No Regrets

by Faia Saiyajin

When every waking moment could be his last, can Spike put aside the nightmares of his past, and let himself fall in love? How can he, when all he has to offer is his untimely death at the hands of his dreamlike past? Unabashed SxF.

title: No Regrets

series: Cowboy Bebop

lyrics: "Space Dementia" - Muse

rating: R - for some naughty language

author: Faia Saiyajin

A/N: The Spike - Faye fic challenge, as started on the fayeandspike community at Livejournal. Wooooeeee!! Ten pages of unabashed Spike-and-Fayeness. Ennnnjooyyyy.

-----

"Height is the one for me
It gives me all I need
And helps me co-exist with the chill"

The roar of the MONOsystem's engine cut away all noise, all thought, all reality. Spike's grip was viselike on the shifter, his gloves dry despite the sweat that slicked his palms. He ground down on the filter between his teeth, the motion causing a shower of ash from the near-spent cigarette to rain down on his shirt. He paid no attention to it, his eyes focused elsewhere. He pressed the engine further, harder, and the Swordfish II responded with a throaty rumble, kicking into high gear. She wound through the blackness of space, twisting and turning effortlessly, her starboard wing almost grazing a lifeless rock bigger than herself, a parting kiss as she moved on to bigger and better things.

He didn't know what had given him the wild idea to race the Swordfish through the asteroid field. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. That was his only thought as she burst through into open space, climbing swiftly now that he had no asteroids to make her dodge. Pulling his ship about, the Swordfish leveled, the roar of her engines quieting, reinviting sound, like the dull hum that echoed in his ears. Pausing to spit out the spent cigarette, Spike let the ship cruise leisurely back home, to that Tin Goddess sitting humbly in its Earthian orbit. Leaning back in the seat, he took a deep breath. No doubt Jet was on the verge of having kittens, grumbling and growling to himself about fuel costs and blowing his engine. Not like Spike cared, though. He knew how to handle himself and the Swordfish, and anything else that came his way. Except...

"...are you about finished with your sulking?"

His eyes followed the voice, to the display screen situated between his knees. Looking fit to be tied, was Ms. Valentine, trying to look contemptuous, irritated, and elitist, all at the same time. Suffice to say, she pulled it off well. Without so much as a word, Spike sat forward, folding his long frame nearly double, his elbows on his knees. His posture, complete with the lasseiz-faire smirk, was enough to send Faye's eyebrows knitting together. Even the act of wiping the sweat off his brow with a finger was done in such a way to annoy her further. He hated to admit it, but he loved doing this to her. Her buttons were so easy to push. Lifting a hand, he sat his chin on his palm, looking down at the tiny face of Faye on the screen. She looked like she was about to burst. Spike wanted so badly to grin it hurt. "I'm not sulking."

With a toss of her head, darkly violet hair swinging about her, Faye rolled her eyes. "Oh, my fault. I suppose the correct term would have been a death-wish!" She bit off the last word, as if she wanted to spit it at him. Her few ounces of cool were evaporating. All it would take would be a careless shrug of his shoulders, and Faye would be off on one of her tirades, spouting swears colorful enough to make a common thug blush. This was how it usually went with them. He did something, she berated him for it, he made her furious, and she refused to speak to him until it was absolutely necessary. It was always entertaining. You couldn't pay to see this sort of thing.

"It wasn't a death-wish." He said suddenly, with more emotion than he'd intended. This wasn't the next line in their carefully scripted act. Faye's endlessly green eyes widened slightly, showing her surprise. He didn't want to say that his little romp through the asteroid field had made him feel alive. With the engine screaming in his ears, his muscles jerking as he pulled the Swordfish through that maze of debris, with one wrong turn meaning a painful death, he'd felt alive. More alive than he knew he could feel, like he'd felt when he was standing back-to-back with Vicious, gunshots booming over his head. But she didn't need to know that. No one needed to know that. It was his monster to contend with. Spike's slightly mismatched eyes went flat, closing off the feel of life, shutting the door on his dreamlike past. "I'll be right there." Faye opened her mouth to say something, but Spike closed the line on her, the static of an incomplete connection crackling loudly before he silenced it with the flip of a switch.

The Bebop drifted closer, Spike pulling off his gloves, tossing them aside. "It wasn't a death-wish." He said to the stars. "I wanted to feel alive." And I wanted to see if I could sort out how I feel about you, Faye.

"You make me sick because I adore you so

I love all the dirty tricks
And twisted games you play on me"

Stomach lurching as the stronger pull of the Bebop's gravity settled on him, Spike thoughtlessly folded up the wings of the Swordfish, nestling it safely in the hangar. Climbing out of his ship, Spike turned to the door, to see a pair of ears bobbing up and down in and out of view. Ein was coming, running as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. The Corgi's short stature required a not-so-gazelle-like leap to clear the lip of the airlock. As soon as his white-socked paws touched the decking, he punctuated it with a bark, stopping dead in his tracks, his eyes focused on Spike, who was standing not 30 feet away, lighting a cigarette in the shadow of the Swordfish II. Spike raised a brow at the dog, and the dog cocked his head at the man, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. A silent exchange would have happened, had a sudden squeal not cut through the quiet.

Not expecting her quarry to stop so soon, Ed skidded to a stop, caught on her tip-toes. Her arms windmilled, as she tried to keep her balance, hovering to and fro over Ein. The dog glanced up, as if surveying the human, and took a simple side-step, Ed crashing down in the place where he'd been standing a second ago. Ein's eyes then returned to Spike. Ed collected herself hastily. "This one be tricksy! But the Woof shall not outsmart the Ed the Mighty!!!" With a growl and a lunge, Ed took off after Ein again, dashing across the hangar until they disappeared into another tunnel, Ed's screeches echoing down the hall. Spike was unaffected. He'd come to expect the daily life on this ship, including the antics of Edward. But it was Ein's last look that made him want to scratch his head in puzzlement, as he plodded towards the living room, leaving a trail of smoke behind him. Spike was sure that if the dog could speak, he would have. The look was clear.

'Boooyyyy are youuuuu in trouble.'

Closing the door behind him, the latch securing with a hiss, Spike looked down on the 'living room', the space they all occupied when they weren't sleeping or on another hunt. In the center of the room was the furniture, the sickly yellow sofa, the table built into the floor, and the chair that matched the sofa. The TV had been moved from its place on the landing of the hatch opposite him, centered on the table. Jet sat on the sofa, a wreath of perfumed smoke hanging about his head, the cigar in his fingers freshly lit. He was half-heartedly watching the TV, and Spike cringed as the familiar hokey jingle of 'Big Shots' blasted through the speakers, followed by the annoyingly fake Texan accents of its two hosts. Faye was nowhere to be found. Spike wanted to wince.

Usually, when he made her mad, she decided to hang about, simply to exact her revenge by rubbing him the wrong way with her presence. If she was mad enough at him to not even show up, Spike may as well have crashed headlong into an asteroid on his way home. That fate would have been easier to tolerate. At least he had the function of all his limbs. Normally he was at her mercy while he was bandaged up from head to toe.

He flicked his cigarette away, the butt spiraling end over end, and it landed neatly in the ashtray - a good 15 feet away, sitting to the left of the TV. "Where's Faye?"

As if finally noticing him, Jet pulled his eyes away from the TV. Spike blinked at his partner's movement. Jet was never lulled into unawareness by anything, not even when he was off with his bonsai. Had he let himself get absorbed in the show because he didn't want to be a free target for Faye to attack? When Jet's eyes finally met his, Spike was dumbfounded. It was the same look he'd gotten from Ein. The one that said he'd better be on his toes - Faye was out for his hide. Correcting his posture, Jet sat forward, and Spike heard his back creak. He gestured briefly over his shoulder with his cigar. "Last I saw, she was stalking that way." The fore end of the Bebop, where the control deck was. Where the huge windows showed a panoramic view of the starscape. Where Spike went when he wanted to train, or where he went to drown himself in the past. "I think she thinks you owe her an apology or something." He grunted at his words, as if he could foresee the approaching war. Scratching his beard, Jet stood, off to find a safe place. At least if he was in the galley, he was still within earshot of the screaming match that would ensue, but out of the line of fire if anything was thrown or shot. "Whatever you said or did, it's put her in one hell of a mood."

Spike looked at Jet's back, as the older man took his leave. What the hell could I have said? It's not like I've never said something to piss her off before. ...what in the hell makes this time so different? Knowing that he wouldn't be able to eat in peace if he didn't confront Faye, Spike sent his gangly legs to walking, his feet thumping hollowly on the deck, as he went off to find Faye. It felt like he was going to go meet his maker and then smack him in the face. Spike considered himself a rational man, despite his fearlessness and stark detachment, but there was something wrong with him. It felt like a giant hand had taken his heart and was squeezing it, pumping it dry before allowing it to fill with blood. He'd felt fear only once before in his life, but it wasn't like this. This was something else. This wasn't how he'd felt when he'd first met Julia, and been stricken with something akin to love. He couldn't put his finger on it. Walking slowly, with determined strides, so he could have time to puzzle out his predicament, Spike ran the gamut of emotions he was familiar with, trying to compare them to the heart-wrenching feeling he was having. It was something like anticipation, combined with a gnawing doubt. He was eager to see Faye, but worried about what her anger would make her say to him? That didn't make sense. He looked up briefly. There was Faye, leaning against the thick glass windows, staring down at the green-blue curve of Earth. Her left shoulder was pressed against the glass, her shoulders slumped, her left leg crossed lightly over her right one at the ankle. It was always darker in this portion of the ship, the ostentatious golden slickness of her attire dulled, her red jacket pulled up higher on her shoulders, a sign that the coldness of space was seeping through the window and into her skin. Surprisingly, she hadn't heard him. Her forehead hadn't lifted from the window, her gaze hadn't turned from the planet below.

He studied her closely, under the pretense of discerning just how angry she was. Her hair was darker here, almost black, yet the sheen was still brilliant, as if it were a mirror, reflecting Earth's own luminescence and the starlight. A few strands were caught in the corner of her mouth, and she made no move to brush them aside. Her eyes, vividly green any other time, were reflected dimly in the glass, and they showed no sign of anger, just like the rest of her. That emotion returned again, fiercer this time. Julia was always beautiful. Golden and glorious, the object of every man's desires. Spike's ultimate boyhood fantasy come true. Until now. Here was this woman, street-wise, uncouth, the antithesis of Julia, the epitome of what Spike thought he hated. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. Even when she was less than dignified. Spike cracked a smile at his earliest memory of Faye. The woman who called herself a Gypsy and then proceeded to howl like an animal, handcuffed to the toilet. She wouldn't let herself be saddled, by fate or a man. His perfect counterpart. Julia had always seemed ethereal, angelic, all the more suiting for his dreamlike days as a Red Dragon. Faye was real, there in front of him. He could almost smell her perfume, the soft fragrance of her shampoo, overlaid with the sweet tang of cigarette smoke.

It took him a moment to realize he'd gotten lost in watching her. For all her beauty, and the way she used it as a tool to catch her bounties, Faye seemed like the kind of woman who would let you fantasize, maybe look, but never touch. The giant gave one convulsive squeeze of his heart, leaving him almost breathless. He opened his mouth, to say something to break the silence, when it finally clicked. The emotion that had been troubling him was made as clear as daylight. Why he knew he wanted her, but dared not say anything about it.

This was the fear of rejection.

"Space dementia in your eyes
Peace will arise and tear us apart

And make us meaningless again"

Slowly, like a man walking into a lion's den with a steak tied around his neck, Spike approached Faye. When he came to a stop, directly to her right, he lit a cigarette. He was always cool, unruffled, yet the air, mixed with smoke, seemed thick. It stuck in his lungs, like the giant had forgone its grip on his heart and instead went for his whole chest, daring him to try and breathe. His eyes unfocused. His faint reflection and the glowing orange fire of his cigarette faded, becoming a blur, as he let his eyes take in his surroundings, now that they weren't focused on one thing. Like that, he could see even into his peripheral vision without a flick of his eyes. His heart nearly stopped when he saw that she'd taken her eyes from Earth, planting them on him, unmoving. She was watching him, now. Was it the way he'd been watching her a moment ago? Sizing him up, comparing him, weighing him, caught in a sudden wave of freed emotions? Or was this the calm before the storm?

The silence was maddening. He just hoped his fingers weren't shaking visibly. He hoped that when he spoke, his voice wouldn't waver. If he let her know how he felt, she would pounce on it, dig her claws in deep, and never let him forget. She might even go as far as to use it against him. Unless of course, she felt the same way. But Spike doubted that highly. He could hardly believe his own feelings. He was Spike Spiegel, decorated member of the Red Dragon Syndicate. Beholden to no one, the stealer of hearts, the grand Green Dragon. No. He was Spike Spiegel, aimless wanderer, bounty hunter, a man who lived in dreams. A man caught on the edge of chaos. Faye would never want him. He had no future. Only the present, and of course, the past. Even if things turned out the way he hoped he would, he wouldn't do that to Faye. He wouldn't fall for her, and she for him, only to leave her with the shattered legacy of a man who'd left it all behind, and who'd run into the open arms of death with a grin on his face. That wouldn't be fair. And if he felt for her the way he thought he did, he couldn't bring himself to do that to her.

...then why had he done it to Julia? Vicious, that was why. Vicious had stolen her from him. Or had she been the one to leave him for the Silver-Haired Serpent? He refused to toss his head, to assist him in freeing himself of unwanted memories. This was not the time to psychoanalyze things that had already happened. If he had only a limited amount of time left, he wanted it free of pain. Even if he would never have Faye, he wanted to at least think he might have, were things different. He had to speak, to break the silence. Her eyes on him felt like weights, like she knew about the giant and his hand, and was helping to crush him with her eyes. But what could he say? Guess it was time to be that cool cowboy, to throw caution to the wind, and shoot from the hip.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"...see somethin' you like down there?" So far, so good. He hadn't started gibbering like an idiot. He was being Spike very well, so far.

In her reflection, Spike saw her lips tighten, her eyebrows narrow a fraction. Uh-oh. "Maybe."

"Like what?" These childish one-word sentences couldn't last for long. Sooner or later something had to give.

With an irritated sigh, she turned her back, putting it to the window, drawing her jacket up closer to protect her skin from the chill. Her chin lifted, her eyes closed, composed and self-possessed. "Why are you such an asshole?"

Spike's head wrenched on his neck to look at her. "Huh?" That was a new one. 'Lunkhead' he was used to. 'Fuzzy-haired moron' too. 'Asshole' was a new one.

"You heard me." She gave a small jerk on her jacket, her composure ruined for the briefest of moments.

Spike would be annoyed at the statement. So he put on his best miffed tone, turning to face her, dropping the cigarette, crushing it under his boot. "I sure as hell did. But what's that supposed to mean?" It means she's calling you on your bullshit, asshole.

"Just what I said. You think you're so high and mighty..."

"Wait a damned minute. Me? High and mighty? I'm not the one passing judgment on someone they hardly know!"

"I do know you. I know how you act. You run off and..."

He cut her off again. "I run off? At least I run off and do something productive. At least I don't run off and make sure we stay broke!"

Faye whirled on him, her eyes snapping open. "Would you let me finish?! See, there you go! Always interrupting people, because someone might question you! Someone might actually care for you, but you blow them off, to protect your own interests!"

Spike opened his mouth, and closed it abruptly. 'Someone might actually care for you, but you blow them off, to protect your own interests!' "You saying you care about me? I'm touched, Faye." His tone was flat, uninterested. Just how he should have reacted. Her eyes were startled for a minute, just a hint of hurt appearing before she grit her teeth.

"Don't be so presumptuous, asshole. Jet was the one who made me call you while you were off on your little ride. He gave me a raft of shit about your stunt." Folding her arms arrogantly, she looked down her nose at him, condescending, before looking away, back to the window. "God only knows what I see in you." She whispered. In the silence, he understood her clearly, and hesitated, his back straightening.

"What was that?"

"Am I speaking another language or something? I said Jet..."

"I heard that. What was that last bit?" Faye's cheeks colored slightly. So she had said it. It wasn't just his imagination. "What do you see in me, Faye?" He lit another cigarette, but before he could take a drag, she snatched it out of his lips blatantly. Her eyes were on him again as she smoked, one hand to her lips, the other crossed beneath her breasts. Above the fingers that held the cigarette, her eyes studied him, as if she could find the answer written on his face somewhere. Moving her hand from her face, the cigarette perched elegantly in her fingers, she exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking like she was conflicted, but trying to appear nonchalant.

"Hell if I know. I don't know what the hell any woman would see in you. You're aloof, uppity, annoying as hell, backwards, ill-mannered, conceited..."

He couldn't help but grin, a wry smirk that set his eyes to sparkling. "If that's how you really feel about me, Faye..." One part of him was surprised at her sudden admittance, the other part dismayed. Things just got a lot more complicated.

With a disgusted sigh, she threw the cigarette away. It bounced in the darkness, sending off a shower of sparks that died quickly. In the same motion she turned her back to him, a hand to her forehead. "This is what I'm talking about. I don't know how this happened, when you're the single most irritating man I've ever known."

Without a word, he closed the space between them, his right arm slipping around her waist, the skin of her bare stomach cool against his forearm. His nose nestled in her hair. She was using a new shampoo. Usually it was something floral, but this had a decidedly exotic aroma to it. She stiffened in his grasp, but he didn't let go. "I don't know how it happened either." He spoke into her hair softly. "When all my life, I said I hated women with attitude." This couldn't be happening. This shouldn't. He was saying things he'd never be able to take back. Things that would only convolute their relationship and make life harder. But there was no looking back, now. What was said, was said. Even if he'd have to deny that this ever happened, to spare her the pain. He'd have to replace the pain of loss with the pain of unrequited affection.

This was what he got for shooting from the hip.

"You'll make us want to die
I'd cut your name in my heart

We'll destroy this world for you
I know you want me to feel your pain"

He couldn't do this. He didn't want to put her through this. Abruptly, he pulled away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide his shaking fingers. In response, her jacket pulled higher, and she lifted her gaze to the roof. This time, the jacket tug wasn't because of the cold. Was it because of him? Was it a metaphor - was she trying to shield herself from what had been said? Spike's head dropped, his chin almost on his chest.

"Why?" Her face was still pointed skyward. Her back was to him, and it sounded like she wanted to cry. "Why did you do it?"

Spike closed his eyes, his left hand slicking through his hair. At the same time, he took a deep breath, wetting his lips. Her words made him feel like he'd just gone 12 rounds with a heavyweight boxer, and lost. "I... I don't know. I just..." You know why. You just don't want to say it.

Turning slowly, Faye affixed her gaze on him. Those eyes, so pure green, were full of hurt. "But..." She came close to him, seeking comfort. Her fingers, elegant and perfectly manicured, twisted into his jacket front, like she was seeking an achor from a storm that threatened to blow her away. "How did this happen?" Her forehead rested on his chest. Spike forced his arms to stay at his sides. Now, more than ever, he wanted to put his arms around her, to tell her it would be okay, that he'd make everything right. But he couldn't. Nothing would ever be right between them.

"I don't know how it happened, Faye." He said softly, to the woman clinging to his chest. "I want this. I do. Believe me, I've never wanted something more in my life." He wanted to tell her everything. That with her, he could forget the past. He could let go of it, find a reason to live, a reason to be happy. But he couldn't. If he told her that, the day he went to die, to wake from the dream... it would only be harder. He would go with that on his concious, and die knowing it. He didn't want her to go through life knowing that she could have saved him, but he wouldn't allow himself to be saved. "But..."

"But what, Spike?" Oh gods, did she have to look at him like that? Did she have to turn her face up, look him in the eyes, breathtakingly beautiful even when she was pleading? It made his heart wrench, to see her looking at him like that. "You just said it. Do you need me to tell you? Do you want me to tell you that I love you?" At least she'd lowered her head again, hiding her face. She paused, as if waiting for a reaction, or perhaps composing herself. No doubt this was going against her credo. Looking pitiful and begging to a man, a man that she wanted nothing more out of than love.

The muscles in his arms burned with wanting to hold her. But he refused to move. He had to say something, had to do something, something that would make her take back her confession. Say the hurtful words, Spike. Find them. Make something up, for shit's sake! At least say something to make her mad at you. You told yourself you didn't want to hurt her with this, and here you are! She's on the verge of tears, telling you she loves you, and you can't even admit that! Not for her sake, and most certainly not for yours. "You're out of your mind. You can't be serious -"

His words were cut off, as Faye planted a full-arm slap across his left cheek. Head jerking in surprise, his eyes opened wide as he looked down at her. Hesitantly, feeling foolish for it, but not knowing what else to do, he touched his fingers to the spot, feeling the flesh tingling.

"How dare you. ...How dare you." There she was again, giving him the lecture, the stance, the attitude he'd expected when he'd first approached her. He found himself wanting to grin. Would things work out the way they should have, this would have been how their relationship went. Between love and hate they'd go, alternating between the emotions, balancing on the thin line like acrobats. They'd go from showering affection on one another to shouting matches that would have them not speaking for days. Just how he would have hoped it would be. Spike wanted nothing more than to kiss her right now, to kiss that defiantly scowling mouth. This time his heart overtook his brain, and before he knew what he was doing, his actions had carried out that fleeting thought. Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her to him, kissing her while she was still busy being pissed at him. This time he did hold her, so hard he was afraid he'd hurt her, this time the one seeking comfort in an embrace. Putting his forehead to her neck, he would have liked to weep with joy when her hands came up, holding to his back tightly, her cheek on his shoulder.

"You don't understand, Faye. I love you. I really do. Even if I am an asshole." Her shoulders hitched, and he couldn't tell if it was from tears or a burst of laughter. Perhaps it was both. God only knew he wanted to do both at this moment. "But it would be better for the pair of us ...actually you'd get the better half of the deal, and that's what I want. I don't want this to hurt, further along the line." She released him, her hands moving to cradle his head in her hands.

"You are an asshole. You're about to make me go off on rediculous notions of love and all that other shit." His lips twisted up into a smirk, and she matched it perfectly. "What makes you think that this would hurt? ...unless of course you go and piss me off enough to kill you, that is." Spike stood straight, her fingers sliding free of his hair and down over his cheeks, barking out a loud laugh. She grinned. He'd never seen her grin. She'd smiled before, but this was a grin, a borderline laugh. One of those expressions that was contagious. At least for now they'd dodged the sullen mood that had overtaken this bizarre confession. It would be back, though. Despite feeling a warmth in his chest that made him want to burst, Spike knew this happiness was fleeting. He wanted to fight to keep ahold of it, to use it as a shield against the pain. He could ignore the sadness and forget all the reasons he'd been adding up, the reasons he needed to keep this relationship strictly platonic. He should be selfish, and ignore the outcome, Faye's inevitable sadness, and let the pair of them live like this. Happy, complete, in love. He should, but he wouldn't.

He took her hands from his face, holding them gently, his fingers nestled in her small palms. "Poetry out of you? That'd be a sight." The grin on his face slipped, became half-hearted. The darkness was overtaking him, cold reality coming back to bite him full on the ass. This was madness. Sheer utter lunacy. He had to put a stop to this, before he slung her over his shoulder, carried her off to his room, and never let her leave. He wanted to keep her, like a fairytale princess in a high tower. He'd be the prince with the ultimate treasure. Although, he doubted highly Faye would want to be kept like some priceless jewel, worshipped and adored from yonder heights of the pedestal her charming prince would place her on. That would be a problem. But he wanted that fairytale romance, like out of those ancient stories about love overcoming all obstacles, despite the modern and somewhat perverse twist they'd have to put on it. The prince would be a big-footed chainsmoking cowboy in a red racing ship, with the key to the princess' heart. And the princess would be a slinking violet-haired vixen, who made her prince speed off in his ship on a cigarette run, and wear a loaded pistol in a leg garter beneath her princesses gown. It would have been blasphemous, but it would have been fun. Sadly, the prince had a dark secret, a secret so terrible it sometimes left him sweating in his bedsheets in the middle of the night. His secret was the evil old hag who put a curse on the prince, cursed him with death, with unhappiness. He would never be able to find contentment with his princess, not until he killed the old hag and freed himself from her curse. But even if he challenged the secret, he wouldn't escape unscathed. The prince would die, freed from the curse but never able to run off with his princess. He'd die alone, and the princess would mourn him forever. That would be the last loving gift of the tragic prince - a curse on his beautiful princess, a gift of never-ending sadness.

Faye saw his change in emotion, as he told himself their sad fairytale story, his eyes becoming cold and distant. Her hands slid lifeless from his. She clasped them together, holding them to her breast, as if wincing from a blow. "You..."

"I can't, Faye. I can't and you can't. As much as we both want..."

"We've been over that before! But why can't we? Why can't we be happy, Spike? What is it in that uncombed head of yours that won't allow you to let go of whatever's holding you back?" She gestured with her hands, her arms opened, as if trying to reason with him, her eyes pleading.

With a ragged sigh, he turned away from her. That action at that particular moment felt like he was turning away from the sun forever. He faced the wall, the dull grey patina easier to speak to than the heart-shaped face that he wanted to cover in kisses. "It's complicated, Faye. You know how I am. You saw what I did out there in the asteroid field. I'm waiting for it, Faye. Waiting for my time here to end. I'm just a weary traveller waiting for his number to be up." His head drooped, his shoulders sagging. He should just tell her outright. Tell her that one day he'd have to face Vicious and the Red Dragons. Then it would be over. Goodnight, Mr. Spiegel. Sleep well in your muddy grave. You dug the hole, now grab your handful of lillies and lie in it. It's so sad, really. That pretty woman by the graveside, desired by anyone with a set of testicles, it was a crying shame. She wept like a banshee, begging you to get up from your long wooden box and come back to her. You're such a bastard, Mr. Spiegel. How could you hurt her like that? You damn right well knew you'd die before you reached old age. Despicable little asshole. It's eternal damnation for you, Mr. Spiegel. All the killing and the violence we could have overlooked, said it was an occupational hazard. But hurting that Ms. Valentine? The woman who pleaded with you not to leave, but you ignored. The woman who loved you so deeply she didn't stop looking for you for weeks. The woman who wept for days and days until your old friend Mr. Black had to intervene before she hurt herself. Yes, that Ms. Valentine. I see you knew her intimately. You loved her, and she loved you. But you blew her off. You had your cake and ate it too, regardless of how it would make her feel once you kicked the bucket. That was a move that Satan himself would have used. And for that, we're sending your eternal soul off to Hell, parcel post.

"No you're not. You're no 'weary traveller', whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. No one waiting for death would laugh the way you do. You're so full of life it hurts to look at you sometimes."

"Yeah, what if I am. But let's think about you, for a second, here." God knows I do enough of that. "Let's say I am waiting for death. Or, hell, better yet, let's say that I'm just a ghost. A wandering spirit in the shape of a man, thinking he's still alive, when infact he died a long long time ago. What happens when I one day stumble on my corpse? Will I greet it like an old friend, and lie down and die? What happens next? When I find out I was never really alive, when I go off to Heaven or Hell or whatever shitting place they stick me for the next eternity. What happens to you? When we both get down on our knees and promise to love one another until old man Reaper comes to collect. What happens when I die and you're alive?" He was getting angry now, angry at the words he had to say, angry at the brutality, at the downright shitty hand Fate had dealt him on the day of his birth. His anger was reflected in his tone. It was becoming clipped, blunt, and he was close to yelling.

"That's the point, Spike! I don't know what will happen. You'll die, I'll die, Jet will die. Everybody dies, Spike. But it's what you do before you die that counts! Why can't you see that?"

"IT'S BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU!" He whirled on his heel, shouting at her. She jerked backwards, scared out of her wits by his sudden outburst and the terrible expression on his face. He softened a little, seeing the fear on her. "I could never bring myself to do that. I could never rest easy knowing that when I die, it will cause you pain."

"You can't expect me to believe that raft of shit. We both have feelings for one another. Now because you've got this noble idea of not wanting to hurt me, you expect me to just up and forget it. To just go on my merry way, la-dee-dah? If you think I'll do that, you're a bigger asshole than I thought. Even if this whole conversation never happened, I'd still mourn this impending doom shit you're spouting off. Why? Because I had feelings for you? Yes. And because you were my friend. You and Jet and Ed and that little rat in a fur coat. You're all my family, my friends. Nothing will ever change that. Even if you still refuse to admit your feelings, I'll still grieve for you. You can tell me until you're blue in the face not to love you, but I still will. It's up to you, Spike. It's up to you whether or not you give in. Just ...just let yourself be happy."

"Space dementia in your eyes
Peace will arise and tear us apart
And make us meaningless again"

Her lecture left him breathless. For once in his twenty-seven years of life he was speechless. Something inside of him started laughing hysterically. She was right. Heaven help him if he told her that. He couldn't go and confess his love for her then promptly turn around and ignore it. "I never thought of that." He said at last, his shoulders shaking with a burst of laughter, as he lit a cigarette.

Faye smiled sweetly, her hands on her hips. "Of course you didn't. You're a man." She tapped his nose with a forefinger. "And that means you're inherenty an idiot." He shook his head, turning to face the window as she busied herself with lighting a cigarette. "But even if you are a complete and total moron... I still love you." She promptly covered her eyes, her cheeks turning pink.

"It feels weird, doesn't it?" Spike looked down at her. "Saying those three little words." She stood beside him, winding an arm around his waist. Without hesitation, he draped his arm across her shoulders, staring at their reflection in the window. What a strange pair they made. He'd have one hell of a time wrestling with this new complication. As much as he tried to refuse it, he'd still fallen for her. With practiced care, he tucked away those hurtful memories, those nightmarish visions of the future. After packing them away, he flicked on the light, driving away the plaguing darkness. But he'd eventually have to shut off the light, and unpack, and let his destiny consume him. But at least, for a short time, he would have lived as a happy man. "But I'll get used to saying them." He grinned at her. "Matter of fact, I may as well start practicing." He bowed his head, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "I love you, Faye." He would have liked to explode when Faye giggled in response. Yep... until then... he'd be a very happy man.