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.