Chapter 9: If You Called My Name Out Loud
If we were walking down a dead end street
Would you be the one to let our eyes meet?
Or would you keep on walking down to the turnaround
Cause you know I'd be proud
If you called my name out loud
"So come on. You have to admit I came through tonight," Faye slurred, hanging upside down from the bed. Spike was only mildly better off, and was slumped lazily against the mini-bar, over turned shot glasses surrounding him like wounded soldiers.
"Yeah, you did. So that brings us to...let's see," he leaned his head back, heavy with the burden of thinking. "Faye one, Spike 6 billion."
Faye made an exaggerated huffing sound that hung in the air a little longer than it should have. "You know..." she grumbled. "You really chap my ass sometimes. It's a good thing you're cute or I would have ditched you on the side of the road long ago."
Spike seemed amused by this sudden declaration. "I'm cute?"
"Yeeaaaahhh," Faye rolled over so she was on her stomach, too loaded to be embarrassed. "But in an ugly way. It's hard to explain."
"Whoa, whoa," Spike laughed. "So am I a cute ugly person or an ugly cute person?"
Faye scrunched her face up as if in deep thought before coming up with, "I dunno. You're just...oddly pleasurable."
Spike nodded, thinking that oddly pleasurable wasn't so bad. "You shouldn't be telling me this," he said. "I'm only going to use it against you later."
"Naaaah," Faye dismissed him, standing up suddenly on shaky legs. She took a moment to steady herself before saying, "I have nothing to fear from you, Spike Spiegel."
"And why is that?"
"Because..." she drew the word out with a sad, knowing sort of smile. "I have nothing you want." She winked at him in a friendly sort of way and then made her way to the bathroom. Only a few minutes passed before Spike heard her puking.
"You all right, tiger?" he asked her, knocking on the door.
"Yeah," she groaned. "I'm fine. I'm a god damned trooper."
Spike chuckled softly before stumbling over to the pull out couch. Pulling out the couch proved to be a total impossibility. He attempted to yank out something...he didn't know what part of the couch it actually was, and it snapped clean off. He landed on the floor with a stunned expression, holding a bit of upholstered something or other. Oh well. He'd tape it on tomorrow. Maybe Faye had spare couch parts in that magic purse of hers. He stood up and tried again and this time found himself getting his foot caught in the crack of the couch, which would have been painful had he been sober. He wrestled with that for a few minutes, then decided to screw it and sleep on it as is. Why did he always end up sleeping on the couch? There had to be something meaningful about that but he couldn't think of it, so he plopped back down and lay staring at the ceiling. The door opened and Faye came trudging weakly out of it, flopping on the master bed. "I want to not be drunk now," she grumbled.
"Put one foot on the floor," he suggested. "It helps the spinning for some reason."
He heard a very ungraceful thump, which seemed to indicate she followed his advice. "Hey," she said, pleasantly surprised. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
"I mean...I mean for everything."
Spike smiled though she couldn't see it in the darkened room. "Don't mention it," he repeated. "Good night, Faye." But she was already snoring.