Chapter Fourteen:

Cute Without the 'E'


(I stay jealous)
I stay wrecked and jealous
for this simple reason:
I just need to keep you in mind
as something larger than life
(she'll destroy us all before she's through
and find a way to blame somebody else)

--Taking Back Sunday


Faye groaned as her eyes fluttered open in the morning sunlight. She stretched, arching her long body over the low couch. She felt something graze her calf just as her feet connected with a warm mass on the other end of the couch.

She jumped, a scream slipping past her lips as her limbs flailed wildly. Her left hand connected with a vase of flowers on the nearby end table, sending it crashing to the floor, while her feet struck whatever it was that was resting at the end of the couch.

"Ugh, fuck!"

She scrambled to the end of the couch, tucking her knees against her chest before finally getting a look at whatever it was that had scared her.

"Spike!" she shouted, kicking him again for good measure.

He grunted and rubbed his arm, shooting her a narrow glare. "Good morning to you, too."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"In our hotel room?"

"On the couch, asshole."

He shrugged and stood, making his way toward the coffee pot.

Faye sighed, straightening her tank top and shorts as she watched him cross the room. His shirt was open, his hair was mussed, and she noticed his pants riding low on his angular hips.

"You look like hell," she said.

He turned to look at her and raised a brow as his eyes traveled the length of her body. "You're not looking so good yourself."

Faye grunted and crossed her arms over her chest.

He began to make their morning coffee, shuffling awkwardly through the drawers and cabinets for the coffee and filters. Faye regarded him silently, raising her chin and tossing her head to remove a lock of hair from her eyes.

She cleared her throat before attempting further conversation. "So…" she began, "what time did you get in last night?"

"Late," he said simply.

"What did you find out?"

He shrugged. "This thing goes deeper than we thought. That's about all I know."

She blinked. "What? --I mean—how do you know?"

"Ed intercepted one of his phone calls."

"Oh," she said quietly, settling back against the couch. This wasn't good. She'd told Luke this would happen. Damn it.

"I'm meeting Bosch tomorrow for dinner at Chez Henri. Afterward we should get out of here as soon as possible."

"What do you mean you're meeting Bosch for dinner tomorrow?"

"I mean just that. He'll be wiring the money just before, so I'm taking him out for a…celebration dinner."

"Don't you mean we?"

"No. You're not going," he said simply, pouring a cup of coffee.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not going."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want anything to go wrong."

"I think I can handle dinner, Spike."

"You're not going," he said again, enunciating each word.

"You know, we're supposed to be working together, here," she said, rising from the couch and padding over to the coffee pot to join him. "You'll be sorry if things turn ugly and you need me there after all."

"I'll take my chances," he said, handing her a full mug.

"You're such an arrogant bastard, Spike."

"Well, you know me."

Unsatisfied with his reply, she narrowed her eyes at him and chewed on the inside of her lip. "I'm going. You can't stop me."

He set his mug down on the table and turned toward her. "I'd really prefer it if you didn't."

She watched him for a moment, keeping her eyes fixated on his. "What's up with you, Spike? What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing, all right? I just want to handle this one on my own."

"No. Something's the matter, I can tell."

"Damn it, Faye—"

She placed a hand on her hip and waited for him to continue.

"Just do what I tell you for once, all right?"

She huffed and her lips curled into a smirk, "Whatever you say, Dad."

He sighed and shrugged out of his shirt after setting his mug down near the coffee pot. Faye swallowed, watching intently as the muscles of his back and shoulders rippled beneath his skin.

"What?" he spat.

She must have been staring. Shit. "Can't you do that in the bedroom?" she asked, looking away.

"Oh, yes -- my mistake. I should have known better than to spoil the virgin eyes of Mrs. Faye Kennedy with my naked chest."

"Don't call me that," she snapped.

Spike raised a brow and the corners of his mouth turned slowly upward. "That is your name, isn't it? Faye Kennedy?"

"I hate it when you say it like that."

"Like what?"

"You know what."

He shrugged and made his way to the bedroom. She couldn't help but turn and watch as he exited the room, and she felt her cheeks burn as she heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt. She turned quickly and squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm going," she called.

The only response she received was the loud smack of the bathroom door as it slammed closed.


Spike yawned, drying his hair with the small hotel bath towel as he walked into the living room. Faye had left, he assumed, while he was in the shower, and he noticed she had left the living room a complete wreck. Pillows from the couch lay haphazardly on the floor, and empty take-out containers and liquor bottles littered the coffee table.

Thank god for the housekeeping staff, he thought.

Near the coffee table, he saw a shattered vase. The flowers it once held were scattered limply over the floor amidst the pieces of broken porcelain. He remembered Faye knocking it from the table when she awoke, limbs flailing in every direction—mainly his.

He crouched to the floor and pressed his fingertips against the carpet.

It was completely dry. He felt a brow twitch. Carefully, he lifted a stray calla lily from the floor and examined it closely.


Faye idly twisted her engagement ring around her finger as she regarded the seemingly endless racks of evening gowns stretched before her.

Despite the fact that she had packed seven different suitcases for their trip, she decided that she did not, in fact, own a gown suitable for dinging at Chez Henri. And, as long as Luke and his fancy credit cards were footing the bill, it wasn't as if she could really say no.

She sighed and stepped forward, wandering between the racks of brightly colored gowns, occasionally letting her fingers stray over the fabric of a particularly appealing dress. At least if she bought an expensive gown, Spike would have to let her go—right?

She growled under her breath. 'Let her go'—please. As if that were really up to him, anyway. She wondered what, exactly, he had overheard Bosch saying. No doubt he was most likely talking to Luke. If she didn't know better she'd think Spike was trying to protect her. The thought made her laugh out loud. No, there had to be something in it for him if he showed up alone.

She grabbed a few dresses as she made her way through the store, draping the long gowns over her right arm.

Her comm. rang shrilly, and she swore under her breath as she rummaged through her purse in an attempt to silence the annoying object.

"Yeah?" she asked, clicking it on as quickly as she could.

"Hello to you, too."

It was Luke, of course. As if she couldn't go an entire day without speaking to him.

"What do you want, Luke?"

"Besides the chance to hear that sweet voice?"

She raised a brow in response.

"I suppose you've heard from Spiegel that you'll be closing the deal on Wednesday."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Just that. You'll be closing the deal. I want him gone—by the end of the night."

"And then what?"

"You come home, of course. It's been lonely around here without you."

"I'm so sure."

Luke pursed his lips together and exhaled. "Send the account numbers as soon as you receive them. I want this to go off without a hitch. Understood?"

"Yeah. You got it."

"Don't look so down, babe. You're doing brilliantly."

Faye just sighed, muttering 'yeah' under her breath.

Luke cracked his knuckles. She could see his tongue move over his teeth behind his closed lips. "How about this—when you get home, we'll have a proper honeymoon. Just you and me."

As if that were what was bothering her. She resisted the urge to remark that the definition of a 'proper honeymoon' obviously entailed 'just you and me.' Instead, she forced a small smile. "Sure—I mean. Of course, that would be great."

A smug grin spread over Luke's handsome features as if he'd just outwitted the Sphinx herself. "Perfect. I'll give the travel agent a call."

Faye nodded and the transmission ended. Not even an 'I love you' this time? She tucked her comm. back into her purse and made her way back to the fitting room.


Faye smoothed the fabric of the red evening gown with her hands before uneasily leaving her fitting room. She walked to the wrap-around mirror at the end of the hallway, turning slightly to get a good look at herself. The dress was backless and, at best, practically frontless. Broad ribbons of fabric covered her bust and clung to the curves of her waist, just barely exposing her low hips. The dress was long and light with plenty of flowing fabric. A long slit extended up the side, and she turned to examine it.

"Hot date?"

Faye turned and faced an older woman with a kind but weathered face.

"Oh—no," Faye stuttered uneasily, "I mean…sort of. It's a little complicated."

The woman smiled and waved a hand in face's direction as if to dismiss the topic, "Oh, say no more, honey. I understand."

Faye returned the smile and ran a hand over her hip, turning back to the mirror.

The woman joined Faye's side and examined her own refection for a moment.

"Don't look so nervous. If you show up looking like that your date will be lucky to be alive by the end of the night." The woman gave Faye a wink before turning and slipping into a nearby fitting room.

Faye turned to her reflection again, staring a moment more into the mirror.

"That's what I'm afraid of."


Faye slipped her keycard into the lock on the door and fumbled for a moment with the handle. She held two large shopping bags in her hands and, after wrestling with the door knob for a few seconds, she managed to push the door open with a hip. "…I'm all ready for Wednesday, so—"

The hotel room was completely trashed. Cushions were torn off couches and chairs, the fruit basket lay overturned on the floor, and intercoms and light sockets had been ripped from the walls.

"Spike! What the hell!"

His gaze met hers, and for a moment he looked like a child caught with his hand in the candy jar.

"The hell, yourself," he muttered, ripping a handful of wires from the ceiling where the smoke detector had been.

"What are you doing?" She dropped her bags to the floor, keeping her gaze locked on him as he climbed off the couch.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, picking a flower up off the coffee table and waving it before her face.

"…A calla lily?"

He glared and tossed it at her. "It's a bug, Faye."

She caught it and examined it closely. The central column was a well-disguised yellow microphone.

She felt the corners of her mouth turn downward and she lowered the flower to her side. If fell limply from her hand to the floor.

"Did you know about this?" he demanded.

"No!"

Spike's eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a thin, hard line.

"Of course I—how could you accuse me of something like this? Why the hell would I bug our hotel room?"

"I don't know. Why would you?"

Faye huffed. "How am I supposed to answer that? You're just going to accuse me outright for no good reason?"

"Who says I have no good reason?"

Faye exhaled, feeling her jaw tighten. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

"I've been told."

"You're fucking crazy," she said again.

Spike gripped the back of a tall wooden chair at his side tightly with his hand.

She took a breath and continued, "You really need to get off this paranoia trip."

"Or what?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and placed a hand on her hip. "What do you expect, Spike? Do you really think Bosch has bugged our entire hotel room, our ships—our—fuck, I don't know—our shoes?"

He eyed her intensely for a moment. "Well, I hadn't thought of the shoes."

She growled and threw her hands in the air. "Look, I don't know what's possessed you to become Spike 'Mulder' Spiegel all of a sudden, but—"

"Hey, I—wait, what?"

"Never mind," she muttered.

Spike ran a hand through his hair and pushed the chair aside as he approached her. "I don't know what's going on, all right? I have no fucking idea, and it—" he took a quick breath, "it—I don't want to see you—" he glared at her momentarily, finding their faces dangerously close once again. He lowered his eyes.

Faye shifted, suddenly wanting to bolt from the room.

"I don't know what to do or what to expect, but I know that this goes deeper than both of us."

Well, she couldn't disagree with that. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"You didn't hear him the other night. The things he said—and now this—" he motioned to the wires dangling from the ceiling. "I don't know what to do," he said again.

"Well," she started, gathering her bags, "you're doing a bang-up job so far."

She walked past him and closed the curtains to the bedroom.


A/N: So there you have it. Not too interesting…again, more interlude-ish, but the next chapter should be way exciting! I don't have it planned out all the way yet, so it may be another two weeks wait or so…you can handle that, right? If you can't, you'll get over it.

Also, I would like to set the record straight and say that I do not, in any way, endorse Taking Back Sunday. I sort of hate them, really, but the lyrics fit.

Anyhow, as always, I hope you enjoyed reading and will leave me some sweet, sweet review-like candy.

Much love,

Nevi