A/N: Here it is, my ficathon challenge finally completed. This was written for denny_dc, she wanted poetry, mistaken identity, and something NC-17. I kind of messed with the whole mistaken identity thing, but I hope she’ll forgive me, this idea came out of nowhere and wouldn’t let go. I was thinking that maybe this deserved a sequel, but I guess that’s up to the readers. Tell me what you want, and I’m yours. Hope you enjoy this.. and reviews are always appreciated.

Most of the time
My head is on straight,
Most of the time
I'm strong enough not to hate.
I don't build up illusion 'till it makes me sick,
I ain't afraid of confusion no matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind.
Don't even remember what her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time
She ain't even in my mind,
I wouldn't know her if I saw her
She's that far behind.
Most of the time
I can't even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was with her.

Most of the time
I'm halfway content,
Most of the time
I know exactly where I went,
I don't cheat on myself, I don't run and hide,
Hide from the feelings, that are buried inside,
I don't compromise and I don't pretend,
I don't even care if I ever see her again
Most of the time.
-Bob Dylan, “Most of the Time”

***

"Buffy, now that we could die here... There's something I should show you."

Willow produced a worn letter from her pocket and handed it to her friend.

The Slayer's eyes narrowed as she turned the envelope in her hand and saw the painfully familiar script on the front of it.

"Where did you get this?"

Willow swallowed hard and looked up into Buffy's eyes. "Just read it. And before you do, just remember, we've got three fronts in this war. L.A, London and Tokyo are all engulfed in war. If you rush off to overcompensate in L.A., we'll win that battle, but we'll lose this war. Think of Dawn, Buffy, think of Giles and me and Xander. We all need you here. And when this is all done... Everyone will be safe, and you'll have time then."

"Willow, what are you-"

The witch just held up and hand and pointed to the letter before walking out and closing the door behind her. Buffy stared after her for a moment, terrified of what could be in the envelope. She hadn't heard from Angel in almost a year, and with him, it was never good news.

She opened the letter and found another surprise inside. This time the handwriting on the front had her staggering into a chair and taking deep breaths before she could read.

***

Two weeks of fighting.

Spike should have been elated. It was nothing but fists and fangs for fourteen literally bloody days.

But it was hell. They had lost Wesley. Even if the poor guy had made it past his assignment to take out his part of the Black Thorn, Spike knew he wouldn't have wanted it enough to stay alive much longer. It still hurt. Angel's family had become part of his own in the past year, and he didn't like to see any of them gone.

Illyria was fine, and she held her own for all of it, she saved his own undead ass enough times. Angel made it through as well, though Spike was worried when Gunn fell. Luckily Charlie managed to crawl under some debris and waited it out. The new watcher's council got their asses in gear and sent some witches. They healed him in the nick of time, but Spike figured he was done fighting.

Having one arm made it kind of hard for humans.

Now it was over and Spike didn't know what to do. He'd never been in a war before. He'd seen enough of them, alright, but he and Dru had always hightailed it out of town before things got heavy. Feeding off dying soldiers was just too smelly for them.

Things just seemed to stop. He heard a few cries in the distance, but soon they were silent too. He looked over to Angel and saw the relief flood his features. Somehow they made it to each other and he allowed his grandsire to hold him.

Spike was exhausted and starving. He could smell the power of Angel's blood and he was tempted to take a sip, but the elder vampire sensed his hunger and pulled back.

"Sun's coming up."

Spike swallowed and stepped back, embarrassed. "Yeah, where to, Peaches?"

Angel looked over to Illyria, who was walking slowly toward them, seemingly in awe of all the gore surrounding them.

"We'll go to the hotel. You take Gunn and Illyria, I'll pick up some blood and food. Do you know where it is?"

Spike nodded and grabbed Illyria by the arm, walking toward where Gunn was holed up. "Let's go kiddies, shows over."

***

The pain began as Spike began the walk to the hotel. It was getting stronger and by the time they were a block from the hotel he collapsed. Illyria looked at him quizzically, one eyebrow arched, and Gunn was panicking slightly.

"Spike? Hey man, c'mon, we gotta get you inside."

Spike felt drunk, a really painful kind of drunk. All of his bruises and cuts were starting to throb. It felt like his insides were being pulled out slowly, ripped apart from the inside.

It was a bit of euphoria, the pain so intense it became almost numb and all he felt was a warmth spreading through his chest.

"You worry too-" Suddenly his muscles constricted painfully and he rolled onto his stomach, heaving violently. The meager contents of his stomach splashed onto the ground near his face and he didn’t have to energy to stop himself falling into it.

He had two thoughts before he blacked out: vampires don’t puke, and this is just like that first time with Dru in that London alley.

***

“Plane, Giles. Now!”

“I’ve already arranged it, Buffy, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Listen, I’ve thought he was dead for how many months? Now, I find out he’s ok, and possibly alive if Willow’s right about two vampires suddenly making with the beating hearts and breathing thing. I’ve got to see him.”

“Well, you know I don’t like the idea of you searching around battlefield L.A. for them, but I can’t stop you.”

“I’ll be fine, and I’ll call you when I find them.”

***

When Spike woke up, he knew something was definitely wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. He was weak, he could barely lift his arms. He didn’t feel this bad after Glory beat the unliving shit out of him, or even after he fell off that bloody tower. He didn’t remember ever being in this much pain, even after the First had it’s wicked way with him.

He managed to run a slow hand over his body. Stitches, and bandages. Why the hell did he have stitches. There weren’t any wounds serious enough that vampire healing wouldn’t take care of them. His head hurt like a bitch, and he was thirsty, but not in a bloody way.

He was too warm, but he shouldn’t even feel the temperature. His blood felt like it was running in his veins, but it wasn’t supposed to do that. He opened his eyes and the room was blurry. It was like he needed glasses again, but vampires didn’t wear glasses. He rested a hand on his chest and started violently, sitting up fast and wishing he hadn’t.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ...”

He was... alive? He was bloody fucking alive!

“Oh God, oh holy fuck!”

He shot out of bed, momentarily forgetting the formerly incapacitating pain of his wounds. There were so many things he had to do. First, rub it in Peaches' face, most definitely. Then he was walking out into that glorious sunlight, maybe he could do the first two at the same time.

And thirdly, though most importantly of all, he was getting his ass to London. His Slayer must have received his letter, he didn’t think Angel was enough of it a dickhead to not have sent it. He was going to her, because he knew he had a lot of explaining to do, but he figured, trying to become human before he could see her again was a good enough excuse.

He wasn’t about to screw up the greatest exit of his existence by showing up with nothing. A beating heart was more than enough.

Plus, he had to apologize for fucking up what could have been a great declaration of love.

Spike yanked his pants on, yelping when they caught on a particularly nasty cut, and proceeded to gather the rest of his clothes with more caution.

***

Angel definitely liked being alive. It felt nice this time.

Not that he didn’t absolutely love the last time he was human, but something about having no serious responsibilities to the world anymore made it that much easier. The powers decided, he’d done his part, and now he was ready to remain fighting on the side of good, but he’d do it as a human P.I. One that wasn’t restricted to skulking about at night, and one who could pick and choose his battles.

One that could maybe enjoy some nicely baked cookies.

He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed the ice cream first. He didn’t care that it was five in the morning. He didn’t care that maybe this wasn’t the healthiest choice. It tasted damn good, and after years of ashes, it was divinity.

Over the sound of his own eating, he was a bit loud, but he couldn’t help it, he was hungry, he heard her laughter.

“Buffy.”

Her smile turned serious, but the joy didn’t leave her eyes. “Angel.” She swallowed and walked toward him, allowing him to gather her in his arms.

“God, Angel, I missed you so much!”

***

Spike head the front door open, and he peaked out of his room. The flash of blonde hair woke the sudden flurry of butterflies in his stomach. Apparently, stage three had been bumped up. He took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.

God, he still couldn’t get over that. As handsome a bastard as he ever was. He grinned rakishly and took a deep breath, checking his hair once more before he opened the door and made his way downstairs.

He stood for a moment outside the kitchen, he knew she was in there, he could still smell a bit of her perfume. He wished he still had a bit of his vampire senses left to him, being unable to track her would be a pain, and make things not nearly as interesting. He’d deal.

Buffy being around made up for anything.

He tried to calm his breathing and clenched his shaking hands before he opened the door.

He should have known. His stomach clenched painfully and his heart seemed to stop beating in his chest.

Why didn’t he assume she’d come for him. Why didn’t he simply understand that he’d always been second best. The flush in Angel’s cheek was enough to confirm that he’d received a special gift as well from the powers.

He wanted his demon back for the first time, then. He wanted to rip her away from him. He wanted them to know that it should have been him.

All he did was turn around and run. He avoided the sun as he moved through the streets of L.A.

***

Spike didn’t get very far. He ducked into the first bar he found and ordered a bottle of whiskey. He only got in a few shots before he was drunk. Apparently his tolerance to alcohol was a purely vampire thing.

William had never really drank.

He holed up in a corner where no one would bother him. When he cried it hurt his chest and his eyes itched. He was so tired. So tired of everything.

Being second best.

Not fitting in no matter where he went.

“Just fo sucking tired.”

“Maybe I should cut you off.”

Spike let out a pitiful growl. He’d forgotten he couldn’t do that anymore.

“Leave me the bloody fuck alone,” he slurred.

“Spike, I think you should come back to the hotel.”

“Angel, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think. Go back to Buffy.”

“Spike, you don’t get-”

Spike reared back a fist and hit him square in the face. At least his aim hadn’t been affected by his humanity. Angel let out a yell and grabbed his arm. The bastard was still stronger than him.

Spike yanked his arm back and grabbed the bottle before standing and wrapping his duster around him.

“I’m leaving, and I don’t want you to bloody follow me. Both of you stay the hell away. If I see you again... I don’t care if I am human, I’ll kill you.”

Angel stood but Spike was already walking away.

“Just let me-”

Spike slammed the door and Angel sat down.

“Explain.”

***