On New Year's Eve, Spike (now Shanshu-ed) and Faith spend a pretty routine, regular night. Both when they are together, they realize, the routine regulars will do just fine. Someplace between romance, humor, and fluff. Please feel free to leave reviews, whether they are complimentary or critical.

They've fallen into a devastatingly mundane pattern lately. Every night, it's the same old routine, and nothing is different on New Year's Eve at midnight.

They lay back on their shabby, worn, couch. Ten seconds left until the break of the New Year. Ten, nine, eight, seven, the television set blares. Faith purposely looks over to Spike for a mere glance lasting for a second. He's not counting down with all those in Times Square; nor is she. But he is glaring at the T.V. with the widest eyes, like those of the child, and a small smirk is visible, playing upon his lips. At this, Faith just smiles for a second and motions back to the television set. Three, two, one… and then all that follows on the television is a gigantic, illuminating, orb of light.

Spike turns aside from his once fixed stare on T.V. set, and smiles at the woman beside him, expecting a very desirable gift. Happy New Year, love, he says. Happy New Year, Will, she replies, placing a luscious, warm, midnight, kiss on his mouth – the present he was anticipating. He smiles, because he already knows the kiss comes with a little more than he would have liked … evidence remains on his skin. Due to the lack of money this year, they've had to cut back on several items. Top-quality lipstick was one of them. The lipstick she uses now always leaves marks on his skin. But he only laughs because it makes him feel as if he's in a cheesy movie where the awkward teenage boy always walks away with pink marks over his face after being seduced by the sexy older woman. It's a stupid feeling, he knows, but it's a humorous one, nonetheless. He brings the back of hand up to his lips and wipes the mark off.

Next is the champagne … except they couldn't find any decent brand name left on the night of New Year's Eve, so they decided some good old beer was suitable enough. Their two cans of Bud beer touch, though unable to produce the lucid echo two glasses would. It's good enough.

Quickly consuming their drinks, they move toward the bedroom with no sojourns to any other room. No freshening up, no brushing teeth or anything. Just right into the bedroom. She told him once that she'd like her sex dirty no matter what. Dirty?! he exclaimed in protest. Dirty talk is one thing, but this is just painfully literal, pet. And she laughs because she can't remember when he had become so overly hung over hygiene – and flossing of all things. She once came to a sound conclusion that it be something to do with having previously been a vampire.

Sitting on opposite sides of the bed, they undress, their own selves, mind you. Spike's resolved that he's had a pair of jeans for twenty years and he won't let a fit of passion ruin them. He's also become much too parsimonious these days. But that's just another quirk that'll start her burst of giggles. And it's not like the passion – or the hints, for that matter – is not there anymore … it's just concealed, subtle. Like maybe he'll start nibbling on her ear or neck and maybe she'll – well, she'll poke him, or rouse him from his sleep. Delicacy has never been her forte. But none of those means are necessary tonight, for they want to start their new year off on the right foot and screwing around is always the best way to do that.


So, tell me, what's your New Year's resolution? he asks of her, despite that she is already on her side, ready to fall asleep. Instead, he looks down at her, places his hand on her bare shoulder, and shakes her. Hmm? Faith? Did you hear me, love?

What? What the hell are you talking about? she murmurs, drowsily.

What's your New Year's resolution? he repeats.

To sleep. Now if you'll excuse me…she replies, indifferently.

Come on. Seriously, he urges her.

I don't know, man. Aren't things fine the way they are? Like to think living each day for the rest of the year like this day would be enough. I'll spend my time with you, ok, happy now? she tells him, hoping he'll end this conversation.

Yeah, he sighs. Been thinkin' myself that I've got to spend more time with me, too. Old Will's getting lonely, y'know, he jokes.

Ugh. Just shut up and sleep, dude.

He chuckles shortly. I'm on it, lieutenant! he flouts, saluting her.

Lieutenant? she snorts, in disgust. Please, you know I'd be a captain.

Why, of course. I am love's bitch, after all, he agrees, resting his head on his pillow.

They don't cuddle up next to each other or embrace as they fall asleep. And they don't whisper their daily 'I love yous.' It was never their style and it never will be. But their mundane style isn't a bad one. Because, every once in a while, if the night is a just a little chilly, or if they're suffering from insomnia, Spike just may throw his arm over her hip and Faith just may toss and turn, until finally finding sleep on his inviting shoulder. Because trying every little thing every once in a while is a good way to live. And ordinary patterns are not as bad as everyone makes them out to be. Nope, not bad at all.