Lucifer's Garden
A/N: Aaah! I'm so sorry this took so long! It's terrible, I know. I had it ready last night but it didn't work, so here I am, almost a month late. Before we get started, I wanted to talk to you guys about lemons. There have been some requests, but I'm sticking to what I said before about that particular aspect of this story; It won't be appearing. There are a lot of reasons for this, but the main one is that, as a fifteen year old, I have not had sex. Therefore I don't feel qualified in the least to write something like that. It's also out of consideration for my family and friends (who I force to read this) that I'm not doing it. I think it'd weird them out more than a little bit. There is adult content, but it doesn't go very far. Again, I'm sorry for the delays, I did the best I could. This is one of two physical actionchapters in the story, and let's face it. I suck at writing action. I wanted to make it as good as it could be. I'm actually really excited about this chapter. I think it turned out pretty well. I hope you guys enjoy it, and the next one should be up by the end of April. There may be some slight delays (I'm going to Japan for Spring Break), but hopefully it'll be one of the easier to write. I'm counting on it being differently formatted from these ones; it covers a long-ish period of time, so don't be suprised if chapter seven is a little... different. Well, I love you guys so much and thanks for your amazing reviews! I know I say this every time, but they really mean a lot to me. So here's lookin' at you, kid. Enjoy
Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, or Spike, or Faye, or Ed, or Ein, or Julia, or Annie, or Mao, or... Wow. The list goes on, huh? ;D
Chapter Six:
Queen of Hearts
Holding hands
Skipping like a stone
On our way to see what we have done
The first to speak is the first to lie
The children cross their hearts and hope to die
-Queens of the Stone Age
When Spike thought about it, which he didn't often do, this wasn't such a big deal. This job of his and everything that came with had become mundane over the years. Gone was the fear, the reluctance to pull the trigger. Of course he was running the risk of dying; hell, that was part of the fun. And the plan had always been to check out before his two packs a day caught up with him, anyway. As he strolled now, casual and heavily armed, down a silent street in one of the trashier neighborhoods of Tharsis City, all he felt was the faint anticipation that he always identified with an old habit still enjoyed. There was no remorse, never would be. This was, after all, the routine.
Spike heaved a sigh and let his cigarette fall from his lips. It hit graphitized concrete and he kept walking, not bothering to grind it out. Dark eyes scanned the empty street around him, lingering on the houses he passed. Peeling paint, bars on the windows, roofs collapsing in on themselves. A baby was crying in one of the houses to the right. There was a scuffle in an alleyway and a short, sharp cry. Spike ignored it, focusing on the warehouse that loomed directly before him across a desert of asphalt. He mentally noted that if the walk had been any longer, he might have had to break out the firearms a little early. Spike was actually surprised; the crucifix strung around his neck usually would have been more than enough to attract interest.
The sound of his footsteps died on the heavy air. His breath felt hot and thick, the darkness almost tangible. Half of the streetlights had burned out and no one had bothered to the replace bulbs. Just as well. Spike passed into the shadow of the warehouse, surprised to find the building in remarkable shape for the neighborhood. Then again, who the hell would wanna mess with these people? (Spike and Alex excluded, of course, for reasons of insanity.)
Heavy concrete doors stood open, leading to nothing but inky blackness. Graceful hands slid into trench coat pockets, fishing around for a few moments before Spike pulled out his Zippo, letting it flare to life as he stepped over the threshold. He held it up high, his little circle of light expanding to reveal a wall and a door directly across from him, the space to his left and right bleeding into shadow. The area was barren, devoid of any furnishings and colder than the night outside was hot. Spike traversed the space in three long strides, his free hand reaching out for the sturdy brass doorknob glimmering viciously in the waning light. The door opened neatly. Spike let his lighter go out.
He had opened the way into what he assumed was the main room of the warehouse. The part of the floor he could see appeared to be concrete, grey and stained from years of water damage. A hoard of white candles led in a sloppy line from two or so yards away from the door to a makeshift altar at what might have been the other end or maybe the middle of a room whose dimensions were completely hidden. It was a good way away, but Spike could make out the chipped wooden table well enough, along with various important looking knickknacks set on it. And of course, seated right alongside her crosses and candles on the altar, just as beautiful as when they were young, Amelia. Their eyes locked and they both paused for a moment, an impossibly sweet smile crystallizing across her face. Impossible as it was to tell, Spike felt like they were alone what seemed to him to be the infinite expanse of the room.
"Mr. Spiegel." She tilted her head to the left just like Alex and Jude had a habit of doing. Her heartbreakingly beautiful voice settled over him, her hair fell glossy and unbound down her back, the blackest black he had ever seen. Violet eyes held his unfaltering gaze, inanely bright against her somber, dark clothing. "Have you come to return my necklace?"
"I'm not sure I can part with it." He answered shortly, his lips rearranging into a smirk. His hands found his pockets, fingers tracing the smooth outlines of his gun. Spike took the first tentative steps forward.
"It must mean so much to you." Amelia said quietly, her eyes flickering to his feet as they moved. "In that case, I want you to keep it."
Spike stopped in his tracks. His finger was itching to pull the trigger. "You're too generous, sister." The echoes kicked the words around for a moment. Amelia regarded him coolly, meeting his gaze once more.
"Please, Mr. Spiegel." She brought her arms up and reached for him, palms up and fingers curled in mid beckon. "You have not yet known the extent of my generosity."
Spike laughed slowly, softly. Russet eyes caught Amelia's gaze and held it. "And you haven't yet known the extent of mine."
He could hear safeties click off and knew then that he was surrounded. It wasn't entirely surprising, not surprising in the least actually, but it definitely wasn't the opportune situation. Especially considering Spike couldn't actually see anyone but Amelia.
"Why don't you tell me your plan, Mr. Spiegel?" Amelia said gently, letting her arms lower. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Was it to come in here and kill me quietly? Execution style to the back of my head? That's the usual protocol, isn't it?"
A shrug. "Sure. But I've never been good about following directions." Spike finally brought his gun into the open, casual about clicking off his own safety. His right eye slid closed and his left snapped to life, feeding Spike the room in shades of red. Fifty or so men with standard hand guns, lined up in two neat rows, twenty five each side. The room itself was fucking huge with plenty of doors and stacks of wooden crates scattered around. If Spike did survive tonight, it would be because of the location.
"I'd guessed that just by looking at you, Mr. Spiegel." Her smile never faltered. Spike wished she would stop saying his name.
"So who's gonna start this thing, anyway?" He said shortly, a challenge written all over his face.
Amelia was silent for a moment, watching him like a cat watched a mouse. She blinked slowly, then spoke. "Feel free, Mr. Spiegel."
Spike's mind ticked for a moment. He surveyed the room, weighed odds, calculated distances, shrinked Amelia and her followers. Jude flickered through his mind, and then Julia, and finally Faye and then his mind shut off completely, leaving him to do what he did best. He brought up his gun, leveled it at a spot in the darkness, and fired. Spike pulled the triggereight times and relished the sound ofeight bodies hitting the ground. He changed hisclip, cool.The echoes died away.
Silence.
"Mr. Spiegel." Amelia said gently. "You are absolved of your sins. I hope the Lord welcomes you as I do."
Gunfire.
Spike took off as soon as it started, plunging into the darkness without a second thought. He could feel the bullets whizzing past him and ran harder because of it, one eye open to the black of reality and the other seeing the room in extreme red-washed detail. There was one of the random stacks of crates a little off to the left and he ran for it, ducking behind them and trying to ignore the sound of snapping wood as the bullets followed him. He peeked out just long enough to get a few shots off and come to the conclusion that all of Amelia's enforcers were men. That suited Spike just fine, although he couldn't say he had any qualms about killing a woman.
As the first of the bullets broke through the crates, he was off and running again. He didn't waste any time wondering how the shooters could see him in the inky darkness, didn't really want to know. All that mattered was that he could see them right back, which he could, and he took advantage of that, firing off several shots as he moved and taking down three or four men in his path. He took a sharp turn, almost skidding as he changed direction, to head towards that makeshift altar in the middle of the room. Amelia was gone. Letting a curse slip from his lips, Spike jerked to a halt, pivoting and bringing his gun back up. Two more shots, two more bodies on the floor. Spike was on the move again, chased by a flood of steel. He caught a glimpse of a door closing and ran faster, heading for it.
Impact.
Spike was breathless for a long moment as he felt a bullet hit him in the back. He stumbled, almost fell, his arms reaching out before him. Palms hit smooth concrete. He pushed himself back up and ran even faster than before, keeping the momentum through the pain. His hands found the wall, the door, and yanked it open.
A hallway. The lights were still off. His left eye adjusted to the milky light from a window at the top of a staircase. Spike's boots pounded the floor hard as he clambered up the steps, struggling to regain his breath as he climbed. A shadow stepped into the middle of the stairway. Spike fired without hesitation, hitting what his left eye identified as another man in the chest twice and jumping over the body as it tumbled into his way. Another shadow, two more shots, one more body on the floor. Spike's boot prints were pounded into the stairs in red.
Spike was startled when he reached the top of the staircase. He skidded to a standstill, faced with two doors and a window. The possibilities for Amelia's escape seemed almost endless. A shot went off and left Spike reeling as it burrowed into his stomach. There was a woman (girl) hunched in the corner, deeper in shadow than Spike had formerly thought possible. She was shaking, her gun leveled, ready to fire again.
"Tell me which way Amelia went." Spike ground out, his voice choked as he struggled for breath. She just watched him with wide eyes. She was young and he she didn't wear one of Amelia's crucifixes.
"I… I can't…" Her voice wavered. All she needed was a little encouragement. That came, because it was Spike after all, in the form of a gun.
"Tell me." He growled. Fat tears trailed down her face but she didn't sob, remained calmer than he would have imagined.
"Left. She went left."
"If you're lying to me I'll kill you."
"But… I'm not!" She pulled the trigger for the second time and it was devastating, a good shot that hit him square in the stomach. Spike's arm snaked around to stop the blood that wasn't flowing.
"Get out of here," He said through his teeth, "before I kill you anyway. Go back home."
"I don't have anywhere to go!" Her voice echoed. She looked like she wanted to shoot him again, so Spike shot the gun out of her hands before she could.
"Find somewhere. Go back to the life you had before. After tonight, this one is over."
The woman (girl) looked at him like no one had before. Cool, clear, a look that resonated. A look that haunted dreams. "I don't have another life. I don't want another life. If this one is over, than so am I."
Spike killed her. Neat, clean, a bullet placed between the eyes, still open. Green, he noted as he reached into his trench coat pocket for a new clip. The old one clattered to the floor, landing next to a growing pool of the woman's (girl's) blood. Red. It spread beautifully across the dirty cement, something pure.
Spike had no qualms about killing a women. ( A girl.)
He took the door that led left.
Faye was learning very quickly that Jude always got what she wanted, sometimes without saying anything at all. Now was one of those times, and although Faye couldn't say she was thrilled with traipsing through the gardens at eleven o'clock (she'd much rather be sleeping) she had figured it was better to go with the flow. And who the hell was she to say no to Jude? Who the hell was anyone to say no to Jude?
"Fuck!" The blonde cried out, giddy as all hell. "I fucking love nature! Fuck!"
Actually, Jude hated nature and being outdoors. But Faye was pretty damn sure she was high right now, so she didn't bother reminding her of that little fact. She didn't even bother protesting as Jude hooked one arm with Faye's and the other with her boyfriend Otto, a cute twenty year old with curly dirty blond hair and big, beseeching brown eyes.
"I love it too, Jude. I really, really do." He said eagerly, even though he really didn't, either. What Otto loved was Jude, like a dog loved its master. It was almost sickening, but Faye didn't feel that she was in a position to comment as she was also being dragged through flower beds like a rag doll.
"I mean, shit! Look at it, Faye!" Jude breathed, jerking to a halt and looking down at a skeptical Miss Valentine. (She was in the habit of ignoring Otto whenever possible, poor kid.)"It's amazing! It's so…. Fucking free!"
"Yes," Faye mumbled, trying to fix her heel in the short break from half-jogging-half-limping across the lawns. "Free."
"So much freer than all of us. I mean, that flower can do whatever the fuck it wants. It can fucking grow and bloom and die on its own fucking time. It doesn't give a shit."
"Wow, Jude, you're so right…" Otto said eagerly. "You're so right…"
They were off again. Jude was laughing and it was all Faye could do not to stare at her like Otto, she was so beautiful. They had just come home from dinner (Spike had been mysteriously absent, something that had bothered her all night) and everyone was dressed up. Jude might have been a nymph, pale and incandescent in a wispy white dress. If her eyes weren't so bloodshot, her shimmery eye makeup running down her translucent cheeks in two ugly lines, she could have passed for a goddess.
They ran on. Flowers were trampled, hills were climbed, the stables passed by without a second glance. No one asked where Jude was going and probably wouldn't have gotten a real answer if they had. Faye's dress, red, whipped uncomfortably around her knees. With every step her heels sank into moist dirt and if it wasn't for her experience as a bounty hunter, Faye may not have made it. She did make it, in fact, although whether that was for better or worse she didn't want to know. When Jude finally decided to stop running, they were at the hedge maze.
Great. That was fucking great.
"Let's see who can get to the center first." Jude said breathlessly as a charmed kind of smile crossed her face. "It'll be fun." Otto was looking at her with the kind of adoration that said, 'I will follow you to the ends of the earth', so Faye figured he was game. She heaved a sigh but nodded her agreement none-the-less. She had the feeling that when she finally got back to the house, she would be wanting a very strong drink.
Thank God Alex kept a very well stocked liquor cabinet.
Faye trudged across the grass to her appointed entrance to the maze and waited while Jude got situated. A moment later, at Jude's cry, they were off. The maze was stupid and Faye hated it, so she didn't even try. Halfway through she gave up and, knowing that Jude wouldn't notice if she left and Otto would like the time alone, turned on her heel and found her way out. Standing just outside the maze, she paused. A glance at her watch told her it was getting close to eleven thirty, a bout of giggles from the maze told her she wouldn't be missed, and a feeling in her gut told her that Spike wasn't back from wherever he had gone. Time to get that drink.
The night, Faye grudgingly admitted as she slipped off her shoes and began back towards the house, was pretty beautiful. Another hot one, lazy in the best of ways, the stars kissing the sky. She thought about a lot while she walked, but mostly Otto and Jude and how he looked at her like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. As Faye found herself on the hill she had last seen Spike on (shit, this morning seemed so far away), she couldn't help but realize that no one had ever looked at her like that and probably never would. But she was being melodramatic, and that was the last thing she wanted. It wasn't like she was a drunken stripper/whore/bartender trying to raise a kid on Ganymede while her ex-lover chased her down. She had no right to complain. Really.
Faye yawned wide and laced her fingers together, stretching up and then locking her hands behind her head. The side of the house was straight ahead, most of the windows dark. She studied them as she drew closer, trying to orient herself. The house's details grew sharper. Faye paused, half in shadow, her brow furrowed.
Movement.
There was a man, relatively short but sturdy and tough looking, making his way across the lawn. He paused at a spot near the wall and crouched down with his back to Faye. A grunt of effort and then he was heaving open some kind of door, half in the wall and half in the ground. Once both of the heavy wooden doors were open, the man slipped through and into darkness.
Faye didn't even have the grace to hesitate. Her arms fell to her sides and she was off, moving carefully towards the door that her memory told her led under the house. She recognized in the back of her mind that Alex would be angry if he caught her snooping around. But, she decided and it brought a smirk to her lips, if he didn't want her to find this place, he should have hired someone who'd close up behind himself.
She'd reached it. Distantly she noticed a hefty padlock off to the side, but if it didn't hinder her endeavor, she didn't give a crap. The doorway led into a steep looking staircase, probably spiral since she didn't see any light to mark the end. Faye dropped her shoes to the ground and stepped lightly through, pausing a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
So far, so good.
The stairway, Faye discovered as she padded down as silently as she possibly could, was rough hewn stone, cold on her bare feet. She moved slowly, her fingernails scraping gently on the stone walls. It was getting colder as she moved down. Goosebumps came to a head on her arms and legs. She began to shiver, her breath a white cloud as she exhaled.
At last she turned a corner and the light hit her like a ton of bricks. Her pupils contracted sharply and she waited it out in silence, lest the man from before pop up. A moment passed. There was no one there. Faye took a few tentative steps forward to find herself in a good sized room. The walls and floors were smooth stone and spotless, the room devoid of all furniture but a metal folding chair in the corner, rusted and crappy, and it desperately tried to catch the bright, overpowering light from an industrial lamp hissing on the ceiling. But she didn't care about that. There was something much more interesting to draw her attention.
On the wall before her was a gate. It was beautiful, more beautiful than she had thought a gate could be. Cool steel glimmered in the light, twisted into graceful vines, molded into flowers, budding and blooming, worked into birds. Faye moved towards it, reached out and twined her fingers around it. The steel was frigid against her skin. She pressed closer, squinting past the tangled metal to see what was beyond the gate. Darkness. Faye pushed. It moved forward an inch or so before it buckled, grinding against a chain padlocked from the inside that she hadn't noticed before. One more try, just for the hell of it. Nothing. Her hand snaked to her hair, grasped a bobby pin, but never pulled it out.
"Faye. What a pleasant surprise."
Alex. Faye drew a sharp breath and dropped both hands to her sides, spinning to face him. He stood at the foot the stairs, his eyebrow cocked and his hair down and brushing his shoulders. His hands were in the pockets of a black pea coat put over a sharp black suit. There was another man a step behind him, silent and stoic. Alex watched Faye for a moment, amused, then slid a hand out of his pocket and held it out to her.
Faye moved forward and took it. His hand was warm. "Wait here. I'm taking Faye back to the house. I'll be back."
With a sharp nod and a curt, "Yes, sir." from the other man, Alex was whisking Faye back up the staircase and towards the heat of the night outside. They ducked back into the garden and he released her hand, stripped his jacket, and caught it again, his fingers lacing through hers. They began to walk, though not towards the house.
"I've told you a million times," Alex started after a moment. "Stay out of my work."
"I didn't know." Faye replied. They wound their way through the grounds until they came to one of the walled gardens. Alex led her in. There was an oak tree in the middle with a tire swing. He gently nudged her towards it. Eyes lingering on his face as they parted, Faye made her careful way to it and sat, wondering what he was up to.
"I worry about you sometimes, Faye." He said concisely, strolling in a lazy circle around the tree. She could tell by looking at him that he wasn't saying it out of any concern for her. The swing began to move as she pushed gently off the ground. "You're restless."
"Is that a sin?" Her hair drifted over her shoulders as she swung backwards.
"It won't make you a saint. You should watch yourself" Alex replied. He paused, leaning against the trunk with his arms crossed. She thought of Spike. The swing eased forward. Faye put her feet down , jerking it to a halt.
"You seem to say that to me a lot."
Violet eyes regarded her impassively. "Then it must be worth saying." Alex pushed off the tree, advancing on her. His hands wrapped around the rope and he leaned towards her until their noses brushed. "Maybe you should listen." His breath was warm on Faye's lips.
"That's never been my strong point." She smiled, tried to laugh it off, but couldn't. Alex was terrifyingly serious for once in his life.
"Obviously." Was the sharp reply. Alex released her suddenly and turned around, crossing the garden in a few quick strides. At the gate, he paused and looked back. Their eyes met. "Don't wait up too long for Spike. He may not be coming home."
Faye sat very still and watched him go, her mind ticking. There were a lot of rooms she'd never seen in Alex King's god forsaken house, but that one was different. That one felt dangerous.
She had to go back.
Spike ran. It was a long hallway, dark enough to kick his left eye into gear, empty. Windows lined the right side, overlooking the darkened room below. Everything smelled sticky, metallic. Blood with a trace of decomp. There was one door at the end of the hallway and Spike didn't take his eyes off it. That's were he was headed. There had to be armed men behind that door; Amelia wasn't stupid. But Spike didn't care anymore. He had crossed over that beautiful mental threshold. He had gone numb. If it all ended tonight, he probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
At the end of the hall, Spike stopped. His right hand went on the doorknob, his left hand gripped his gun. He paused a moment to catch his breath with his back flat against the door. For whatever reason, he thought of Faye. Then he turned the doorknob quickly, bringing up his gun upon his entrance to the room.
Silence. Silence that was worse than gunfire. The hall had brought him to what might have been an office at some point. It was a square room, relatively small, no furniture. Amelia, who must have been waiting for him, stood at the window.
"My goodness, Mr. Spiegel," She said without looking at him. "That was quite the entrance."
"Thanks," Spike ground out, "I try my best."
She turned to face him, her eyes snapping to his arrogant face. Her beautiful features were grim. "Mr. Spiegel, do you believe in God?"
Spike barely had time to be suspicious. Up came his gun and he fired a nice shot through Amelia's arm, but there were two more he knew weren't his. He couldn't feel the impact, per sea, but he knew they had driven into his back when he found, much to his chagrin, that his body was no longer responding. Spike's knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, palms and knees to cement, gun clattering away.
All he could manage to think was how stupid he'd been.
Amelia's voice came to him from across the room, distant through the pain. She hardly seemed phased by the shot to the arm, although Spike could see a drop of blood fall to the ground before him. "I'm assuming that by your silence, you mean to say that you don't. That's completely understandable, considering what you've been through. But tell me, Mr. Spiegel," She was advancing on him; he could see her feet as they moved. Then, suddenly, they were eye to eye. She had crouched down to his level, two gentle fingers under his chin. Spike drowned in lilac. "How is it that after all this world has done to you, you are still able to stand? How are you able to get out of bed in the morning, keep living, keep loving? If there is no God, Mr. Spiegel, how is possible that you, a man who has lost fathers, friends, lovers, can continue to hope for a better future?"
Spike was beyond speaking, beyond being able to formulate words. All he could manage was a smile, a dangerous, almost feral smile that he was sure many a man had seen in his last moments of life. And then he laughed, and the laugh was even more sinister than the smile.
Amelia's blood slithered through her fingers, dripping lazily to a growing puddle at her feet. Red. She wasn't done. "I'm not going to kill you tonight, Mr. Spiegel." She said, demure. "That seems morally shoddy to me. Cheap. Although not quite as cheap as wearing a bullet proof vest. Though it has been interesting to watch you let us knock your internal organs to a pulp." Another gunshot. Spike discovered that he was past screaming, also. "You're going to get up, Mr. Spiegel, and you are going to walk outside. A car will be waiting to take you back to my brother's house. I'm letting you survive on two conditions. One: You realize that it is God who has allowed you to live this long. Two: Tell Alexander that the next time he wants something done, he should do it himself. Now get out of here."
Spike found himself getting pulled roughly to his feet and pushed out the still open door by two men he hadn't seen upon his entrance to the room. The hallway stretched before him. He staggered forward. Walking was nearly impossible but he did it anyway; he had plenty of practice. He had no doubt that had he been able to feel anything, the pain would have been unbearable. The thought of his own death fascinated him just as it had in his many other moments like this. Spike dwelled on the moment he checked out, on the tunnel of light, on what would come after that. He didn't know, wouldn't until it happened, and was desperately curious about it. As he ambled down the stairs drunkenly, he imagined what would no doubt happen later tonight; the removal of the bodies. He wondered idly what Amelia would do with her follower's remains. What Alex and Faye would do with his remains. But this was thinking foreword, and how much easier it was to exist from moment to moment, step to step, breath to breath.
Nothing but the heat told Spike that he was outside. By some miracle he found the car and jerked the door open, half falling inside and much too far gone to worry about whether they were going to drive him to a field and shoot him in the back of the head. All he could manage was to slouch into the cool black leather of the back seat and reach into his pocket for a cigarette. In between lips in went, out came the lighter, and in a moment of gold-washed leather the cigarette caught.
The car began to move. The ride lasted fifteen or twenty minutes which meant they were going fast. They weren't pulled over. At last the car jerked to a screeching halt in what Spike vaguely recognized as Alex's driveway. A staggering exit from the vehicle and an awkward wave left him alone. He turned to the house and began to walk, letting the cigarette fall to the ground and reaching for another. The door was open so Spike let himself in, fumbling in his pockets for his pack. He found it as he reached the staircase, pulled out a white cylinder and slid it in his mouth. His hand found the banister and he pulled himself up the staircase, slow and awkward. Spike knew he couldn't go to Alex like this; hurt, weak, a failure. Not going to the pool house was included in that. He had one option; he had to find her. He had to find her.
Dark hallways. Spike lit his third cigarette of the evening and let it hang from his lips, limp and sad as it was. His footsteps were shuffling, his word spinning. He had to find her. There was a door at the end of one hall in particular. A pair of shoes just outside the door. Her shoes. He had to find her, had to get there. A palm found the doorknob, a knee found the door, and he opened it the only way he could manage; violently.
A bedroom. The door slammed into the wall and Spike stumbled forward. He caught two doggy heads popping up from a bed on the opposite wall. They started barking. The world faded to black. If Spike hit the floor (or when, he supposed, for everything was sideways now and how fuzzy the air had become), he was the last to know. He blinked once, twice, then let his eyes slide closed for the long run. Overall, a relief. Although it was a shame to waste a perfectly good cigarette.
She should have let him rot. She knew this, Shampoo and Jeremy knew this, the cards her lean fingers manipulated absentmindedly knew this. And she probably would have if she'd had any more sense, but as it was she was a sucker for playing the savior. So now here she was, sitting awake at some ungodly hour pretending to play solitaire as she watched him sleep. It wasn't that she was worried; this was a man who had gotten himself pushed out of a cathedral window and survived. But she wasn't exactly at ease, either.
Faye heaved an irritated sigh and dealt her cards, setting up a pretty little solitaire spread. The game began. The dogs scuffled for a moment before settling down at either side of her, plopping down contentedly on the green velvet comforter. Spike's breathing, steady and deep, seeped into her as she aimlessly flipped cards, each exhalation counted, analyzed, stored away in some distant part of Faye's mind to think back on should it be his last. It wouldn't be. She wasn't stupid enough to think like that.
An ace. She set it down, careful not to touch Spike's heel. He was sprawled out on Faye's bed, forcing her to the end with the dogs. He looked good, peaceful, not even injured too badly. When he had burst into her room and collapsed onto her floor she had thought he was going to die; as it turned out, there wasn't an open wound on him. Just nasty bruises on his chest and back, a few scrapes on his palms and knees. Spike smelled like gunpowder and blood, his shirt and coat ripped to shreds. The bullet proof vest he'd been wearing for maybe the first time ever hung on the back of Faye's vanity chair; she didn't want to know what he had been up to. That was good, actually, because she doubted he'd have the grace to tell her.
Green eyes lingered a little too long on Spike's face as Faye made a few minor adjustments to her game. She blushed, ashamed, and focused down on her spread. She went through her deck, set a few cards down, found another ace. A frown crossed her face. She was stuck.
"You're stuck," A voice rasped out. Faye jumped, her intake of breath sharp. The deck of cards slipped from her hand.
Spike.
"Shut up. What the hell do you know, huh?" Her irritation overshadowed her relief. Faye glanced up from her solitaire game to Spike. His eyes were closed, a cocky little smile on his lips.
"Plenty. More than you, obviously." Eyelids cracked and green met russet. Electric. Faye cleared her throat.
"I don't lose at solitaire, Spike. They call me Poker Alice for a reason." She scoffed, gathering her deck deftly.
His eyes twinkled in the golden light from Faye's bedside lamp. "So than what have you been doing for the last twenty minutes? Because I could have sworn you were losing at solitaire…" Spike trailed off, his voice a challenge.
Faye's eyebrow twitched, her pride kicking into overdrive. "Hey, lunkhead, why don't you play me and find out?" It was out of her mouth before she realized that to Spike's sick mind, that could have been a double entendre.
He was grinning now. "Solitaire is a one-person game, Faye." God, his voice. Rough and quiet, sensual. She wished he'd shut up for once in his life.
"So let's play something else. You pick." Faye began to gather the cards. When they were a neat deck, she started shuffling. Spike sat up, a grimace crossing his face as he scooted up to put his back against the headboard. He brought his knees in to sit cross-legged like Faye.
"Hearts." He suggested. He was laughing at her in his own fucked up way.
"That's no fun with two people." She countered easily.
"So then spoons."
"There's no challenge in that."
"Alright. We'll settle this man to woman. War." Spike was still smiling.
"Fine. War." Faye dealt the cards quickly, splitting the deck between them. Round one went to Spike, round two to Faye, three and four to Spike. Faye got tired of losing pretty fast.
"So how long was I out?" Spike asked casually ten or so minutes into the game.
A shrug. "An hour and a half or so, you drama king. You aren't even hurt that bad."
He gave her a skeptical look. "Because you know," Spike drawled.
"I've been shot before." Faye retorted. She had the scar to prove it.
"Yeah," Spike confirmed almost darkly. "I was there." A moment passed in silence. Shampoo and Jeremy changed positions, curling up against Faye's body. They were warm. A few more rounds played out. Faye won all but one. She could feel Spike' s eyes on her, studying her every move.
"You're cheating." He announced randomly as Faye won a war. He was casual about it, not angry in the least. Then again, she had rarely seen him angry and, surprisingly enough, didn't want to.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Spike." Was the haughty reply. She set down a card. He caught her wrist, held it just firmly enough so that she knew she couldn't get away.
"I can prove it." Still smiling.
With a little pull, Spike had Faye on her knees. Another and she was against his chest, the bandages she had wrapped around his torso for no real reason rough against the skin of her palms. Faye didn't dare to breathe. The fingers of his free hand trailed up her thigh and she felt ill in the best of ways, her pulse pounding in her ears as they slid under her boxers. A moment later they emerged, a card pinched between the thumb and forefinger. The Queen of Spades.
"So do you cheat at everything?" He asked coyly as he inspected the card, his eyes sparkling with contained mirth.
"No." Faye pulled the card from Spike's grasp and tucked it back where it belonged. She was acutely aware of his hand on her wrist, the other resting lightly on her thigh. "Besides, you're a card counter. I call it even." She crossed her arms under her chest, cocking her eyebrow at him.
"Queen of Spades…" Spike mulled it over. "Are you planning on shooting the moon, Faye?" She was losing her cool rapidly. Faye tried to pull away casually but Spike's hands locked on her hips. He was taunting her now, eyes narrowed almost seductively.
Son of a bitch. Two could play that game.
"We're not playing hearts, Spike." She murmured huskily, letting her hands slide from his chest to cradle the back of his neck. His lithe body stiffened at her touch. All of a sudden he was serious, deadly serious, and one of his own hands moved to the small of her back.
"Aren't we?"
The words settled over them. Faye's mind was ticking frantically and drawing a blank. That was dangerous, more dangerous than any room in Alex's house could ever be. As if to illustrate the disconnect between mind and body, she found herself leaning into his bruised chest, her lips gently brushing the skin where his neck met his shoulder. She thought she could hear him growl low in his throat, but it was so soft that there was always the possibility she had imagined it. But then she was kissing up his neck and she didn't care anymore, didn't know anything but the feel of his skin on hers, the warmth of his body. A nip on his earlobe and she was turning her head, laying butterfly kisses on his right cheek, nearing his lips, feeling nauseous with adrenaline and nerves. She was almost there when Spike caught her, cupping her cheeks in his rough hands. Their eyes met, the tips of their noses almost brushing.
"This can't happen." He murmured.
Faye reeled. She hadn't realized how much she wanted him until he had told her no. For a moment they sat in silence, their bodies pressed together, breath mixing, eyes searching. She wasn't going to take no for an answer. She couldn't.
"It already has." Faye whispered.
That was enough.
Reality hit hours later as they lay side by side, stiff as boards, in the fleeting grey light of predawn Mars. The air in the bedroom was thick with the heat of the upcoming day and the deep silence of regret. They had fucked up. Badly.
"That was stupid." Faye choked out to solidify their mistake.
"Yeah." Spike replied shortly. With a groan he sat up, swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, and pulled on his clothes. Faye watched in silence from her spot, the sheet wrapped tight around her.
"That was really stupid."
He shot her a look over his shoulder, russet eyes more amused than anything else. "I think we've established that." Spike stood, stretching up to the ceiling. His face contorted in pain for a moment but then he was over it, grabbing his useless shirt and coat from their spot balled up on the floor and moving across the room to the door.
Faye sat up, resting her back against the headboard. "What do we do?"
Spike shrugged. "Not tell anyone, I guess." He reached out for the doorknob, turned it. He was about to open the door when Faye flew from her spot to the end of the bed, trampling the long forgotten cards on her way.
"Hey!"
He paused, releasing the doorknob to turn back to her. "What?"
Hesitation. Then, flustered and rushed, "When will I see you again?"
Spike was silent for a long moment, looking at her like an endearing idiot. Then, like it was the simplest thing in the world, said, "Tomorrow. The pool house. Whatever time is good for you."
Faye watched, stunned to silence, as Spike slipped out into the hall. The door clicked closed behind him. Absently and almost in a daze, she picked up one of the cards scattered across the bed.
Queen of Hearts.
A/N: So... yeah. I know it's a little mixed up, but the title is actually referring to Amelia. I'll let you guys puzzle out the Queen of Hearts Faye picks up at the end. :) I love you guys and hopefully I'll see you in April.
Take care of yourselves! (and each other, if we wanna be Jerry Springer...)
Lucy
Next time on Lucifer's Garden: Alex and Spike have a chat about the future, Faye buys a wedding dress, and Spike receives an offer he couldn't refuse if he wanted to. It is, after all, Jude that's proposing it. And with Faye backing it up... Well, that's two to one.