Chapter 3: Invisible Touch

- Both the chapter name and the song mentioned therein are references to the fantastically fantastic group "Genesis". Don't worry, this isn't going to turn into a songfic.

- The hotel lobby experience with lots of P.O.'d guests is based on something that actually happened in my current job. Gee, that was fun. Not.

The lobby was filled to overflowing with guests: some sleepy, some incensed. Meanwhile, a high-pitched screech filled the air as an electronic voice warned patrons to leave their rooms immediately, and not to use the elevators.

Having been drawn into this den of confusion, Spike Spiegel and Jet Black had both ended up in the lobby. Jet was nude from the waist up, clad solely in his black dress pants and drawing quite a bit of attention from the ladies present. Spike was fully dressed, and quite uncomfortably so. He had had a difficult time getting his pants back on while trying to run down the stairs.

I just nearly had sex with Jet Black.

He sat down in one of the last remaining seats, drawing a dirty look from an overweight man who had also been moving that way. Ignoring this, he ran both sweaty palms through his frizzy hair, trying to dry them. He ended up catching four fingers in four different tangles.

How the HELL did that happen?! God, we gotta get off this case. It's been nothing but trouble since we started it!

Elayne, the stewardess, was also in the lobby, in slightly better shape than most. She had been in the casino, and by virtue of that was still completely dressed. She walked right over to Jet, physically jostling some other women out of the way to get there, and earning herself a few catty remarks. "Bitch" could be heard echoing through the din, more than once. She turned on her multi-watt smile as the big man turned to face her. "Ooh. You looked good before, but now you look better."

"Mmm."

"You left the party early," she pouted.

"Mmm."

"Where's that other cutie-pie? …Oh, there he is, on the couch. Mind if I speak with him, too?"

"Mmm."

"Don't get jealous," she giggled.

The swarm of women, upon seeing Elayne abandon the prize, edged in a little closer. Spike noticed this, but just barely. Three fingers were free; the last one was held more securely than in a Chinese finger trap. He fretted, wishing for a drink. Or a smoke. Or both.

His smokes were in his room. The casino had cut off his drinks after he threw up in someone's bucket of tokens. And that damned flight attendant was coming his way with the look of a wolf that had just spotted a lamb.

The waiters from the casino were also in the lobby, handing out black coffee. He accepted a cup with his free hand.

"Aww, you're tangled? Want some help?" Without waiting for him to answer, Elayne was raking her slim fingers through his hair, effectively unsnarling it and freeing up his hand. And of course, it was his middle finger that had been stuck. She smacked his hand playfully. "Bad boy. We don't even know each other yet!"

Spike wanted to punch her, but he was too uncoordinated. He drank his coffee. It was bitter and strong and did absolutely nothing for his hangover. He gagged and set the cup in a discreet place. All it would take to knock it over was a little jostle. "You'll have to forgive me, Elayne, but right now I think that I need a smoke. I'll be back." He left quickly as the overweight man began to move in the direction of the vacated seat. Maybe he could bum a smoke from one of the desk clerks.

The lone clerk on duty looked scared as Spike approached. "Sir, I'm terribly sorry for your inconvenience. If you would like –"

"Save it," Spike cut in. "You got a smoke and a light?"

The clerk handed them over gratefully, and Spike walked in the direction of the front door. There were shouts behind him, and the clerk made a tiny shrieking sound as two of the guests jumped off the couch and began to threaten each other aggressively. Apparently, a young lady had gotten coffee spilled on her beaded dress, and was arguing with a rather large man about it.

"You stupid bimbo, I didn't spill any damned coffee on you! I'm not even drinking coffee!"

"You call me a bimbo again and I'll knock you on your fat ass!"

The sounds of people egging the fight on, and security running into the lobby were muffled as the glass door slid shut behind him, and he exhaled a long puff of smoke. Sometimes it was good to be such an accomplished pickpocket. It definitely made for great practical jokes.

"You got another one of those?"

He looked up. Jet was nearby, flesh covered in goosebumps as a cool breeze blew through the colonnade. Spike shook his head, and handed Jet the cigarette. His partner took a long drag before handing it back. Behind them, chaos raged. Fire trucks were pulling into the entrance of the hotel.

"Spike." Jet called his partner's name, while staring down at the ground. "Was that all we did on the plane? Just kiss?"

"Yes," Spike said after a moment's hesitation. He had wanted so badly to lie, but somehow…he couldn't. Jet had too much stress right now without being tricked into a relationship.

Jet sighed and rubbed his head. The main doors opened as two fire crews came tromping in. "It's weird, Spike…I'm having these memories of things, and I know they're wrong, but I can't seem to find another way to think about them. Like, there's a guy called Fad, and he was a…cook. In a restaurant that I went to as a child. And there's a woman called Alisa, who helped me after I lost my arm. She was the head nurse in the hospital, I think. And there's a name that keeps going through my head…'Black Dog'. But when I think of that name, I think about a little Welsh Corgie."

The cigarette fell from Spike's open mouth. "Jet, my god. All of those memories are completely wrong."

"I know." Jet sat down with his chin in his hands. "But when I try to think of the right way for them to go, I don't get anything. It's like…a jigsaw puzzle gone haywire. And yet…since that's the only way things are in my head, I wonder, how else could they be?"

"Jet," Spike interrupted. "Who told you about this bounty? Who was it exactly?"

"It was a lieutenant named Roderick. I used to be his mentor back in the ISSP. He gave me a case file to study because all of the verbal information that I could get from other officers was constantly changing, and inconsistent. They would remember things, and two days later they couldn't remember things. And every statement, every report, everything contradicted. The little hard evidence they had on this bounty was gleaned under hypnosis, and kept under lock and key."

Spike jumped up, excited. "That's the first clear thing you've told me today!" He paused. "But why is it that you can remember that?"

Jet shook his head, inconsolable. "I don't know. It's just there, in my head. The question is, can I trust it?"

Spike's facial expression became somber again as he really began to understand the real potential of this problem. If their quarry could manipulate memories at will…no wonder all of those bounty hunters were dead. Old ghosts… He suddenly found himself of thinking of Julia and Vicious. What if this guy was in his head, twisting those memories around? He shivered. "Jet, I really, really think that we need to quit now. This is too dangerous. Look at what he's done to you already. If we continue, none of your memories may ever be the same."

His partner shook his bald head, infuriating Spike. "I can't let it go, Spike. That's why they called me the 'Red Bull'. I'm tenacious."

"Damn it, Jet!" Spike grabbed the older man by the shoulders, prompting a startled, wide-eyed look. "Your nickname is not 'Red Bull', it's 'Black Dog'! Alisa wasn't a nurse in some hospital, she was the one who gave you that watch! And the Welsh Corgie is called 'Ein'! Don't you know any of this?" As Spike glared at Jet, he was confronted with that helpless look of bewilderment once more, and all of his anger subsided immediately.

"I…don't. None of what you just said sounds right."

His heart thumping hard, Spike tried again. "Do you remember what happened thirty minutes ago?"

Jet cringed; it was plainly obvious that he didn't. "You were mad."

"And?"

"And throwing up."

"And?"

"And the fire alarm went off. I don't know what happened to my shirt, and I need to get it back. Did you borrow it?"

Spike ground his teeth together. Shit…

I approach the desk clerk once more to beg a smoke, but she looks quite frightened by my advance. "Sir, I'm so sorry for your inconvenience –"

"Don't worry about it." I dismiss it quickly, and visible relief floods into her pale grey eyes. "Oh, sir. I've had such a horrible night, and it's only my second week on the job."

"I'll bet," I mutter. "Can I get another cig out of you?"

She makes a sympathetic, but negative face. "Everyone's been bumming them out of me. I don't even have any left for me."

"That sucks." I reach in my pocket and come across six errant tokens. "What brand do you normally smoke?"

"Phillipi."

I look at her again. She's slim and cute. Phillipis are strong. It doesn't quite add up. "Just the standard box?"

"100s. Light."

Ah. Figures. I crack a smile and head back towards the casino. There's a cigarette vendor right near the door. I can make someone happy tonight, I suppose.

After trading the tokens for an equivalency of wulongs and buying the smokes, I walk back towards the lobby, bumping into someone as I exit. I say, "I'm sorry," more out of reflex than real concern. When I don't get an acknowledgment, though, I turn around to see whom I hit.

It takes me three looks to find him. He's a drab, colorless sort of fellow, the stereotypical number-crunching paper-pusher. The kind of man who drives a Porsche so that for once people will actually see him coming. I scratch my head at his silence and try again. "I'm sorry. I didn't even see you."

"No one ever does," he says sadly before walking away.

I stare after him for a few minutes. Shame, really. He's probably the owner of the hotel.

I wander up the stairwell to the sixth floor and pull my room key out of my pocket. I've forgotten something again. And this something is really important, but nothing is coming to mind. I sigh as I get undressed and hang the tuxedo in the closet neatly.

Twenty minutes later, I'm showered and my teeth are brushed and I'm ready for bed. Well, I don't want to go to sleep, I want to talk to Spike. But he's mad again, even though he hid it a little better this time. And I just really don't want to deal with him being mad. I'm afraid that I'll wake up and not know who he is next.

Sighing and feeling sorry for myself, I put the sheets back and crawl into bed. As I try to get comfortable, I realize that even with a king sized bed, I'm still too big to lie down straight. I turn my body diagonally, and something white catches my eye.

My satin shirt is on the floor on the far side of the bed. That's strange. I don't throw my clothes around. Especially not this shirt. Because she gave it to me.

Who's 'she', again? Spike told me something…but…I forgot…

I pick up the shirt and shake it out to hang it up. There are smudges on the shoulders. They're dirty fingerprints. As if someone had grabbed me. And finally I remember something.

Spike kissed me.

I stand there, stunned. And through the connecting doors, I hear him singing faintly.

"Gimme one more night, gimme that one more night, he says, gimme one more night, but I can't wait forever…"