okay, so this stupid piece of shit website is not letting me keep my hyphens, so now it looks like crap with these stupid line breaks. i wish they would stop changing it.
28:04:01
I can't look at you anymore.
…You fell in love with her.
Just pull your shit together, Spike. You're falling apart.
Is this why you came back?
The throng of voices spun in his head as his brain carefully picked apart details like tone, manner, and choice of the words themselves. Each phrase crackled against each dendrite incessantly until the words burned to a headache. Only one image lingered—her red lips—and they spouted guilt, anger, and indifference. Perhaps it was the indifference that shook him, that irreverent emerald stare that caused his heart to collapse inward, and not from heartbreak. He wasn't stupid enough to be heartbroken at a time like this. He just hated her. He never really took enough time out of his day to hate her until now. Not until he loved her. He loved her.
Oh yes, he loved her. But right now, he needed to hate her.
He knew he couldn't punch her out of his mind, but he tried to anyway. The rage powered his fist through the thick stagnant air of the dark storage room isolated in one corner of the ship. One hour passed of kicking barnacled love and lingering phrases out of his mind, then the second, and finally into the third he decided he would punch himself back to sanity.
I don't want anything to do with you.
He fought her harder and faster, and all the more passionately, recalling that the last time had felt this rage had been with Julia. It had come in spurts at first when she would inadvertently cancel a meeting because she carefully noted a hint that Vicious suspected something. The spurts turned into fights within himself about her leaving Vicious, about having the courage to confront him once and for all. Then finally one day of that unspoken goodbye between him and Julia, and the little strips of a paper promise that she discarded in the wind—that day the rage exploded. He was ready to die or go on without her. He had never pondered her reasons. He had only enough room in his heart for spiting her so he wouldn't fall apart.
You don't love me, Spike. You never will.
He lost his breath then and a tired hand pushed against the wall for support. His energy had washed out of him faster than he expected. Now he was angrily exhausted. Sweat poured out of his skin wishing to cleanse him of whatever urge had propelled him to punish his frail muscles to this extent. A warm drop slid down the side of his right cheek, and he noticed it felt different than the rest, and that it hadn't been a band of sweat. His discordant eyes widened and darted towards the ground where the lone drop crashed. He lifted one hand to his dark mechanical eye, and realized he was choking.
The sob was choking him while fake tears welled in a numb eye. His trembling hand rushed to his mouth as the sob threatened to escape, but his throat pushed it down further and held it there, lumped and swollen. His hand no longer knew what to do so it curled to a fist and whipped around to punch whatever was choking him. His eyes drowned in fear as they identified the blonde beauty with one hand extended out to block his attack. He had grown accustomed to her sudden appearances, but not the warmth that now radiated from her skin. That kind of immersion of reality broke him. Spike Spiegel stared with his distorted looking-glass view into the judging verdant eyes of Julia.
He closed his eyes as his arm started shaking in her grip, and the instant he blinked the tears away, her image dissipated and instead he found Jet's large hand holding his taut fist.
"What the hell? Are you all right?" Jet said while still holding his partner's trembling hand. "I've been calling to you for a while now."
Spike's lips parted and then closed again. He drew in a deep breath and swallowed the aching sob down to his stomach. Spike lost all feeling in his arm and when Jet inadvertently let go, it just fell to his side. With his other hand, Spike wiped away the silent tears from his face.
"Ed's onto something, and I just came to…" Jet shook his head. His brow crumpled while his eyes remained open and his lids remained inert. "I—uh—will keep you posted," he stuttered and then turned around and left him.
As Spike's breathing returned to normal, the slow beat of a headache began surging through his temples all the way down to his neck. A raw ache scratched against his throat and dryness cracked on his lips. His hands stung—his bandages heavy with sweat and blood. Spike's mind focused on all the diverse pains clinging to the different parts of his body. He had already forgotten Jet and Julia, and everything else. He needed a cleansing to take the salt away from the small jagged cuts in his hands. That was all the planning and thought his mind could handle at the time.
A moment of shame filled him when he peeled the soaked clothing from his body. His mind wasn't ready to encourage more self-humiliation, so he quickly entered into the shower and let the water do its therapeutic job. The pressure of the water would range from too soft to achingly hard, and he always had to adjust the hot-cold ratio as it would vary as well. This kept him occupied as he attempted to figure out a pattern between how long it would take to adjust one way or the other. When the water turned rough he would just let it drum on his neck and massage the tension that fueled the headache.
Once he stepped out of the shower, he dried each aching part of his body very slowly. The white cotton passed through his leg and the pain went away. It passed through his arms, his chest, and hands healing the pain as he dried himself. He then wrapped his head in the towel and shook it several times until the muscles let go and his headache disappeared. Even his hands had stopped bleeding, but he bandaged them again after he got dressed.
Once the headache had gone, it had taken the rage with him and it enabled his mind to focus again. Nothing but stopping Alyssa mattered. After that, then whatever happened would happen, and it was out of his hands. But he wasn't ready to let go of his last power over his life right then. He would finish this first.
"Hey, Jet? Anything?" Spike asked as he entered the control room. Ed had relocated her tomato leaving behind all the contraptions to track the bombs since that had proved useless. The mess, Spike assumed, interfered with the girl's concentration. It sure as hell interfered with his.
At first Jet didn't respond; he simply examined his partner without really looking into his eyes too much. He seemed ashamed that he had witnessed Spike in such a desperate state.
"Well?" Spike was beginning to get annoyed by his demeanor. Jet cleared his throat and finally decided Spike was sane enough to hear his answer.
"Ed found something about Drachma." Jet's body was still tense. "It turns out Drachma is an importing company in Olympus. They were the main suppliers for that military company Alyssa blew up, Sirius." He took out a cigarette and offered Spike one, which Spike took obligingly. "Anyway," Jet added as he lit Spike's cigarette first and then his own, "Ed found a customer with the most orders in the last year, and we got a name. Nathaniel Fallon. He was some lieutenant general at Sirius."
"Fallon? Do we know if he is connected in any way to Alyssa?" Spike took a long drag from his cigarette. Cigarettes were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
"No, but that's not why we paid extra attention to him." Jet seemed somewhat relieved now, as they shared a cigarette smoke over what could be easily misconstrued as the most casual conversation they had exchanged in ages. "The delivery address is an odd one. It's not the military complex in a lot of them, but a church in New Haven."
"Wait, why would he list a church in New Haven as a delivery address?" Spike stopped let out a puff of smoke. "Unless he was hiding something from the military."
"That's what I'm about to find out. I'm headed there now," Jet said.
"I'm coming with you." Spike reached into his jacket and made sure he had both his replacement Jericho, and his back-up clip in place. Jet shook his head.
"No offense, Spike, but every time you go somewhere something ends up getting blow up." The joke in his phrase had been obvious, but his tone had been overly serious.
"You know," Spike said adding the rightful tone to the joke. "That's kind of true." He cocked an eyebrow at Jet. "What can I say? I have a very flammable disposition." Spike watched as Jet's shoulders relaxed as if realizing that Spike was still himself. Jet chuckled, stood up, and motioned with his hand an 'after you.'
"We'll be back Ed, make sure to,"
"Right-o Captain." Ed interrupted before Jet could finish his sentence.
"Right," Jet mumbled and headed for hangar right behind Spike.
"Jet." Spike suddenly stopped right before reaching their crafts. "Is she?" He couldn't help worrying about her anymore, just like he couldn't help not having the courage to finish the sentence.
"She's asleep. I made sure of that." Jet responded briefly darting his eyes to the ground.
"All right, thanks." Spike muttered and started walking again as the hangar doors opened. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jet's mouth opening to say something, but it quickly shut again and the old cop brought his hand to his bald head. "Let's go," Spike said and they both hopped on their individual vehicles.
New Haven was as desolate as Spike had expected. This little barren neighborhood had been a promising development back in the late fifties, but the construction of the new suburban town off in a corner of Alba had been stopped dead as the CEO of the real estate company suffered some major accounting scandal and went completely bankrupt. The scandal left behind some flimsy naked structures of houses. Some of the wood was still wrapped in the plastic coverings, but the logo of the company has faded leaving a faint trace of an "E" and maybe an "L." The church though, one of the few left in the Solar System, had been built long before the development started. The regal relic still stood there, half broken and worn, and looked unfinished as well.
The front of the church had two flat arches on each side of the entrance. The white bricks had turned sallow from the pollution, and the larger arch holding the simple post-and-lintel wooden entrance looked mud dark in contrast to the rest of the building. When compared to most cathedrals, this one was small, but the arches still elongated the structure and made it seem more majestic in the darkness. Jet pointed to the right side of the church to an adjacent building. It was white as well, but modern, and oddly paired with the Renaissance-style cathedral. On the other side of the building was a small patch of green with some swings and tower-and-bridge contraption hooked to a metal slide. The only light of the yard came from a lamp attached to the roof of the building. He always felt chills when seeing an empty playground.
They saw the light of the building still on, and so Jet proceeded to knock on the door several times. The hour was quite inopportune, but they hoped that since someone was till awake that they would answer. Spike glanced down at his digital watch. It was ten at night, but to them it meant that there was only twenty-four hours left before the bombs went off. Spike joined in with Jet's heavy knocks with a renewed sense of urgency.
"You think they're ignoring us?" Jet asked as he knocked again. They had been knocking for ten minutes already.
"Please, we just need to ask a few questions this is urgent!" Spike shouted, and they heard steps heading to the door.
"All right," a stiff female voice uttered from the inside. "You'll wake the children if you continue. Who are you?"
"We have a list of invoices we would like to talk about. Please. We're only investigating something. We mean no harm," Jet said.
"Are you the police?" the woman asked.
"Please open the door ma'am," Jet pleaded and Spike slid a disk with the copies of the invoices in a slot that said donations on the wall. He heard the disk clank inside. "Please just take a look at that for us, and tell us if you know anything." The steps receded.
"I'm going to see if the church is open. They often leave a portion of it open to for twenty-four hour chapel worship," Spike said
"How the hell—how do you know this?" Jet corrected his sacrilegious diction.
"When you're homeless, you tend to figure some of these things out." Spike smirked and headed for the dark entrance of the church. It had two street lamps on each side of the building. The faces of the angels atop the columns to each side of the flat arches were dirty, dark, and gray. In the dim light, their sinister blank eyes stared at Spike like wary sentinels.
The heavy wooden door slowly creaked open. He had been right after all, and this church left its doors open for prayers, but as to who in their right mind would come all the way over here to pray late at night truly baffled him. The overall darkness extending to every corner of the church was mildly subverted by the candles lighting the white statue of Saint Francis on the left side, and a large colorful statue of the archangel Saint Michael on the right. Both statues were underneath large arches, tall enough to intimidate, but not quite as tall as the roof itself that was darker part of the building. There was a large empty space in the nave between the entry and the actual seating. The apse where the altar stood was slightly lighted as well with a thin metal cross glowing at the center of it. Spike could see a small door the right side of the apse.
The dark resonated with the echoes of Spike's steps as he headed towards that small door that he hoped led to the clergy's offices. He stopped momentarily thinking that he heard the sound of someone's breathing, and looked up at St. Michael's milky stern face and shook his head. He was getting paranoid.
"You can't sleep here," a voice said, and Spike quickly turned towards the side aisle of seating. He had completely missed that man sitting there. The lack of sleep had begun to severely affect his usually acute senses. The man stood up and turned towards Spike. He was dressed in a black priest's habit.
"I'm not," Spike began to say, but the priest interrupted him.
"Oh I'm so sorry. I thought you were a certain homeless drunk that likes to wander in here sometimes. I pray here from ten to midnight, and sometimes I catch him trying to sneak in." He came closer and the glow from St. Michael's candles revealed an older man with gray hair, and eyebrows, and brown eyes with a bronze flicker in them.
Ah, Spike wanted to utter, but instead kept quiet and stared at St. Michael with his glossy fist wrapped around a lance thrust into a black faceless figure that he supposed was the sculptor's impression of the devil.
"I haven't seen you around here before. Are you lost?" The priest's tone implied something else besides the usual 'Yes, I'm lost, could I use your phone?'
"No, I was wondering if it might be too late for a confession," Spike told him, his intention become clearer to himself as he spoke. This comment baffled the priest who now narrowed his dark eyes and crumpled his ash eyebrows. "I know I don't look like the type. Should I come some other time?" The priest regarded him curiously and then shook his head.
"No, no, it's not a problem. It's never too late. We just don't get many walk-ins, so I was a bit surprised. But yes—yes, I am awake anyway and I would be praying, but I might as well do something to help you. Just let me put on my—hold on. I'll be right back." The old man sounded somewhat excited and he hurried on to the small door by the apse. A few minutes later he came back out again wearing a long white toga-like robe with a purple stole dangling from his shoulders with a golden cross on each side and the cloth feathered at the tips.
"I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm Father Giovanni. I give the daily liturgies; the deaconess gives Sunday mass usually." The priest smiled and sat down on the bench behind Spike. "Are you ready to do this, Mister—?"
"Spiegel," Spike told him as he turned to the side to face him. "And yes I am," a pause and then, "Father, I have sinned and I have never confessed anything to anyone."
"We are all sinners, Mr. Spiegel, and we all have our secrets."
"I've killed a man, Father." Spike carefully studied the priest's calm reaction in contrast to the tenseness in his shoulders. "His name was Henry Reve." Father Giovanni's breathing became heavier.
"Do you regret this?" His features were rigid.
"Yes, I have always regretted it, but that doesn't matter now. Not to his daughter, Alyssa." The priest swallowed heavy at the sound of the name. Spike's intuition had been right. This priest was the connection between Fallon, New Haven, and Alyssa. "She will kill us all, Father. Just to get her revenge."
"What is this?" Giovanni realized Spike's intention hadn't been to confess.
"It's the truth, but you know that." When the Father didn't respond, he continued. "Alyssa came to you. She would have confessed before she did this." Alyssa was as pious as ever, and Spike knew this. He knew that the church would be the only refuge for her, and confession the only forgiveness she thought she needed. "I need you to tell me what she told you, Father, and who Nathaniel Fallon is, because if you don't, the children, this church, and everything will be destroyed."
The priest stood up. "That's enough, Mr. Spike Spiegel. Your intentions are an insult to this church."
Spike stared at him intently. He hadn't told the priest his full name. The priest realized his mistake and began to walk off, but Spike grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Sit down, Father, and listen." Spike tightened his grip until the father gave an exasperated sigh and sat back down. "She's placed over a hundred bombs all over the city, and in less than," Spike paused and glanced at his watch. He then pointed at it and showed the priest the time. "In less than one day, this place will be incinerated. And you knew this!" Spike's accusation rang heavy through the darkness of the ceiling above them.
"I didn't know anything! I have known Alyssa for a long time, and she wouldn't do this. It can't be true. And even if she had told me this, I couldn't tell you a thing."
"She placed a trigger inside a woman I know. A woman," Spike paused stumbling over what he should keep to himself. "Alyssa did this just to get to me. The trigger is lunged in this woman's chest, in her heart, Father. And Alyssa asked me to shoot it out if I wanted to stop this." Spike's jaw clenched. The guilt rose from the pain in his chest to the sourness in his mouth. St. Michael's glowing glare was unsettling him.
"Alyssa has suffered so much, but she just could not. She—she could not." Giovanni stammered turning to the angel's glare as well as if searching for a sign. His old freckled hands were shaking now, and when his eyes began to shift to the right as if recalling possible signs that could support Spike's claim.
"Father, this woman is suffering because of something I did, and right now, you're my last chance to save her."
The priest looked away from Spike and towards the center of the church where the cross hung engulfed in a silver glow. He had one hand over his lips, and the other crumpled into a fist. After a minute of silence, he removed his hand from his mouth and clasped it with the other one over his lap.
"I can't tell you anything from her confessions," the Father said, "but Nathaniel Fallon had some boxes delivered here and she was a part of it. They were supplies of some sort, and Alyssa politely asked the deaconess if she could have them delivered here. Of course, the deaconess didn't think anything of it because Alyssa has been a heavy financial supporter of this church and its orphanage. It was the least we could do. I never thought that she—well, I thought she was just going through a hard time."
"Do you know where they took those boxes?" Spike asked.
"No," the Father rubbed his chin nervously. "No, they would just store them here for a while, and then Nathan would pick them up. It was ongoing for a couple of months. They kept it in one of the back rooms there." He pointed at the small door, and Spike began heading towards it. The priest's shaken frail form was not able to guide him. Spike stopped abruptly as he heard the large wooden door open behind him.
"Nathan!" Giovanni yelled before Spike could get a good look at the intruder.
"Father, I've rented a bus under the church's name. Please get the children out of here, before traffic tomorrow morning. As soon as possible." Nathan whispered hoarsely and church just seemed to echo his words. "Take them to Tharsis, Olympus, anywhere."
Spike reached for his Jericho and slowly emerged into the light of St. Michael's candles. He met two new pairs of eyes, thick hunter green eyes. Spike immediately recognized his thin cropped red hair, and pale complexion, and those angry eyes. Nathan had one bandaged arm, and black scab covering most of his left cheek. His brow elevated at the sigh of Spike, and his jaw tightened. Nathan recognized him back. Spike was sure that this was the same man that had saved him and Faye in that explosion at Sirius. He was the one that had opened the door for them to escape.
"Nathan, what is going on? Is this true?" Father Giovanni spoke with pain reverberating with every word.
"I see he's told you." Nathan addressed the priest coldly, but his eyes never left Spike.
"Did you know?" The priest continued to question him with a desperate tone. "Did you always know?"
"Father, just listen to me." Nathan extended a hand towards to the old man.
"No," the Father responded between clenched teeth. "We are staying Nathan. We are staying." Nathan was about to rebuke when a new set of steps clacked from behind him. Spike had expected it to be Jet wandering through the church grounds looking for him, but instead he met with Faye's stern face. She walked down the center of the nave and then down between one of the benches until she was side by side with Spike. Her right hand was tucked behind her, ready to pull out her gun.
"What are you doing here?" Spike asked her, innerved by her sudden appearance. This complicated matters even more, but Faye didn't respond. She simply focused her eyes on Nathan.
"I know him. What the hell is going on?" She pulled out her gun and aimed it at him. Spike wished Jet had given her stronger sedatives.
"Yeah, I know," Spike said, "it makes sense now that he helped us back then. He was working with Alyssa the whole time. He got her the supplies she needed, and probably even the labor."
Both the priest and Nathan stared at her intently. Nathan had a grimace of repulsion and fear, while the Father had this painful sour expression as if he was staring at a ghost or lost spirit that had wandered into his holy place. Someone that he knew he couldn't save.
"I know I don't look that great right now, but there's no need to stare." She cocked the gun at Nathan. She was right, Spike thought. She looked pale and worn with that t-shirt dangling over her thin body. "Your little girlfriend has given me a lot of problems, you know that?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," Nathan said and turned back to the priest. "Please take the children and evacuate."
Giovanni ripped his stare from Faye and turned furiously to Nathan. "Why is she doing this? How could you allow this?"
"She's doing this for revenge, and even if I hadn't helped her, she would have done it on her own. I didn't fucking know that she would go through with it!" He yelled back at the priest and then stared at the thin metal crucifix at the center of the apse. "Not until it was too late. I was—Father, please, take the children." The priest shook his head.
"How could you? What does this have to do with a city full of people? With innocent people?" The priest seemed on the verge of weeping.
"Nothing," Faye answered for Nathan, "but in her mind, this has nothing to do with anyone." She turned to Spike as she said that. "It has nothing to do with anyone but her and her alone."
"No! It has to do with him!" Nathan pointed at Spike. "You. Ever since, she's been obsessed with you. She can think of nothing but you!" Spike read the resentment and jealousy in his eyes, but he still didn't get it. He didn't get Nathan, why he would do this, and what the hell he was even talking about. Ever since what?
"Even so, what's the point? Why help her?" Spike wanted to know how a man would let himself be coerced that way, unless—
"The same reason why you'll do anything to save her." Nathan admitted looking away from all their stares.
"You're in love with her?" Spike uttered without considering what he was saying, and that Faye was right beside him. Nathan didn't answer. From the corner of his eyes, Spike saw Faye staring at him now.
"You have to tell them how to stop this, Nathan," the priest urged.
"I don't know how. I made her choose." Nathan was flustered. He turned back towards Spike. "And she chose you. How can I compete with that? It can't be stopped anyway."
"You're leaving!" Faye shouted and the gun trembled in her hand as she got closer to Nathan. "That's why you came here, because you're leaving."
"Stop, this is the house of God." The priest tried to intercede.
"How can I compete with him?" Nathan said.
"Give me a break. This isn't about her dumping you," Spike spoke in his low calm tone. "This is about you helping her blow up over nine million people."
"Father, this is your last chance. Take the bus and go." Nathan pleaded one more time with the priest, but the priest look over at Faye and shook his head.
"If Alyssa means to do this, then so be it." Nathan sighed at the priest's reponse.
"I guess that can't be helped," said Nathan and turned around to walk towards the exit.
"Stop! You could at least tell us where she is," Spike demanded running towards him with gun in hand. Faye ran back down the center of the nave and met Nathan at the end of the side row.
"I don't know where she is." Nathan stopped.
"That's not good enough!" Spike glanced at Faye who had her gun steadily aimed at Nathan, and then cocked his own gun at Nathan's back.
"Go ahead," Nathan said and Faye narrowed her eyes as if contemplating it.
"Stop this immediately," said the priest, "You cannot do this here."
"Sorry Father, we might have to make a bit of a scene," Spike added.
"Oi, Spike," Jet called as the wooden door opened abruptly. Nathan saw this as an opportunity to use a decoy, and pulled out a gun. Two shots fired, and none had come from Spike's gun. Spike had lunged towards Nathan, and pushed him down while Jet hit the ground at the same time. Nathan's gun had fallen by Faye's feet when she shot him. She had hit him right in the shoulder and the bullet had passed straight through and into the column. Nathan's stray bullet had probably hit a beam around the ceiling.
Jet got up and threw his hand cuffs towards Spike, who caught them and used to them to apprehend Nathan as he was groaning.
"What are you going to do with him?" He could hear Father Giovanni's voice emerging from his stunned silence, but Spike ignored his questions. Instead he pushed on Nathan's bleeding shoulder and whispered in his ear.
"One isn't enough? Do you want to kill off everyone I know? Well, this goes both ways, because you're going to help me kill the woman you love." Spike grabbed him by the arms and pulled him up. Jet grabbed him and began to escort him to the Hammerhead.
"You could have gotten yourself shot." Spike glanced at Faye who now was picking up Nathan's gun. He scolded her, but she simply stared at him indifferently. It irritated him, but by now, he was used to her dismissals.
"Father," Spike called back to Giovanni. "You better listen to Nathan. You should get out of here." His mismatched eyes remained fixed on Faye.
"I have faith," said the father, and Spike looked back at him. "I have faith in you." He stared past Spike to Faye. He noticed for the first time a small cross dangling from Faye's neck: the silver cross that belonged to Alyssa's father. "I will pray for you."
Faye's eyes became clouded and she said, "You better get out of here, Father."