Obviously, this fic is going on longer than I'd planned, but instead of capping myself at a certain amount of chapters I think I'm just going to keep writing until the story is finally over. Ty so much for the great PMs, you guys are great!
Spike snorted, waking up abruptly at the sound of the van door being shoved open. It was still an hour or so before the sun peeked it's way over the horizon. Faith sat side saddle in the doorway and peeled her tank top off, replacing it with a clingy 'Ride With Style' Harley Davidson t-shirt that had the collar cut out so that it nearly fell over one shoulder. She stuffed her other shirt into the duffel bag with her clothes and reapplied her lipstick. Spike watched her curiously in the rear view mirror, actually having to readjust it to get a better view, "Putting on a fashion show for the natives?"
Faith glanced back and caught Spike's gaze over her shoulder. She smirked and fished a pack of Camels out of the duffel bag, "Going hunting." She pushed them into her pocket.
Maneuvering to try and see what she was doing, Spike's brow quirk, an odd tone in his voice, "Not for rabbits, I take it?"
Climbing out of the van, Faith glanced back at Spike and half-rolled her eyes. His meaning wasn't lost on her, "Don't be like that. Thought we agreed the drama shit was over."
Stretching, Spike hefted himself into the driver's seat and shrugged casually, "Can't help it."
"Won't be long, can't do it all at once. This one's gonna take it's time - stubborn rabbit." She grinned at Spike and shoved the door shut. He watched her go with a sigh, shook his head then climbed out of the van for a smoke.
It was still twilight-like outside, cool and breezy, something the Georgia sun would put an end to as soon as it made it's way over the forest but for now Spike had a few moments to take in some fresh air. He pulled his duster out of the crumple behind his seat where Faith had left it then hauled it on and took a pack of Marlboro out of the pocket along with a silver butane lighter that had some letters scratched into it's shiny surface.
He walked around to the other side of the van and leaned his weight onto his shoulder against the vehicle, watching Faith walk off to God knows where as he lit his breakfast. He narrowed his eyes as he saw Shane approach her from out of nowhere and smirked when she circled the man like a shark. Suddenly she was in the cowboy's face and the man backed up quickly, and Spike created a scenario in his head where Shane had assumed Faith would be intimidated by him and didn't know how to handle it when she wasn't. They were arguing, but it was too quiet and they were too far off for him to piece it together, even with his supernatural hearing. He mulled over getting involved for a moment but then Faith stalked off, leaving Shane to watch her angrily and Spike just shook his head. His girl could take care of herself.
Spike sighed out smoke and glanced around at the rest of the camp, trying to place names to faces from the night before. So far only a few members were awake, the men, mostly. He could see Rick a ways off by the RV, saying something to Dale in front of the vehicle instead of letting him relieve T-Dog, who stood on top of the RV, of his watch duty early. Lori and Carol were a by the Grimes tent, sorting laundry out into two gingham picnic blankets that were then folded and tied into bindles for carrying. They all seemed wrapped up in what they were doing and it crossed Spike's mind for an instant how easy these people would be to pick off if the zombies had any method to their madness.
"Eggs, potatoes, toast and coffee." Spike heard a voice behind him and turned to see Beth holding a plate and a mug out to him. His brow arched up to his hairline but he shook it off. She gave the plate a little, insistent shake, "It's getting cold. You must be hungry."
Spike let her shove the mug into his hand and looked down at it. It slowly dawned on him that in the rush to get settled last night they hadn't explained anything to these people - this girl thought he was human. He looked around at the camp - they all did. She was still smiling at him, expectantly, and he made a decision. He took the plate from her with his cigarette-ed hand and smiled, "Famished, love." he saw the look of relief in her eyes when he held up his mug and took a sip, "Thanks…" He narrowed his eyes for a moment, trying to wrestle her name out of the fog, "Beth."
He ran open the sliding side door and sat in the doorway, setting his plate and mug on a flat of shrink-wrapped cans behind him. Before he could say anything Beth was sitting beside him, her hands folded in her lap. He watched her curiously for a few moments, "So," he started but Beth cut him off.
"What's it like in Los Angeles? I mean, what was it like? Before?"
Spike sucked in his cheeks, he didn't like talking about L.A. before this particular apocalypse. For months they had taken turns answering that question to a moon-eyed teenager or pathetic housewife in almost every survivor group they came along in the Midwest and Southern states. But he didn't see any point in being cruel to the kid, after all, what chance was there that she would up and leave for Hollywood with the world in the state it was in now? No harm in a little white lie. Spike shook his head, "It was a postcard. Swimming pools, movie stars."
"Oh." Beth smiled weakly, a look of regret in her eyes that Spike took to be for a Hollywood she would never visit and palm trees she would never see. He wished, now, that he hadn't said anything and was mentally kicking himself when Beth glanced away from him to an approaching figure. Spike looked over his shoulder to see Carol making her way over to them.
"Good morning." Carol smiled at them both, carrying her laundry bindle at her hip, addressing Beth, "Rick wants to talk to your father about pushing the tree line back. Something about a fence, Lori wasn't exactly clear on that. Is he busy?" She knew better than to ask if Hershel were awake, he spent more time awake than most of them and was usually up and at em hours before dawn.
"Um, I don't know?" Beth looked at Spike then got up and dusted the back of her skirt off, "The last time I saw him he was talking to Buffy about making some trades. I can go ask?"
"If it's not a bother?" Carol responded, thanking the girl with a smile and a squeeze of her hand. They watched as Beth smiled back and quickly made it back into the house, "Such a sweetheart."
Spike's eyes made their way to Carol and he nodded, "She's a peach." He didn't know what to say to her, she wasn't bubbly, angry, violent or intense, which were his usual speed. Generally he was good at this - reading people and using it to win them over. But Carol wasn't the open book that the others were. She was quiet, kind and soft spoken, and other than being laden with some kind of anguish he couldn't manage to get a handle on her. He only watched, trying to eek out bits of her personality from what little she was saying and doing.
"So," Spike started, looking the woman over, trying for subtle as he prodded at her in hopes of gaining some kind of insight into her life, "Your first apocalypse, then?"
A bit surprised at his choice of wording, Carol turned her eyes from her laundry to look up at Spike, the first time she'd had a good look at him since the strangers had made their way to the farm the night before. She looked a little put off by his question and her brow fell, "There's been more than one?"
"Hmm?" Eyes settling evenly on hers, Spike shrugged a shoulder up casually, "Bout one a year, far back as I can remember. Probably the worst in a few decades, though," Spike took a long, even drag of his cigarette and mulled over the memory of the gargantuan fights he'd been a part of. After a moment of thinking he added, "Though that whole giant gorilla thing in the 30s was pretty bad, come to think of it. What about you, love? Had your fair share of scary, I'd wager?"
Spike's answer and follow up questions were nothing more than confusing to Carol and he mentally cursed himself for not being able to read a damn thing about her response as she sighed, "I guess so." She glanced over at her tent then back at Spike, shifting the bindle to her other hip, now wishing she'd just taken Andrea's advice and tied it to a great big stick like you're supposed to, "Giant gorilla?" she gave him an odd look, unable to shake his comment about living through the 1930s from her mind and she took a moment to wonder if he were drunk as well as sleepy. She took another look at the door, quelling the urge to take a whiff of his coffee and thereby rule whiskey out of the equation, but settled for waiting for Beth to return, "I think I saw that movie..."
"Movie?" Spike squinted his eyes thoughtfully then looked up at the sky and murmured, "Movie..." After a moment he gave up trying to figure out whether or not it really happened or he just saw it on television and shrugged his shoulders up high then slumped back, abandoning King Kong in favor of the task at hand.
Carol turned away from the door and smiled at Spike, "So, you're from England? That must be exciting…"
A wince was bit back, hidden by a subtle sneer, and Spike put his best Billy Idol face on, "Depends on your definition of exciting. What 'bout you? Always lived in Georgia?"
But Carol wasn't listening anymore. Her eyes were focused on something far off and Spike turned his head to see what she was looking at. Far across the field Faith stood at the edge of Daryl's camp with a lit cigarette, the two of them having a stoic, shaky conversation. It seemed to consume Carol's attention and she mumbled, "What's she doing?"
Spike smirked and shook his head, leaning against the door frame, "Hunting."
Carol didn't seem to find that remark as funny as Spike did, but if she had choice words for him she kept them to herself. Spike glanced between her and the scene at the tree line with interest. She was intently watching the stranger and Daryl, one arm crossed in front of her chest, her other hand mindlessly fiddling a tiny cross at her throat. She watched, wordlessly, as Faith leaned in to Daryl, her hands gripping the man's shirt collar, but Faith's entire body was in the way and what was happening was impossible to make out at this distance. Faith headed out of the camp towards the van, glancing back at Daryl over her shoulder and the word in Carol's mind somehow made it softly past her lips, "Tart."