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Prologue


Spike sat in front of his apartment smoking a cigarette, while he watched people get ready to go inside for the night. There were a few kids out playing basketball in the parking lot of the complex. An old woman sweeping the dirt from the sidewalk in front of her door. Two men whispering conspiratorially near the back of one of the buildings. He should be out spending his last free night getting plastered, but he was feeling oddly contemplative. His mind was running through all the events of the last year. Everything that had happened seemed so surreal. Being a ghost, the fight with Angel at the opera house, Doyle or Lindsey, whatever his name was, the psycho slayer, Illyria, Italy, Harmony. He shuddered at that last thought. Bloody hell, he still couldn’t understand what was going on in his brain over that one. He knew that he wasn’t going to escape this next battle. Angel was pretty sure that they were all going to die, and for once he agreed with the poof. The only regret he had was how things with Buffy ended. The sentimental fool in him still wished he could have seen her one last time, but it was probably a good thing that he hadn’t. Those type of things never turn out how you picture them. Songs, slow-motion running, snogging like mad, yep, it would never have happened like that. He was interrupted from his thoughts by Wesley, sitting down next to him.


"May I have a moment of your time?"


Spike turned to face him and gave him a grateful look "sure, I’m actually glad you came. My thoughts had turned to things I’d rather not think of."


“Well I’ll get on with it, I’m in a hurry, but I wanted to see you before we all met up back inside.” Wesley took a breath, “You know that Angel is right. About this fight. We're most likely going to all die."


"I was there too Percy, I heard the great and rousing speech."


Rolling his eyes, Wes continued "Have you given any thought to the Shanshu prophecy?"


Spike shrugged and took a drag off the cigarette, "Sorry, Watcher-boy. As much as I’d like to think that there is some big old destiny waiting for me, there isn’t. That's Angel's gig. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. I'm just the grunt work. Just point me towards some demons who need killing."


"We don’t know that the prophecy isn’t about you. It doesn’t mention either you or Angel by name. For all we know, it could be you.”


“Ya, well, maybe it is. I really don’t give a piss about it right now. I have a job to do and I’m probably going to be dust by the end of it. I don’t have time for talk about this Shanshu thing.”


"I understand your reservations, Spike, but I’ve thought a bit about it and what it means for both you and Angel. I have taken the liberty to create some personal documents for you. A passport, visa, the works. Should something happen to me or Angel, you might need them.”


“Um, I’m a vampire or did you forget that?”


With a small laugh, Wesley finished by adding, “If you somehow are the one spoken of in the Shanshu prophecy, you’ll need these to start over.” He then handed over the packet of papers.


Spike took them and opened them up. He pulled out the passport and started thumbing through it. He opened up his mouth to protest, but Wesley beat him to it.


“Before you start to argue, I created a similar set for Angel. I’m just covering my bases.”


Looking a bit sheepish, Spike looked up at Wes and smiled.


“Thanks Wes, I appreciate it.”


“It was my pleasure.”


Before Wesley could get up and walk back inside, Spike grabbed his shoulder.


“I know I should have said something, but at the time it just didn’t seem appropriate. I’m sorry about Fred. I loved the bird, we all did. But I know how painful it was for you, especially. I’ve been there, with Buf..I mean in the same sort of situation. I just wanted you to know that before we went off.”


Wes stared at the ground for a few minutes while he tried to gain control of his emotions, then finally looked up with a strained smile, “Thank you, Spike.” He then stood up and went back inside.


Spike looked down at the passport in his hand and tucked it into the inside pocket of his duster. He would deal with the other documents later. He had a poetry reading to get to.





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