Chapter Nine:

Wonderful Tonight


It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear.
She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair.
And then she asks me, "Do I look all right?"
And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight."

We go to a party and everyone turns to see
This beautiful lady that's walking around with me.
And then she asks me, "Do you feel all right?"
And I say, "Yes, I feel wonderful tonight."

-- Eric Clapton


Spike buried his hands deep in his coat pockets as he stepped out of the large hotel elevator with Faye at his side. She looked good – damn good. Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and thick curls spilled over her shoulders. A strapless, black satin dress clung to her small figure, revealing her soft curves.

She had a white fur stole twined loosely in her arms, and he noticed that with each sway of her hips the fur lightly grazed the small of her back.

He let his eyes travel the length of her body once more before he spoke. "I can't believe you're going out drinking dressed like that."

Faye turned to look at him, "You said we were going to a cocktail lounge."

"Yeah, a cocktail lounge, not a museum gala."

"Well, excuse me. You know, most men would die to be accompanied to a bar by a woman dressed like this," she said.

"What men, Faye? The ones who pay top dollar for a high class hooker?"

Faye paused for a moment. "Well, it worked for Richard Gere."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Spike sighed, letting his gaze wander around the hotel lobby as they walked. He saw women in pearls with practiced, careful smiles and slender fingers and men in perfectly tailored suits. He was amazed at how effortlessly Faye was able to fit in with these people.

He realized, suddenly, that he was no longer like her. She was collected and cool and repressed. She looked like she was born to wear diamonds and give burning sidelong glances. She was Luke's prized trophy – a stunning monument to class and beauty. And he was – well, he was still Spike.

But so what if she looked stunning and put together? Underneath it all she was still the same obnoxious, self-centered, broken woman. She'd just managed to glue the pieces together and fill in the holes.

They stepped out of the large glass doors of the hotel and into the cool night air. Spike pulled a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket and placed it between his lips.

"So, where is this place? These heels really kill my feet."

Spike glanced at her shoes and noticed she was wearing another pair of black heels. These shoes, however, had an open toe and a larger heel than the pumps she normally wore.

"Christ, Faye, how tall are those heels?"

"Six inches. Just the right size, don't you think?" She moved her foot to the side slightly so that he could see the entire length of her heel.

"Six inches? That's excessive, even for a high class hooker."

The corner of Faye's mouth turned upward slightly. "Spoken like someone who's a bit insecure when it comes to his …" She dragged her eyes slowly over the length of his body, pausing for a moment to stare at his midsection. Spike felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed hard. When her eyes found his again she smirked, "six inches."

"Sex jokes, Faye? Isn't that beneath you?"

Faye raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He realized he had set himself up for another one.

"So…where's this cocktail lounge?" she asked, her smile widening. Apparently she wasn't going to harass him any further.

Spike nodded his head to the left. "About a block that way."

"Lead on, Cowboy."


The heavy scent of cigar smoke and cheap perfume permeated the air of the lounge. The room was filled with women in skirts that were much too short and men with slick smiles.

He hadn't noticed that Faye had taken his arm until he felt the weight of her small hand resting on the crook of his elbow. He looked down at her hand and then diverted his gaze to her face. Perhaps she wasn't aware of it either.

Spike couldn't help but notice how all eyes in the room seemed to fall on Faye's svelte form. Faye didn't seem to be paying attention and left Spike's side, making a beeline for the bar. Spike watched intently as she walked away and noticed the extra swing in her hips due to her too high heals. He soon followed in her footsteps and claimed a seat next to her atop a high bar stool.

"Classy place, huh?" he asked.

"If you mean classy in the tawdry, gin-soaked, nouveau riche sense of the term then -- certainly."

"Well, you should be right at home then."

Faye squared her shoulders and raised her chin slightly. "I am not, nouveau riche."

"Gin-soaked, then?"

Faye chewed at her bottom lip and slowly let out a long breath.

"I suppose that only leaves taw—"

Faye shot him a glare. "I'm not some air-headed, slutty trophy wife – I'm a sophisticated, well-to-do lady of leisure."

"Right. Just so we're clear, you do realize you can't be old money by mere virtue of the fact that you're old, right?"

Before Faye could respond the bartender appeared before the couple.

"What can I get you folks?"

Faye leaned forward onto the slick bar top. "What's good?" she asked.

"The house special's Tokyo Tea. It's a sweet cocktail made with Midori."

"Sounds good," she said, leaning back and crossing her long legs.

"And for you, sir?"

"I'll have a gin. Straight up." He looked to Faye and gave her a wink along with his characteristic half-smirk.

The sound of ice clattering against glass emanated from behind the bar. The bartender slammed two glasses on top of the counter – a tall Collins glass filled with ice and an empty old-fashioned glass – and began to fill them with liquor.

The bartender pushed Spike's glass of gin toward him and then went back to work on Faye's cocktail.

"You know, Faye," he said, taking a deep swig of alcohol, "you've never been one to turn down a good whiskey."

Faye shifted in her seat and readjusted her white stole. "I don't really drink all that often anymore."

"Oh, yes. I suppose straight whiskey doesn't exactly behoove a – what did you say? A 'sophisticated, well-to-do lady of leisure?"

"Shut up, Spike," she muttered.

Spike took the hint and concentrated once more on his whiskey. She seemed tired. Maybe she just needed a night out. With the tight leash Luke kept her on he imagined she didn't get out much.

"Here you are, Miss. One Tokyo Tea." The bartender handed her a tall glass filled with a bright green liquid.

"Thank you."

Spike raised an eyebrow, "You sure it's safe to drink that? You might get radiation poisoning."

"I'll take my chances," she said, raising the glass to her lips.

"Good?"

She shrugged, "You can't really taste the alcohol."

"Judging by the amount of sugar syrup pooling at the bottom of your glass I'd say you're right."

She smirked at him and took another drink, letting her lips linger on the edge of the glass a moment longer this time.

Spike cleared his throat, "So..."

"So."

"How've you been?"

Faye blinked her eyes, though her facial expression didn't change. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she continued to stare at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that at one point in the past we worked together. I left the Bebop shortly after and I haven't seen you for a year and a half. Since that time, how have things been going?"

"A year and a half," she said idly, taking another drink. "Really?" He noted the sarcastic lilt in her voice and decided to ignore it.

"Really."

"I suppose things have been going so well for me that I hadn't really noticed."

"Uh huh." He said shortly.

"Yep."

He hadn't anticipated that his first night with Faye alone – really alone – might turn out to be an awkward one. Spike took another drink and set the glass back down on the bar. He traced the lip of the glass with a rough fingertip.

The frosted glasses and tall bottles of liquor cast long, dark shadows in the low lighting of the cocktail lounge. Numerous large fluorescent bulbs overhead hummed silently. Spike noticed that a slight orange hue tinged the glass and cast the lounge in a warm, golden glow. It reminded him of candlelight. If he hadn't been there with Faye, of all people, the atmosphere would have seemed quite romantic.

"Where'd you go after I left?"

Faye looked toward him again, setting her glass down on the bar top. He noticed it was three-quarters of the way empty. "I got around."

"Evidently," he said, nodding to the large diamond ring on her finger.

Faye covered the jewel with her other hand and re-crossed her legs, "I left about a week after you disappeared. I found a job with – I found a job working for Luke, and … well, you can guess what happened next."

He expected to find a small smile on her lips after she finished her sentence. After all, stories like that were often finished with broad smiles and the flash of an oversized diamond.

"Oh really? Doing what?" he asked.

"Trafficking drugs and orchestrating hits – Christ, Spike, what's with the third degree?"

Spike held his hands up, as if in surrender, "Hey, I was just curious, that's all."

Faye polished off her drink and exhaled slowly, "Right."

He opened his mouth to respond but Faye interrupted him. She leaned forward, reaching across the bar for the bartender's arm. When her fingers closed around his wrist he stopped and turned in her direction.

"Bartender," she said lowly, "I'll have another."

Her voice was smooth and easy – something he'd never heard before. The sound was rich and warm and tinged with the slightest hint of sweet liquor. He wanted to hear it again.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a slick smile. Spike rolled his eyes.

He immediately began working on Faye's drink and Spike heard the familiar sound of liquor gurgling through speed pourers.

He cleared his throat, "I'm not in the mood to fight with you tonight, Faye."

"Good. I'm not in the mood to fight with you, either." Her voice still had a slight edge when she spoke to him. Spike ignored it.

"…You know, things have been different since you left," he said.

She reached for the drink the bartender left for her and took a cautious sip. Then her gaze settled on his face. For a moment she didn't speak – simply sat straight on the bar stool, letting her eyes search his face. Then, her full lips parted, "No, Spike," she said, "they've been different since you left."

They sat in silence for a moment then, each paying undue attention to the condensation beading on their glasses and the low music in the lounge. Spike reached into his coat, withdrawing a cigarette from the open pack in his pocket. He flicked his Zippo open as he brought the cigarette to his lips.

"I didn't leave," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air, "I was on … hiatus."

"Can we not talk about this? I want to be able to relax before our first night on the job." She paused for a moment before giving him a hesitant, yet reassuring smile.

"Right," he said, the cigarette bobbing lightly between his lips, "Whatever you say."

"Can I have one of those?" she asked, motioning to the cigarette.

Spike raised a brow, "I thought you quit."

She shrugged, "You gotta let loose every once in a while, right?"

Spike withdrew another cigarette from the pack and handed it to her. She smiled again as she took the cigarette from his hand, and he noticed that the crisp white paper nearly matched the pallor of her skin. She brought the cigarette to her lips slowly and let it hang there for a while.

"My God, even the smell is addictive," she said, laughing a little.

Spike just nodded, watching intently as the cigarette moved between her lips. He could already make out the dark red ring where her lipstick had stained the paper.

He cleared his throat again, "Hey, you need a ligh—"

Before he could finish Faye was leaning toward him, the cigarette poised gently between her lips. He let his eyes wander to her exposed chest. The front of her dress had slipped slightly, he noticed, and the delicate diamond pendent she wore around her neck dipped tantalizingly into her cleavage. When Spike brought his gaze level with hers again he found her inches from his face, her heavy lids drooped over glassy eyes, plump lips pouting slightly. He caught the scent of her hair as she leaned closer, nearly letting it brush against his check. Then, ever so gently, she closed the space between then and pressed the exposed end of her cigarette against the smoldering cherry of his.

Despite feeling suddenly lightheaded, Spike inhaled quickly. The burning end of the cigarette glowed fiercely as he did, and he swore he could taste her as he inhaled. Faye quickly did the same, bracing her hand against his shoulder for support. After the second puff she pulled away, opening her eyes.

Spike was still leaning forward slightly. He couldn't move – just lifted his eyes slowly to look at her.

Faye raised her head, blowing the cigarette smoke into the air. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "Thanks for the light."

Jesus. Christ. Spike straightened, "Don't mention it."

"Do you always look this dumbstruck when you're with a stunningly beautiful woman?" She asked.

"No. …What?"

Faye just laughed, taking another swig from her drink. "This is pretty good," she said.

Spike noticed she was finishing off her second Tokyo Tea fairly quickly. His own glass of gin was still half full. "I imagine."

She giggled again and covered her mouth with her right hand. "You know, this sort of reminds me of those long nights back on the Bebop. You and me and a bottle of whiskey."

Was Faye getting…tipsy? Maybe she really hadn't been drinking in a while.

"But you know, if I'd known about – what's in this drink? – Milori? Mid—Midori! ….Anyway, if I'd known about Midori back then, I would've never drunk that cheap whiskey Jet kept under the sink."

"Uh huh…" he said cautiously. He wasn't quite sure what to do. Should he coerce her back to the hotel? Or see where the night took them? He certainly couldn't just sit back and watch as Faye got trashed – though it would be interesting, to say the least.

Faye tipped her head far back, letting the remaining green liquid trickle to her lips. His eyes traveled along the curve of her neck and he swallowed hard.

"You know, Faye, maybe you should—"

She slammed the glass down on the bar, "Have another?" she asked.

"No, I—"

"Bartender!" she called out.

Spike sighed. This could be a long night.


Faye laughed, taking another sip of her exotic cocktail. "I still can't taste the liquor!"

Spike raised a brow and reached for the drink in Faye's hand.

"Hey!" she protested, smacking his wrist as he pulled the glass from her grip.

Spike took a long swig of the cocktail, then sputtered gracelessly as he lowered the glass. "Christ, Faye, this should have an octane rating!"

She looked at him quizzically, "Really? It's so…sugary."

"Excuse me," Spike said, flagging down the bartender.

"Yes?"

"What exactly is in this drink?" he asked, motioning to the glass. It was now three-quarters of the way empty.

The bartender shrugged, "Gin, triple sec, tequila, rum, vodka, sweet and sour, and Midori. It's basically a long island sans cola."

Spike nodded, "Thanks. I think we're done here."

"What?" Faye asked, "But I'm not finished with my drink!"

Spike stood and took her arm in his, "It's all right, I imagine three Long Islands are enough for one night."

"I'm fine, Spike!" Despite her protests, she rose when he took her arm, wavering a little as she attempted to support herself in her high heels. Spike pulled her closer against his body to steady her.

"You're drunk, Faye."

"You have no proof."

"Judging by the three empty glasses and the sway in your stride, I'd reckon I've got about eighty proof."

Faye looked into his eyes, glaring a little, "You…you – you think you're so … witty."

"Let's get you back to the hotel."

"Fine," she groaned, taking a few steps toward the door. She wobbled on her heels and nearly fell over before Spike caught up to her. He let his arm snake around her small waist and he pulled her close against his body. Faye followed suit – her small hand (which was presently pressed against his back) began to sneak slowly toward his side. The movement of her hand was slow and unexpected, and he soon felt her small fingers twine around a belt loop in his pants.

"Really, I can walk on my own – " she said, but didn't attempt to move away from him.

"I know, Faye. Let's get back to the hotel."

"Yoooou bet," she said, drawing the words out needlessly.

As they made their way toward the door, Spike could still feel Faye swaying a bit in his arms.

"How could you not taste the alcohol in those?" he asked, opening the large wooden door of the bar.

Faye gave a little moan from the back of her throat, "Was good…"

"I see," he said, his fingers closing tighter around her waist as they stepped outside. Faye gave a loud yawn and he felt her head resting on his shoulder.

"I'm tired, Spike."

"I know," he said, "we're going back to the hotel."

"Um…duh, Spike. I remember. I'm not drunk, you know." This statement elicited more giggles from her.

Of all the times he'd seen Faye drunk – and they were many – he'd never actually seen her giddy and drunk. He remembered seeing her skulk around on the Bebop in large boat neck sweaters and short boxers, hair unkempt with a bottle of Jack Daniels clutched firmly in one hand. But the woman clinging to his arm – the one with soft skin and dark red lips, the one who smelled faintly of expensive perfume and cigarettes, the one with the low, breathy voice – that woman wasn't the Faye that he remembered. Not that he could really complain all that much. At least with Faye in this condition, he was relatively sure that the night wouldn't end with a heated argument. And, at the rate things were going, the whole situation could afford a great deal of hilarity. At least on his part, anyway.

Faye lifted her head from his shoulder and tightened her grip on his pants, "Ya know, Spike, I haven't been this drunk since the night you left."

"What?"

"Since you left. To fight Vicious."

Spike ran his free hand through his unkempt hair, then tucked it back into his coat pocket. "Yeah."

"It's okay, Spike. I wasn't mad."

He wasn't sure how to respond. He wasn't sure where she was going with this and, frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

"I mean, I guess you could say I was devastated, but not mad, you know…" She trailed off for a moment. "You know what I mean?"

"No, not really."

"I think I knew you weren't coming back. Was different than all those other times you went off to die."

He stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about, Faye."

She was overcome with laughter again at that comment, and she again rested her cheek against his shoulder. He gave her a sidelong glance and noticed that her eyes were closed.

"You know what I'm talking about. But this time was different, you know? This time you had a reason to die. Jet an' I both knew it."

Spike exhaled and merely grunted in response. Faye took it as a reason to continue.

"I knew that no matter what happened, you wouldn't come back. If you'd had Julia you would have run off to – anywhere. But without her you were – you were—" she paused for a moment, searching for the right words, "Well, it wasn't as if you were living for Jet and me, that's for sure." She started to laugh again, "If you'd eve call it that."

"Anyways, I knew you weren't coming back. So I – you know, settled in with a half-pack of Marlboros," she paused to look up at him, as if she were about to tell him something important, "the ones you left in your dresser – 'cause that's where you always hid them…" her voice was low, as if she were apologizing for her indiscretion – as though it mattered. Her delicate features soon became very serious, and he realized it would have been adorable had she not been completely trashed, "and also – the leftover bottle of whiskey you had. The strong stuff you got after you bagged … who was it? That con-artist – you wouldn't share any because I spent the day at the track."

They had finally managed to make it back to their hotel. Faye was still clinging to him as they walked through the large sliding glass doors into the lobby. She continued to talk despite the fact that plenty of people were now within earshot.

"That night I must have chain smoked thirteen cigarettes and finished off the whiskey in about an hour and a half."

"Keep your voice down, Faye," he said as they passed the fountain. Faye ignored him.

"An' that's why I don't smoke or drink anymore. Was too sad – it reminds me of you—" she sighed and nuzzled his shoulder, "Reminds me of the way you smell. The way you taste – not that I'd know." She began giggling again.

Crossing the lobby seemed to take an eternity. Between Faye's drunken rambling and their awkward gait, he couldn't seem to get to the elevator fast enough. When they finally stood before the polished golden doors he began to mash the call button impatiently.

"I'm sorry," she said, lifting her head from his shoulder to look into his eyes. She pursed her lips together and took a deep breath, "I'll be serious now."

"It's all right, Faye."

"Is just, you know, I really missed you, Spike. Even if you are a huge jackass most times."

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Spike hurriedly ushered her inside.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm making you uncomfortable," she slurred the words slightly despite her attempt to take a serious tone.

"My leaving had nothing to do with you," he blurted. Not that he owed her an explanation. Or should even be having this conversation with her.

"I know. That's why I was – you know, why I left. It's okay, no big deal."

Spike clenched his teeth and stared straight ahead, "Sorry." The word felt foreign on his lips and he immediately regretted saying it. As far as he was concerned, his leaving wasn't any of her damn business. It wasn't as though they had been lovers. Hell, they were barely friends.

"Oh, no, no…it's okay, Spike. I know you're not really sorry – I mean, if the same thing happened now, I know you'd take off again. But it's okay, really. I don't hate you anymore. Takes too much – effort."

Thankfully, their room was only a few doors down the hall from the elevator. Spike fumbled with the key card for a while before finally succeeding in slipping it into the lock.

"You okay, Spike? You're not drunk, are you?" She said the word like it was the single worst transgression she could imagine – as though the very thought of it ought to bring him shame.

"I'm fine," he said, stepping into the room and closing the door quickly behind him.

Faye wriggled out of his grasp, stumbling slightly as she made her way to the bedroom. She bent over awkwardly in an attempt to take off one heel at a time as she walked.

"I hope you don't mind if I get dressed for bed," she called, "I'm tired."

"Go ahead," he replied, loosening his tie as he walked toward the couch. He sank into it slowly, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and leaning his head back against the soft cushions. He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to clear his mind – it reeled with Faye's drunken monologue, and he feared that the feel of her small hands and the smell of her expensive perfume would be etched in his memory forever.

The sound of Faye fumbling with her luggage filled the hotel room, and soon after he heard the rustling of clothes and the quiet hiss of the zipper of her dress. He suddenly realized he wasn't sure what had possessed him to book a single room in the first place.

He heard Faye's gentle footfalls on the plush carpet as she padded toward the couch. By the time he opened his eyes he was staring straight ahead at her navel. He could see it clearly through her black chiffon nightgown.

When Faye said she would be wearing a chemise to bed, he imagined she meant a cotton tank top or – something. Certainly not lingerie. The top she wore was (thankfully or unthankfully) only sheer from the bust down. It was tight with thin spaghetti straps and it ended at her upper thigh. Given her usual wardrobe, if she had worn it on the Bebop, he might have mistaken it for a mini dress. Except for the fact that he could see her skin right through it. And her small, black panties.

He swallowed and attempted to drag his eyes away from her body.

"You're coming, right?" she asked.

"What?"

"To bed."

Spike hesitated for a moment. After a few seconds the best he could muster was, "Uhh—"

"We agreed to share it tonight, didn't we?"

"It might be better if I slept on the couch."

Faye sighed, "I knew you'd say that."

Spike just nodded and continued to stare into her face. He didn't dare move his eyes southward again.

Faye shifted her weight from one foot to the other before placing a hand on her hip. She took a breath and said, "I never thought I'd see you again."

Spike just shrugged.

"I couldn't stay because – I started to miss you. And when you came back I … I didn't want to see you – for that to happen all over again." She stared at him for a moment before speaking. Her speech wasn't as slurred as before and he began to wonder if she was sobering up. "I still can't forgive you."

He continued to stare at her, unable to form a coherent thought.

Then her features softened and she took a breath, "But it's okay. We can still be friends." She said it as though she were trying to reassure him. As though they'd been on a bad date and she was trying to let him down easy.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling a breath he didn't know he was holding. He had no idea why she was telling him this – if it was even true, or if she was simply in a drunken stupor. As strange as their relationship was, he couldn't imagine Faye actually being upset thinking he wouldn't return. Unless maybe he owed her money. Or had stolen her ship.

A few moments passed and she was still standing before him, drumming her fingers against her hip bone as if she were deep in thought – or expecting something.

"Faye—" he started. For a moment he wasn't sure the sound that left his throat was his voice.

"Mmm?"

As long as she appeared to be so unguarded, and, as long as she seemed to be so suggestible, he couldn't help but ask her one question. Something he'd been wondering since the night she was married. The thought made his mouth go dry and he suddenly felt a little nauseous.

"Faye…" he said again, closing his eyes as if he didn't know where to begin. She didn't say anything, and he continued, "how did you know it wasn't me?"

"What?"

"The body. They asked you to ID the body. You said you knew it wasn't me."

A mischievous smile tugged at her lips, "Yeah?"

He swallowed, aware that she was at least sober enough to enjoy his discomfort. "How did you know – it wasn't me?" he asked again.

She took a step toward him and he had to lean back against the couch lest his face be pressed against her stomach. Again he looked into her eyes and saw that her smile had grown. The left strap of her nightgown fell from her shoulder and she began to lean toward him. He shifted in his seat again, making sure that his back was pressed as far against the sofa as he could manage.

Faye reached for the collar of his shirt, and her body dipped dangerously as she began to lose her balance. She placed a kneed on the couch beside him to gain leverage, and he suddenly felt the warmth of her skin against his pant leg.

She delicately lifted his tie from the collar of his shirt and she smoothed it against his shoulder as she did so. After that, she moved her small hands toward the buttons on his shirt. She hooked one finger gingerly under the top button and pulled gently on the other side of his shirt with her free hand. Her fingers were surprisingly skilled considering the fact that she was drunk off her ass.

The first button popped free and she swayed again, this time threatening to topple over onto him. He reached for her hips instinctively, and as he did so she landed squarely in his lap.

She laughed, and after wiggling a bit to get comfortable, she resumed her work on his shirt as though nothing had happened. She finally stopped after freeing the second button and brought her eyes to his.

Spike was suddenly aware of his heart hammering in his chest and the blood rushing to his head. He was breathing harder than he realized and he occasionally felt his chest graze hers. Faye was sitting on his lap. Straddling him. Half-naked. She was so close he could feel her breath against his bare chest.

Faye just smiled and said his name – the way he remembered her saying it at the bar. Heavy and smooth and slow, like velvet.

"Spike."

He closed his eyes and swallowed, attempting to think about anything besides the woman in his lap.

She said his name again and he opened his eyes. She shifted and he tightened his grasp on her hips to keep her from moving. It was bad enough that she was straddling him – the last thing he needed was her slowly gyrating her hips.

Faye moved her arms from his shoulders, letting her fingers graze along the bare skin of his chest. And then, in one slow and smooth movement, she pulled the shirt away from the right side of his neck.

"You wanna know how I was sure it wasn't you?"

"Yeah," his voice was rough and dry and sounded like sandpaper.

Faye's eyes left his and she moved her hand to the side of his neck. She dragged a fingernail against the sensitive skin and then stopped suddenly just above his collar bone.

"You have a small mole – right here," she said. He felt her fingertip graze the flesh before she pulled her hand away.

She continued to examine his neck for a few moments, and he could almost swear she was on the verge of running her tongue over the skin and along his clavicle to the dip in his throat. He shuddered at the thought.

"And?" he asked.

"And that's how I knew. It couldn't have been you."

She brought her eyes to his again, "You did a damn fine job, though. Almost had me."

For a moment, he couldn't say anything – he simply stared back at her, unable to move. His hands were still gripping her hips tightly, and, as he realized this, he let them drop to his sides. He clenched his teeth and attempted to slow his breathing despite the fact that his heart was hammering against his chest and the blood rushing to his brain – and other extremities – was making him lightheaded.

Faye blinked and took a breath, "I'm sorry, Spike. I'm making you uncomfortable…" she said. She shifted her weight in an attempt to stand up, but she again lost her balance and fell into his lap. She laughed – a low and sleepy laugh that gave him chills – before going limp against his body.

"I'm so tired," she said.

Spike placed his hands on her waist in an attempt to steady her and she stood without wavering. As soon as Spike was on his feet she was leaning into him again, her cheek pressed against his now exposed chest.

"Take me to bed, Spike," she mumbled.

He ignored the sexual innuendo and led her to the bedroom. Faye lifted her head and yawned as they entered the room, then left his side to close the heavy blue curtains in the doorway.

Spike stood at the foot of the bed, his hands jammed into his pockets awkwardly. He watched as she smoothed the curtains with her hands before turning toward him again to make her way to the bed. She pulled the covers back and, after plopping gracelessly onto the mattress, attempted to wiggle between the covers.

Finally, after laying her head against the pillow, she began to breathe deeply. He was about to slip out of the room when she spoke.

"Was fun tonight, Spike."

He cleared his throat, "Yeah."

"Don't leave," she said lowly.

"What?"

"Don't leave," she muttered, "I don't like falling asleep alone."

He sighed deeply and made his way toward the other side of the bed. He sat down slowly and laced his fingers together, placing them between his head and the wall as he kicked his long legs out before him. He closed his eyes and exhaled, wondering if he'd ever get to sleep. He wondered if he'd ever get the image of Faye – smelling faintly of alcohol and cigarettes and clad in that skimpy lingerie – out of his mind. Wondered if he could ever get the feeling of her out of his skin – her small hands working to free the buttons on his shirt, her fingers trailing over the hot flesh of his chest and neck. And he wondered if his hands could ever forget the curves of her hips or the feel of chiffon – or, if, after he closed his eyes, he could ever forget the look on her face after she told him, 'It couldn't have been you.'


A/N: There you have it. The chapter you thought would never end. I had no idea it would end up being this long, but I must say, I am pretty happy with the result. As always, I have to give a big thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed. I'm not sure I'd make it without the constant feedback.

And a special thank you to Alexithimia for including my humble little story to "They That Will Never Be…". You make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside!

As for the next chapter, I haven't even begun planning it out in my head yet. So I suppose that means that anything goes. Nothing like leaping before you look.

And, of course, don't forget to leave me some sweet, sweet, review-y sugar. You will be rewarded with gold, jewels, and more chapters. Or maybe just more chapters.

'Till next time,

Nevi