Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring…except for this fanfic author working her butt off to complete this chapter.
Yesh coming to you on location from the beeeutiful city of Phidelphia is red-tenko here to post her newest chapter. Yes this California girl tore herself away from pretending she has a Jersey accent to get some writing done, and here it is!
Happy holidays, here's your gift.
Chapter 5: Beware the Bad Boys
"Hi Jerry, look I—oof!" I tripped and nearly fell back to the last bend in the stairwell, but luckily caught my balance on the railing. Bill glanced back to make sure I was still following, but didn't pause. "I really can't talk right now."
I heard some kind of miffed noise from the other end of the line and it crackled on the receiver. "Well are you okay? Shit, Viv, I saw the car on the news and didn't know what to think!"
"I'm fine!" I insisted as cheerily as I could fake while I sidestepped a line of three Red Dragons descending the stairs as I climbed forward. They were laughing and smoking and each crammed his neck as I passed to stare at my skirt's hemline. I clenched my teeth and spoke through them. "I'm really fine, Jer."
"Where are you?"
Oh God, what a question!
When he called I was jogging up the fifth floor steps, but when he asked that I was stumbling somewhere between floor ten and eleven. Spike had taken Faye to the elevator—out of the hotel's six, the Dragons only kept one working. I felt nervous as hell when I watched Shin run in after his leader, and the sliding doors closed on the view of him, Spike, and my bloody friend. There wasn't room for me in the lift, and I stupidly couldn't stand still for five minutes and insisted that Bill, the fake valet, point me to the stairs. It wasn't long before he was at least a floor ahead of me, pausing at each landing to pop his head in the door and ask, "This where he took the woman?"
"Are you at home yet?" Jerry's voice brought me out of my memorial brooding.
"N-no, I'm still in Tharsis."
There was no floor thirteen because of old American superstitions, but fourteen brought no luck either.
"Why the hell are you still in a place where someone's put a hit on Marla!?" Jerry snapped. I could picture his expression as a combination of alarm and exasperation, but I really didn't want to see it, and was thankful I'd remembered to set my comm. for audio only.
"Well I've had a rough day…" I pouted at the phone, wishing I could vent about all the crap that should never be pushed into one 24 hour period. That morning I'd eaten breakfast with Marla and Faye as usual, and by evening I'd been in two Syndicate buildings, been shot at, knocked unconscious, and had my sobriety mocked for the millionth billionth time.
"I'm too tired to find a car and drive home," I gave as my excuse. "I'm in a hotel." And hey, the last part was true.
"All right, I'll pick you up."
"What? NO!—I mean, you don't have to, I'm fine and I…uh… already paid for the room."
"Marla can cover it, you shouldn't be in Tharsis," he insisted. "I'm coming to get you, what's the name of the hotel?"
I fought my brain for excuses to throw at him—remember Jerry's a lawyer, and he's pretty good. The last thing I needed was to be on the stand with him. I knew I had to end the conversation quickly, especially when I looked to the next landing and saw Bill waiting for me at the door out to the nineteenth story. "Room service is here, gotta go, bye Jer!" I blurted out all at once and hung up, turning off my phone before he had a chance to call back.
"That was lame," Bill smirked at my excuse.
"Shut up," I snapped back. The damn teenager, considering the echo in the stairwell and my powerful mic, had probably heard most of the conversation. "Which room is it?" I then asked. A few Syndicate men stood in the hall before me, deep in their water cooler talk, loitering in front of the many numbered doors.
"The suite," Bill jerked his head. "At the end." With that, he turned back in the direction we'd come from.
I looked down the hall and back to him. "You're not coming?"
He favored me with an incredulous glare. "I'm on watch, stupid." He closed the door behind him, leaving me staring at the FIRE EXIT ONLY sign. I stood still for a moment, took a deep breath, then turned and defiantly marched down the hall as quickly as possible. I heard a dog call or two from the Dragons I passed—apparently there weren't usually women in this building (unless they frequented for money, if you know what I mean).
Two guards in heavy Kevlar armor, holding the scariest rifles I'd ever seen, stood on either side of the suite door looking like something off TV. They stood as still as the old palace guards on earth, giving me no indication that I was allowed to pass or forced to stop. They didn't even look at me; they'd probably been expecting me come to think of it. It hit me then that this was probably Spike's room, for I couldn't think of anyone else in the building whose sleep was guarded so well—unless they thought Faye was going to break out and massacre them all with her cursing, or something like that.
I lifted a tentative hand and inched it toward the door handle. "Can…I…?" I started slowly.
"Miss Chen!" someone interrupted from behind. I turned around to see Shin, the only person I'd met today with good manners. He was burdened by a gigantic grey box with a large red cross on the side. It was the med kit—probably a hospital in a box, to judge by its size. "Sorry, could you get the door?"
"Oh! Right," I obeyed. I turned the handle and stepped inside, quickly moving out of the way for Shin to squeeze the first aid kit through the frame. When he passed me I closed the door behind us and took a look around the room.
It was a suite all right, probably the best in the building. I followed Shin past a small, living room type area with a large television, a kitchenette completely bare (save for coffee), and a couch sporting an indenture of a person in its cushions. French doors separated this place from the bedroom area where I found who I was looking for.
Faye lay on the bed, still unconscious, wearing just her blouse and panties. Spike was crouched next to her on the mattress, shoes on the sheets, holding a bloodied towel against her side. He looked up when we entered, sending Shin and his box a smirk.
"Heh, I thought you only pull out the big one when I fall down."
"I couldn't tell how bad it was," Shin replied, glancing at Faye as he set down the kit.
"She's fine. Slashed not stabbed; surface wounds."
Shin nodded. He opened the double sided lid and the kit expanded, revealing tiny shelves like a make up case might, but instead of lipstick there were pill bottles and instead of concealer there was gauze. He shifted though the bottom platform and frowned. "We're out of disinfectant," he said, looking accusingly at Spike.
Spike shrugged. "I've got a flask in one of my jackets that'll work—jeeze, this towel's ruined," he grimaced at his stained linen for a second before shrugging that off as well. "Hey kid, get that bottle from my coat, it's— Shin I need a towel, I just realized this is the bathmat— it's the brown one in the closet."
"What? Oh, sure, sure…" I shook myself out of my trance when I realized he'd been talking to me and I hurried to the closet. Spike Spiegel owned less clothes than most normal men (which when compared to how much clothes most women have, is slim pickings as it is). There was just a suit or two, sweats, a few extra casual pieces I couldn't picture him in, and some other things that just ~had~ to be for costume shoved in the corner. I only saw one brown coat, a trench coat.
It was really gross. The coat was singed, ripped, and there were sliced holes all across the front like someone had taken a hacksaw to it. I could only assume those wide, dark stains were blood, and there were so many of them I winced despite myself. Why Spike would keep this thing, I don't know, because it certainly wasn't fit to wear. However, when placed in whatever situation had caused such damage, I couldn't blame him for having a flask shoved into the inside pocket. I retrieved the little bottle, and shuffled up to the bed, passing it over.
I finally got an up close look at Faye. She didn't look too bad, but not too good either. Her skin was flushed, which was probably a bit of a bad sign but I was glad to see she wasn't pale and dead looking as I'd half expected. There was a gash on her right thigh, which explained the reason for removing her pants. Spike had left it alone for the moment though, treating the bigger wounds first.
"You said she'll be okay, right?" I asked.
"Yeah, she's a stubborn brat who's already outlived us all," Spike replied, dripping some alcohol onto the towel Shin brought him. He pressed it against Faye's hip, and in her sleep she bucked, kneeing him in the stomach before rolling over.
"AGH! Stupid shrew," Spike growled. He roughly turned her back over and began to dab the towel more gently, muttering, "wuss."
Sliding an arm underneath her, he propped Faye up enough to wind the bandage around her back, again and again until the roll finally ran out. "Just like her to get into a mess—and even more typical of her to involve other people." He didn't specify if the "other people" meant him or me.
"Ah well," he shrugged, holding out his open palm into which Shin placed another roll without having to be told. "When she wakes up I'll give some of that star treatment she used to give me," and as he muttered something about tangerines and selfish women, I began to doubt his medical expertise.
I stood at the edge of the bed, watching them work while neither acknowledged my existence. I felt stupid just loitering there, but I had no desire to go back out to the hall with those Dragon cronies hanging around. I also couldn't even be sure if it was safe to leave Faye to Spike anyway, what with the way he drawled on about revenge and how he looked too comfortable winding the wrap around her thigh.
After hovering dumbly for at least twenty minutes, I felt like saying something. I sure as hell did have my questions— like why, for example, was the leader of the Red Dragon Syndicate patching up Faye's "surface wounds" when he had a whole building full of subordinates to do the grunt work for him? Surely, the way he carried on, it couldn't be because of loyalty.
'Keep your mouth shut,' I ordered myself. 'Don't interrupt them, not while they're working'. But then Shin pointed out blood staining Faye's shoulder. And when Spike unbuttoned her shirt, laughed, and exclaimed, "Miracle of miracles, she's wearing a bra!" I couldn't help but glare and demand:
"Don't you guys have a doctor or something!?" with my hands on my hips.
Spike looked up at me with an expression that seemed to ask "You're still here?" Instead, what he really did was shrug and say, "Better ogled by friends than groped by strangers." He smirked and winked at me, apparently thriving on my annoyance with him.
I narrowed my eyes. "But you two aren't friends."
"Caught me," he winked again with that impish smirk and returned to patching up Faye. "No matter, she ain't shy."
Aggravated and suspicious, I looked over his shoulder. He was winding the roll securely around her shoulder, a little above the end of her left collarbone. The hand that supported her while working was notably distanced from Faye's breasts; apparently Spike had caught my worry and made it a joke.
He did a lot of stuff like that during the time I spent with him—testing people's boundaries that is. He liked to see how much it took before someone exploded, and then prod a half inch short of the mark, leaving his poor victim tottering on the brink of rage without a push or a pull.
I tried not to give him the satisfaction, so I rolled my eyes and stalked off towards the door. But when I remembered the hallway full of Syndicate men that I just didn't want to hang out with, the thought made me stop short. Instead of venturing out of the room, I decided to wait in the living area of the suite. Spike and Shin wouldn't be much longer anyway, for that shoulder wound looked like the last of them.
I sat down on the couch to wait, but as I'd had an admittedly long day (which is a most major understatement) and had nothing to eat since breakfast, the exhaustion was overwhelming so I fell asleep at once.
I woke up only an hour or so later thanks to the discomfort of the terrible position I'd drifted off in. I grimaced and stretched, hearing joints along my spine crack into place. I felt awful— still very sleepy with the remains of sweat and makeup sticky on my face, scratch awful, I felt disgusting. Unable to stand it, I urged myself forward and shuffled back into the bedroom area.
Faye was still sleeping, but Spike seemed to have moved her into a more comfortable position. She'd been tucked in, rather casually with just the far corner of the blanket yanked forward to cover her torso but otherwise on top of the covers. I saw her ruined shirt folded on an ottoman next to a foot; following the foot to its inevitable connection, I found Spike fast asleep in on a chair with the TV guide covering his face.
"Men are weird," I sniffed groggily, and continued my stumble towards the bathroom. There I scrubbed my face until I finally felt human again, and was about to return to the couch when I heard a low groan from the bed.
I froze. Faye was stirring, probably waking up. I started for the door but paused in indecision. After all, this was the last place she seemed to want to be, and then I went and brought her here. Sure it was for her own good, but she might still be angry. I thought perhaps I should get to her before Spike woke up, so I could explain everything and hopefully calm her down, but I'd apparently stopped for too long.
Spike had shifted with the first noise, but when Faye tried to roll over and upset her wound, she cried out and he sprang from the chair, hand to his gun. Meanwhile, I'd ducked back into the bathroom. Faye's last encounter with Spike Spiegel was on replay in my head, and I decided that it would just be safer to wait until the yelling stopped. I made myself comfortable on the floor, and watched them through the crack I'd left in the door.
"Ugh…where the hell…?" Faye asked, propping herself on her elbows and sitting up a little. She then saw Spike and greeted him with another groan and, "Oh, it's you."
"As usual." he rolled his eyes. "And lie down before you screw up those bandages."
"Why, did I need stitches?" asked Faye. Against Spike's warning (or maybe because of it) she sat up completely and began testing the extent of her injuries. She was able to lift her left arm until it was even with her shoulder, but any higher than that forced a wince. Simultaneously, she moved her right leg around and it seemed to give her free motion although a little slow.
"No stitches," replied Spike as he retrieved a pill bottle from the first aid box. "Just give them time to scab over."
"Well I guess you would be the expert," she grumbled, wincing again as she discovered the gash in her side kept her from pivoting to the right.
"Just shut up and take two of these," he snapped, tossing the bottle at her.
"What are they?"
"Speeds the healing process."
Faye lifted the bottle to eye level, shook it, then screwed her eyes as she opened it and dumped a few pills into her hand. She sniffed them and gave a low, impressed whistle before swallowing them without water. "That's some expensive shit," she said, grinning kind of meanly. "I guess leading a crime ring has its perks. I wonder how many pharmacies your Dragons have to hit a month to keep you in one piece."
Spike sent her a warning glare and settled back into his seat, leaning his elbows on his thighs. "So?" he asked. "What happened?"
"Who knows?" Faye shrugged and flopped back on the mattress. "Waiting for us outside the bar, five of them…dressed as gang boys but weren't faking it too well. Guess they wanted the ISSP to think muggers did it, but I haven't seen many muggers wearing Prada's 'Gangsta' line."
"Think they're from the Circle?"
"Most likely, but I still couldn't tell if it was me or the kid—or both of us, maybe, that they wanted dead..." she trialed off into thoughtful silence.
Spike was silent also as he leaned back in the chair a little and took a cigarette pack from his pocket. He grabbed it by the end and slapped it against the opposite palm until one of the white sticks showed itself. He placed the cigarette between his lips, but paused before lighting it, holding up the pack as if toasting the figure on the bed.
He'd said nothing, but Faye's head lifted up as if she'd heard the offer through some other means. She eyed the cigarette for a moment. Her breathing was quite audible, and she licked her slightly parted lips before replying shortly, "I quit." Her head flopped back again.
Spike arched his eyebrows in surprise, even pausing to stare slightly as he lit up. He inhaled deeply, and at once seemed to relax all over. It was strange, somewhat. I hadn't been able to see the stress in him until he breathed it out in a foggy stream.
"Quit gambling too?" he suddenly asked with a smirk, and Faye's laugh was his reply.
"Never," she murmured in triumph.
He almost seemed to laugh along with her. "Just making sure I had the right Faye Valentine."
There was a long pause as he stared at her, hard, waiting for the reply. Spike could do that better than anyone—turn the tables of a conversation with a word, a tone, a look…a feeling you can get just by looking into his eyes.
"It's not Valentine anymore," Faye sighed. The residue of her laughter was gone, leaving a very tired woman. "It's Gatsby."
And then there was more silence. More waiting, almost to a point I couldn't stand. What had turned started as cowering for personal safety had turned into eavesdropping, and although they'd said nothing of consequence I could feel it in the air how unwelcome my presence was. I couldn't just walk out now, saying something like 'Sorry, was just using the John, don't let me interrupt' because that would break whatever uneasy spell they'd woven. It was a very private spell, and I was feeling very guilty.
Oh well, say what you will about my integrity but I had no choice but to keep listening, and so I did. I watched too, watched the seconds and minutes tick away before Spike took a last drag, put out the cigarette and stood.
He stepped up to the bed until he hovered above her, expressionless. Faye must've known he was there, but she took her time in opening her dark green eyes, and when she finally did they were mere slits to meet his.
"So tell me what's going on."
"There's really not much to say," replied Faye. She remained completely still, lying there, and the whole scene looked as if Spike were communicating with a sleeper. "Marla, the Circle, the Dragons, and me all pushed into a nice pile of shit—is it worth getting into now? After all," she cracked a tiny smile. "That's not what you really want to ask me is it?"
Spike stayed quiet, focused on her. Pause. Inhale. "How's Jet?"
"And…?"
"And how long did you wait after I left before running off again?"
"There it is," Faye murmured. She began to lift herself, propped by the elbows once more until she was half sitting up. "You sure do take some shoving to get down to things—but that's you, isn't it? Either full of ambiguity or blunt as they come."
"It's you too, you know," muttered Spike, turning away from the smallest of catlike smile's which had graced her lips. "But replace ambiguity with denial."
"I'm not denying anything," she called to his back. Their whispers were broken, she spoke normally now. "In fact, I'll answer your questions right now. To your first question, last I saw Jet was fine. To your second question, I left four months after you did. Question three? No, I wasn't thrown off the ship. Next one, no I didn't run away—oh, and to the inevitable joke question: no, Jet and I did not have a fling gone sour." She closed it off with an open palmed slap against the mattress with both hands. "Does that satisfy you?"
"Not quite," Spike answered, turning back around. "Why did you leave?"
A shadow of something seemed to cross Faye then, filling her look with something that could have been bitterness or anger. It was hard to tell the name of the emotion, but easy to see that it was dark. "You gave up your right to ask me that," she growled softly. "You walked out, there are prices to pay."
"You walked out too," Spike reminded her. "Sounds like you're rights are gone too."
"And I've accepted that," she snapped back and held her glare. "But I don't think you have."
Spike frowned at that. He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and leaned far forward so that their faces were close. "I've accepted a lot of things, Faye," he said. Their eyes remained locked for a moment before they broke contact simultaneously. Spike turned away to look out the window and as soon as his back was to her, Faye's arms collapsed from the exhaustion she was pressing on her weary body and she was lying down again.
Once again there was silence, thankfully broken by Faye. "Tell me why I'm here, Spike," she said, letting her eyes slip closed again.
He didn't look away from the window. "Your friend brought you."
"Figured," she snorted. "But I don't mean now. I mean when your spies saw me at the Gold Serpent Circle's building, and then they attacked and Shin pretty much gave it away that you'd sent him for me. Your Dragon's could have taken me anywhere—would've been smarter, after all, not to let a liar and a cheat know where you're hiding.
"But here I am. There I was, and here I am. Anything you needed to know you could've gotten on your own, or at least by calling. You wanted to see me face to face…" she tried to lean up again, but didn't have the strength and settled back. "Well, Spike, I'm right here. We've been face to face for plenty of time now, so tell me, why am I here?
Spike remained still and quiet, starring out the window. Maybe he was looking at the traffic in the streets, or maybe he was really looking at Faye's reflection in the glass, who's to say? No newcomer would have seen it, but the tension he'd had before his cigarette was back in his slouchy shoulders. It seemed to be the tension and weakness of adrenaline run dry.
Faye, probably fed up waiting for him, jutted out her bottom lip and said, "Fine." Her head rolled to face his turned back. "If you wont tell me why I'm here, why don't you tell me why you're here.
Spike turned slowly and not completely around. "I thought you said you didn't want me to tell you that stuff."
"And I thought you said there was still a future," she bit back. "I thought you were done with the Syndicate." And when their eyes locked that time, both pairs looked so desperate… "Promises, promises…" she whispered, turning her face away.
"Promises, promises," he agreed softly. He stepped away from the window and headed off. When he reached the French doors the divided the suite, he made to close them behind him, but paused before he did.
"Goodnight, Miss…" he paused in indecision. I wondered if he'd say Valentine or Gatsby, but he settled for neither. Instead he laughed, sent the heavens a quick glance, shook his head and called, "Night, Romani!"
Click, and he was gone.
"Goodnight…"
To be continued…
BAH! Humbug. Well here it is. The long awaited (hopefully) chapter five. I decided at the very last minute to take a very very different turn with this story so I hope you like it. Of course I've only succeeded in making things difficult for myself by changing my plans, but oh well I think it'll work out better in the long run.
I seriously didn't know what I was going to do with this confrontation scene. Originally it was going to be a lot more angrier. In the fanfiction world one encounters a lot of angry asshole Spike. Some authors write this Spike so well I'm amazed…I am not one of those authors. This is the way I write them folks, you're just gonna have to deal
The way I see the CB universe, it's a lot of quiet time where you have to listen to what they're not saying—cause if you notice, they don't exactly let go their souls unless they gotta.
If you can understand my ramblings that is. Whatev.
In other news, I turned eighteen! Yesh, go me, I am a Christmas eve baby, and do you know what I would looove for my birthday? Some reviews please! Oh and shameless plug, chapter 6 of For Every Action is out so yall should give it a gander.
Until next time!
Yesh coming to you on location from the beeeutiful city of Phidelphia is red-tenko here to post her newest chapter. Yes this California girl tore herself away from pretending she has a Jersey accent to get some writing done, and here it is!
Happy holidays, here's your gift.
Chapter 5: Beware the Bad Boys
"Hi Jerry, look I—oof!" I tripped and nearly fell back to the last bend in the stairwell, but luckily caught my balance on the railing. Bill glanced back to make sure I was still following, but didn't pause. "I really can't talk right now."
I heard some kind of miffed noise from the other end of the line and it crackled on the receiver. "Well are you okay? Shit, Viv, I saw the car on the news and didn't know what to think!"
"I'm fine!" I insisted as cheerily as I could fake while I sidestepped a line of three Red Dragons descending the stairs as I climbed forward. They were laughing and smoking and each crammed his neck as I passed to stare at my skirt's hemline. I clenched my teeth and spoke through them. "I'm really fine, Jer."
"Where are you?"
Oh God, what a question!
When he called I was jogging up the fifth floor steps, but when he asked that I was stumbling somewhere between floor ten and eleven. Spike had taken Faye to the elevator—out of the hotel's six, the Dragons only kept one working. I felt nervous as hell when I watched Shin run in after his leader, and the sliding doors closed on the view of him, Spike, and my bloody friend. There wasn't room for me in the lift, and I stupidly couldn't stand still for five minutes and insisted that Bill, the fake valet, point me to the stairs. It wasn't long before he was at least a floor ahead of me, pausing at each landing to pop his head in the door and ask, "This where he took the woman?"
"Are you at home yet?" Jerry's voice brought me out of my memorial brooding.
"N-no, I'm still in Tharsis."
There was no floor thirteen because of old American superstitions, but fourteen brought no luck either.
"Why the hell are you still in a place where someone's put a hit on Marla!?" Jerry snapped. I could picture his expression as a combination of alarm and exasperation, but I really didn't want to see it, and was thankful I'd remembered to set my comm. for audio only.
"Well I've had a rough day…" I pouted at the phone, wishing I could vent about all the crap that should never be pushed into one 24 hour period. That morning I'd eaten breakfast with Marla and Faye as usual, and by evening I'd been in two Syndicate buildings, been shot at, knocked unconscious, and had my sobriety mocked for the millionth billionth time.
"I'm too tired to find a car and drive home," I gave as my excuse. "I'm in a hotel." And hey, the last part was true.
"All right, I'll pick you up."
"What? NO!—I mean, you don't have to, I'm fine and I…uh… already paid for the room."
"Marla can cover it, you shouldn't be in Tharsis," he insisted. "I'm coming to get you, what's the name of the hotel?"
I fought my brain for excuses to throw at him—remember Jerry's a lawyer, and he's pretty good. The last thing I needed was to be on the stand with him. I knew I had to end the conversation quickly, especially when I looked to the next landing and saw Bill waiting for me at the door out to the nineteenth story. "Room service is here, gotta go, bye Jer!" I blurted out all at once and hung up, turning off my phone before he had a chance to call back.
"That was lame," Bill smirked at my excuse.
"Shut up," I snapped back. The damn teenager, considering the echo in the stairwell and my powerful mic, had probably heard most of the conversation. "Which room is it?" I then asked. A few Syndicate men stood in the hall before me, deep in their water cooler talk, loitering in front of the many numbered doors.
"The suite," Bill jerked his head. "At the end." With that, he turned back in the direction we'd come from.
I looked down the hall and back to him. "You're not coming?"
He favored me with an incredulous glare. "I'm on watch, stupid." He closed the door behind him, leaving me staring at the FIRE EXIT ONLY sign. I stood still for a moment, took a deep breath, then turned and defiantly marched down the hall as quickly as possible. I heard a dog call or two from the Dragons I passed—apparently there weren't usually women in this building (unless they frequented for money, if you know what I mean).
Two guards in heavy Kevlar armor, holding the scariest rifles I'd ever seen, stood on either side of the suite door looking like something off TV. They stood as still as the old palace guards on earth, giving me no indication that I was allowed to pass or forced to stop. They didn't even look at me; they'd probably been expecting me come to think of it. It hit me then that this was probably Spike's room, for I couldn't think of anyone else in the building whose sleep was guarded so well—unless they thought Faye was going to break out and massacre them all with her cursing, or something like that.
I lifted a tentative hand and inched it toward the door handle. "Can…I…?" I started slowly.
"Miss Chen!" someone interrupted from behind. I turned around to see Shin, the only person I'd met today with good manners. He was burdened by a gigantic grey box with a large red cross on the side. It was the med kit—probably a hospital in a box, to judge by its size. "Sorry, could you get the door?"
"Oh! Right," I obeyed. I turned the handle and stepped inside, quickly moving out of the way for Shin to squeeze the first aid kit through the frame. When he passed me I closed the door behind us and took a look around the room.
It was a suite all right, probably the best in the building. I followed Shin past a small, living room type area with a large television, a kitchenette completely bare (save for coffee), and a couch sporting an indenture of a person in its cushions. French doors separated this place from the bedroom area where I found who I was looking for.
Faye lay on the bed, still unconscious, wearing just her blouse and panties. Spike was crouched next to her on the mattress, shoes on the sheets, holding a bloodied towel against her side. He looked up when we entered, sending Shin and his box a smirk.
"Heh, I thought you only pull out the big one when I fall down."
"I couldn't tell how bad it was," Shin replied, glancing at Faye as he set down the kit.
"She's fine. Slashed not stabbed; surface wounds."
Shin nodded. He opened the double sided lid and the kit expanded, revealing tiny shelves like a make up case might, but instead of lipstick there were pill bottles and instead of concealer there was gauze. He shifted though the bottom platform and frowned. "We're out of disinfectant," he said, looking accusingly at Spike.
Spike shrugged. "I've got a flask in one of my jackets that'll work—jeeze, this towel's ruined," he grimaced at his stained linen for a second before shrugging that off as well. "Hey kid, get that bottle from my coat, it's— Shin I need a towel, I just realized this is the bathmat— it's the brown one in the closet."
"What? Oh, sure, sure…" I shook myself out of my trance when I realized he'd been talking to me and I hurried to the closet. Spike Spiegel owned less clothes than most normal men (which when compared to how much clothes most women have, is slim pickings as it is). There was just a suit or two, sweats, a few extra casual pieces I couldn't picture him in, and some other things that just ~had~ to be for costume shoved in the corner. I only saw one brown coat, a trench coat.
It was really gross. The coat was singed, ripped, and there were sliced holes all across the front like someone had taken a hacksaw to it. I could only assume those wide, dark stains were blood, and there were so many of them I winced despite myself. Why Spike would keep this thing, I don't know, because it certainly wasn't fit to wear. However, when placed in whatever situation had caused such damage, I couldn't blame him for having a flask shoved into the inside pocket. I retrieved the little bottle, and shuffled up to the bed, passing it over.
I finally got an up close look at Faye. She didn't look too bad, but not too good either. Her skin was flushed, which was probably a bit of a bad sign but I was glad to see she wasn't pale and dead looking as I'd half expected. There was a gash on her right thigh, which explained the reason for removing her pants. Spike had left it alone for the moment though, treating the bigger wounds first.
"You said she'll be okay, right?" I asked.
"Yeah, she's a stubborn brat who's already outlived us all," Spike replied, dripping some alcohol onto the towel Shin brought him. He pressed it against Faye's hip, and in her sleep she bucked, kneeing him in the stomach before rolling over.
"AGH! Stupid shrew," Spike growled. He roughly turned her back over and began to dab the towel more gently, muttering, "wuss."
Sliding an arm underneath her, he propped Faye up enough to wind the bandage around her back, again and again until the roll finally ran out. "Just like her to get into a mess—and even more typical of her to involve other people." He didn't specify if the "other people" meant him or me.
"Ah well," he shrugged, holding out his open palm into which Shin placed another roll without having to be told. "When she wakes up I'll give some of that star treatment she used to give me," and as he muttered something about tangerines and selfish women, I began to doubt his medical expertise.
I stood at the edge of the bed, watching them work while neither acknowledged my existence. I felt stupid just loitering there, but I had no desire to go back out to the hall with those Dragon cronies hanging around. I also couldn't even be sure if it was safe to leave Faye to Spike anyway, what with the way he drawled on about revenge and how he looked too comfortable winding the wrap around her thigh.
After hovering dumbly for at least twenty minutes, I felt like saying something. I sure as hell did have my questions— like why, for example, was the leader of the Red Dragon Syndicate patching up Faye's "surface wounds" when he had a whole building full of subordinates to do the grunt work for him? Surely, the way he carried on, it couldn't be because of loyalty.
'Keep your mouth shut,' I ordered myself. 'Don't interrupt them, not while they're working'. But then Shin pointed out blood staining Faye's shoulder. And when Spike unbuttoned her shirt, laughed, and exclaimed, "Miracle of miracles, she's wearing a bra!" I couldn't help but glare and demand:
"Don't you guys have a doctor or something!?" with my hands on my hips.
Spike looked up at me with an expression that seemed to ask "You're still here?" Instead, what he really did was shrug and say, "Better ogled by friends than groped by strangers." He smirked and winked at me, apparently thriving on my annoyance with him.
I narrowed my eyes. "But you two aren't friends."
"Caught me," he winked again with that impish smirk and returned to patching up Faye. "No matter, she ain't shy."
Aggravated and suspicious, I looked over his shoulder. He was winding the roll securely around her shoulder, a little above the end of her left collarbone. The hand that supported her while working was notably distanced from Faye's breasts; apparently Spike had caught my worry and made it a joke.
He did a lot of stuff like that during the time I spent with him—testing people's boundaries that is. He liked to see how much it took before someone exploded, and then prod a half inch short of the mark, leaving his poor victim tottering on the brink of rage without a push or a pull.
I tried not to give him the satisfaction, so I rolled my eyes and stalked off towards the door. But when I remembered the hallway full of Syndicate men that I just didn't want to hang out with, the thought made me stop short. Instead of venturing out of the room, I decided to wait in the living area of the suite. Spike and Shin wouldn't be much longer anyway, for that shoulder wound looked like the last of them.
I sat down on the couch to wait, but as I'd had an admittedly long day (which is a most major understatement) and had nothing to eat since breakfast, the exhaustion was overwhelming so I fell asleep at once.
I woke up only an hour or so later thanks to the discomfort of the terrible position I'd drifted off in. I grimaced and stretched, hearing joints along my spine crack into place. I felt awful— still very sleepy with the remains of sweat and makeup sticky on my face, scratch awful, I felt disgusting. Unable to stand it, I urged myself forward and shuffled back into the bedroom area.
Faye was still sleeping, but Spike seemed to have moved her into a more comfortable position. She'd been tucked in, rather casually with just the far corner of the blanket yanked forward to cover her torso but otherwise on top of the covers. I saw her ruined shirt folded on an ottoman next to a foot; following the foot to its inevitable connection, I found Spike fast asleep in on a chair with the TV guide covering his face.
"Men are weird," I sniffed groggily, and continued my stumble towards the bathroom. There I scrubbed my face until I finally felt human again, and was about to return to the couch when I heard a low groan from the bed.
I froze. Faye was stirring, probably waking up. I started for the door but paused in indecision. After all, this was the last place she seemed to want to be, and then I went and brought her here. Sure it was for her own good, but she might still be angry. I thought perhaps I should get to her before Spike woke up, so I could explain everything and hopefully calm her down, but I'd apparently stopped for too long.
Spike had shifted with the first noise, but when Faye tried to roll over and upset her wound, she cried out and he sprang from the chair, hand to his gun. Meanwhile, I'd ducked back into the bathroom. Faye's last encounter with Spike Spiegel was on replay in my head, and I decided that it would just be safer to wait until the yelling stopped. I made myself comfortable on the floor, and watched them through the crack I'd left in the door.
"Ugh…where the hell…?" Faye asked, propping herself on her elbows and sitting up a little. She then saw Spike and greeted him with another groan and, "Oh, it's you."
"As usual." he rolled his eyes. "And lie down before you screw up those bandages."
"Why, did I need stitches?" asked Faye. Against Spike's warning (or maybe because of it) she sat up completely and began testing the extent of her injuries. She was able to lift her left arm until it was even with her shoulder, but any higher than that forced a wince. Simultaneously, she moved her right leg around and it seemed to give her free motion although a little slow.
"No stitches," replied Spike as he retrieved a pill bottle from the first aid box. "Just give them time to scab over."
"Well I guess you would be the expert," she grumbled, wincing again as she discovered the gash in her side kept her from pivoting to the right.
"Just shut up and take two of these," he snapped, tossing the bottle at her.
"What are they?"
"Speeds the healing process."
Faye lifted the bottle to eye level, shook it, then screwed her eyes as she opened it and dumped a few pills into her hand. She sniffed them and gave a low, impressed whistle before swallowing them without water. "That's some expensive shit," she said, grinning kind of meanly. "I guess leading a crime ring has its perks. I wonder how many pharmacies your Dragons have to hit a month to keep you in one piece."
Spike sent her a warning glare and settled back into his seat, leaning his elbows on his thighs. "So?" he asked. "What happened?"
"Who knows?" Faye shrugged and flopped back on the mattress. "Waiting for us outside the bar, five of them…dressed as gang boys but weren't faking it too well. Guess they wanted the ISSP to think muggers did it, but I haven't seen many muggers wearing Prada's 'Gangsta' line."
"Think they're from the Circle?"
"Most likely, but I still couldn't tell if it was me or the kid—or both of us, maybe, that they wanted dead..." she trialed off into thoughtful silence.
Spike was silent also as he leaned back in the chair a little and took a cigarette pack from his pocket. He grabbed it by the end and slapped it against the opposite palm until one of the white sticks showed itself. He placed the cigarette between his lips, but paused before lighting it, holding up the pack as if toasting the figure on the bed.
He'd said nothing, but Faye's head lifted up as if she'd heard the offer through some other means. She eyed the cigarette for a moment. Her breathing was quite audible, and she licked her slightly parted lips before replying shortly, "I quit." Her head flopped back again.
Spike arched his eyebrows in surprise, even pausing to stare slightly as he lit up. He inhaled deeply, and at once seemed to relax all over. It was strange, somewhat. I hadn't been able to see the stress in him until he breathed it out in a foggy stream.
"Quit gambling too?" he suddenly asked with a smirk, and Faye's laugh was his reply.
"Never," she murmured in triumph.
He almost seemed to laugh along with her. "Just making sure I had the right Faye Valentine."
There was a long pause as he stared at her, hard, waiting for the reply. Spike could do that better than anyone—turn the tables of a conversation with a word, a tone, a look…a feeling you can get just by looking into his eyes.
"It's not Valentine anymore," Faye sighed. The residue of her laughter was gone, leaving a very tired woman. "It's Gatsby."
And then there was more silence. More waiting, almost to a point I couldn't stand. What had turned started as cowering for personal safety had turned into eavesdropping, and although they'd said nothing of consequence I could feel it in the air how unwelcome my presence was. I couldn't just walk out now, saying something like 'Sorry, was just using the John, don't let me interrupt' because that would break whatever uneasy spell they'd woven. It was a very private spell, and I was feeling very guilty.
Oh well, say what you will about my integrity but I had no choice but to keep listening, and so I did. I watched too, watched the seconds and minutes tick away before Spike took a last drag, put out the cigarette and stood.
He stepped up to the bed until he hovered above her, expressionless. Faye must've known he was there, but she took her time in opening her dark green eyes, and when she finally did they were mere slits to meet his.
"So tell me what's going on."
"There's really not much to say," replied Faye. She remained completely still, lying there, and the whole scene looked as if Spike were communicating with a sleeper. "Marla, the Circle, the Dragons, and me all pushed into a nice pile of shit—is it worth getting into now? After all," she cracked a tiny smile. "That's not what you really want to ask me is it?"
Spike stayed quiet, focused on her. Pause. Inhale. "How's Jet?"
"And…?"
"And how long did you wait after I left before running off again?"
"There it is," Faye murmured. She began to lift herself, propped by the elbows once more until she was half sitting up. "You sure do take some shoving to get down to things—but that's you, isn't it? Either full of ambiguity or blunt as they come."
"It's you too, you know," muttered Spike, turning away from the smallest of catlike smile's which had graced her lips. "But replace ambiguity with denial."
"I'm not denying anything," she called to his back. Their whispers were broken, she spoke normally now. "In fact, I'll answer your questions right now. To your first question, last I saw Jet was fine. To your second question, I left four months after you did. Question three? No, I wasn't thrown off the ship. Next one, no I didn't run away—oh, and to the inevitable joke question: no, Jet and I did not have a fling gone sour." She closed it off with an open palmed slap against the mattress with both hands. "Does that satisfy you?"
"Not quite," Spike answered, turning back around. "Why did you leave?"
A shadow of something seemed to cross Faye then, filling her look with something that could have been bitterness or anger. It was hard to tell the name of the emotion, but easy to see that it was dark. "You gave up your right to ask me that," she growled softly. "You walked out, there are prices to pay."
"You walked out too," Spike reminded her. "Sounds like you're rights are gone too."
"And I've accepted that," she snapped back and held her glare. "But I don't think you have."
Spike frowned at that. He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and leaned far forward so that their faces were close. "I've accepted a lot of things, Faye," he said. Their eyes remained locked for a moment before they broke contact simultaneously. Spike turned away to look out the window and as soon as his back was to her, Faye's arms collapsed from the exhaustion she was pressing on her weary body and she was lying down again.
Once again there was silence, thankfully broken by Faye. "Tell me why I'm here, Spike," she said, letting her eyes slip closed again.
He didn't look away from the window. "Your friend brought you."
"Figured," she snorted. "But I don't mean now. I mean when your spies saw me at the Gold Serpent Circle's building, and then they attacked and Shin pretty much gave it away that you'd sent him for me. Your Dragon's could have taken me anywhere—would've been smarter, after all, not to let a liar and a cheat know where you're hiding.
"But here I am. There I was, and here I am. Anything you needed to know you could've gotten on your own, or at least by calling. You wanted to see me face to face…" she tried to lean up again, but didn't have the strength and settled back. "Well, Spike, I'm right here. We've been face to face for plenty of time now, so tell me, why am I here?
Spike remained still and quiet, starring out the window. Maybe he was looking at the traffic in the streets, or maybe he was really looking at Faye's reflection in the glass, who's to say? No newcomer would have seen it, but the tension he'd had before his cigarette was back in his slouchy shoulders. It seemed to be the tension and weakness of adrenaline run dry.
Faye, probably fed up waiting for him, jutted out her bottom lip and said, "Fine." Her head rolled to face his turned back. "If you wont tell me why I'm here, why don't you tell me why you're here.
Spike turned slowly and not completely around. "I thought you said you didn't want me to tell you that stuff."
"And I thought you said there was still a future," she bit back. "I thought you were done with the Syndicate." And when their eyes locked that time, both pairs looked so desperate… "Promises, promises…" she whispered, turning her face away.
"Promises, promises," he agreed softly. He stepped away from the window and headed off. When he reached the French doors the divided the suite, he made to close them behind him, but paused before he did.
"Goodnight, Miss…" he paused in indecision. I wondered if he'd say Valentine or Gatsby, but he settled for neither. Instead he laughed, sent the heavens a quick glance, shook his head and called, "Night, Romani!"
Click, and he was gone.
"Goodnight…"
To be continued…
BAH! Humbug. Well here it is. The long awaited (hopefully) chapter five. I decided at the very last minute to take a very very different turn with this story so I hope you like it. Of course I've only succeeded in making things difficult for myself by changing my plans, but oh well I think it'll work out better in the long run.
I seriously didn't know what I was going to do with this confrontation scene. Originally it was going to be a lot more angrier. In the fanfiction world one encounters a lot of angry asshole Spike. Some authors write this Spike so well I'm amazed…I am not one of those authors. This is the way I write them folks, you're just gonna have to deal
The way I see the CB universe, it's a lot of quiet time where you have to listen to what they're not saying—cause if you notice, they don't exactly let go their souls unless they gotta.
If you can understand my ramblings that is. Whatev.
In other news, I turned eighteen! Yesh, go me, I am a Christmas eve baby, and do you know what I would looove for my birthday? Some reviews please! Oh and shameless plug, chapter 6 of For Every Action is out so yall should give it a gander.
Until next time!