Disclaimer:  Spike is all mine.  Really, he is.  Bandai decided to just...give him to me.  Honest!

::sighs:: Okay, okay.  He's not mine.  And neither are any of the other CB characters.  ::pout:: Geez.  I'm just borrowing 'em.  Promise to return them intact.

'Cept Spike.  ::gets smacked with a lawsuit::  Alright!  Don't you guys have ANY sense of humor?!

Chapter One:

I Don't Hate Her

"Spike…don't do this."

"What?"  The younger of the two kept his back to his partner as he idly dressed, his head bowed as long, deft fingers worked on the row of buttons on his shirt.

Jet growled, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing.  A brief moment passed before he sighed wearily, averting his gaze to the floor.  "She thinks you died."

Spike fetched his knotted tie, throwing it around his neck and turning around to look down on Jet.  Hands moved to the waist of his pants, tucking in his shirt and fixing his belt.  He shrugged, unable to keep his gaze fixed for too long.  "So?"

"So it's damn cruel.  It's Faye, for Chris' sake."  Jet continued to scowl at him, hoping that at some point, Spike would come to his senses.

"And that's supposed to mean something?"  He was rolling up his sleeves now, the muscles of his jaw clenching rhythmically.  He descended the steps to fetch his jacket, flung haphazardly over the back of the couch, punching his arms into the sleeves emphatically.

Jet shook his head, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees.  "I don't get you, kid.  There's absolutely no sense in what you're doing!  You're just going to end up hurting her…"  Jet let his words trail off in grim realization.  Tilting his head up, he cocked a brow at Spike.  "What, do you hate her or something?  You broke her heart once already, you know that, right?"

Spike stood silently at the opposite end of the room, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling at his side.  His face was unreadable, but contemplative.

Where are you going?  Why do you have to go?

Gunshots echoed within the recesses of his mind, mingled with the anguished sobs of a woman that he had thought could never cry, let alone cry over him.  He moved then, shaking himself from his reverie to see Jet staring at him warily.  He fetched a cigarette from his breast pocket, balancing it between his lips.  "I don't hate her, Jet."

Jet perked up, eyebrows raising, brow furrowing. "Huh?"

Spike lit up, taking in a long drag as he returned his lighter to his pocket, pivoting on his heel towards the corridor that would take him to the hanger.  Speaking as though to himself, he murmured, "I don't hate her at all."