(no subject)
Faye's not sure what it is that keeps her up at night, but her mind starts wandering every time she tries to get to sleep.
She's been here six months now, and it's almost harder to sleep now than it was when she first got here. And back then, she even spent a few nights in one of those uncomfortable booths downstairs.
Someone really should tell the management just how uncomfortable those things are.
When she crawls onto her bed in the dark of night -- sometimes not even bothering to get under the sheets -- she can close her eyes and see all kinds of things she'd rather not.
And sometimes even when she keeps them open.
(A bandaged Spike asking if she'd go to his rescue if his little meeting with that creepy assassin guy was the one he wasn't going to come back from.)
(The stony face and narrowed eyes of Jet as he grips the collar of her shirt and says Spike was nothing but trouble and he doesn't give a damn.)
(That barely noticeable difference in the color of Spike's eyes, his face just a breath away from hers.)
(Spike again, his back to her, walking away despite everything.)
(Spike's lanky figure folded onto a bar stool, his back toward her again, the first time she saw him here.)
(Gren, his dark hair framing his face, his teary eyes so blue she can hardly stand it.)
(Gren's hands holding that old photograph of Vicious that he found in his saxophone case.)
(The door disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared right after Spike walked through it with Beth.)
(Gren and Spike sitting at the bar on either side of an obviously pregnant Beth.)
She rolls onto her side, dark hair falling into her face and veiling her still-open eyes.
Faye doesn't know what it is that's keeping her up at night. All she knows is it has nothing to do with any of the men in her life.
She's been here six months now, and it's almost harder to sleep now than it was when she first got here. And back then, she even spent a few nights in one of those uncomfortable booths downstairs.
Someone really should tell the management just how uncomfortable those things are.
When she crawls onto her bed in the dark of night -- sometimes not even bothering to get under the sheets -- she can close her eyes and see all kinds of things she'd rather not.
And sometimes even when she keeps them open.
(A bandaged Spike asking if she'd go to his rescue if his little meeting with that creepy assassin guy was the one he wasn't going to come back from.)
(The stony face and narrowed eyes of Jet as he grips the collar of her shirt and says Spike was nothing but trouble and he doesn't give a damn.)
(That barely noticeable difference in the color of Spike's eyes, his face just a breath away from hers.)
(Spike again, his back to her, walking away despite everything.)
(Spike's lanky figure folded onto a bar stool, his back toward her again, the first time she saw him here.)
(Gren, his dark hair framing his face, his teary eyes so blue she can hardly stand it.)
(Gren's hands holding that old photograph of Vicious that he found in his saxophone case.)
(The door disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared right after Spike walked through it with Beth.)
(Gren and Spike sitting at the bar on either side of an obviously pregnant Beth.)
She rolls onto her side, dark hair falling into her face and veiling her still-open eyes.
Faye doesn't know what it is that's keeping her up at night. All she knows is it has nothing to do with any of the men in her life.