The long awaited chapter is up!! Sorry if its kinda short. Don't hurt me! ^__^

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"Faye… Faye, wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open, still half drunk on the pain. She had fallen asleep soon after she got in the Swordfish, the rocking knocked her out almost instantly. She was laid out on her chair in her apartment.

My apartment?

Spike was looking down at her again. The same look of worry, yet now his face was a bit more relaxed. His mismatched eyes were burning deep into her, as if he was looking for something in her eyes. Her mind gasped with recognition.

Could it be that he…

"Where's the first aid kit?"

Her brow almost twitched with annoyance as she pointed him in the direction of the bathroom and mumbled "under the sink" with apparent pain in her voice. It hurt so bad to talk. It hurt so bad to know that he didn't want her. She was only a comrade, a shrewd thing he only associated with.

But he had kissed her…

No, that was nothing. He was only trying to…

What was he trying to do? Try as she might she couldn't come up with a reason. She had been breathing, and it wasn't like CPR was needed. She wanted to ask, but would that be prying in his business? But when did that ever stop her before? And would it be considered her business too since it was her that he kissed? She wanted to know but at the same time she didn't. What if it had been an accident, and since she had kissed him back, would she get blamed for something? How could a kiss involving a little tongue action be an accident? She didn't know but she was sure Spike could come up with a reason. And she didn't want to be put in that awkward situation.

If she could just fall asleep again, she could forget it all. She might not ever have to wake up to a smelly city with crime everywhere, with buildings with mold in the corners, to a place where you could hardly even find a clean place to shop. Why did she want to wake up to that every morning? Was it because the city described her soul? Was it because she just needed a place as depressing as she was?

If only I could close my eyes…

And she began to slip away, her heart began to slow as she gave up, her eyes began to cloud, and she could feel every cut on her body. She could feel the new bullet holes and the one she got a few weeks ago, the one that didn't fully heal because she didn't take good care of it. She could feel every pain that had ever been inflicted upon her.

And then she began to remember…

Faces old and young flashed in front of her eyes, voices sounded in her head, buildings appeared, but it all wore out as she heard his voice yelling at her to wake up and not give up. She heard him cussing at her in every language known to man and almost laughed as he made up new ones. And as she opened her eyes, the memories wore away. But his look of relief made it almost worth the loss.

I want someone to love me. I want him to love me…

Her eyes began to drift shut.

"Faye. I gotta take off your dress ok?"

And her head was already nodding in her drunken stupor, the words not registering until she felt his sure hands working with the clips and straps on her dress and as it slid over her head. She didn't realize until she was only in her lacy bra and panties.

He's only doing it cause he has too. If he can keep cool, so can I.

But she couldn't repress the shiver as his firm hands gripped her uninjured side in a firm but gentle grasp. She didn't bother to wonder why he was doing so, his warm hands felt good on her cold, damp flesh. Though her eyes widened in surprise and her body jerked with protest as the needle nosed pliers dug into her side. Her mouth opened in soundless cries, flapping in pain. And they dug deeper and hit the butt of the bullet, then the jerk as the pliers closed around it. Her cry of pain did come when he yanked the bullet out of her side and the wound began to bleed again. Her cry left her throat sore and burning and involuntary tears leaked from her eyes. The pain of the living, how it hurt so much more that that of the dead.

"Look above the fridge," she managed to whisper around the pain. Good old alcohol would make it all better.

She felt an odd sense of remorse as his hand parted with her side, but she still felt the tingle on her skin. She heard the cabinets clatter shut and cracked open her eyes to see him come back without his shirt and pants, clad only in his boxers. With further inspection she saw his pile of dripping clothes in front of the door, forming a puddle of water, mud, and blood. Beads of water dripped from his hair and ran down his stomach and back, turning the rim of his boxers dark blue while the rest remained light blue and dry. Her hazy eyes looked at him and the bottle of strong liquor in his hand.

She weakly pushed herself up, and immediately wished she had asked for help as a strong current of pain rippled through her body. Was she so weak that she couldn't even push herself up? How many times had she seen Spike in worse condition than she, yet watch him stand up and walk around even though he was in too many casts to count? How many times had he told her he was fine? How many times… Was she really so weak?

She finished pushing herself up without even a wince of pain and took the bottle from Spike, swallowing the burning liquid and its numbing powers. It took a while for her body to go numb, her head remained pretty clear as she was used to downing alcohol, and for that she was glad. Who knew what she would do if she was too deeply intoxicated.

He watched her remain half asleep as he finished probing her wounds for bullets. She didn't cry out again, even though every now and then she twitched or shivered, which sent him into a fit of raging hormones. He began to whistle softly to try to distract himself from her body now clothed only in almost see through panties and bra. He pulled the last bullet out, which sent a strong shiver throughout her body. Before he could stop himself, his latched his other hand beneath her breast and in attempt to try to hide his actions, he sat her back up and began to bandage her shoulder.

He had refused to talk to her or make eye contact. If she had responded in that wounded husky voice he would have lost it, and if she would have held his eyes too long… But now that he was done he looked down at her. Her eyes met his and if he wasn't so sure that she was partially intoxicated, he would have mistaken her look for lust. It helped none when her pale hand reached out for him and placed her pale fingertips a little below a bullet graze on his chest. She ran her fingers lightly through his blood as if she didn't believe it was really there. Her eyes rose up to meet his.

"You're hurt."

"Nah. It's nothin."

Her hand rose up and she pressed on his injury. He jumped and winced.

"What the flip was that for?"

"You're hurt," she repeated in her husky voice, indicating it still hurt a bit to talk. "Hand me some gauze, some rubbing alcohol, and a bandage."

"You can't even clean up your own cuts. What makes you think I'll let you mess with mine," he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Shut up and hand me the gauze," she replied, grabbed the medical equipment, and placed a gentle hand on his side. "This'll sting a bit…" And she pressed the cotton swab of rubbing alcohol into his cut.

He winced but he took the pain. And it was all he could do to keep himself from grabbing her hand and sucking his blood off of her pale fingertips. She finished wrapping him and smiled a cocky smile.

"Told you I could do it."

He rolled his eyes, kept himself from starting an argument, and tossed her a blanket he had found on her bed earlier, while settling down on the armchair. It had taken all his might to keep his cool but he had done it. And he was dang proud too. No way was she seducing him tonight. He flipped on her tv and watched the news report on the casino shooting earlier. Apparently they had planned to rob the casino and were waiting for the perfect opportunity when Faye shot her gun.

He had been flipping through the channels for a while now, finishing off the rest of Faye's liquor while he was at it. He was on his way to a drunken slumber when he heard Faye moan in her sleep. Grumpily he stood up and went to check on her. Her face was flustered and a fever had struck, most likely from the liquor. He put a wet towel on her face and called it quits.

"Sp...ike," she groaned in her fevered slumber.

Though he retained him self earlier, hearing her moan his name and the fact that he was drunk, broke his resolve and his lips locked with hers in a passionate kiss.

Her eyes shot open and she found herself being kissed. Her hands weakly pushed at his chest, trying to make it stop. She could smell the liquor heavy on his breath, she could see the dull glow of his normally crisp eyes. He was so drunk she was surprised he could stand up.

Why did he continue to tear her heart to pieces? Why was it that no one seemed to care about how much pain she was in? But as he muttered her name around a kiss, she found herself kissing him back. Her arms wrapped around his back and she pulled him to her. What would one night of pleasure do? It might help relieve the pain, after all.

And her wounds might not have even existed, as she blocked out the pain and focused solely on him. He pulled her to the floor and though she hit with a small thud and a rack of pain that could've stopped even the strongest in their tracks, it was as if it didn't register.

"Take me," she moaned in his ear.

And before she knew it she was swept away, hanging on to consciousness as long as she could, before knocked out by pain.

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She awoke hearing the thrum of the television.

With no Spike in her arms, as she recalled before she passed out, or anywhere for that matter. She weakly called his name a few times, with no response. Her eyes turned to where his clothes had been, to find nothing, not a puddle, not a ring of dirt, nothing. Was she dreaming again? Had she only imagined his body his warmth? Or was he already regretting her? Was she really so useless and horrid? Who would want a dead woman anyway? And she fled back into her mind.

More damaged then she had been in the beginning.

It was like she was dead again.

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This chapter wasn't very descriptive because I didn't want any flames. If you guys want me to repost this chapter with uh… more… uh…. Intensity, submit a review and tell me. I can't read minds. Ok? Do I have to remind you that this is angst? But there are a few more chapters, don't worry. It will all become clear...*Mystic look* My mind is everywhere today, I can't focus on anything…

See that box with "submit review" in it? Push the likkle button next to it that says "go" and you get an invisible cyber cookie. Yum.