A special shoutout to two of my favorite ladies—sidewalk serfer girl and brigidforest—without whom this story would not exist. This one's for you.


Bad: Chapter 16

"All I know is all I know
What I've done I leave behind me
I don't want my soul to find me
"

- Teenage Fanclub


Faye stood in the bathroom letting her body air-dry, her skin cool and clean after her shower, and began penciling on her lip liner for the second time that day. She leaned forward in the mirror, watching as her bare, pink mouth was transformed into its more seductive red twin. Her lips seemed more perfect than they'd ever been before as she took her time gliding the pencil over their dips and curves.

She supposed she should feel more ashamed that she always took whatever she wanted. There was something inherently wrong about it, something darker and more indecent than the act of taking itself, but somehow she never felt as guilty as she thought she should. Did it really matter that Spike hadn't been hers to take? He'd given himself away willingly, after all—not once, but twice.

Still, there was a feeling inside that she'd stolen something she should hurry to put back. She had absolutely no intention of taking it further than it has already gone, and maybe, that, she realized, was the problem. Perhaps if it had been under the pretense of a greater romantic advance it wouldn't have felt so selfish.

She dabbed her mascara wand on a tissue, removing the excess, and leaned in to the mirror again, stroking her lashes with the brush, staring back into her own wide eyes.

What was it that her mother used to say?

You're prognosticating doom.

Faye hated it. It was such a stilted way of saying 'you're worrying too much.'

She bent over, flipping her hair upside down, combing it out with a big paddle hairbrush. When she rose to stand again, tossing her hair back in a self-conscious gesture of feminine guile and sexuality, she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror.

It was her lips. The red looked unsettlingly deceptive now, the color an indictment of something she hadn't even known she'd done.


Even as a master of the art, Spike was finding it hard to play cool. Perhaps it was the extended period of self-imposed celibacy, but the afterglow of their sexual encounter had yet to dissipate.

He sat in the common area, waiting for Faye to finish getting ready, and when she walked in, he had to force himself not to look at her too much, not to smile at her knowingly. As she slipped on her bomber jacket and zipped it up halfway, he watched in appreciation as it cinched at the smallest part of her waist, right where his hands had gripped her as she rode him.

He continued to stare into the TV, his hands resting in his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip.

When his eyes did shift to follow her, he found himself admiring the easiness of her presence, her effortless charm. It wasn't just that she was beautiful. Despite her brash attitude and brazen immodesty, she remained strangely delicate—as long as she didn't open her mouth. He would try to remember this moment the next time he felt the need to throttle her.

She finished gathering her things and gestured at him with a tilt of her head and a roll of the shoulders.

"Let's go."


The evening was cold and the streets were quiet. There were very few cars or people, and the orange light from the streetlamps shone warmly on the empty stone sidewalks making them appear far more majestic and clean than they did in the harsh daylight.

Perhaps it was a shared fear of what would transpire should they spend the rest of the day alone together, but they both agreed it was best to find Jet and see if they could drag him back to the ship sooner rather than later.

The club Neil played in was only a mile or two away, so despite the prickling pain in his thigh, Spike suggested they save themselves the hassle of undocking their ships and simply walk. But what he thought might be a pleasant stroll had developed into something vacant.

Faye drifted along beside him, keeping a fair distance, staring into the dark windows of closed shops along the boulevard. A few times, when he turned to do the same, she would turn away.

Spike cursed himself. It had crossed his mind once or twice in his life that he seemed to lack the emotional maturity required to simply remain friends with a beautiful woman. Although he had only ever loved one woman, he easily developed radiant little fancies that burst inside of him when confronted with the presence of an attractive, mysterious female. Katerina, Electra, Faye. They were only a few of the names on the long list of ladies that captured his affection for a brief moment in time.

But Faye had transcended this. She'd forced herself into his life as a business partner and platonic roommate, making herself familiar to him by participating in quotidian routines like eating and working and sleeping, forcing him to be comfortable with her—a comfort which now appeared he had disrupted by thinking with his dick.

As he contemplated this, the throb in his leg began to grow, as though the affliction in his mind sensed his physical infirmity and was attempting to undo him at his weakest spot.

He stopped in place, bending to massage his ravaged muscles and tendons.

"You gonna make it?"

"Yeah, give me a minute."

He sidled up the face of a high-end furniture boutique. Antique furniture always gave him the creeps. Faye came to stand in front of him, crossing her arms.

"I'm getting to be pretty lame, eh?"

A terse smile twisted her mouth and her eyes fell to the ground.

"Maybe I'll head back. You can go on without me."

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way, moving to help him stand as he winced spasmodically. She slid an arm around his back, tucking herself under him for support, allowing him to sling his arm across her shoulder. She looked up at him, and he could swear there was a glimmer of a plea in her eye, but before he could be certain, she had turned away, starting them forward again.

"Thanks."

"You're not welcome."

He snorted, amused still by her dry wit.

"I bet Jet is piss drunk by now."

"Then I'm fucking leaving you both there. You can drag each other home."


END ACT I


AN: I'll be taking a brief hiatus as I will be traveling next week.

Thank you all for sharing this with me. I hope "Alcoholiday" didn't throw you too much for a loop; it was something I'd been planning for awhile—a bit of a story within a story—but I still knew it would come as a bit of a shock. I very much enjoy taking this journey with you guys.