CB: Solitude, -III-

    In the morning, Spike bandaged much less mummy-like than normal, I am surprised to find him sleeping alone on the couch. After my resolution to leave the two of them to whatever devices they each had, I was surprised to find she had abandoned him.

    “Spike.”

    He groans and tries to turn over, but instantly regrets it.

    “Spike,” I repeat, a little louder.

    A mumbled, “What?” greets my query and he sits up a little.

    “Where is she?”

    “She who?” he asks, running a hand through his hair and picking up a cigarette.

    “Faye. You remember, the woman who dragged you in here?”

    He drops his lighter and looks up at me, something in his empty eyes not so empty anymore. It seems, instead, scared. “You mean she isn’t here?”

    I shake my head, folding my arms, and stare at him.

    He leans forward, one hand on his forehead, and slowly lifts the other to his chest, as though remembering something. Then, as though his mind has suddenly fired with the power of a thousand nerve endings at once, he leaps up off the couch and starts to move past me towards the hangar.

    “You didn’t come back in a ship, Spike,” I say, reaching one arm out to catch him as he stumbles and nearly goes crashing into something.

    “Let go,” he says loudly as he struggles to get away.

    “Why? So you can steal the Hammerhead and head off after her? Where would she go, Spike?”

    Anxiously, he struggles, but I maintain a firm grip on him.

    “She has nowhere else to go but here. She’ll be back.” I haven’t seen such determination in him since he ran off to kill… Vicious, yes, it was Vicious he went after. “And even if you were going after her, you’re not healthy enough to make it very far yet. Whatever’s pressing and urgent that you need to get to Faye for, you can’t do it if you’re passed out. You’re only human, Spike.”