It takes less than forty eight hours before I am officially bored shitless.

I've graduated to sitting up on my own, and feeding myself. I still need help to get to and from the bathroom. I've finished the paperback I was reading, watched Ed and Spike's three new dances, played fetch with Ein for half an hour, cheated Jet out of two hundred woolongs in a poker game, and now I want out of this goddamned bed.

Spike's sitting with me again, his hair still damp from a shower. At the moment, he's got a look of thoughtful contemplation on his face.

I wait. This had better be good.

He brightens. "I know one you haven't heard! This guy walks into a bar and--" I hold up a hand to cut him off.

"Spike. Please. You'd think after half a freaking century, they could come up with a better opening line. If the joke's about a guy in a bar, a Polak, or blondes, I've already heard it," I say grumpily.

"Blondes?" he wrinkles his brow in concentration. "There are jokes about blondes?"

"Tons. They didn't stick around?"

He shrugs a bit. "I guess not. Why blondes?"

I grin. "You know... they're said to be ditzy."

"Julia wasn't ditzy," he says, and I kick myself mentally.

"No," I acquiesce. "I don't suppose she was." I turn to stare out the window, but after a few moments the craving for a cigarette kicks in so I look around for a pack. I find one, light a smoke, and realize Spike's watching me.

"Well?" he says. I look at him in confusion so he elaborates. "Tell me a blonde joke."

"Oh. OK, let's see... What's five miles long and has an IQ of forty?"

"Dunno, what?" He leans back in the chair and locks his fingers together behind his head.

"A blonde parade," I snicker. "How do you make a blonde's eyes light up?"

The corner of his mouth is twitching. "How?"

"Shine a flashlight in her eyes."

He chuckles despite himself. "Are they all that bad?" he asks, and I grin. "Yup."

"So why aren't there jokes about purple-haired shrews?" he inquires, flashing me an unreadable look.

"How many women do you see with purple hair?" I answer prosaically.

"Point taken."

I shift positions, grumble, shift again. He notices my discomfort and asks if I need to get up. That's our code words for nature's call. Strange how he'll barge right in without knocking but he won't ask me if I need the bathroom.

"I want a bath," I announce. "It's been almost a week and my vanity is kicking in."

He thinks it over. "I guess there's no reason you can't have one, as long as you don't overdo it."

"Thank you, O Lord and Master," I say acerbically, but allow him to help me up nonetheless. He walks me into the bathroom and starts the water. Once he shuts the door, I realize the problem. I can't lift my arms high enough to pull the shirt over my head.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you send Ed in here please?"

I hear his footsteps move out of the room and return a few minutes later. "She's not here. Jet took her somewhere for the day."

I bite back a curse. "Well, you'll have to do it. Get in here." He pokes his head through the door hesitantly, his eyes averted.

"Do what?"

"I can't get my shirt off," I say bitterly. He moves toward me and with his hands on my shoulders, turns me around so my back is facing him. The shirt obstructs my view for a moment as he lifts it over my head. I'm embarrassed beyond belief, knowing the cuts, burns, and bruises from the explosion are standing out, marring my pale skin. I want him to touch me, but not like this, not when I am standing ugly and vulnerable and helpless. Not when he has to because no one else can.

I draw a shaky breath and mutter my thanks. When I hear him leave the room, I lower myself gently into the steaming water and cry.

¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ ø,¸¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸

After another three days of rest, I'm declared fit enough to rejoin life outside the bedroom. The bruises are starting to fade, but I'll carry scars from some of the cuts and burns until I can get them cosmetically removed. Thankfully, none of them are on my face. So what if I'm vain? I'm a woman.

Spike and Jet are taking turns catching small bounties to build up the vanishing funds. I'm in the living room watching a soap opera with Ed when Spike comes downstairs with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. "I'm heading out," he says. "I shouldn't be more than four days."

I wince inwardly but keep my poker face in place. This bounty must be bigger than the others if it'll keep him away that long. "Ok," I say, staring at the screen. Ed gives him a cheeky grin and he crosses the room to ruffle her hair.

He hesitates as he passes me before placing a hand on my shoulder. "I expect you to still be in one piece when I get back," he states. "Take it easy, ok?"

"Yes, Daddy," I answer sarcastically. He gives me a penetrating look and I look away before he sees too much.

"I'll keep my communicator on," Spike says to Jet, who's just entered the room from the kitchen. Jet nods and leans against the door frame, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

Spike leans down and brushes his lips against my cheek. I catch my breath at the contact and close my eyes, savoring the moment that's over all too soon. When I open them again he's gone.

I mumble some excuse to Ed and shuffle back to my bedroom as quickly as I can.

A few minutes later Jet knocks on the open door. I look up and attempt a smile. He sits next to me on the bed and says, "You know what I like about bonsai?"

That wasn't what I expected to hear. "What?" I query, glancing over at him.

"They're difficult. Even though they are just plants, there are so many different facets to the care and maintenance. If they were simple, I wouldn't get so much satisfaction from them."

"But Jet, your bonsai look horrible," I can't help but point out.

He laughs. "All the more reason to keep trying, right?"

"But what if you have a bonsai that you really want someone to admire, and you've put a lot of work into it but it's still a little scraggly around the edges, and when you show it to the person, all they can do is talk about a bonsai they once saw that was perfectly shaped and beautiful?"

Jet considers this. "Well, I'd say they were a fool for holding on to something that's gone and missing new possibilities. Faye, Spike's not a fool."

"I know he's not," I reply, clenching my hands together tightly. "But he is difficult."

"No arguments here, " he agrees, giving a half-smile. "How long have you been in love with him?"

"Who said anything about love?" I ask defensively.

"I did," he sternly answers, folding his arms and giving me a look that tolerated no argument.

I sigh and confess, "I'm not sure. It feels like forever though-- well before he left."

He gives a nod as if the answer satisfies him. "Have you told him?"

"Have you gone senile already, Jet?" I glare.

I can tell he's fighting a grin. "Maybe so, but I seem to recall that men often have blind spots where women are concerned, especially women who aren't quick to trust. Anything less than a flashing neon sign gets explained away. You dig?"

I feel a rush of affection for this kind man who's been a father figure to me. "I dig," I say, giving him a grateful smile. He pats my back gently before leaving me to my thoughts.

¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ ø,¸¸,ø ¤º°°º¤ø,¸

On the fourth day of Spike's absence, I am sitting in the backyard on a lounge chair under the pretense of working a crossword puzzle. In reality, I keep sneaking glances at the sky, hoping to see the Swordfish II make a descent.

Jet's happily puttering around the flower beds while Ed and Ein are taking turns chasing each other around the yard. I risk another peek at the clear sky and frown.

"Is Faye Faye stuck?" Ed asks, veering close to my chair. "Ed can make frown go away."

"What? Oh. Yeah. Do you know a..." I scan the puzzle quickly, "... fourteen letter word that means 'the throwing of a person or thing from a window'? Second letter is E."

"Defenestration multiplication annexation!" she calls, zooming away with the Corgi hot on her heels. I pencil in the first word, which fits.

"Hey, thanks!" I yell to her. She waves back and turns to give chase to Ein, who is now 'it'.

The waiting is driving me crazy. I go to the kitchen, grab a bottle of water, and reposition myself on the lounge. After a few minutes, I decide I want a snack, so I go back to the kitchen and reheat some leftovers. After eating a few bites, I wander back outside again and take up the cursed crossword. I can't believe how nervous I am about seeing Spike again. I wonder if he's thought of me at all.

During my fourth trip to the kitchen, I hear the distinctive rumble of a ship's engine. I force myself to wait until he comes through the back door.

When I exit the kitchen, he gives me a wide smile. "Did you keep yourself out of trouble?" he asks, and I laugh.

"Define trouble. Did you catch the bounty?"

He looks affronted. "You have to ask?"

I take a deep breath and look straight into his eyes. "No. I trust you," I tell him simply. Something softens in his gaze and I cross the space between us. "Welcome back," I whisper, wrapping my arms around him.

If he's caught off guard by my gesture he doesn't show it. He returns the embrace easily, cradling me to his chest. After three heartbeats I step back reluctantly, right as the others come inside.

Spike takes his things upstairs and then rejoins us in the living room, recounting his capture of the bounty. It may be my imagination, but it seems his eyes stray to my face more often than normal.

Jet has dinner duty that night, and when he calls for us I escape to my room to wash up first. On my pillow is one perfect red rose. I lift the blossom to my nose and inhale the delicate fragrance, a smile playing on my lips.

Underneath the rose is a note.

Faye,

You left me a rose before when mourning my passing. I leave you a rose now to celebrate my life. Thank you.

The memory of his last words to me before the fight with Vicious play through my mind, and I realize he has found answers of his own.

Jet's right. I have to tell him, and I will.

Tonight.