Midnight Blues
5. Favors
Julia smiled at him from across the counter as he watched her carefully pouring coffee into twin black mugs. He was leaning casually against the table, dark blue pants hanging loosely on his hips, Julia having taken his shirt to wear when she'd risen. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her slim shoulders looking disheveled. He smiled to himself. He'd done that.
"What?" she asked with a shy smile.
"You're beautiful," he replied, moving forward and leaning across the counter to kiss her softly. When he pulled back she was still smiling her shy smile and—
Drip.
Drip.
Spike frowned, slightly. The faucet was off, and the bathroom was down the hall past their bedroom, so where was that dripping coming from?
"What's wrong?" Julia asked, handing him his coffee.
"Nothing," he said, taking her hand and kissing it gently before taking a sip from his mug. Perfect.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Spike's brows drew together slightly as he set down his coffee. "Do you have a leak somewhere?"
"A leak?"
"Don't you hear that dripping?"
"What? Spike, are you all right?" Julia moved to his side and put a hand on his shoulder, concerned.
"Yeah, it's just that…" Spike's eyes widened in horror.
Her stomach was a bloody mess, a ragged hole where her abdomen should have been.
Drip.
Drip.
Spike staggered back, reeling. Her entire lower half was covered in the blood that slowly oozed from the gunshot wound in her middle. She looked at him, confused and took a step toward him.
"Spike, what's wrong?"
Spike gaped at her, mouth working, but to no avail. Julia took another step towards him leaving bloody footprints on the white kitchen tile, his now blood-soaked shirt plastered to her skin.
"You…you…"
"Spike,"Spike backed away slowly, stumbling over a cushion that had fallen off one of the chairs.
"Spike, wake up."
Spike shook his head, trying to rid himself of the specter, but she was still there. He slowly sank to his knees. Julia kneeled down before him and cupped his cheek.
"Spike, you have to wake up," she said calmly. "It's time for you to go,"
"But…Julia…" he couldn't speak, couldn't think, his mind reeling at the sight of the bloody and ragged hole in her body.
"Spike…Spike...please……"The world around him seemed to tilt as he grasped wildly for something to hold onto. His vision darkened as he fell into the deep blue pools that were Julia's eyes.
"Spike…Spike…come on…"
"No!" Blindly he reached out for her, catching hold of her arm as she began to fade away. Her blue eyes widened, shifting and swirling, changing from blue to green.
"Spike?"
Spike forced his eyes to focus despite the light that stabbed at them like broken glass. He swayed slightly as his gripped tightened on her arm.
"Spike, you're hurting me," she winced as he held her tightly. "Spike, please."
That hadn't been Julia's voice. What was going on? Where was he? As his blurry vision began to clear he could make out violet hair, the metal walls of the bathroom slowly coming into focus behind her. "Faye," he sagged against the tub and buried his face in his hands, shaking. Great. That's just what he needed, to show Faye a sign of weakness that she could lord over him.
"How do you feel?"
"You don't have to yell," he hissed, shielding his eyes from the glaring light. "What did you do to me, run me through a meat grinder?" He took a shaky breath trying to clear the image of Julia's blood splattering onto the white tile.
Drip.
Drip.
Spike's eyes widened. "Stop it!"
"What?"
Drip.
"Shut up!" Spike shouted, his voice breaking as he clutching his head.
Faye touched his shoulder. "Hey—"
"Don't touch me!" he spat, jerking away from her touch.
Faye's face twisted angrily. "Fine! You know, I knew I shouldn't have stayed. I knew you wouldn't give a shit that I stayed here all night to make sure you didn't drown in your own vomit. If that's how you're going to thank me, then fine! I wish you had died that night!" she screamed and ran out of the bathroom near tears.
Spike squinted up at the spot she had just been trying to assimilate had just happened as the memories of the night before began to come back to him in bits and pieces. He had been drinking, that much he did not have to remember. He winced. The damn woman hadn't had to shriek. The silver metal of the faucet caught his eye as a tiny clear drop began to form, growing slowly until it wobbled and fell into the sink. Drip. Spike closed his eyes as the pounding in his head increased a notch.
"Fuck."
He must have passed out somewhere. He tried to remember what had happened. He had gotten back to the couch and…and then Faye had come and…try as he might he could not dredge up any further memories of the night before. She must have dragged him to the bathroom where, judging by the sour taste in his mouth and his aching stomach muscles, he had thrown up, repeatedly. And what was that she had said? Had she really stayed with him through the night?
He stood slowly using the sink as a support and watched his own reflection in the mirror. "You asshole." His reflection winked at him. Spike blinked. Man, I really am losing it.
Turning on the faucet, he splashed cold water on his face in an effort to banish the razor sharp cobwebs from his foggy mind. He had had hangovers before, but this one took the cake, and the cream, and the strawberries, hell, it took the whole fucking shop.
Faye ran down the hall, her footsteps echoing against the metal walls as tears blinded her. Turning a sharp corner she stumbled into the hangar and leapt for the Redtail as more tears coursed down her cheeks. If she wasn't wanted, she wasn't going to stay. Jet would just have to think of some other way to catch Sanders. She was leaving, for good.
"Whoa, whoa!" A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind as she began to climb the ladder to her ship.
She struggled, trying to get free, a sob escaping her clenched teeth. "Get the hell off me!" she shrieked.
"Faye! Calm down!" It was Jet. "Faye, what's the matter with you!"
Exhausted, Faye went limp in Jet's arms as the pain of Spike's rejection threatened to overwhelm her. "Jet, I want to leave. Please, just let me go," she whispered.
Jet noticed the dark bruises on Faye's arm and turned her to face him. His brows narrowed dangerously. "What did he do to you."
"Nothing, Jet. He didn't do anything."
"Don't you cover for him, Faye! If he hurt you—"
Faye burst into tears, sobbing against Jet's chest. "He-he was drunk and he f-fell and I couldn't j-just leave him and then…then…" Jet wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, eyes wide and worried as the words poured from her. "He, we, I didn't know what to do! I th-thought he was dying! I couldn't let him d-die, not again!"
"Shhh, it's ok," Jet patted her head awkwardly, not quite comprehending her jumbled story.
"And then he woke up and he looked like he'd seen a ghost and, and he g-gra-grabbed me and…and…" she buried her face in Jet's chest, unable to recount the pain and disappointment, the hatred she had seen in his eyes when he had realized who she was. It had been enough to make her blood run cold.
"Jesus, Faye," Jet said after a moment. "No wonder you look like shit."
A small chuckle burst out of her, despite her misery. "Thanks, Jet."
He cracked a small smile. "Come on, I'll make you some coffee, all right?"
"So you stayed with him the whole night?" Jet asked taking a sip of coffee as he sat across Faye at the kitchen table.
Faye grunted, twisting in her chair to the satisfying sound of vertebras popping. Jet winced. "Spent the whole damn night on the bathroom floor with that moron sprawled over me."
Jet raised a brow.
Faye gave him a look. "Don't get any ideas, you dirty old man. What was I supposed to do, leave him to in there?"
"You could have done a lot worse."
Faye shrugged.
Jet downed the rest of his coffee. "I'll make something for breakfast. You just stay out of the way," he said, his tone humorous and kind despite the bite of his words.
Faye smiled at her older comrade gratefully and made her way to the common room. Plopping down on the yellow couch, she reached for the vid screen. Her foot touched something cold and wet. She pulled her feet up onto the couch with a yelp and peered down onto the floor. The bottle of vodka was still lying in its puddle. Faye took a deep breath trying to calm her racing heart.
With a disgruntled sigh, she scrounged around the small room until she managed to locate a grubby old towel that had been shoved behind the other couch. She mopped up the liquid on the floor and put the now nearly empty bottle on the table.
"Why do I always end up cleaning up after him…" she muttered to herself. "Stupid, fucking, no good—"
"What was that?"
Faye froze. Her lips tightened as she straightened from her crouched position and sat back down on the couch, ignoring him completely.
"Faye—"
She flicked on the vid screen.
"—take it that you've continued your little affair with the Lady Anna Bella Maria?"
"Keep your nose where it belongs, Jean Luke, or you may lose it."
"An empty threat is a very dangerous thing, Pierre. It could get you into trouble."
"Faye!"
She turned up the volume, glaring pointedly at the screen. Spike winced as the dialogue grated against his ears like nails down a chalkboard. He stalked over to the wall and yanked the cord out of the wall socket. The screen fizzled and went black. Faye continued to glare at it.
"That really wasn't very nice," he said, turning back to her.
She scowled at the screen.
"Look, I'm—"
"I think I need some more coffee," she grabbed her mug still scowling darkly and stood. The cup was still half full.
Spike noticed the dark bruises on her arm for the first time. "Faye, what happened to your arm?" She shifted her weight onto her right leg. "And what's with your leg?"
"What the hell do you think happened to my arm! You happened to my arm!" she snarled. "And my knee is my business!"
Spike's brows drew together. "Look, Faye, I didn't know—"
"What, you didn't know it was me!" Faye shrieked at him. "Thought it was her, did you? Just like you thought it was her last night when you…" she snapped her mouth shut, looking anxiously back towards the kitchen.
"Faye, what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice low as he moved towards her.
"Fuck you!" she snarled. "You're disgusting and I hate you!"
Spike took a deep breath. Her tantrum was not improving his headache, at all. "Whatever, Faye," he muttered and walked out of the common room, unwilling to subject himself to any more of her shrieking.
"Go put some fucking clothes on!" she shouted after him.
Faye sat back down onto the couch, slamming her coffee down onto the table more forcefully than she'd intended, the hot liquid sloshing onto her hand. She hissed in pain and stuck her burned digits into her mouth. Boy, her morning was just getting better and better.
Spike headed into his room and picked up his jacket from where he had left if on the floor the night before. There was still a bottle of whisky in the inside pocket. He grimaced as his stomach clenched slightly. The shirt was a disaster with several of its buttons missing. When did that happen? He wondered idly as he rummaged through his drawers. Guess it's time for a little laundry, he thought to himself as he slipped into his jacket, having to forgo the shirt until he could find a clean one. Grabbing a few other items, he turned and sauntered back towards the common room.
The bright common room lights made him wince as he entered.
"Back so soon? I was hoping you'd be gone a bit longer," Faye shot at him.
"Sorry to disappoint."
"And you didn't even have the decency to put on the shirt? Pig."
"Yeah," he muttered as he sat beside her. "Let me see your knee."
"Don't tell me you don't remember."
He stared at her blankly as he set the items he had retrieved from his room on the table. "Remember what?"
"All right, two can play this game," she drawled. Moving with a fluid grace despite her injured knee, she shifted on the couch so she was straddling him where he sat.
"What the hell are you doing!" Spike spluttered as she kissed his neck, hands roving across his chest.
"Returning the favor," she whispered into his ear, her breath sending a shiver down his spine.
"Faye—"
She cut him off as her lips met his, his eyes going wide with shock. His hands found her shoulders and he pushed her away, holding her at arms length as he panted. "Just what the hell are you playing at," he grated, headache momentarily forgotten.
Faye smirked, coyly. "I told you, I was returning the favor."
"Did I…?" Spike's eyes widened. "Did we…we didn't…did we?"
Faye's smirk became a disgusted scowl as she freed herself of his hands and dropped back onto the couch. "No, we didn't. I'm not that desperate."
Spike stared at his hands. "Shit," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, Faye."
"What was that?"
"I said I was sorry, ok! Christ." He ran a hand through his hair.
Faye blinked at him starting to regret her callous actions. "You were drunk." He shot her a disbelieving look. "You thought I was…Julia," she whispered, struggling with the name.
Spike closed his eyes. "Let me see your knee."
Faye raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I don't think so. You don't have a very good track record," she said caustically, the dark bruises on her arm standing out lividly against her pale skin.
"Fine," he said. In a blink he grabbed her knee and pulled her legs across his lap. He gently began to probe her bruised knee with deft fingers.
"OW!" she yelped. "Get off me! That hurts!" she shouted.
"What the hell is going on here!"
Faye and Spike froze. Jet stood in the kitchen doorway wearing an apron and a white chef's hat and brandishing a spatula menacingly. "Hey! I'm talking to you two and I want to know what is going on!" he growled, advancing on the stricken pair. "If you're hurting her…" he left the threat hanging.
"It's ok, Jet, really," Faye said trying not to look at the hat perched atop Jet's head. His eyes narrowed dangerously. Faye became very engrossed in her nails, her lips twitching. Spike looked as if he had just swallowed something very spicy.
"Spike?"
Spike held his hands up defensively. "I have no idea how that got there," he said innocently, gesturing at Faye's leg. He held his breath.
Jet's suspicious gaze swept the both of them before he turned around and headed back toward the kitchen. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered.
Faye collapsed into a fit of helpless giggles as Jet disappeared into the kitchen. Spike winced. "Jesus, Faye? Can you laugh a little more piercingly?"
Faye pouted. "It's not my fault you decided to get drunk last night." Spike grunted as he grabbed little blue square off the table. "What's that?"
"Ice," he said as he crumpled the little square into a ball and rubbed it in his hands. "For your knee," he added at her confused look. She blinked as he deftly placed the patch over her bruised and swollen knee and wrapped a bandage around it to keep it secure. The patch was surprisingly cold. She shivered.
With a sigh of sufferance Spike took off his jacket and put it around Faye's shoulders. "Better?"
Faye stared at him, dumbstruck. "Who are you?"
Spike made a face. "I owe you, I guess."
"But you don't even have a shirt!" Faye spluttered, trying to give him back his jacket. "And what happened to your hangover?"
"We men must do what we can to protect the weaker sex," he said with a wink and stood. "Yo Jet!" he shouted, effectively cutting off any retort she might have made.
"In a minute, in a minute!" Came Jet's harassed reply.
"There any more of that coffee left?" Spike asked Faye, rubbing his temples and wincing. "Shouldn't have fucking yelled…" he muttered.
"Why don't you go find out for yourself," she replied flatly.
"Ladies first," Spike said with a smirk as he lifted Faye off the couch and pushed her in the direction of the galley.