know that."

Cordelia turned and went back into the house, leaving Spike alone on the porch.

A loud cracking sound broke the calm silence, as the mug in Spike's hand shattered into a million pieces.

Chapter Five: Consolation

Spike wanted to run. To steal off into the night and leave the little army. Turn deserter. Go AWOL. Wouldn't Buffy just love that? Then again, with Angel around, Spike wondered if she would even notice.

Flinging his fourth cigarette in the past twenty minutes to the ground, Spike got up and went back into the house. He couldn't desert her. He knew it. No matter what she might be planning to do with Angel.

Spike entered the kitchen and was instantly assaulted by the never-ending chaos that was now a permanent fixture at 1630 Revello Drive.

"No, you don't seem to understand," Giles said as he removed his glasses and started cleaning them in irritation. "That's not at all the kind of spell we need."

"Well," that little girl Fred said, leaning up against the counter, a huge volume of text cradled in her arms, "maybe Wesley would have some idea where to find the right one. After all, he knows a lot more about this stuff than I do. I was just trying to help."

"Oh, yes." Giles rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Let's ask Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, why don't we? After all, he always was a much better Watcher than I."

Just then, Andrew pushed into the room, and rushed over to the oven. "Why didn't anyone tell me my cookies were burning? Hello, couldn't you guys smell them? Spike, you have a supersensitive sense of smell, why didn't you do something?"

Spike gritted his teeth and sent a black look at Andrew, but the nerd didn't even notice.

Turning toward the basement, Spike tried his best to ignore everyone and everything. He had just wanted to slip by unnoticed. But of course, that was impossible, in this house.

Succeeding in reaching the door without further incident, he placed his hand on the knob and got ready to open it, then he heard her voice.

Buffy.

The din of the overcrowded house had swirled into a mass of unrecognizable sound, but Buffy's voice he could hear, as clear as day. "Angel's right. We can't concentrate too much of our energies in one area. Wesley, why don't you see how Fred and Giles are doing? Angel and I can handle this."

She was in the dining room. And even from across the house, he could hear every last word that she was saying. Damn supersensitive vampire hearing! Spike wanted to puncture his own eardrums so he wouldn't have to listen. Oh yes, Wesley, why don't you go find Fred, so you can leave Angel and me all alone?

Spike let out a low growl as he pushed open the basement door and slipped inside. He needed to get away, as far away as possible. Unfortunately, right now, the closest thing to far away was the basement.

Spike bounded down the stairs in an angry stride. He was getting restless. Anxious. Damn that bloody Cordelia! Why did she have to let him in on the little secret? Why couldn’t she have kept the soddin' "good" news to herself? She wanted to offer him sympathy? Ha! She just wanted to see that someone else was suffering right along with her.

So there was no curse? Funny how having a curse removed could damn them all.

"You shouldn't run down the stairs like that. You never know, you might trip, and fall on a stray piece of wood or something."

Spike swung around to see Faith sitting on top of the washing machine, her head resting back against the wall, the neck of a liquor bottle gripped in her right hand.

"Bloody hell. Just what I need," he grumbled to himself.

"Don't tell me. Couldn't take the long, soul stirring speeches anymore? B's holier-than-thou attitude finally getting to you?" Faith asked, as she finally tilted her head forward to look at him.

"Somethin' like that."

"Never could stand it myself. The attitude or the speeches." She jumped down from the washer and moved, catlike, across the floor. "So, you up for a little fun?" she asked, stopping a few feet away.

"Excuse me?"

"Fun?" She held up the bottle. "You do remember fun, right? Don't tell me she's sucked all the life out of you already? Thought you still had a little more time until she totally broke you, the way she did Angel."

Spike snickered at the reminder and turned away, taking a few cagey steps about the room. He was feeling more and more trapped by the second.

"See that's touched a nerve," Faith said, as she leaned, nonchalantly, up against the punching bag in the middle of the floor. "You think they're gonna do it?"

Spike instantly swung around to glare at her, his nerves already at the breaking point. "What . . . she . . . does, is of no concern to me," he said coldly. "I'm just a mercenary in this little army. Doesn't matter to me who General Buffy's shaggin'."

"Right." Faith shook her head. "You sure you don't want this?" she asked, raising the bottle again.

Spike narrowed his eyes at her in warning.

"Fine." She pulled the bottle back and took a swig herself. "I take it you've heard about the whole curse-lifting thing? So, who broke the news? Angel? I could just see that." She smiled to herself. "Does he even know about you and Buffy?"

"There is no me and Buffy," he growled. "Never was."

"Is that what you tell yourself? Does that make you feel better?"

"Don't you have someplace you should be?"

"Nope." She pushed herself away from the bag. "Can't really hang with the snotty-nosed Potentials, and B'd rather not have me around. So," she said softly, moving in a little closer, "I'm all yours."

"Yeah." Spike laughed. "Just what I need."

"Well, excuse me. You could do a lot worse."

"And believe me, I have. Sorry luv," he said solemnly, "not interested."

"Okay, I get it," she said, stepping back. "Hey, you're not the only guy in this house, right? Of course, I've got my pick. Angel's panting after B and Cordy. Gunn and Wes are all hot over Fred. Wes has been dreaming about doing that little sex kitten for a while. Now she's playing both of them. Doesn't leave much for the rest of us, does it?"

"So, what?" Spike lifted a cynical brow. "I'm the consolation prize?"

"Not quite." She took several purposeful steps closer. "I've always been curios . . . Remember that time at The Bronze?"

"Come again?"

"You, me . . . oh wait, that wasn't me. Well, not exactly."

Spike stared at her quizzically, completely lost.

"Something Buffy said about warm champagne," she said in a low voice.

Spike narrowed his eyes and searched her face curiously. "How'd you know about that?"

"I was there." She closed the space between them, her breasts just barely brushing his chest. "Would you like to walk down memory lane?"

He shook his head in pure denial. "No. That was Buffy."

"No," she smiled wickedly, "it wasn’t. Didn't B ever tell you about the time we switched bodies? I know she wasn't really happy with how the whole Riley thing worked out. But hey, it wasn’t his fault. What did he know?"

Spike was seriously disgusted. What was wrong with her? He normally enjoyed going out with Faith; working over the demons, getting out his aggressions. But tonight she was really pushing it. He had once called Buffy a "poor little lost girl." Faith was worse. He knew she was probably terrified. Probably just felt alone and was trying to find comfort from someone. But he couldn't comfort her. He couldn't be the one.

Spike pulled away. "Are you always like this?"

"Sometimes I'm worse. So, tell me," she said conspiratorially, "did B ever make good on my promises?"

Spike growled.

"I guess I'll take that as a yes. God, you know, I didn't think she had it in her. But you never can tell. They do say it's always the quiet ones. So," she looked him up and down appreciatively, "what do you say? You? Me? For real this time? Think about it Spike. It doesn’t quite seem fair, does it? I want you. You want Buffy. Buffy wants Angel. Viscous cycle really. Can't see that ending well."

"Tomorrow it'll all be over."

"Yeah. You're probably right. So?"

"No."

"Fine," she said, exasperated. "But, seeing as I'm not going to be having any real fun, on what is probably my last night on earth, then at least appease another curiosity. Who told you about the whole curse deal?"

"The soddin' Prom Queen. That's who."

"Cordy?" Faith seemed genuinely surprised. "No way! What the hell was she hoping to prove by doing that? What did she want, someone to sympathize with her?"

"Apparently."

"Figures. Stuck-up bitch."

Spike turned and looked at Faith. Why the bleedin' hell was everyone so keen on conversing with him tonight? He really just wanted to be left alone, to wallow in his own torment.

He really wanted to get rid of Faith.

"Yeah, well, doesn't matter," he said. "Makes no difference."

"Like hell." Faith put the bottle down on a nearby table and slowly started circling around Spike. "It makes a big difference. I'll bet that - even all things considered - there was still a part of you that was hoping you'd be spending tonight with her. That she'd need the comfort of someone's big, strong arms, and she'd choose you, because there was no competition. But now he's here, and he's free. And that changes everything." She stopped in front of him and stared him down. "You want her. But guess what? News flash, Big Bad. You can't have her."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Then take what consolation you can." She moved closer, coming to a stop mere inches from his body.

Spike stared down at her and looked curiously into her deep, rich eyes. She was right. He couldn't have Buffy. But did he really want to spend the last night of his life having meaningless sex with a scared little girl who was too insecure to admit her own feelings? Would a night with Faith make him forget about Buffy even for an instant? He knew the answer. It was always the same.

Spike pulled back and took a few, purposeful steps away, never breaking eye contact with Faith. "Don't you get it? There is no consolation. No comfort. No solace. Just the hard, cold reality of this." He threw his hands outward, indicating the basement. "Just me, living beneath her. Always beneath her."

"Damn she's trained you well. Do you actually believe that crap?"

"I know what I am."

"Right, you're a vampire. And I'd say, for a vampire? You're doing pretty damn good. Saving the world and fighting with the good guys. You don't need her. Or any of the lines she's been feeding you. She's strung you along long enough. Just let it go."

Spike pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth and stared at her in frustration. "Look, I realize, that someone, somewhere, must have declared this "Give Advice to Spike Night," but I really don't want to hear it. Had enough, pet. Thanks." He turned from her. "And please, lock the door on your way out."

"Fine. If that's the way you want it. But," she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, "if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Maybe you're not up for a little sport, but, hey, who knows? Maybe Xander is. Or maybe that freaky gay kid. What do you think? Think I could bring him over to the other side?"

"I'm sure if anyone could, it would be you. Goodnight, Faith."

"Night Spike." She ran up the stairs two at a time. She forgot to lock the door.

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