It was a relatively quite night at the bronze. Buffy was out slaying and the gang was at Giles' house researching the latest demonic presence. Nothing imminently apocalyptic. So Spike was wasting his indefinite life with tedious monotony. Even with the potent stench of grease from his deep-fried, flower-shaped onion, Spike could smell her presence. The dark haired girl entered with an air of superiority, as she always does. But her pride was not unjustifiable, she was not aloof. The girl could sense danger from a mile away and her senses were always atoned to the most acute movement. She was ready, constantly waiting while keeping a facade of relaxation.
She pulled her leather jacket tighter around her small torso protectively and scanned the room. She didn't realize the subconscious precautions she had started taking after the last fight. The apocalypse was always a detriment to anyone's psyche, even someone as unshakable as Faith.
It didn't take long for her to find her way to the dance floor. This is where she thinks she belongs. Surrounded by strangers, having meaningless intimacy, forgetting briefly the darkness that shadows her heart with regret. She lets her guard down just long enough for a vampire to creep in behind her and join the other boys breathing down her neck. Suddenly she realizes a familiarity to the person she had been grinding on and turns around. There stands Spike, a look of desire fogging his eyes. She was lost in the memories of pain tonight and he was saddened by the rejection of his Buffy. Escalation was inevitable.