Too Many Secrets 7/?

Saving Grace

Once on the street, Faye breathed a sigh of relief. She looked to her left and decided that it was too dark and too quiet for her restless mood. She looked in the opposite way which had to be the downtown, there were enough bright lights to flood the sky, and the traffic seemed to be heading that way, so she knew that was where she wanted to go. Her senses alert, she started off in that direction, walking briskly with a sense of purpose.

When she reached the downtown merchant section, she slowed to a leisurely pace and strolled along the avenue, peering into the shop windows, pausing occasionally to look closer at a dress. She loved dressing up, even though there were very few occasions to wear fancy clothes. In her mind, you could never have too many dresses as you never knew when you might need to make a dramatic entrance. One such dress caught her eye, and she stopped to stare at a luxurious velvet evening gown on display at Cosette's Boutique. The dress was a rich, dark burgundy in luxurious velvet, and she knew immediately that she wanted it. It was her kind of dress, the kind that would accentuate her figure and turn a lot of heads. Faye fingered the money card in her pocket and chewed on her bottom lip, wondering how many woolongs were on it. Judging by the décor in Spike's place, she could guess that there wouldn't be much, but there was only one way to find out. She hesitated only for a moment before she opened the door to the shop and stepped inside.

The boutique was empty save for the shop keeper straightening a rack of dresses in the middle of the floor. He looked up when Faye came in.

"May I help you miss?" the shop keeper asked pleasantly, his eyes glancing over the outfit that Faye was wearing.

Faye was suddenly glad that she had worn the expensive black dress, which she had worn mainly to impress Spike. She knew that she looked good in it; now it appeared to have another useful purpose.

"Yes, you can." she said, giving the shop keeper a lofty smile. "I would like to purchase that dress in the window."

Faye turned towards the shop entrance, gesturing to the dress in the window. "But I don't know if my … husband has given me the right card." She turned back to the owner and gave him a dazzling smile. "Would you be so kind as to check the woolongs on my card?"

The shop keeper smiled back at the beautiful woman before him. "Of course, madam."

Faye handed him the card and ambled around the shop, picking up things and setting them on the counter to purchase as if she had the money to buy them. A few minutes later, the shop keeper returned with her card.

Faye looked at him, expecting the worse.

"Miss, I do not think that you will have any problems buying anything in the shop."

Faye looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Your husband is a very generous man. You have over 200 million on this card."

Faye suppressed a gasp and turned on a sexy smile before walking over to the lingerie section. Her thoughts were going a mile a minute as her suspicions about what Spike did for money were confirmed. She couldn't believe it. Defiantly she decided to play up the role of wife of her "generous husband" and spend as much of his money as she could. An hour later, she had finished shopping, her bags filled with the most expensive clothing that Cosette's Boutique had to offer. And she had only used up half the woolongs on Spike's card.

The traffic had thinned considerably since Faye had entered the shop. She headed back in the direction of Spike's apartment. Her hands ached a little from the weight of her bags, and she wished that she had gotten the shop keeper to call a taxi for her.

As she was nearing the sector where Spike lived, Faye felt a sense of unease as the sound of footsteps reached her ears. She listened intently, not breaking her pace, and felt a slight chill at the back of her neck as she realized that she was being followed. She pressed her elbow against her torso, reassured that her Glock was still in her sweater. She hoped that she would not have to use it; she really liked the things that she had bought with Spike's money and didn't like the thought that she might have to leave the bags behind.

She slowed for a moment to listen, pretending to adjust the weight of the bags in her hands. The footsteps also slowed, and when she started walking again, she heard the steps behind her resume, but they seemed to be closer than before.

She whirled around and came face to face with her stalker. He was tall and very sturdily built, and her heart sank as she realized that she would never be able to take him down. She just hoped that his brawny build meant that he was slow witted, because she would have to rely on her wits and some quick thinking to get out of this situation.

"Why are you following me?" she demanded as she looked up into his steely eyes, her harsh words belying the nervousness she felt inside.

The man stared down at her, his eyes brazenly appraising her, stopping as they reached her chest. For a fleeting moment, Faye recalled Spike's words to her not to wander around his neighborhood. She had thought that he was being his usual controlling and insufferable self; too late she realized that his warning words had been for her safety.

"You looking for a good time, babe?"

The man's eyes continued to rove down her body, and Faye suppressed the urge to smash her fist in his face. She needed to keep her wits about her. She faked a giggle and hoped that the man was too stupid to notice.

"I really need to get home before my boyfriend finds out I've been out shopping again," she said daintily, shifting her bags to her left hand so that her shooting hand was free to reach her gun.

"What's your name, babe?" the man asked as he moved closer to her.

"Faye," she answered sweetly, shifting her arm closer to her side.

"Pretty name, Faye," he leered down at her. "Handon here."

Faye's heart sank as the name and face of her attacker registered in her mind. Handon Rives, featured just a few days before on the resurrected show Big Shots. Handon Rives, wanted for rape and burglary. Last known location: Tharsis, Mars.

Faye really wished now that she had listened to Spike. She reached into her jacket to pull out her Glock.

The man moved suddenly, grabbing her arm and preventing her from getting a grasp on her weapon. He twisted her arm behind her as he pulled her towards a darkened alley. Faye tried to sweep her legs across him to push him off balance, but he was a step ahead of her. He grabbed her other arm and pushed her to the concrete, her bags scattering to the ground.

Faye tried not to panic as she tried to twist out of his grasp. Rives gripped her wrist tighter to prevent her from moving. She was strong, but he was stronger and bigger. Even though Faye felt herself losing the battle, she refused to give in and she drew in a few ragged breaths to try harder. It was no use. Rives pulled her hands together into one large fist and with the other hand and his knee shoved her legs apart, easily holding her in place. He pulled out a knife and sliced it across her panties, and they fell away from her body. Faye realized that she was not going to be able to stop him, and she tried to accept the futility of her struggle. As Rives hovered above her, she closed her eyes and tried to close her mind off from what was happening to her.

The click of a gun brought her back to the present. She opened her eyes and looked up to see Spike standing there, still and imposing as a marble statue.

"Get off of her," he said quietly, eyes cold as ice.

Rives hesitated as he stared into the barrel of the Jericho.

"Hey man, relax; you can have a go at her when I'm done." He laughed and turned back to Faye.

"I said get off her," Spike repeated, taking the safety off of the gun.

Rives paused again but did not turn around, instead reaching into his pants. Spike moved forward, and pushed the gun against Rives ahead.

"Look- " Rives started to speak, but he never got the chance to finish because Spike pulled the trigger.

Rives' body dropped onto Faye in a heap and she gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. She lifted her hands to heave his body away from her but his dead weight was too heavy for her to budge. Then Spike was there, lifting a heavy boot and roughly shoving Rive's body off of her and onto the concrete. Faye scooted into a half sitting position and pulled her dress down to cover herself. She felt ashamed at having being caught in a compromising position by, of all people, Spike. Still, she was relieved beyond belief that he had shown up.

She braced herself and tried to stand, but her legs were trembling so much that she found herself back on the ground. Spike leaned down and gripped her arm as he helped her up, and held her close to him for a minute until her shaking eased. She slid her hand away from his arm and wrapped her arms around herself, relieved that the ordeal was over. Something warm and sticky trickled down her elbow and she rubbed her arm roughly as she replayed the memory of Rives toppling on top of her, his brain matter splattering over her dress. She knew that she would never wear it again. She felt completely exposed even though her body was clothed, and she shivered audibly even though the night was warm and murky.

Spike was searching the area for her things and had found her discarded panties, which he stuffed into his pants pocket. He looked over at Faye and noticed her shivering, and he took off his jacket and walked over to her, wordlessly handing it to her.

She mumbled her thanks and slid her arms into the sleeves, noticing that it was still warm from his body heat. She pulled the jacket closer, her hands holding the sides to keep it closed. Spike gathered up the packages that she had dropped and placed them in her hands. He started walking and she followed close behind him, her head bowed, as they headed down the darkened street towards his apartment.

Faye's thoughts were racing through her brain in a jumbled kaleidoscope but her body felt like it was moving underwater. Her ears thrummed with a loud buzzing and she forced herself to breathe deeply to keep the panic from setting in. She didn't notice until too late that Spike had stopped abruptly and she put out her hand to keep from crashing into him.

"Need some help back there, Romani?" he teased as he looked back at her.

Faye heard him but she didn't immediately answer.

"Hey Romani, you okay?"

She looked up to find him scrutinizing her, his eyes displaying a look of concern that was quickly masked.

She nodded.

He reached over and gripped her hand. She tensed, unsure of his purpose.

"You're a little slow moving, aren't you?" he murmured. "Come on, let's get you inside."

He continued forward, leading her like a mother would a child, until finally they reached his apartment building. They trudged up to the second floor, him still holding onto her hand. When they reached the apartment door, he released her hand and unlocked the apartment, ushering her inside.

* * *

Faye walked into the living room as if in a daze, and lowered herself onto the sofa. She could hear Spike in the kitchen, opening cabinets and fiddling with something. She looked around the room and its familiarity along with Spike's presence made her feel safe.

Spike returned with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses which he sat down on the coffee table. He filled a glass and handed it to her.

"Here, drink."

She sniffed the contents before raising the glass to her lips, swallowing the liquid. She took a deep breath as she felt the slow burn all the way to her stomach. She handed the glass back.

"More?"

She shook her head.

"What – Romani turning down free drinks?"

She glanced up at him quickly. "No, I… no," she said softly, looking away from him.

He set her glass on the coffee table and filled his own glass, finishing it before picking up his cigarettes from the coffee table. He lit one and handed it to her before sitting down next to her and lighting up another for himself. They sat together, not talking. Spike refilled the glasses, draining his. Faye's glass remained untouched.

"You going to finish that?" he asked, looking down at her.

She picked up the glass obediently and took a sip, not looking at him.

"Faye … "Spike reached over and took her chin, forcing her to look at him. This time he did not try to mask the worry in his eyes.

"Did he – "

"No, you got there before he -" She turned away quickly, her chin sliding out of his hand. She took another sip from her glass and fiddled with the rim.

"Do you need to … to take a shower?" he asked quietly.

Faye shook her head. "Not right now."

Spike stood up from the sofa and paused before her, as if unsure of what to say.

"Well, I'm going to." He headed towards the bathroom. "Don't smoke all my cigarettes."

Her eyes followed him as he left, relieved that he was gone. She wasn't used to Spike showing any emotion other than annoyance or indifference, and she had felt a little trapped under his concern. She heard the shower start as he turned on the water, and she relaxed a little, taking a small sip from her glass before throwing caution to the wind and downing the entire contents. She breathed in deeply as the liquid hit her empty stomach, and she instantly regretted her hasty action. She went into the kitchen to look for the leftover Thai food from dinner, deciding to eat a little of the rice, and immediately felt a little better. She poured herself a little more bourbon and took larger sips, eventually feeling the effects of the alcohol.

She sat back on the sofa and let her head fall back against the cushions. She felt drained, as though years rather than mere hours had passed since she had left the Bebop that morning. She slid Spike's jacket from her shoulders and examined her dress, fingering the spaghetti strap that Rives had ripped away. It had been one of her favorite dresses. She sighed and pulled the jacket back over her shoulders.

The shower had stopped, and she tensed when the door to the bathroom opened. She wasn't sure if she was ready to deal with Spike just yet, but it was his apartment, after all. He walked into the room clad only in a towel around his waist and went immediately for his cigarettes, drops of water from his hair falling onto the coffee table. She tried not to look at his bare chest, which was still damp from his shower, but wonder overcame her fear and she gaped at the thick scar that ran from his abdomen to his hip. Her eyes widened as she realized just how close he had come to death. He noticed her stare.

"Yeah." He laughed mirthlessly. "Vicious really did a number on me."

"How did you survive that?" she asked, glancing up at him.

He shrugged. "Beats me." He put the cigarette between his lips, not bothering to light it. "Just lucky, I guess." He leaned over slightly, scrutinizing her. "You should probably take a shower now. There's some grey gunk in your hair."

Faye jumped up from her seat and her hands flew up to her hair as she looked up at Spike in horror.

He grinned at her. "Don't worry, there's plenty of hot water left."

She rushed into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, turning the water on to as hot as she could withstand. She gingerly stepped inside the shower under the water, and didn't relax until she felt the stream of water filtering through her hair. She scrubbed every portion of her body, watching the soapy water swirl down the drain. She felt squeamish as she recalled the splatter of what she had thought was blood hitting her face.

When she finally felt clean enough, she stepped out of the shower and went to reach for a towel, but froze when she realized that she hadn't gotten one from Spike. She opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked out.

"Spike!" She waited breathlessly for him to answer.

A few short minutes later he appeared.

"What's wrong?"

She looked up at him through the crack in the door. "I need a towel."

He looked at her in surprise, then down at himself. He was still clad in the towel. He appeared to be thinking, then wordlessly he unwrapped the towel from around his waist and handed it to her, a grim look on his face.

Faye swallowed and kept her eyes on his face, too embarrassed to look anywhere else.

"Thanks," she muttered. Heart pounding, she clenched the towel and shut the bathroom door. She wrapped herself in the towel then walked over to the sink to look at her face in the mirror. The burning color on her cheeks was fading to a dull flush. She leaned back against the door wearily, wondering if the faintness she felt was from the steamy room or the bourbon, or the stares that she was unaccustomed to seeing from Spike.

After a few minutes, she remembered what she was supposed to be doing, and she forced herself to focus. She wrapped the towel around her dripping hair and rubbed vigorously until her hair was dry. She looked into the medicine cabinet, hoping that Spike owned a brush.

To her surprise he did, and she picked it up, brushing through her thick tresses to loosen the knots she had created from drying it so roughly. Finally satisfied, from habit she looked on the toilet seat for her clothes and froze when she realized that she had nothing to change into. She dreaded having to call him again.

Wrapping the towel around her, she opened the door a crack, listening for Spike. It was quiet, so he must have gone out. Faye crept across the hall to the bedroom, and slipped inside the room. Before he got back, she would find something of his to wear, so that she wouldn't have to ask him and watch him look her up and down before deciding to answer.

She went over to the dresser and opened the top drawer, where Spike always kept his t-shirts. She let her towel drop to the floor as she grabbed one and lifted it to slip over her head. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Spike cleared his throat behind her. In her haste, she had left the door ajar and now Spike was leaning against it, clad in training pants and shirtless. Faye pulled the t-shirt down hastily, once again feeling her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"You need something?" he asked, his eyes quickly straying down her body before returning to her face.

"Obviously," she said haughtily. "I needed to borrow some of your clothes."

Spike bowed to her, sweeping his across the air towards the dresser. "Don't let me stop you," he smirked. "You've never asked before, why should now be any different?"

"I have never borrowed any of your things," Faye protested with a frown.

"Sure you have."

"When?" she asked. "Name one time."

Spike tapped his finger against his chin as he thought for a moment. "Hmm, let's see." He looked back at her with a grin on his face. "On Ganymede when you slipped and fell off the dock, remember?"

Faye remembered and she smiled to herself as she recalled the ridiculousness of the situation.

They were on Ganymede because Jet wanted to relax for a few days, much to the protest of the crew, except for Ed, who didn't mind at all. Faye grudgingly decided to make the best of the situation and work on her tan while they were stuck there, since Jet was the only one with woolongs, and he wasn't sharing. Spike figured he might as well give the Swordfish a good washing since there was nothing else to do, and anyway, as long as there was food in the fridge, he could deal with it. Ed hung out with Jet on the dock, their bare feet hanging over the edge as they fished, looking the perfect picture of father and daughter. Faye was laid out in the sun in her bikini and sunglasses, and as the sun would move across the sky, she would move her chair with it, trying to eke out as the last bit of rays before sundown. Her last chair move, however, was a slight bit too close to the Swordfish and the dock's edge, and when she got up, she slipped on the wet dock right into the water. Spike couldn't stop laughing and she got so pissed off that she stomped away and into the Bebop, mumbling to herself. She went straight to Spike's room and borrowed one of his shirts, and as a last thought, threw her wet towel on his bed.

She looked up at Spike with a faint smile. "OK, so that one time."

Spike cocked his head at her. "Want me to name a few other times?"

Faye growled, her annoyance overcoming her embarrassment. Spike threw his hands up and backed away from her in mock fear. He looked so ridiculous that Faye could not help but laugh.

"Spike?" Faye asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Get the hell out."

Spike gave her a crooked grin and winked before he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Faye stared at the closed door. The evening was wearing on her, and as her adrenalin level dropped back to normal levels, she found that she could barely keep her eyes open. She eyed the bed in contemplation, then pulled the blanket off and wrapped herself in it. She left the room and headed into the living room. Spike was seated at the kitchen table, his gun dismantled as he cleaned it. He looked up as Faye came in before turning back to his task.

Faye walked over to the couch and flopped down, then curled up and went to sleep.

* * *

She woke up suddenly and sat up, looking around her. The room was dark and for a moment she forgot where she was and she could feel panic rise within her. She took a deep breath and looked around the room until she recognized that she was at Spike's. She lay back down and tried to go back to sleep. At every sudden noise, she would jump and open her eyes to look around again. Finally, she sighed and sat up, pulling the blanket closer to her. The quiet and unfamiliar noises were making her jumpy and she knew she would not be able to get back to sleep in the room alone. Spike's room door was closed, so he must have already gone to bed. Faye rubbed her eyes in exhaustion and stood up. She padded down the hall to Spike's room and knocked softly, then opened the door a crack.

He was spread out across the bed, one leg on top of the covers.

"Spike?"

There was no answer from him. Faye tiptoed over to the bed and looked down at him. She touched him tentatively.

* * *

His eyes shot open as he awakened to a light touch on his face, sending a tingling thrill through him knowing that it had to be Faye.

"It's me." her voice drifted to his ears. "I couldn't sleep on your lumpy couch." She pushed at his shoulder. "Move over."

"I have a feeling that sleep is now out of the question," Spike responded sarcastically as he scooted over to make room for her, "especially now that you're here taking up my sleeping space…"

Faye ignored him and slid between the covers into the space he made for her.

He watched her, remembering her scent and how she'd felt in his arms for those fleeting moments. He leaned in to refresh his memory. She shifted, feeling his eyes on her.

"Stop staring at me," she said, pushing his head away, a tremor in her voice belying her harsh words. He caught her hand and pulled her to him, kissing the offending finger.

"It's a pity neither of us can sleep," he said softly.

She looked up and saw the innocent smile contradicting the undisguised hunger in his eyes. Then his lips were on hers, his tongue probing, as he kissed her languidly, aroused by the feeling of her skin against his and the soft moans that she made. He explored the contours of her body, slipping his hand underneath her shirt.

Faye tensed, and looked at him uncertainly. His eyes were closed and his hands did not cease.

"Spike," she said softly, pushing his hand away.

"Huh?" He looked up at her in confusion. He didn't want her to stop him, he was aroused and he wanted her.

Faye took a deep, shaky breath and edged away from him.

You're playing with fire, Faye. You're only going to get burned.

"Faye-Faye?" He said playfully, lifting her chin gently. "Look at me," he commanded.

She raised her head to look at him doubtfully. He leaned down and kissed her softly. She drew in a shaky breath, and looked up at him, reaching up to touch his cheek. He wrapped his hands around her waist and leaned in to kiss her again. She raised her arms to circle his neck, her fingers playing with the curls at the back of his neck. His hands tightened on her waist and he slid them up her sides to her breasts, his thumbs lightly caressing her nipples through the shirt.

Her breath hitched as he leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking it through the thin shirt. A moan escaped from her lips as she closed her eyes and squirmed against him.

Spike didn't need any further encouragement. He reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it roughly up over her head, tossing it to the floor before returning to her breasts. He bit down lightly on a nipple and Faye growled, reaching down to push his head away. He chuckled against her skin and soothed his bite with a soft kiss, then drew warm wet circles with his tongue.

Spike slid his hands up her arms in gentle caresses, drawing circles across her palms and entwining her small hands in his. Then he slid down to her wrists, trapping them in his hands as he raised her arms above her head to pin her to the bed.

Faye's eyes flew open.

"That hurts, Spike," she protested as she attempted to pull out of his grip, but his hands tightened around her as he rose up on his knees and looked at her with a malicious grin. He bent down to kiss her neck, oblivious to her wishes.

"Let go of me," she said forcefully and tried twisting away, but he refused to budge. He forced her thighs apart with his leg and dropped down on his elbows, moving his pelvis against her. Faye could felt the heat from his erection, and she realized with horror that he was about to subject her to the very ordeal that he had saved her from.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

The only thing that she became aware of was the sound of flesh hitting flesh and Spike's harsh breathing. She bit her lip and clenched the sheet to keep from crying out. Finally, after a strangled shout, he collapsed onto her and she felt the warm rush of his release.

He withdrew from her and rolled onto his back, trembling and panting for breath. Faye drew shaky breaths as she turned away from him and curled herself into the pillow, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, tears that refused to fall.

The room was quiet except for Spike's harsh breathing which gradually turned into soft snores as he fell asleep.

* * *

Spike groaned as hunger woke him. He flipped over onto his stomach, stretching out a long arm across the bed. He froze when his hand made contact with something warm and soft. He looked to the right at the small lump under the covers, and his stomach clenched a flashback to the previously evening pounded his memory.

He lay back down, turning his head to watch the sleeping figure next to him. She was turned away from him, her hair spread across the pillow in silky disarray. Careful not to awaken her, he extended his hand to touch her hair softly, feeling the silky strands slip through his fingers. His throat constricted and he blinked against the pain.

Her presence in his room, in his bed reminded him of something that Vicious had said to him once long ago, that he was a beast that had lost his fangs. He had fought that part of himself for so long that he had convinced himself that he had changed. Now he realized that Vicious had been right all along.

Guess my fangs have grown back.

He pulled his hand away and focused on the rise and fall of her shoulders as she slept, before finally dozing off again. A couple of hours later, he woke up again when the hunger pangs reached unbearable proportions. He glanced over to where Faye lay, then quietly sat up and edged his way off the bed, trying not to awaken her. He jumped when, from behind him, she spoke.

"Don't bother. Your stomach already woke me up."

He turned around sharply to see Faye stirring, clutching the bed sheet around her.

"Oh," he mumbled.

He tried not to stare, but her shapely figure was quite visible even covered with the sheet. In past times, early morning was his favorite time for a treat before breakfast, but he supposed that this wouldn't count. He dragged his fingers through his hair as he pulled his eyes away. He started towards the kitchen, then stopped and turned to look at her. She was sitting up and was staring at him with an unreadable expression that made him uncomfortable.

"You hungry?" he asked reluctantly, shifting his gaze to anywhere but her face. He didn't want to see the hurt and accusation in her eyes.

She shook her head and looked down, her hair falling into her face and obscuring her eyes. She fiddled nervously with her hands before getting up, protectively wrapping the sheet around her body.

Spike turned around and continued to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and looked inside, cursing himself for not buying groceries the day before. He pulled out a carton the leftover containers from their dinner and threw them into the microwave. From behind him he heard Faye as she shuffled into the kitchen. He watched the containers turning in the microwave.

"Spike- "

He reluctantly turned around to face her.

"I want to take a shower," she said, avoiding his eyes. "I need a towel."

"Oh."

He pulled a clean towel from the pantry and gave it to her.

She took it and stood for a moment, twisting the edges of the towel in her hands.

"By the way … "

He looked at her questioningly. She was staring at him again.

"You should change the sheets."

He nodded. She continued down the hall to the bathroom.

Once Spike heard the shower running, he went into the bedroom to strip the bed. As he neared the bed, he saw the damp stain mixed with semen and blood – Faye's blood. Stifling a gag, he dragged the sheets from the mattress, then balled them up and threw them in the corner of the room. He fumbled with the cigarette pack on the nightstand and lit one, wanting to erase his sense of guilt with each inhale.

Even though they both had had quite a lot to drink the night before, his memory of the events were etched quite clearly in his memory. He remembered how fragile her wrists felt when he held her down, the smell of her hair when his chest came into contact with hers, the intensely pleasurable sensation as he pounded away inside her and the utter exhaustion when he finally collapsed on top of her. He never considered that all the while he was hurting her.

* * *

They stood together at the railing overlooking the harbor, neither speaking. In the distance the foghorn of a trawler pierced the ambient sounds of morning traffic over the river and streets of Tharsis. Spike wanted to say something, anything to break the silence, but he could think of nothing to say to her.

"I hate you," she said fiercely, squeezing her eyes closed as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Spike was silent. From the corner of his eye, he watched her look out over the river as she struggled to keep her emotions under control. He didn't know what to say to her. Finally, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a matchbook from the Glowing Sun.

"Faye," he said softly.

She ignored him, staring stonily ahead.

"Faye, if you ever need to reach me ..." he reached over and grabbed her hand, placing the matchbook in her palm.

Her hand closed on the matchbook, and she fingered it in her hand for a moment before stretching out her arm and letting it drop into the river, watching it float away. Spike clenched his jaw, but his body remained motionless, and his heart pounded in pain as Faye looked up into his face, her eyes cold and unforgiving.

"I never want to see you again."

She turned and walked away.

Too Many Secrets 6/?

Onward

Two entrees and one empty whiskey bottle later, they both ended up crashing on the sofa, Faye on one end, her hands across her eyes to block out the light, and Spike at the other with his arm hanging off the sofa onto the floor.

The space was pretty tight for two, and Faye tried shifting into a more comfortable position, shoving her legs into Spike's torso. He grunted in pain and grabbed hold of her foot, pushing it back towards her.

"Stop, Spike, my legs are cramped," she grumbled, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle out of his grasp. He refused to let go, smirking as he wagged his index finger dramatically towards her foot.

"Don't you dare," she warned.

He laughed at her before letting go.

This camaraderie, without disagreement or arguments between them was rare, but Faye had not spent all of those months searching for him, just to cuddle on the sofa. After all, her visit did have a purpose; she wanted an explanation for why he had been incognito for so long.

Jet had told her once that both she and Spike were the types who used sheer force or violence to try to get what they wanted, when sometimes a gentler approach garnered better results. Jet must have been right about her, because this cautious approach was not working with the lunkhead, who was either too dense or too drunk to grasp what she wanted. But more than likely, he knew only too well, and was trying to steer her away deliberately.

She shifted again.

"Spike, when you left …"

He cringed when he saw that she was preparing to grill him.

"I really don't want to talk about this, Faye."

"You never want to talk about anything serious," she snapped. "Well, guess what? You owe us some answers. Why the hell couldn't you let us know you were alive?"

"First off, "he said icily, "I don't owe you or Jet a damned thing."

Faye felt her temperature rise and she unsuccessfully attempted to control herself before she lost it and slammed her foot into his chest. Spike's body stiffened and his jaw tightened. He sat up abruptly, bringing his feet to the floor, eyeing her with barely controlled rage. Faye eyed him warily, aware that he could kill her where she sat. She sat up and scooted further away.

"Second," he continued, "It was better if I didn't come back."

"Better for whom? You, so that you wouldn't have to fill us in on your 'secret' life?"

Spike's eyebrow twitched. "No." he answered in the same tone. "Better, to keep you and Jet from being gunned down because of me."

As she searched his face, she knew that he was being truthful.

"I guess it doesn't really matter," she said wearily. She leaned back against the sofa, and from the corner of her eye she caught him staring. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids to quiet an impending headache. The alcohol was starting to wear off, affecting her patience, and for once she thought it best not to say anything else that would ignite his anger.

Faye turned her attention to the sounds of street traffic filtering in through the open window, and she wondered how anyone could live in such a noisy place. She figured that it didn't matter much to Spike; he could fall sleep anywhere and anytime regardless of what was going on.

"When I woke up, I was in a hospital."

Faye opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He was staring straight ahead, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. She remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"They told me that I had been unconscious for almost three months. My … injuries were so severe that they didn't know if I was going to make it."

He finally looked over to meet her eyes. "After I was released, I wandered back to my old haunting grounds, trying to find out what had happened with the Dragons."

He leaned forward and picked up the cigarettes from the coffee table. He lit one up and blew the smoke in Faye's direction. When the aroma reached her, she breathed in deeply, too proud to snatch up the pack as she would have done in the past. He was in a mood to talk, and she didn't want to be the one to spoil the mood. She was surprised when Spike held out the pack to her, but she nodded her thanks and took one. He flicked the lighter and lit her cigarette, then sat back and clasped his hands behind his head, stretching his long legs across the coffee table.

They smoked in silence for a while. Faye watched him surreptitiously; his eyes were half-closed and he looked completely relaxed, as if he was about to nod off. She breathed in sharply, and then exhaled in a silent huff as she struggled to tone down her impatience. Instead, she watched the cigarette he held between his slender fingers as it burned, the ember moving closer to his fingers. If he really was asleep, he'd wake up as soon as he felt the burn of the ash.

Without cracking an eyelid, Spike leaned a long arm towards the coffee table to flick the ash. Faye narrowed her eyes. He was trying to get out of telling the story, but she was determined to make him continue.

"So, what happened?" she asked, her patience dwindling.

He cracked open one eye to look at her. "Just hold on, Faye. Whose story is this, anyway?"

She bit back a response until she noticed the quirk at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't make fun of me," she growled. "I really do want to know."

He raised an eyebrow as he regarded her, the smirk morphing into a full blown smile.

She glared at him. "Come on, spit it out."

His smile faltered and he looked away from her to stare up at the ceiling.

"I found out that I had succeeded in wiping out the Dragons," he said as he stared up at the ceiling. "So there I was, finally free after all those years, and what do I do? Find another syndicate to work for. But this time, it was on my terms."

"If you were free, why did you go back?" Faye asked curiously. "You had the chance to do anything, go anywhere you wanted, and you went back? Why?"

"It's the only thing I know," he said simply.

"You could have come back, picked up where you left off with me … and Jet."

"Yeah, I could have. But I didn't want to go back to that life."

He leaned forward to crush the cigarette in the ashtray, then picked up the pack and lit another, looking at her intently. With a mouth full of smoke, he continued, "Besides, I got tired of not having meat in my diet. Or cigarettes in my pocket." He exhaled and leaned back against the sofa.

Faye scowled at him and looked away. She wanted to ask him if he missed the companionship that they'd had as shipmates and bounty hunters. And he still hadn't told her what it was that he did for a living. But she was starting to get a pretty good idea.

"So, I guess your new occupation is quite lucrative," she mumbled.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Her green eyes glittered in annoyance as she poked him. "Spike, just tell me what it is you do."

Spike cocked his head to the side as he shot her a wide-eyed, innocent look. "Let's just say that the world is a little safer with my help."

It occurred to her that he had told her more than he'd ever willingly shared in the past. She knew that she wouldn't get any more out of him.

"Will you ever come back?"

Spike was silent.

"Spike?"

"No."

"Not even …"

"What?"

She turned to stare out of the window.

He sighed and watched her. "Faye."

She didn't answer. He reached over and grasped her chin, turning her face towards him. Her stomach fluttered at the touch of his fingers. She couldn't remember him ever touching her before, at least not this gentle, like he cared. She forced herself to breathe calmly as she reluctantly looked up at him.

"Would you -" he began, then seemed to think better of it and released her.

She gazed at him questioningly, her hand absently tracing the spot where his fingers had been.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

She hated when he did that – clamming up again, his eyes hooded with hidden secrets, like shutters closing on a window. It was like watching a walking dead man, turning to ghost ashes before her eyes.

"Don't do that," she said, jabbing her finger into his chest so hard that he cringed. "You always used to do that on the ship, Spike," she pointed upwards towards space, "and every time I let you get away with it, but not this time. So, tell me what it is that you want to know?"

He studied her for a moment. "I don't know," he said finally.

She stared at him, her small mouth turned down in disapproval. She got up and paced around the room, then stopped at the coffee table and grabbed his pack of cigarettes, jamming one in her mouth. "You're just nothing but trouble," she mumbled and the cigarette moved up and down with her words.

"Those are mine," he said calmly, watching her.

Faye huffed in frustration. She took a long drag before turning back to him.

"I guess you're waiting for me to speak first, huh? What, do you want to know why I spent so much time looking for you when it was obvious that you were either six feet under or avoiding us?"

She started pacing the room again, smoking furiously.

"I didn't say-"

"We were comrades, you know," she interrupted him. "Even if you didn't feel it, I did. I finally found a place where I belonged, with you and Jet and Edward. Even the damned dog." She stopped pacing and looked back at him. "Don't tell me you never felt it."

Spike sighed. "Okay, so I did, you satisfied?"

Faye threw her hands in the air. "There! Was that so fucking hard to say?" She returned to the sofa and flopped down next to him. "Spike, you're a real piece of work."

"So I've been told."

She turned towards him, ready to give him another lecture about friends, but stopped when she looked at him. Who cares what an idiot he still is, she thought. At least he's alive.

"I'm tired of arguing," she told him. "Let's just watch a movie or something."

She leaned across the table to flick on the vidscreen, switching the channels until she found an old crime movie that she remembered watching with Jet. "Hey, this one's pretty good." She settled back against the couch, curling her legs under her and not caring whether or not Spike was comfortable. She was done with him for now.

* * *

Spike was amazed at how easily Faye could switch from slightly pissed to raving mad to nonchalance in the blink of an eye. He thought he was the only one that could pull that off. But then she started going on about how comrades were supposed to work together and check in with each other, watch each other's back, yadda yadda. She talks too damned much. He started tuning her out although his eyes followed her around the room as she ranted. He didn't know what had come over him when he had held her face in his hands. He had never been that close long enough to notice the porcelain smoothness of her skin, or to notice that there were flecks of hazel in her green eyes.

He turned his attention back to the present and the movie playing on the screen. He remembered seeing this back on the Bebop. Faye and Jet loved this movie, but he didn't understand what was so fascinating. The life depicted was a picnic compared to the reality of life with the Dragons. He sat back, trying to maintain interest, but after a while his eyes glazed over, and not too long afterwards, he was dead to the world.

* * *

Faye watched Spike's eyes close as he nodded off, just as she had predicted he would. He'd never been able to stay awake on a full stomach, especially when combined with liquor.

She turned back to the fight scene playing over the vid screen. This used to be one of her favorite films, but ever since he had encountered the real deal at the opera house with Vicious, scenes like the one on the screen looked stage and stale. She switched off the power and looked over at Spike, whose legs were now splayed across the coffee table, his head flung back against the back of the sofa and his mouth slightly ajar. At any moment now the snoring would begin; she grinned when sure enough, the first gurgle emitted from his throat. She studied his face, noticing things that hadn't been there a year ago -- the lines around his mouth, a small scar that cut across his right brow. She tapped her foot impatiently; she would not allow herself to get sucked into feeling for him again.

Enough of this, Faye, she admonished herself. She was restless; maybe she could find a card game to push her way into. She had spied a numbers joint on the walk over the apartment earlier. She looked around for her red sweater, spotting it crushed between Spike and the sofa cushion. Holding her breath, she gently pulled it free, being careful not to wake the baby. As she draped it over her shoulders, she contemplated borrowing Spike's keys. Nah, He'll just have to let me back in, she thought. She spied Spike's money card next to his keys. Grinning, she picked it up and slipped it into her pocket as she tiptoed to the door. She let herself out, quietly closing the door behind her.

* * *

Too Many Secrets 5/?

Stubborn

The band was finishing up the last set, and Grace had just delivered the last round of drinks to their table. Faye was quite adept at observing and imitating people, and Spike was smashed enough to enjoy her antics. The Glowing Sun attracted a rough crowd, and had Faye been there alone or with anyone else other than Spike, her behavior would not have been tolerated. But everyone in this neighborhood knew who Spike was and what he did. Luckily for Faye, no one who valued life wanted to be caught on his bad side.

After the two of them had finished the sixth round of drinks, it was like old times, where both tried to be more sarcastically witty than the other. It was a drinking game that they had often played on the ship, after Jet had retired to his room and Ed was crashed out somewhere within the ship, using Ein as her pillow. Faye's words had started to slur two or three drinks ago, even though she had insisted that he was more smashed than her. Finally, Spike finished off his last glass and stood up, holding on to the edge of the table.

"Come on," he said, pulling on her arm. "Time to go."

"Hold your horses," she snapped. "I'm not finished yet."

"I think you are," he said teasingly. "Drink up and let's go."

Faye polished off her glass then she tried to stand, holding on to both the table and Spike.

"You alright? You look a little pale."

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not alright. I am plastered," she said, eyeing the empty glass with sudden loathing, "and if I don't get some fresh air in about ten seconds, I'm going to throw up in your lap."

Spike grinned. Faye thought he looked a little amused or worried, or maybe a little of both. "I wouldn't really throw up on you, you know," she protested as he put his hand under her arm to help her stand. She rose to her feet.

"Where're we going?"

"Home."

* * *

Spike pulled out a ring of keys from his jacket and unlocked the door to the apartment. He stood aside and wordlessly beckoned for Faye to step inside. He locked the door behind them and led Faye into the kitchen, just to the right of the apartment entrance. He set the keys down on the kitchen table and draped his jacket over one of the chairs.

"I'm going to go take a shower," he told her as he headed down the hallway to the bathroom. Midway to his destination, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Don't go nosing around, Faye. I'll be right back." He disappeared down the hall.

Faye stuck out her tongue at him, and then giggled to herself at her own childishness.

Hmmph, still thinks he's mister high and mighty. But … when someone tells you not to do something…

She walked into the living room and wrinkled her nose in distaste as she looked around. The walls were the washed-out hue of a sky just before the rain and were completely bare except for a light switch that controlled the overhead light. A worn brown sofa sat in the middle of the room with an armchair beside it and a coffee table in front, containing a disgustingly full ashtray and a dog-eared paperback lying open and face down.

Definitely a guy's place, she thought.

She wondered if she were the first female to set foot inside of Spike's apartment. The possibility that Spike would allow any other woman access to his private domain bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

Faye thought she knew him better than any other woman, except maybe for Julia who was no longer around, so she didn't really count. When they had been shipmates, he'd been comfortable enough around her to lounge about wearing those tacky orange boxers, and she had discovered a few other disgusting habits of his when she'd lived with him.

She picked up the book to see the title: Walking on the Moon. She recalled seeing him reading that book once on the Bebop. As she thought about it, she had never actually seen him read the book; he would use it to cover his face and spy on her while pretending to be asleep. So maybe he does know how to read, she thought maliciously. She switched the pages around and placed the book back on the coffee table, smiling to herself.

She wandered restlessly into the kitchen. She could see evidence of takeout on the countertop, where several plastic forks and chopsticks were lined up neatly. The chopsticks reminded her that she hadn't eaten since leaving the ship that morning, and she debated on whether to take a peek inside the refrigerator. Spike liked long showers almost as much as she did, so she figured that she'd have plenty of time to check out the goods without getting caught.

As she moved to open the refrigerator door, she felt a warm breath caressing her neck and she squeaked in surprise. She whirled around to find Spike standing behind her with his hands in his pockets and a stupid grin on his face.

"Why you--" she savagely poked his chest with her finger. "What the hell was that, Spike?"

"Just wanted to see if you still had it."

"Had what?" She clamped her hands on her hips and stomped her feet in exasperation, glaring up at him.

He watched her, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "That," he said. "The fire in those green eyes." He pulled a hand out of his pocket to touch her cheek.

She stared up at him, wondering if this was the same Spike who had once inhabited the Bebop. Back then, he would never been so direct, especially with her. This Spike was a handsome stranger who was flirting with her and she felt awkward around him. The Spike she knew was a masochistic bastard who liked playing head games with her to see her squirm. She was tempted to punch him, but she controlled the urge; she wasn't ready to unleash her anger on him yet; she was still too relieved to find him alive.

And if she didn't know better, she'd say that he was glad to see her too.

"God, what a dump, Spike," she said, looking for a way to mask her discomfort. "Couldn't you afford anything better than this?"

He shrugged. "Why? I only sleep here."

Faye snorted. "Well, it's the one thing you're good at."

"Don't you want to find out what else I'm good at?" he asked seductively, leaning into her.

She took a couple of steps away from him.

"Don't flatter yourself," she scoffed as she strolled back into the living room. She kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the sofa, stretching her legs out.

Spike followed her, looking slightly perturbed as he watched her get comfortable. "That's my seat," he grumbled, slumping down in the armchair.

"Deal with it," she told him. "You know, I did a lot of walking around looking for you." She wriggled her bare toes in relief. "The streets of Tharsis are murder on a woman's feet."

Her stomach grumbled and she sat up, twisting towards him. "Spiiike … "

Spike made an exaggerated show of trying to get comfortable, stretching his long legs across the coffee table and crossing his arms across his chest before slowing shifting his gaze up to her face.

"What kind of host are you?" Faye asked coyly. "I'm a guest and I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

Faye batted her eyes at him. He grinned in spite of himself.

"Tell you what, because you're so hungry and I'm such a considerate host and all, and since you came all the way down to Mars just to find me --"

Faye interrupted him. "Are you going to feed me or what?"

"Hmmm …" Spike tapped a finger against his chin as he pretended to think about it.

She growled at him.

He finally answered her. "I know a Thai place that delivers." He took out his communicator and punched in a code for the restaurant.

Faye snickered. "Either your memory got sharper since your return from death or you don't cook much."

He scowled at her and turned back to the comm. "Yo, Soo-Ling. Yeah, the usual, but make it for two. How long? Right." A few brief words later, he ended the call, then stood up slowly and turned to Faye.

"Want a drink?"

She lit up. "Do you even have to ask?"

"Guess not." Spike walked into the kitchen and took a couple of glasses from the overhead cabinet, then pulled out a bottle of lao chu from the fridge.

"I'm not going to serve you," he called to her.

"That would be too much to ask," Faye muttered. She got up from the sofa and padded barefoot into the kitchen, reaching for the empty glass.

"Yeah, it would."

She clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes at him.

He threw up his hands in mock defeat. "Hey, I'm just saying."

"Don't you have anything stronger than this?"

Spike reached into the cupboard under the cabinet and pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey. "Almost forgot about this," he said as he twisted off the cap. "One of the perks of the job."

He handed her the bottle and she poured herself a generous amount, then grabbed both her glass and the bottle to the table, Spike following behind her.

"You never did say what your job was, Spike."

He looked at her. "You're right, I didn't." He downed the contents of his glass and slid it towards her. "Fill it up?"

She reached to steady the glass, suppressing a shiver as their fingers touched. She filled the glass to the brim and slid it back to him, looking at him as she did so.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked with a smirk.

Faye finished off her own glass, closing her eyes momentarily as the liquid hit her stomach. She set the glass back down and gazed at him mischievously.

"Do you want it to be?" she shot back.

Spike picked up the glass and drained it in one gulp without a grimace. He pushed the glass back to her for another refill, flashing his seductive smile. Faye sniffed haughtily as she poured more alcohol into his glass. A beep from Spike's communicator sounded and he picked up to listen, then disconnected.

"Food's here." He finished off his drink in one gulp. "Spike 3, Faye 2," he said with a smile. "Be right back." He grabbed his keys from the table and left to meet the delivery kid.

Faye scowled. She could cheat and tell him that they were now even, but somehow that lunkhead would know. She refilled her glass. It wouldn't matter; she was much better at holding her liquor than him, anyway.

Too Many Secrets 4/?

Reunion

Spike stepped inside the Glowing Sun and surveyed his surroundings. He picked up an occasional word amidst the buzz of conversation, the click of a cue ball hitting the pocket on the pool table. As he ambled further in, his cybernetic eye easily detected the regulars scattered around the smoke-filled, dimly lit lounge. He caught sight of the waitress Grace moving efficiently and effortlessly through the room taking bar orders. The band, apparently between sets, was seated at one of the round tables in front of the stage, with a pitcher of beer and several overflowing ashtrays.

He looked over at the bar and hesitated when he spotted Faye chatting up the bartender. He couldn't say that he was surprised to see her; the word on the street was that someone had been inquiring into his whereabouts, and he had figured that it was either Faye or Jet, since everyone else he knew was dead. Well, except for Doohan, who only found out that he was alive when Spike had contacted him to look after the Swordfish for awhile. His current line of work required stealth and his ship would be too conspicuous in the places he needed to go. And besides, he didn't have any desire to go planet-hopping these days.

Still, Faye's presence in his territory was a little unnerving, like an expunged memory that had leaked, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. Later he would have to hit up Ronald to find out what he and Faye had talked about. But for now he had to deal with her, and he was not looking forward to the meeting. She would probably deck him first, and then ream him out for not contacting her and Jet. He took a deep breath and slid his hands in his pockets before walking over to where she sat.

"Is this seat taken?"

As he waited for Faye to acknowledge him, he quickly took in her appearance. Her hair, which had grown considerably since that last day on the Bebop, was tied back into a long, thick ponytail. The black dress she was wearing was more conservative than her usual attire; it fit her snugly, showing off her tiny waist, the swell of her hips, and more than a little cleavage. Faye was a beautiful woman with a stunning figure, and he'd be lying if he said that he had never noticed. On quite a few occasions he had found himself sneaking a peek as she walked by; if she had ever caught him, he would be dead now for sure.

Faye swiveled in her seat at the sound of his voice, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. If she was shocked to see him, she was doing a damned good job of hiding it.

"So," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "You are alive."

"And kicking." He sat down on the stool next to her.

Faye looked around for Ronald and beckoned to him.

"I found him," she gushed when he came over. "He and I have so much to catch up on – do you think you could find us a table where we can talk privately?" she batted her eyes innocently.

Ronald beamed. "Sure thing, miss - Faye. Right this way."

Spike stifled his own grin as he witnessed Faye in action. She always did have a way of getting what she wanted.

Faye picked up her drink and followed the bartender, Spike trailing behind as they were guided to a table tucked away in a corner of the bar. Spike decided to be a gentleman and hold the chair for Faye. She glanced up at him and murmured something before sitting down. A look passed between the two men before Spike sat down opposite Faye, waiting for her to make a move.

"Thank you, Ronald." Faye flashed a brilliant smile at the young man, who blushed before returning to his station.

"Could you be a little more obvious …" Spike mumbled in disgust as he watched her performance.

As soon as the bartender was out of sight, Faye turned to him. "What's the matter, jealous?" she asked sweetly, turning her smile up a notch for his benefit.

He snorted. "Yeah, in your dreams …" He picked up her glass and took a sniff. "What are you drinking?"

"Hey!" Faye protested. "That's mine." She moved to snatch her drink from his hand, but Spike stopped her, clamping his free hand over hers.

"Aren't we supposed to be … close?" Spike drawled, looking down teasingly as she glared up at him. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking her hand with it, and took a swallow before setting it back down, still holding on to her hand. The warmth from her hand seeped into his skin and he marveled momentarily at how small and fragile her hand seemed compared to his. She slid her hand out from under his and leaned back, watching him with an inscrutable expression in her green eyes.

Spike resisted the urge to fidget under her gaze; instead he picked up her glass again and drained the contents, then reached in his pocket for his cigarettes and Zippo. He shook one out then wordlessly offered her one, but she shook her head. He lit up and inhaled once before finally returning her gaze.

"So, how have you been, Faye?" he asked absently. Her calmness was disconcerting and he wondered just how long it would take to spur her to anger.

She ignored his question and gestured to the waitress, who came over immediately.

"Two whiskeys on the rocks. Put them on his tab," she said tersely, inclining her head toward Spike. Her eyes never left his face.

Grace looked at Spike, who nodded his assent, then she disappeared to fill the order.

"We've been fine," she said, her gaze on his face steady and unwavering. "Jet and I work as a team now, and we've been doing quite well, in case you were wondering." She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and turned away to watch the band, who had returned to the stage to start a new set.

They waited in silence for Grace to return with their drinks. As the slow, smoky jazz filled the room, Faye seemed to lose herself in the music, a wistful expression washing over her face. Spike took the opportunity to study her profile. Except for the longer hair, she looked the same. He wondered what she was thinking about that would make her look so sad. Had it really been that long since he'd left them?

For him, the days and hours flowed endlessly from one job to the next. Mars was the place to be for syndicate activity, and when one syndicate disappeared, others moved in; meaning less competition for those that remained. Spike was good at what he did, the best, he told himself, and being the best meant there was no shortage of jobs waiting for him. He was an independent, and he made it abundantly clear to any prospective client that he wanted to keep it that way – no ties to any person or organization. He had had his fill of that.

But, sitting here, watching Faye as she moved her head to the music, catching a trace of the scent from her hair as it swayed, evoked in him a sense of something that he could not identify. He looked down at the hand that had held hers, and impulsively he lifted it to his nose to sniff. His hand smelled like her. He shook his head to clear away the fog that he was being drawn into. These were dangerous thoughts and he needed to get a grip. He pulled on his cigarette so deeply that it burned his throat, and exhaled a series of smoke rings into the air above their table. When he looked back at Faye, her eyes were already on his face, watching him.

"So-" he smirked, intending to ease his discomfort by teasing her.

"When are you coming back to the ship, Spike?" she interrupted, swirling the contents of her drink.

Spike's grin faded and he looked away. "I'm not."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Why not?"

He took a swig from his glass and glanced at her before answering. "I've closed the book on that part of my life, Faye, and that includes my time on the ship."

He didn't tell her that it had taken him eight months of vacillation and doubt before finally deciding not to go back; that decision had been his alone to make. After all, he was an all-or-nothing kind of guy.

Faye was silent, but kept a steady gaze on his face.

"Look, Faye," he said, his return glaze unflinching, "No offense, but I didn't exactly need approval from you or Jet."

Faye's gaze had not wavered. "So, just like that, you're giving us up?"

Spike leaned into her face, a mocking smile on his lips. "Last time I saw you, your hearing was pretty sharp." He leaned closer, a long thin finger reaching for her ear. "Has something happened that I should know about?"

She scowled and swatted his hand away. He leaned back in the chair, satisfied that finally he had gotten under her skin.

"How have you been supporting yourself?"

"I make do."

"Doing what." She demanded.

"I had a life before bounty hunting, you know."

"Doing what?" she repeated, glaring at him.

He turned an impassive gaze on her as his eyes slowly scanned her face. "The Red Dragons may be gone, but others are still around." He leaned down until his eyes were level with hers. "I heard that you were asking around about me."

Faye inched away but said nothing as she searched his face.

"When I walked in here earlier," he said coolly, "I could have killed you where you sat, and no one would have said a word." Her face faltered. "So, why don't you just run along back to the ship before you get into any trouble?"

"You're - just like – you really have turned into Vicious, haven't you?" she whispered.

He ignored the barb and smiled cruelly. "You think so?"

She was quiet, concentrating on her drink. Spike could tell that she was trying to think her way out of the situation. He had worked with her long enough to know how she operated. In fact, watching her, he could almost guess what her next move would be.

Sure enough, Faye's demeanor changed subtly. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, her green eyes glittering as she looked into his face. Even knowing what she was up to, his heart skipped a beat at the look she gave him.

"So, aren't you going to show me where you live?"

He rolled his eyes at her, and turned back to his drink.

Too Many Secrets 3/?

Lost and Found

The persistent beep from the vidscreen alerted her that a message was waiting. Faye roused herself from her nap, stretching her legs and yawning loudly.

"Jet!" she yelled, hoping he'd hear her calling so that she would not have to get up to answer it. When he didn't respond, she huffed and pushed herself up from the couch. She reached over to the vidscreen and pressed the key to display the message.

29-Jul-72 15:00:4:51 incoming message

Response re inquiry 5584993.33:00
Indicator sole survivor of Dragon coup
Name: Spiegel S
Sex: M
Height: 6'1
D.O.B.: 44-Jun-26
OFFICIAL STATUS: K.I.A. December 8, 2071
UNOFFICIAL STATUS:
Possible sighting Mars Tharsis sector 48 Glowing Sun Lounge
Criminal activity reported in sector 48
Extreme caution advised

"What the- " Faye scrolled back up to the beginning of the message. Then it dawned on her. This was a response to an inquiry that she had made a few months back, after the destruction of the Red Dragon's headquarters. She jumped up from the couch and rushed to the bonsai room to tell Jet.

"Jet!" Faye opened the door to the room but Jet wasn't there. She returned to the common room, and it was then that she noticed the slip of paper on top of her cigarette pack. She picked it up:

Gone out. Back later. Don't wait up.

She fished out a cigarette from the pack and lit it, exhaling in frustration and impatience. There was no telling how long it would be before Jet got back, and she really wanted to check out this place, since this type of intel usually had a small window of opportunity. She considered trying to reach him on his communicator but changed her mind. Grumbling, she snatched up her cigarettes and headed to her room to change.

Faye swung open the door to her closet and pulled out several outfits. She put the red one back, too slutty. She didn't want to cause suspicion and she had learned a hard lesson once upon a time at the opera. She decided that the not-so-innocent look would work best. Hmmm, this one should do, she thought and pulled out the dress she had in mind. She slipped into a low-cut black dress, form-fitting to accentuate her figure, and chose a pair of black stilettos to complete her ensemble. Her hair, which had grown out since Spike left, she now tied back with a black ribbon, then draped her red sweater across her shoulders. The red sweater was indispensable to the ensemble; she needed somewhere to put her Glock and the dress was just too short to hide a gun.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she adjusted herself until she was satisfied with the results. Then, just a touch of makeup, not too much lipstick, and she was ready. With a flick of her ponytail, she turned and left the room. On her way to the hangar, she paused, went back to the common to scribble a note beneath Jet's, then headed out to fire up the Red Tail.

* * *

Faye squinted to read the faded name on the building: Glowing Sun Lounge. This was the place. She adjusted the front of her dress to display a little more skin. She pulled open the door, surreptitiously eyeing the clientele as she walked in, feeling eyes following her every step. She smiled and made sure to put a little extra sway to her hips as she walked over to the bar and sat down at one of the empty stools.

At the front of the lounge was a small stage area where a quartet played jazz. The bartender was delivering drinks to a customer at the other end of the bar. Faye crossed her legs and waited for him to notice her. When he did, he headed down to her.

"What'll it be, miss?" he asked politely, his eyes meeting hers.

Faye gave him her order along with a sad smile. "The name's Faye," she said. "Whiskey, two cubes."

"Okay … Faye, whiskey on the rocks coming up." He served her quickly, and left to tend to his other customers.

Faye sipped on her drink as she listened to the music. The saxophone reminded her of another time and place that seemed like so long ago, sitting in place much like this one, listening to sad tunes and feeling sorry for herself. . But it was too sad to remember and she did not have time to dwell on that right now. She downed her drink and motioned to the bartender. He acknowledged her and finished with his customer before heading over to her.

"Excuse me … Ronald," she said sweetly, leaning forward, accentuating her ample cleavage as she read the bartender's nametag. She suppressed a smirk as she watched his eyes sweep down then swiftly back up to her face. She pulled out a picture from her red sweater.

"Do you know him?" she asked. "I've been looking everywhere for him."

Ronald's eyes widened as he examined the picture. "Uh … "

"It's alright," Faye told him as she took the picture out of his hand. "I can see that you do." She sat back and took a dainty sip from her glass. "Everybody thinks that he is such an animal, but …" her eyes swept up to his face and she whispered, "I like him just the way he is, if you know what I mean."

Ronald blushed. Faye smiled and ordered another drink.

* * *

Out of the blue, the door to the lounge swung open and in walked Spike himself.

Too Many Secrets 2/?

A Little Bit of Sympathy

Spike slouched on the rickety chair in his kitchen, restlessly drumming his fingers on the worn and shabby table. He looked down at the linoleum floor, adorned with dirty smudges from the constant traffic of his feet as he moved in and out of the room to eat, smoke, or drink. He supposed he should clean it one day. Today was not going to be that day. The walls of the kitchen were peppered with cooking stains from the previous tenant, and the landlord had not bothered to paint when he moved four months ago. Hell, he’d be willing to bet that the place hadn’t been painted in years.

Not that he really cared either way. The apartment came furnished with a couch and television in the living room, had a pantry large enough to store food and weapons, and a small bedroom that he hardly ever slept in. He used the place to clean his guns and to sleep on the couch after a job. And the price was right.

Most of the time, he would head down to the Glowing Sun for eat a meal, drink booze, and maybe play a game or two of pool before coming home to sleep.

As he thought about it, he realized he was hungry, but he was too lazy to go back out. He stood up to stretch the stiffness from his legs, and trudged over to the refrigerator to find something to eat. He looked inside, knowing already what he would find: not much, since he disliked shopping for food. Anyway, he wasn’t much of a cook – that had been Jet’s job.

I guess it’s instant noodles with cheese, he sighed, taking out a block of cheese. At times like this he would have settled for some of Jet’s bell peppers even without beef, but since he had detached himself from his past life on the old fishing trawler, it was not an option.

He examined the cheese closely, wondering how long it had been in the fridge, but, finding no hints of green, concluded that it was safe to eat. He broke off a chunk and popped it in his mouth, chewing on it while he retrieved a container of instant noodles from the pantry. He pulled the cord on the noodle container and peeled off the top, watching as the noodles hissed to life. He broke off another piece of cheese and dumped it into the hot container, watching the cheese melt into the noodles. He fished his chopsticks from the kitchen sink and scooped into the container, slurping down the contents. Not exactly a gourmet meal, but at least he was no longer hungry.

Afterwards, he leaned back against the chair, being careful not to lean too heavily. When he had first moved in, he’d learned the hard way, on the back of his head, how unsteady the chair was. He rubbed his head absently as he remembered, and ruefully thought about his yellow couch on the Bebop, and how much more comfortable it would have been to this chair. He frowned as he realized how often he had been thinking about them lately. He wondered how well they were getting on without him, if they missed him. The feeling was hauntingly familiar, this dull ache in his chest.

He hated the fact that he missed them.

Too Many Secrets

Telling Secrets

The control deck was dark as Jet and Faye looked out over the desert surface of Mars. The ship was still nonfunctional after the syndicate attack, and Jet had yet to start the repairs. Faye suspected that he was delaying, waiting for Spike to return, although they both knew better.

She could feel Jet’s eyes upon her as he spoke, and she hated that he was feeling sorry for her, but she could not bring herself to snap at him. It wouldn’t change anything, Spike would still be gone. As the thought ran through her mind, she could feel the tears welling up as her throat threatened to close even more than it already was.

Damnit Spike!

She wondered absently where Ed was. She really hoped that she had found her father; then at least one of them would be happy.

You should find where you belong, Edward. Belonging is the very best thing.

Why did she tell her that? She wanted Edward here with them, not somewhere on earth looking for her father. Hell, she even missed the damned dog.

The rustling of paper brought her back to the present and she looked up slightly to see Jet trying to read the small print on the spec sheet for the parts. He needs to get some glasses to read that, she thought. She knew that there were specs for old people on the market, maybe those could work for Jet, even though he wasn’t really that old. Jet would never admit that he couldn’t see the words; he would get Spike to read the stuff, pretending to be laying the parts out and that two heads were better than one …

Spike had said that one day someone would come after him. He probably wouldn’t have remembered saying anything – it was after his nearly fatal fall from the cathedral window. He had been thrashing in his sleep and was mumbling nonsense, but that part she had heard as clear as day. At the time she had dismissed it, but later, months later, when she recalled the look on his face when he had walked into the cathedral -- absolutely calm and cold -- she knew that there was more to him than the happy-go-lucky idiot that she loved to hate.

“What was that?” Jet asked her.

Faye paused. She hadn’t realized that she had spoken aloud. “He said something strange when he left.”

“What?” Jet looked at her in surprise.

“He told me that somebody was after him. He said . . .” She swallowed. She wasn’t used to talking so candidly to Jet, but this time … “He said someone had to die and that they’d come for him if he didn’t go. That’s what he said.”

“That idiot,” Jet grumbled. “Sounds just like that self-righteous lunkhead.”

“Why didn’t he ask for our help?” Faye asked softly. “He didn’t have to go it alone.”

Jet sighed. “Faye, I guess we’ll never know for sure.” He gazed at her intently. “Would you really have gone if he had asked?”

Yes.

But this time Faye could only look at him, not able to speak aloud. She couldn't -- it hurt too much. She silently turned away from him to continue staring out at the stars.

In This Place

Faye scanned the room searching for signs of movement. Jet was nowhere in sight, so she figured he was in the bonsai room, his sanctuary for when the stress of boredom became intolerable, or when he was trying to avoid her. The Swordfish was in the hangar, which meant that Spike was somewhere around, and since all he ever liked to do was to sleep, she knew that she could find him in his usual spot.

Faye could see the large feet hanging over the edge of the couch, and she moved forward stealthily. The ship's engines shifted in response to a pre-programmed command to adjust course, and she froze when the unexpected groan of gears reached her ears. Praying that Spike would not wake up, she stole a glance at his face, watching his eyes for signs of movement. Sure enough, the tell-tale signs of dreaming were evident as she watched the way his eyelids fluttered. She sighed in relief and crept closer, crouching down to look into his face.

More times than she cared to admit, she watched him while he slept. Sometimes she did it to reassure herself that he was still breathing when he was recovering from serious injuries. Other times, it was simply because she liked looking at him, fascinated by the range of emotions that would surface. She knew every phase that played out upon his face.

There was his semi-conscious phase, one ear hearing every word spoken around him, while the other listened to whatever was going on in his own warped brain. Those were the times when his eyes would be appear closed, save for a thin sliver of an opening beneath the lids, and he'd mumble incoherently to her or Jet, a half-truthful, somewhat wistful and completely inaccurate version of what he thought he heard. Those were the times when Faye wanted to pull him into her arms to stroke the sadness away.

During his sneaky-fake-sleep phase, Spike listened to everything going on in the room, storing up tidbits of information to be later used as bribery for a few woolongs or to annoy the hell out of her. He thought he was quite masterful at feigning sleep, and anyone watching him would never even be able to tell. Except for her, that is. Because only she knew that during his fake-sleep phase, his eyelids would flutter just like he was in REM sleep mode. But she had figured out that Spike's cybernetic eye would flutter out of sync with his natural eye, something that happened only when he was conscious.

Then there was his ignore-Faye-fake-sleep phase, when he would lie on the couch with his eyes closed and his arm draped across his eyes, and pretend to be asleep, knowing that she knew he faking, just to annoy her. If she wanted something from him, whether an answer to a question or a cigarette from his pack, he would launch into the phase, complete with snoring sound effects. During those times, she tried her damndest not to let him provoke her into blowing up and throwing a shoe or an ashtray at him.

Sometimes it worked.

Faye inched closer to his sleeping form, watching for signs of activity. Her hand hovered near his face, then reached over to trace a finger over his cheek, marveling at the feel of the silky stubble against her fingertip. "You would kill me for doing this if you were awake, wouldn't you?" she whispered, so sure of her knowledge of his sleep phases that she knew he wouldn't answer him. She talked to him about some of her recently returned memories, and of one in particular, a memory of a rainy Saturday morning, lying on the floor of her bedroom listening to the radio. She told him about how much she had loved to dance, and when one of her favorite songs had queued on the radio, how she had spontaneously grabbed one of her teddy bears to be her dancing partner, the two of them whirling around the room, until the song ended, and they had collapsed to the floor in giddy exhaustion.

***

His eyelids fluttered as Faye's voice wafted through to his unconsciousness. He focused on her voice, trying to make sense of the words, sliding his eyes open to watch her. He was sure she didn't know that he was awake, completely lost as she was in her story. The last time, she had told her story to the dog, so apparently she liked relating memories to inanimate objects. He guessed he could count himself in that category.

"… and that was the last time I was ever in my room," she whispered as she watched the fan above her. "The last time I ever hugged my Velvet bunny, the last time I ever saw my home. 'Cause the next day was my long awaited trip into space."

Faye sighed and looked down at Spike, gasping when she realized that his eyes were open.

Their gazes locked.

He watched her with an inscrutable expression, but he remained silent.

"You're awake," she muttered, looking away. She wasn't embarrassed really, she told herself; just annoyed that now he had more ammunition to torture her with. "Did you hear the whole thing?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat. It was completely irrational for her to think that he could ever understand anything about her. He had never asked her anything about her life, and he had never volunteered anything about his.

She leaned against the couch to rise from the floor, but he caught her chin in his fingers and tilted her face toward his.

She gasped as he forced her to look at him. She found herself mesmerized by his eyes as the cybernetic eye fluctuated in varying shades of burnished umber and rust, and she exhaled when a sense of calm overcame her.

Spike leaned in to brush his lips over hers, a whisper of a touch. Her heart pounded in her ears as the unfamiliar pleasure of his caress flooded her mind. He leaned back and looked at her.

"Feeling better now?" he asked, his trademark smirk gracing his lips.