Chapter Eighteen:

Under the Gun



She's got her halo and wings
Hidden under his eyes
But she's an angel for sure
She just can't stop telling lies
But it's too late for his love
Already caught in a trap
His angel's kiss was a joke
And she is not coming back

-The Killers



Faye opened her eyes slowly, taking a deep breath as she arched her back off the bed.

Spike was already gone. Truth be told, she half expected to wake up pinned between the bed and his well-muscled chest. Suddenly she was thankful she hadn't.

She sighed, flinging her legs over the side of the bed and picking up her black silk robe from the floor. She tied the sash loosely around her waist, and, for a moment, she wondered whether wearing such a thing around Spike was really appropriate. Given the events of the previous night she supposed nothing was really off limits anymore.

She sauntered into the living room, pausing mid-step when she found spike standing near the window, a cup of black coffee in hand. He was wearing his pants from the night before, and she didn't fail to notice the smooth, bare skin of his back. Faye looked down at the carpet quickly and studied it intensely as if it held all the secrets of the universe—or at least a sure-fire way to win at Blackjack.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Yo."

Spike stood with his back toward her, every so often taking a sip of his coffee. He slipped a hand into his pocket—fishing around for a cigarette, she supposed—and grunted when he found none.

So they were playing this game again. Fan-fucking-tastic. Faye Kennedy versus the King of Silence.

"I wanted to apologize for—about last night," she said.

"Don't mention it."

Don't mention it? That wasn't exactly the response she was looking for. They'd both been through some pretty fucked-up shit before, and she'd never been especially surprised when Spike dealt with it by shutting everyone and everything out of his mind. But she'd expected a little more of a reaction after nearly killing him.

Faye cleared her throat. "I mean—you know—about the gun thing. Not—"

"Yeah. I got it."

She flinched. "That's it? You 'got it?'"

"The fuck do you want me to say?"

The power of the words didn't match the tone of his voice. It was low and calm and rough with the sound of cigarettes and sleepless nights. It caught her off guard.

"I don't know," she said. "Anything."

"Faye—"

She felt a shudder course through her body. Just like that. He'd said her name just like that the night before. The best response she could muster was a soft hum in the back of her throat.

"Faye I—I said don't worry about it."

And just like that it was gone. Any softness she thought she heard in his voice was replaced with steely indifference. She was beginning to wonder if he had a switch he could flip when he needed to switch modes from "remotely human" to "insufferable slack-ass." If he did, she certainly didn't find it last night.

"What do you mean don't worry about it? I could have killed you—"

He laughed. "Yeah. Right."

"You don't think I could have pulled the trigger?"

"Oh, no. I think you could have pulled the trigger, all right. I just think you'd have a hell of a time killing me without any bullets."

"What?" She blinked, desperately hoping for a moment that Spike was just prone to waxing poetic before 10 A.M. It could happen.

"Your gun wasn't loaded. I switched the clips."

She balled her fists at her sides. "Excuse me?"

"How many times do I have to say it? Your. Gun. Wasn't. Loaded."

"How could you--?" she took a breath, closing her eyes and attempting to steady herself. When she opened them again she found herself still staring at the back of Spike's head. "You switched the clips—" she said incredulously. She paused for a moment, biting down hard on her bottom lip. "You switched the clips even though you were convinced Bosch was out to kill me?"

His only response was a long exhaled breath.

"So what if he'd tried? How would I have defended myself?"

"I told you to stay with me."

"Cut the macho bullshit, Spike. It's a pretty sorry excuse for stabbing me in the back."

She watched as the muscles of his back tensed beneath hi s skin.

"Yeah. About that—" Spike turned toward her finally, pulling his Jericho from the waistband of his pants. The Jericho. He must have come across it in her suitcase. Fuck.

His long fingers tightened around the handgrip and she heard the leather creak in response. "Start talking."

Faye closed her eyes. "It's not what it looks like—"

"Oh? Because it looks like there's something about the new-and-improved Faye Kennedy that you're not telling me. What it looks like is you were either traipsing through Red Dragon headquarters after the coup and happened upon it, or— "

"Okay—fine. It's exactly what it looks like—Spike, please."

"Where'd you get the gun?" The sentence was punctuated by the sound of metal on metal. He'd removed the safety and raised the barrel to her chest. "—Who are you working for?"

"Who do you think?"

His jaw tensed. "And Luke. He's—he took over? You married a fucking Dragon?"

"I—yeah. Yes, I did, all right?"

"Christ." He ran his free hand through his hair, lowering the gun to his side as he did so.

"Spike, I'm sorry—"

"You're sorry? Do you realize what I went through to get these guys off my back? To—fuck!" He slammed the gun on the table and the sound made her jump. "And you sold me out—" a statement, not a question—" The fuck happened, Faye? The dragons put a hit out on me and you're the first to volunteer? And you were—what? You were going to murder me with my own fucking gun?" he shouted the last words, and she closed her eyes.

"Yeah. That was the plan."

"What did they offer you, Faye?" He leaned forward, his strong hands gripping the edge of the table that separated them. " Money? Did they take that nasty bounty off your head in exchange for me?" His voice was low again—sinister, and yet desperately demanding.

"Are you really that fucking stupid, Spike? This isn't about money."

"Then what is it about?"

"You mean you haven't figured it out by now?"

Spike shrugged and reached into his pocket, searching for a cigarette he knew wasn't there. "Took me this long to figure out you were a snake. Or—Dragon, I guess. I'm surprised you think I'm really all that goddamned bright."

"Forget about it," she said. "I'm leaving." She turned to leave the room and was surprised when she heard Spike's voice rise over the sound of her own footfalls.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked.

"Why do you care? You want to hunt me down and finish me off yourself?"

"Be easier to do it here," he said.

She turned to shoot him a glare.

"Just saying." A pause. " And don't think for a second I don't want to."

She held his gaze a moment longer than was comfortable before swallowing hard. "I'm going back to Luke. Tell him to take care of his own business from now on."

Spike laughed at that—a low, condescending chuckle she'd come to know well—and she fought the urge to backhand him.

"What's so funny?"

"If you think you can just walk away right now you have another thing coming."

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

"He'll kill you, Faye."

"He's my husband."

"Damn it—he's not your husband. He's your fucking pimp. Don't you get it?"

Faye kept her eyes on the floor. She drew in a deep breath, her chest rising heavily. "He isn't Vicious, Spike." She waited for a moment before raising her eyes and staring directly through his. "And I'm not Julia."

Spike attempted a shrug of his shoulders, a wry grin playing at his lips. "You're right," he said. He paused for a moment before finally breaking into a smile. "You're right."

Faye didn't know what he was driving at, but she did know him well enough to suspect he wasn't finished.

"No, no—you're right, Faye. He's not Vicious." He began walking toward her, and she felt her fingers curl into a fist. He was doing it again—the same thing he always did when he was angry and running out of options.

"I loved you but I couldn't let you know it. You're so brutal to those who love you, Scarlett. You take their love and hold it over their heads like a whip."

The words flashed through her mind quickly and clearly. A book she'd read when she was young. One she'd loved. A book that didn't end as fairy tales did with kisses and a happy ending, but with tears and a journey.

And she realized that's what he'd done ever since she'd known him—really known him. Brandished her feelings for him against her like a weapon he knew better than any other.

"Don't come any closer," she said.

To her surprise he stopped, jamming his hands into his pockets once again. "Just answer one thing for me, then. If that's true—if he's not Vicious—then why are you so goddamned afraid of him?"

She laughed. "I'm not afraid of him."

"Bullshit. I can see it in your eyes every time you talk about him—every time his name is mentioned. And when you think about him—when you're wondering what he'll do when he realizes just how badly you've fucked him over—" He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair as he looked to the floor. "Your—fuck. Your eyes, Faye—they way they lose focus and glaze over like painted glass. You look like a goddamned porcelain doll. You fucking look just like her--" He didn't say her name. Not that he had to, anyway. He sighed, closing his eyes and cursing under his breath.

"Is that what this is about? You just have a hard-on for broken women, Spike?"

When he didn't respond she smirked, placing a hand on her hip. "Sorry. I was out of line there. I forgot the breaking is the part you like to do."

Spike clenched his jaw and the corners of his mouth fell. "Get the fuck out," he said lowly, "and don't ever come back."

"Read my mind," Faye muttered, turning to pack her things.

He cocked the gun and raised it to her back. "Now. "

She tensed and hoped the sound of her voice wouldn't betray her emotions. "Or?"

"Or I swear to god I'll blow you across the room."

She turned, a smile crossing her lips as she raised her hands in mock surrender. "Sure, Spike. Whatever you say."

In a matter of seconds she had reached the door, pausing for a moment before grasping the handle and slamming it behind her.


A/N: So there you have it. I'm sorry this is a short one, but this felt like a good stopping point. I'll try not to go so long without updating again, but I make no promises. Thanks again to everyone who reads and reviews...you really do make my day.

P.S. - The quote is from the novel version of Gone with the Wind. It is one of my favorite quotes ever, and I am quite proud that I managed to work it into a fic. I know. My dreams are ridiculous and sad.

Love,

Nevi