Midnight Blues

4. Hard Raspberries

Spike sat on the stairs in the cold, dark hangar, alone. In the darkness he didn't have to see what he was becoming. He didn't have to see the sullen twist in his lips, the jaded look in his eyes or the hurt in the others whenever he was near. He could feel that there was something dark trapped inside of him that wanted to come out. He couldn't let that happen. Already it was beginning to take hold of him, ever since he had let it out that night he had killed Vicious, when Julia had died. He had vowed never to let that monster see the light of day again, but he had somehow managed to stay alive and now it had had a taste of freedom and it was hungry. The tip of his cigarette glowed faintly in the darkness as it dangled loosely in his hand.

Spike leaned back against the stairs and closed his eyes as the chill air stole the heat from his body. He could feel the beast inside him pacing restlessly, lashing its tail.

"There once was a tiger striped cat…" Spike muttered, drawing on his cigarette.

He had wanted to apologize to Faye, never having meant to lash out at her in the first place, but the beast had gotten away from him. He cursed himself silently. He never should have gone. He never would have awakened this new part of him and…and Julia would still be alive. Living without her and not knowing her to be alive was better than living without her and knowing her to be dead and that it was his fault. The beast snarled at him, laughing maliciously at his weakness. Shut up, she would have died if you had been there anyway. The beast laughed again in denial. Spike shoved it aside angrily as it howled at him. This was what separated him from men like Vicious, men like Sanders. He would not become one of them. He had to keep his demons locked away, or risk becoming one with them.

"Julia, please forgive me," he whispered.

He deftly lit another one of Faye's cigarettes and took a long slow pull, letting the nicotine seep slowly into his blood easing the stress from his tense body. It tasted vaguely of mint. After a moment Spike stood and crossed carefully through the darkness to where the Swordfish stood, its wings folded like a sleeping raptor. Hopping lightly up into the cockpit and clicking on a small light, he flipped open a hidden side panel and pulled out a glass bottle of amber liquid. He stared at it for a moment, turning it over and watching the liquid sloshing inside it; liquid courage, or in his case, liquid amnesia. He reached in the little hole, pulled out two similar bottles and slid them into the inside pocket of his dark blue jacket. His hand brushed the familiar metal of his Jericho. It was warm from the heat of his body. I wont be needing you tonight, my friend, he thought slipping silently out of his ship and down onto the hangar floor.

The common room was empty and dark when he reached it, the bottle in his hand already half empty. He sank down onto the couch with a sigh, enjoying the pleasantly warm fuzzy sensation spreading throughout his long body. Taking another long drink he winced as the fiery liquid burned a path down his throat and slumped back against the couch with a grunt.

"Let's play a drinking game, shall we?" he said to the bottle. "How about every time Julia dies I take a drink and every time your past bothers you," he paused, eyes slightly unfocused. "I take another drink." Spike stared down into the swirling amber liquid for a moment. He took a deep breath, tipped back his head and swallowed the remaining liquor.

"Christ…" he muttered, coughing slightly as the burning in his stomach intensified. Deciding that drinking an entire bottle of Jack Daniels on an empty stomach may not have been the best plan and that he would really rather pass out on his bed than in the middle of the common room, he lurched up off the couch, weaving slightly, and began to stumble down the hall to his room. Inside he shook off his jacket, careful not to damage the remaining bottles and slid down the cold metal wall until he hit the floor, long lanky legs stretched out before him.

"Cheers," he muttered, toasting his ghosts with a newly opened bottle, forgetting the already empty bottle that was rolling away from him and under his bed. "Mmm, razzberry…" he slurred, gazing drunkenly at the bottle in his unsteady hand. He frowned. "Shtill tastes like…shitthough…ras..berries…dun't do…shit…" He caught himself as he began to fall to the side. "Christ," he grunted as the room swam before his eyes. "Stay…su-still..Damnit…" Suddenly the floor came rushing at him and all he saw was black.

"NO!" Faye sat bolt upright in bed, sweaty hair plastered to her glistening face and neck. She buried her face in her hands. "Fuck…" It had been the second night in a row she had dreamt of finding Cindy the night Sanders had killed her, the second night she had woken in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking, unable to clear the horrific images from her mind.

Spike opened his eyes blearily. He was slumped over on his side, somehow having managed to keep the bottle he was clutching upright. It must have been a reflex or something. Sitting up slowly, he ran an unsteady hand through his damp hair. The temperature in the room seemed to have shot up, leaving him dizzy and slick with sweat. Setting the bottle on the floor with the care reserved for a priceless object of infinite importance, he struggled with his damp shirt.

"Fucking…buthons…" He sat and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt until he had enough undone that he could simply pull the offending garment over his head, a task that proved to be far from simple in his inebriated state. "M'never gone wear that damn shirt aghain," he proclaimed as he made a grab for the open bottle beside him and missed. "Don't do that," he scolded and managed to capture his quarry. "Ha, gotcha."

Using the wall as a support, he stood slowly, careful not to let the bed that was leaping around the room hit him. He lunged for the wildly moving door and nearly fell out onto the corridor floor. Halfway to the common room and more than halfway through his second bottle of liquor, he could not remember where he was, where he was going, or why he had wanted to go there in the first place. Not daring to stop lest his legs give out for good leaving him stranded in this never ending steel passage, he continued to stumble down the hallway leaning heavily on the wall. Hours seemed to pass before he reached his heavenly yellow couch. He slumped down on its welcoming yellow surface and toppled onto the hard metal floor.

Faye hissed at the bite of the cold metal floor against her bare feet. Having been unable to find any clean socks, she had been forced to make the pilgrimage to the kitchen with her feet unprotected. Jet had been able to flag down a trading vessel bound for Earth and had managed to acquire some greatly needed supplies. What he had given them in return, she could only guess, but she knew for sure that she was headed for the kitchen where there was a cup of coffee with her name on it.

Stumbling sleepily into the common room she found it unsurprisingly empty for the late hour and continued towards the galley.

The sound of light footsteps alerted him to the approach of another person. Even in his inebriated state he could tell that they were the quiet, furtive steps one took when trying not to be noticed. Jet would never take steps like that. Spike sat up slowly. "What are you doing sh-sneaking around, Faye?" he said, making an effort to speak carefully.

"Holy shit!" Faye jumped, surprised at Spike's sudden appearance. "Jesus, Spike, you should warn people before you jump them."

"That sort of de…defeats the purpose, now dun't it?" Spike muttered imperiously.

She paused. What was he doing lying shirtless on the floor? "Spike, are you drunk?"

"Me?" he tried his best to look himself in the eye. "You drunk?" He shook his head. "Naw…"

Faye shook her head, disgusted. "And I thought you'd already hit rock bottom," she muttered turning for the kitchen.

"Hey wait!"

Faye turned back to him, crossing her arms impatiently. "What."

Spike propped himself up on the arm of the couch to keep from sliding back onto the floor. "Want some?" he asked holding up his bottle.

Faye stared at him for a moment. "Yeah, I could use a drink," she muttered, recalling the dreams that had driven her from bed, plopped down on the couch as Spike pulled himself up beside her, and took a drink from the offered bottle. Her face twisted. "Do they actually think the raspberry is gonna make the vodka taste better?"

"Dunno," he said, head bobbing slightly.

They sat in silence, Faye sipping from the clear glass bottle and Spike muttering to himself, engrossed in an unexplained mark on his couch.

"You know," he slurred. "You…you are th'most beeyutiful woman onthis…sshhhip," he said drunkenly, putting an arm around her shoulders.

Faye stiffened. "Remove you hand."

Spike's jovial expression soured. "Bitch. Was a joke, enyway. Yur the only wom'n on this sh-ip." He hiccupped.

Faye rolled her eyes. "I'm going to bed."

"Wait."

Faye took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Yes?"

"Don't go," he said quietly.

"Spike—"

"Just stay?"

Against her better judgment, Faye sat back down beside her drunken comrade and crossed her legs not trying to hide her annoyance. "It's late, I'm tired, you owe me."

"Deal," Spike grinned knocking back another drink from the bottle. She grabbed him as he began to tilt dangerously.

"How much of that have you had?"

"Mmm…thisis…the secnd one…Ithink…"

"Christ, Spike." Faye frowned. "You'd better slow down—"

"You shouldn't do tha'," he grinned foolishly.

"Do what?"

"Yer face'll stick like that, you know. Din't yer momma ever…tell you that?" he asked with drunken seriousness and pointing at her, his finger wavering as if he was trying to pin down a moving object. His brows drew together in concentration. "Shtay…still…"

"Spike—hey!"

Faye squawked as Spike pushed her back onto the couch, her body under his.

"Shut up."

Her struggles ceased when he kissed her neck softly. Too shocked to move, she simply lay there as he began to trace a path down her collarbone, his lips light as feathers against her rapidly heating skin. She jerked as she felt his tongue on her exposed neck. "Spike, stop—"

He silenced her with soft kiss on her lips softly, his hands moving down her sides lovingly. She moaned against his mouth, the taste of the alcohol on his tongue almost as overwhelming with the realization of what had just happened, what was now happening. Thoughts raced through her mind a thousand miles a second as she struggled to understand the sudden turn of events. Spike was kissing her…and she was kissing him back. The proximity of his hard muscled body left her dizzy…or was that just from his kisses…or the alcohol in her system? He's drunk, idiot! Her hands roved across his broad shoulders and back following the contours of his muscles as they moved under his skin. You can't do this, Faye! FAYE! He slid a hand under the hem of her shirt.

She turned her face aside, panting slightly. "Spike. Stop."

He turned her face back towards him and gazed into her eyes, a confusion in his unfocused agates. "Why?"

He doesn't even see you! "Spike, get off."

"But—" hurt flashed across his face.

"Now."

Betrayal poured over his handsome face. He rolled off of her and sat on floor, his face in his hands, looking like a lost child. She steeled herself, shutting herself off from the guilt that slithered through her belly at the site of him, knowing she had caused his pain. He hates you remember? Yeah, that's right. He hated her. And she hated him.

"Bastard," she muttered as she stood and stalked back towards her room.

Spike's stomach gave an alarming lurch and he squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden pain in his abdomen. Sweat broke out on his forehead, trickled down his neck and between his shoulder blades to soak into the hem of his pants.

"Christ," he groaned, setting the bottle aside and then knocking it over with a clunk as he pulled himself into a sitting position on the couch, clear liquid pooling on the cold floor. His already watery vision began to blur even further as he tried to raise himself onto the couch stumbled into the table and crashed onto the floor.

Faye leaned back dizzily against the corridor wall, welcoming the soothing cool of the metal against her skin. Her mind reeled at the implications of what had almost happened. She could have never forgiven herself if she had slept with Spike. He would have lorded the event over her, gloating that he could bring down any woman he wanted, even those who claimed to hate him. She drew a hand across her face, disturbed at the want she had felt surging through her when he had kissed her.

A loud crash behind her made her pause. What was that idiot doing now, trying to seduce the couch? Shaking her head, she turned and stalked back into the common room ready to give him the verbal lashing she had been too stunned to give him moments before. She hugged herself slightly and shivered. It was cold and he was…why was he lying on the floor again? Her brows knit as she took a closer look at his sprawled form. She noticed the sweat on his chest and forehead and the striking pallor of his skin that had should have been apparent at first glance.

"Spike. What's wro—" she stopped, noticing the glass bottle lying on its side, its clear contents spreading slowly over the floor.

"Spike?" she put a hand on his shoulder.

His eyes flickered and he groaned, head moving from side to side.

"Spike. Spike, wake up," she said firmly, shaking him slightly.

"Ngh…jush lemme sleep…" he mumbled.

"Shit," she gagged, the smell of alcohol on his breath completely was overpowering. "Spike, listen to me, you have to sit up," she said urgently. "Spike?"

"Goway."

"Damn it," she muttered as she massaged her temples. "Spike, you have to—"

Spike's eyes shot open and he gasped, curling onto his side and holding his stomach. Alarmed, Faye dropped to her knees beside him as he whimpered in agony.

"Spike!"

He gritted his teeth. "Hurts…" He whimpered. "Hurts so much…" Agony flashed through him again causing him to twist in pain. It felt as if there was something wicked inside him trying to claw its way out. He could feel the beast prowling at the edges of his sanity as the maddening pain shredded his self-control.

Faye looked around wildly for something that would help, anything that would help. "Hold on, Spike, just hold on!"

"Can't," he whispered. "Hurts…" he passed out.

"SPIKE!" Faye threw herself over his sweat-slicked body. "Spike, talk to me! The one time I actually want you to talk to me and you're not going to take the opportunity to say something nasty? Spike!" Tears stung her eyes as she felt his pulse and breathing. "Come on, come on!" she muttered, feeling panic rise inside her.

Hooking her arms under his she struggled to lift his upper body into a sitting position. His head lolled forward so that his chin rested on his chest. He groaned again faintly. Faye's eyes widened. "Don't you be sick right here, don't you dare!" With a monumental effort she hoisted his limp body onto her back, holding his arms around her neck as his feet dragged behind her. She could feel his heart beating against her back as his breath tickled her neck.

"You…owe me…for this…bastard…" she gritted through clenched teeth as she dragged Spike's dead weight towards the bathroom, wincing as she put more than double her weight on the knee she had injured in the hangar during their earlier encounter. "If you…vomit…I'll kill you…I swear…"

Opening the door of the bathroom proved to be more difficult than ever before and once inside she nearly toppled over, feet getting tangled in a towel someone had inconsiderately left on the floor. With much cursing, she managed to let Spike down onto the floor without killing him.

Laying him down on a towel so that his bare skin would not touch the cold floor, she ran a washcloth under cold water and put it on his burning forehead. His lips twitched at her touch and he turned his face weekly into her hand.

"Uh…Spike?"

Suddenly he lurched upright, nearly knocking Faye onto her back, and vomited violently into the toilet. His lean frame shuddered with each wracking heave as his stomach emptied itself of the poison he had so willingly poured into it. Faye was at his side in an instant holding him up as he threatened to collapse again, dry heaves leaving his broad shoulders hunched and tense. His breathing was labored as he leaned heavily on the toilet.

"Shh…it's ok," she whispered soothingly as she brushed sweat soaked hair out of his eyes. "You're going to be fine, I promise."

He sagged against her, putting his head on her shoulder. She froze again, unsure of what to do, but when he shivered her anger at his stupidity melted away and wrapped her arms around naked shoulders, smoothing the hair from his forehead and rocking him gently. She had never seen him this fragile, had never thought he was capable of it. Quietly she began to hum a song that Carlos had sung to her whenever she had needed comfort.

Spike stirred against her. "Julia…" he whispered, nuzzling her shoulder as she sat with him on the bathroom floor.

A stab of jealously lanced through her, rekindling her anger. That bitch. She had been the cause of this, and where was she now? Who the hell knew, probably off fucking some other up and coming Syndicate poster boy. And after all the pain she had caused him, here he was calling out her name. He thinks I'm her, she thought with a jolt. Her heart sank. What the hell? What do I care? He's just a stupid prick, anyway. I don't care if he wants to torture himself over some dumb blonde broad… Looking down at his face she knew it wasn't true.

With a sigh she kissed his forehead softly and shifted so that he was curled against her more comfortably. Again she was struck by how childlike he looked, curled up against her, face calm, the color beginning to return to his cheeks and lacking any pain or the usual anger or bitterness. His breathing was slow and even against her neck. She closed her eyes. She could not let him get to her. The bastard had just tried to take her right there on the couch in the middle of the common room. But he was drunk, she thought to herself daubing the cool towel over his face. That's no excuse! That just makes it worse! It wasn't even you he was kissing, just some ghost that will forever hold the key to the chains around his heart. He is a callous, uncaring asshole who is so trapped in his past that he hasn't realized that the future has already passed him by.

She leaned back against the metal tub, shivering as her back touched its cold surface. Spike murmured in his sleep and wrapped his arms around her waist, snuggling closer to her warm body. She let her head fall back against the rim of the tub. God damn it. He had cut through her defenses as if they had never been there. Boy she knew how to pick 'em. A con artist pretending to be her lawyer who ended up saddling her with millions of woolongs of debt, a wannabe cowboy turned wannabe kung fu master and now an ex syndicate bounty hunter with an ultra poetic view of suicide and an yen for binge drinking and cigarettes, not to mention the fact that he seemed to hate her simply for existing. And now he was curled up against her, holding her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to reality. Maybe I am… maybe that's why he hates me so much…

She reached for another towel and pulled the thin cloth over the both of them, his body finally beginning to lose its feverish heat. She closed her eyes savoring the feel of his body against hers, shamefully wondering if she would ever be that close to him again. His skin was taught and surprisingly smooth. She thunked her head back against the tub again, banishing such thoughts from her mind. I had a little more to drink than I should have, that's it, now shut up, she told herself non-too firmly. It was going to be a long night.