Looking
A/N: These are companion pieces. The theme for the first is our distance and that person; the second is excessive chain.
He sits two inches from her, two inches that to her are worse than two miles. Miles she might take some comfort in; inches she cannot bear.
It is hot. It is always hot, it seems, with the air conditioner breaking down every time someone breathes wrong. His head hangs over the back of the couch, waving languidly from time to time to try and catch phantom breezes.
Her hose are long discarded, lying on the back of the chair. Every once in a while, one of Spike's phantom breezes catches one, sending it swaying and spinning slightly.
Except Faye doesn't notice any of this, except for the godforsaken vacuum between her and Spike. In her mind it is cold, very cold. A light snow is falling on Callisto, the place where her mind seems to live these days. But she does that, finds her home in places her mind should leave. She traces her way up the stairs to Gren's apartment, untouched, empty, half the lights still on.
She's looking for Julia- but it's not Julia she's after. She's looking for Julia because she holds Spike. She figured that one out all on her own. Maybe she doesn't even know that she knows, but she keeps looking.
All her life, that she can remember, she's been looking. Something strange with her memory, something she can't quite understand, all this looking. Maybe it's insulation, keeping her mind and her body separate. Maybe it's that she still wants a home. Maybe it's not even true, the half conscious babble of a heat-addled brain. No matter. She is on Callisto now.
Until Spike moves again, and she's jarred back. He's closer now, another half an inch and a couple million miles. And it's so very hot that she shivers. A bead of sweat rolls down Spike's neck and into his shirt, and Faye wishes in that instant that she was there.
He's just staring at the ceiling, past the ceiling, off into nothingness. And in the corners of a jealous mind Faye thinks she knows what he is seeing. Julia, all Julia. She must be in Faye's mind as often as Spike's these days. And for a split second, Faye wishes she were Julia, that she were hunted, not hunting.
Spike gets up slowly, and in moving, his hand comes to rest on her leg. Only it's not really resting at all. It is the slow drag, the rough kiss of damp skin on damp skin. And it burns, more than she thought was possible.
Seeing
He is staring at the ceiling, but that's not what he wants to see. He knows if he just stares long enough, the world will fade away. He'll fall into the slip, and he can close his real eye and see where he wants to be. See her in a fancy hotel room bought with somebody else's money, blonde hair splayed over the pillow and her laughing.
But that's not what he's seeing. His mind is hung up; he cannot fall like he wants. Faye is distracting, yes, but that's just an excuse. Well, it approaches the real reason, but it's still an excuse.
Spike is too busy thinking, not seeing today. The heat makes him think, makes him hunt for the faintest respite, ties him back to where he is. Faye makes him think, damp fabric of her clothes clinging even more than usual. He can hear the clank far off of Jet trying to fix the cooling system, Ed singing some pretty nonsense, a bark every so often. All of it holds him back, keeps him from falling. So he cannot choose but think.
His loyalty always was his greatest curse. He is still bound to Julia, to Vicious, to the completion of their story. But he is bound to Jet, to Ed, to VT, and, as it almost pains him to admit, he is bound to Faye. He is chained, and chained, and chained again, caught in a net of his own creation.
And when he pulls, it only gets tighter. The better part of him wants to cut and run, to find Julia at all costs. But he can't do that; he can't leave Jet and Faye. Churning, dark thoughts about Faye whisper in and kiss his mind, the kind of thoughts she'd slap him and love him for having. But he can't do that; he can't betray Julia.
All he has is that place, the world behind his false eye, the past bottled up. Nothing binds him there; he comes and leaves as he pleases.
He gets up, so lost in thought that he doesn't even notice when he touches Faye. If he can't see, he'll sleep. It's the next best thing.
A/N: There's another piece that comes after this, but it'd probably get me booted. The theme is the space between dream and reality, and you can read it at my livejournal. The username's sabinelagrande, and you can find it by looking for the 30 Kisses section in my memories.