A/N: Okay here's a new one! Managed to get it up in the midst of all the exams and stuff. Emjoy!

"Let-me-DOWN"

Faye hadn't stopped screaming since she'd been carried off the racetrack. About 30 feet ago she'd dropped her ticket (that still would've been redeemable what with the race's photo finish). That was when she'd gotten really pissed.

Pointing her toe she added the extra length she needed to her leg and swiftly connected with the man's groin. Hard.

With a low moan he loosened his grip aroundher waist and Faye quietly counted to five. As he dropped to his knees blinded by pain (those boots were pretty damn solid), Faye gracefully met the ground feet first and straightened up.

With a sweet smile and a swift kick she told her hijacker (she never used the phrase 'kidnapper' or worse yet 'abductor'. It implied some semblance of weakness) that if he ever so much as looked in her direction again she'd permanently remove 'them'.

Treating his dull thud upon hitting the ground sideways as some form of agreement, Faye swivelled around on her hip and walked back towards the track.

It was possible that the blast had looked like more than it was andit was still open. Or failing that, the shock evacuation may have resulted in several wallets, perhaps even some nice jewellery being left behind. And it was Faye's duty to give all those poor lost valuables a good home.

Smiling to herself, she remembered that one time on Ganymede at the dog track. A phoney bomb-scare had left a very pretty, very expensive necklace under Faye's feet as she moved away from the throng to light a cigarette. That was back before stupid circumstances had started cramping her luck.

"This whole set-up, it's just not what a complex woman like me needs" she sighed, stretching her hands behind her head.

"Well maybe there's something we can do about that."

A large hand behind her grabbed her wrists and twisted them roughly down behind her back.

With a yelp Faye swung to the ground. Looking up she was faced with a pair of knees. Huge, male, leather coated knees. As he reached down to take the gun she was carrying out of its holster she managed to get a look at his face. He was surprisingly young. Tanned, large brown eyes and longish black hair.

Why the hell's a guy like this date-raping at a blown up racetrack?

In Faye's extensive experience this kind of thing was much more likely to happen with someone more similar to her original attacker. And, she sullenly admitted to herself, much easier to handle. This guy was in shape. And there was a strange glint in his eye that she just didn't like.

Straightening up her attacker looked down on her, still not letting go of her wrists. If anything, he was squeezing them tighter.

"You're a feisty one aintcha?" he asked of her, with a twisted half smile on his face.

Not wishing to speak to him between then and the time that she'd be kicking his ass, Faye did the only thing she knew to be a suitable substitute for conversation.

She spat on his shoes. And they looked brand new too. Pity.

His eyes widened in rage.

"You bitch! You should be glad of this, I was gonna do things to you you'd never even heard of!"

Half enjoying his enraged state Faye smiled sweetly up at him

"It's not like I have to get jumped on a day off to get myself a date junior. Maybe you should lay off the gangster movies and try a self help book or something. You'd be surprised how easy it is to make a lasting impression on a woman."

Seething he narrowed his dark eyes at her.

"You'll never forget me bitch. Not when I'm through with you."

Faye had opened her mouth to give a suitably derisive reply but the blow he dealt to the back of her head knocked her out cold.

Dropping her to the ground he turned her over onto her back with the toe of his shoe. Eyeing her up and down, he commended himself on a damn good day's work. And to think that idiotic tub of lard nearly got away with her.

He threw a look over his shoulder. The trucker was still slumped on the pavement clutching his groin.

Ah well, one man's ball breaker is another man's sweet piece of ass.

His musing was cut short by the appearance of a tiny aubergine coloured man, running towards the destroyed racetrack. As he came closer there appeared to be something familiar about him.

Oh shit.

"Howards."

The tiny man had stopped beside him, panting heavily.

"Fischer? What-are-you-doing-here?"

Howards glanced at the woman at his feet. Fischer did likewise and gave a start.

"Oh I was in just walking past and I saw this young woman hurt here. She appears to be out cold. Must've gotten knocked over in all the commotion. I've been waiting on an ambulance." Howards' face didn't lose any of the suspicion it had initially held.

Fischer would like to have thought that they hadn't known each other long or well enough for this to be an issue. Still though, it was probably wise to change the subject.

"Looks like the operation went according to plan."

Bingo.

Something akin to realisation dawned on Howards' tiny face and he mumbled something about work done incorrectly before scurrying away.

As soon as he had disappeared amongst the rubble surrounding the track, Fischer decided that one encounter was too many to risk. He slung Faye around his shoulders and made his way quickly off the scene.

A plainly audible giggle came from the furthest corner of the room. Which was quite a feat really, considering that the very same room was full of important looking business people talking at the top of their voices about various mergers that they were 'just closing the deal' on.

Spike looked up from the coin he had been tossing in the air. An old trick yes, but hey, when you know you look good you may as well capitalise on it. Looking in the direction that the obviously contrived bid for his attention had come from, his mismatched eyes met two large catlike green mates from across the room.

Locking eyes with her always stirred up some sort of longing somewhere in the pit of Spike's stomach. She wasn't of enough consequence to summon up that feeling by herself. She brought back a hint of someone else. But soon the prospect of the gaping holes stretched inher not-too far away blouse erased any thought other than what could possibly be housed in there.

But of course Spike was never one to openly salivate. There was no shortage of women on Mars, and Spike knew he would never be lost for company.

Safe in that knowledge, he merely winked at the girl sitting behind the desk in the across the room and returned to his pursuit.

Damn that coin was shiny.

"Um, Mr. Spiegel?" squeaked a minuscule voice from what was fast becoming known as 'the busty corner'. It was a stupid name, of course, but in an office full of horny men witty reparte was not exactly the norm.

Spike leaned back and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

Wow, just 30 seconds? She made it a whole 2 minutes last week.

The girl across the room blushed as he made eye contact with her again. She seemed to have forgotten that she'd called his attention and that it was now her turn to speak.

Spike walked slowly over to where she was sitting and waited until a sufficiently patronising time had elapsed before drawing her attention to her silence.

"Yes Veronica, what's the problem?" he said in a low voice as if communicating highly classified information to her.

She surveyed him from underneath her considerably enhanced eyelashes. Her coyness made Spike's stomach turn. It was this brand of theatrics that turned him off certain women. Goddamn attitudes.

"Mr. Lampard says you should go in as soon as Mr. Howards is finished."

Spike made sure he didn't let any flicker of emotion near his face. It was so difficult not to laugh in the poor girl's face.

"Thanks Veronica, I'm sure he won't take too long."

He's in there for 20 minutes after I arrive any time I come by here. Measuring the back of Sam's chair or something. Not my fault if he's got a point to prove, but I really don't care how tiny the guy's dick is.

Half smiling to himself, Spike decided to turn his lop-sided grin on the voluptuous receptionist. It was always fun to watch her melt. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he took her in once more. Hey, no problem with some agreeable feminine company, giving her ample chest another quick glance. But there was something else about her. Something in those eyes…

"So how about I pick you up outside the front door at eight?" Leaning over her desk, Spike could feel her temperature rise.

"Um, but the office doesn't close until nine Mr. Spiegel." Veronica looked as if she wanted to crawl under her desk and cry with both terror and joy.

At that moment the door behind her opened and Howards strode out with his purplish nose high in the air.

Spike caught the coin one last time and looked back at her over his shoulder.

"Eight o'clock," he called to her, and disappeared through the door.

Veronica waited a full respectable five minutes before clutching her phone to her ear and shouting down to the first number on her speed dial,

"My horoscope was right!"

Samuel Lampard surveyed his potential employee over his clasped hands.

Potential. The word aggravated him. There was absolutely no reason why Spike shouldn't work for him. Well, with him.

Samuel had been around long enough to know that a guy of Spike Spiegel's reputation would never under any circumstances work under anyone's command but his own. If he hadn't worked under the most feared syndicate the solar system had ever seen, he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

Samuel had been a member of the Red Dragons too. Important, you might say. He'd had his own share in the running of the place, but was generic enough a 'bad guy' to escape notice. Particularly the wrong kind of notice. There was some merit in looking like a chartered accountant after all. The main reason any girl had ever given him for a refusal was his store bought haircut, rangy stature and square black rimmed glasses. A guy like Samuel could've been really wary of a guy like Spike, jealous even. But Samuel Lampard was a tad too smart for that. You build empires on the back of Spike Speigels. And enough money would supply all the 'charm' that he'd ever need.

But this empire wasn't getting built. Not while Spike was standing on the periphery anyway.

Perhaps some slight reverse psychology. Nothing too overt, that never worked in a situation like this. Just some minor prodding.

Frowning at the man opposite him (who was staring at a map on the right hand wall of the office, blatantly ignoring the person he'd been called in to see) Samuel decided on the best way to start off the conversation.

"You really didn't need to blow the place up Spike."

Spike remained fixed on the map before him. Dragging a cigarette from a ragged looking red packet, he managed to mutter out the side of his mouth, "Sorry, Sam but when a guy hands me a pretty big bag of explosives-" here he paused to light up, "-I tend to use them to the best of their advantage."

With a flick of his wrist Spike extinguished the match he'd just used and threw it on the floor beside him. He removed his cigarette but his mouth remained in its lopsided state of paralysis. Why did today have to be so damn funny? If there was one thing Spike wasn't good at, it was holding in laughter. And the idea that Sam thought having the same conversation for the thirty second time would yield a different result was just too much.

But still, he managed to keep his laughter hidden behind several facial contortions and his voice remained even. The meeting just had better not last too long.

His frown still in place, Samuel continued. "Diego Martinez was severely injured when he was brought into our custody-"

"-He was alive, that's all you gave me to work on."

Samuel's frown gained real gravity. "I don't appreciate your attitude Spike, it's not productive and the Collective needs to be productive."

Spike continued to examine his quickly diminishing cigarette. None of this mattered.

Spike hadn't agreed to anything other than a couple of quick jobs. He wasn't involved with this pathetic organisation or its idiotic civil war. Organised crime wasn't his game, not anymore. And the best part about it was, Spike thought smiling to himself, the dynamic Mr. Lampard knew that just as well as he did.

Samuel saw Spike's quiet arrogance and felt the familiar defeat.

How do blackmail a man that has nothing?

You don't

The answer was written across his counterpart's self-assured face.

"Alright." Sam sighed, sliding a brown paper file across the desk.

"Here's your next guy, might be tricky, he's a 'retired' assassin for Benfimo's people. The group has disbanded but there's word that the elders are still giving orders that he's carrying out. Could be tricky so you'll be working with Fischer on this one."

Crushing his spent cigarette underfoot Spike looked Samuel straight in the eye and shook his head.

No partners. That had been the agreement.

Samuel shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't work with Fischer, you don't get paid."

Spike took a breath, ready to twist Samuel's proverbial arm, but suddenly thought the better of it. This job might be worth something, and it could be fun to catch someone that could put up a fight for a change.

But all this partner stuff just didn't sit right with him.

Fischer. With all the stuff that he's supposed to be into…Could be interesting.