One More Look at the Ghost [MorningStar!] [M]

[Rhindeer]

"Uh, it does?" Fang managed to get out before Spike was ushering them along again, up the stairs without a moment's hesitation. Perfect? Perfect how? And that smile! Oh no, he hadn't gotten the wrong idea, had he? Had she done it again?

Into the room they went. It was tiny, and of course there was only one bed—because that was about all that would fit. Oh goddess, well, this was 100% on her. She'd offered—insisted, in fact!—and now she was reaping the awkward consequences. It all made sense now. The arm around her shoulders, his sudden eagerness when before he'd been hesitant—but hadn't he said it was too soon, too?! 

Where had the communication broken down this time? What had she said? It would be rude to kick him out now after offering him shelter and making such a big deal about him sleeping outside. Ahh!

Hold on. Calm down, this was an easy fix!

As soon as they were inside, she ducked out of his arm and took several steps back until her knees hit the bed's edge—and then blushed harder. 

"I'll take the floor!" she quickly announced. "You can have the bed."

[MorningStar]

He couldn't help but smile a little. Were all Thanati women this strange? Or just Fang?

While he wasn't exactly ordinary himself, and he was more vessel than human emotion, her sudden nerves and embarrassment were not lost on him. His mention of her fever earlier now made him feel silly, as he now understood she was merely blushing. Understanding the potential implications of a man and a woman sharing a bedroom, he sought to diffuse the tension.

"No thanks," he gently declined, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. He settled onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed, stretching out comfortably. "I'll take the floor. You, bed," he gestured with a playful wave of his finger, suggesting she claim the bed for herself.

[Rhindeer]

Oh thank the goddess! He understood and wasn't weird about it, either! It must been a misunderstanding. Maybe she was reading into things that weren't even there!

Feeling silly in addition to embarrassed now, she sagged with relief. "Oh...okay. If you're sure? I'm really okay sleeping on the floor! I dragged you here, after all. Um, I guess just...let me know if you change your mind?"

Secretly, though, she was grateful—because she was lying. She couldn't recall a time she'd slept anywhere but in a bed. Watching Spike get settled on the floor, proving himself a gentleman, she unbuckled her belt and sword and propped both beside the bed near her bag. Next came her headscarf, which she used to wipe the dried mud off her knees as she sat on the bed's edge, sighing at how soft the mattress felt beneath her. It was a horrible mattress, really, lumpy and too soft, but her body appreciated it nonetheless after the long day. Goddess she was tired, and she hadn't realized just how exhausted she was until she was off her feet.

Fang kicked her sandals off, tossed the scarf into her bag, and curled her legs beneath her as she began to fuss with her hair, weaving it into a messy braid. It was partially for practicality's sake; she had a lot of hair and would wake up with a matted mess if she slept with it unbound. But it also kept her jittery hands busy.

Because while one problem had been solved, they were still sleeping in the same room. Call her sheltered, having lived cloistered away in holy servitude for most of her life, but she had never been alone with a man like this—never mind a former assassin she had only met that day!

"Sooo..." she said as she worked, eager to break the silence. "What made you give it up? Your old life, I mean."

[MorningStar]

Spike's smile widened as he heard Fang settling onto the bed. Offering her that small comfort meant a lot to him, considering all she had done and still had ahead.

In that moment, a sense of comfort and peace enveloped him. Usually, when Spike prepared for sleep, spirits would flood his mind, tormenting and haunting him, making rest an elusive prospect. The constant noise within his head was overwhelming. However, tonight was different. The only sounds he registered were the distant murmurs from the tavern below and Fang's soothing voice. It felt serene.

Then came the inevitable question. Fortunately, he was on the floor, concealing any discomfort that may have surfaced on his face. Discussing the topic was never easy for him, but he recognized the need to open up someday. Choosing Fang as a confidant, he pushed past his reluctance and began to share.

"It's a long story," he began, releasing a gentle exhale. "You know that one spirit who appears more... assertive than the rest? His name is Lawrence." He lightly stroked his chin, pondering how best to convey the story. "I admit, not the most imaginative choice for a name, especially considering it's his and not mine. Yet, there's significance in it. Lawrence is the reason I left behind my old life. Would you like to know why?"

[Rhindeer]

With her hair finally braided, Fang tossed it over her shoulder and stretched out sideways across the bed, rolling onto her belly. She rested her chin on her hands, her knees bent so her legs were propped against the wall the bed was nestled against, crossed at the ankles. It was clear she was settling in for the "long story"; he had her full attention.

Her eyebrows raised at the mention of Lawrence. So that's where the alias came from. The angry one—no, more than anger, malevolent. He made her feel uneasy in a way few spirits had.

At Spike's question she nodded. "Of course I do. We have all night. Anything you tell me could be significant to solving this, any details you give could be helpful. I promise this stays between us."

There was a pause. Then she held out her pinky.

[MorningStar]

He released shuddering breath, conceding, "You're right," as he gathered the courage to share his story. "Contrary to what you or others might believe, I'm not entirely devoid of human emotion. My childhood was markedly different from others, but that doesn't mean I didn't have friends and relationships. Lawrence, the spirit you've encountered, was my closest friend. He chose to escape that life long before I could—never quite fit into it. Against my orders, we stayed in touch. For the longest time, he was the sole person I felt I could truly open up to. And then... it happened."

---

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the mansion where Spike had been assigned his task. The air was thick with tension as he stalked through the shadows, the weight of the dark arts concealing the true identity of his target. An order had come through the clandestine channels, demanding the elimination of someone unknown, someone deemed a threat. The employer named him "Tate."

Spike moved silently, his every step masked by the magical cloak that shrouded his surroundings. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the unsuspecting figure, unknowingly obscured by the enchantments that distorted reality. The air grew colder, and Spike could sense the gravity of the moment as he prepared to carry out the assassination.

In a swift and discreet motion, he administered the poison, the lethal substance taking effect almost instantly. The mysterious figure convulsed, hands grasping at the unseen threat closing in on them. Spike watched, detached, as the person struggled for breath, unaware of the deep connection they shared.

As the poison tightened its grip, an unsettling realization crept over Spike. The dark arts that veiled the identity of his victim began to waver, and the illusion shattered like fragile glass. Horror struck him as he witnessed the features of his oldest friend, Lawrence, contorted in agony. The shock paralyzed Spike momentarily, his eyes widening in disbelief.

He stumbled backward, the weight of the revelation crashing down upon him. Lawrence's gaze met Spike's, a silent showing of shock and betrayal. In those agonizing moments, the truth became clear, and Spike felt the profound loss of a friendship severed by the cruel hand of fate. As Lawrence's life slipped away, the echoes of betrayal and sorrow lingered in the air, forever staining the memory of that fateful night.

---

Spike recounted the events of that night. His mission: eliminate a formidable target by the name of "Tate." Unusually, he had scant information about this individual and was denied the customary time to study his subject beforehand—a privilege he was often allowed. However, the order included precise details regarding Tate's location and specified the method of assassination, leaving Spike little room to question the sudden change in protocol. Only later did he discover that dark arts had been employed to conceal his surroundings and the true identity of the person.

"That's the gist of it," he concluded with another heavy breath. "Following that, I... well, I was lost for a while. And then, I ran."

[Rhindeer]

Fang listened quietly as he told his tale, watching his face, her own expression unreadable. No, he was wrong about one thing—the last thing she thought was that he was emotionless, and he was certainly far from heartless. 

Maybe she was a fool and he was faking it all—but he would have to be a phenomenal actor for those subtle flashes of emotion she'd seen to be fake. What would be the point of deceiving her now anyway? He was a former assassin; assassins did the job and were done. Playing the long con didn't make sense, and if this was all some elaborate ploy to kidnap the Maharani's most useless daughter, he'd already had more than ample opportunity.

When he finished, she flashed him a sympathetic look. "So you were set up," she said softly, "and that was the shock that set your new path, your awakening." She let out a sigh, shaking her head sadly. "I'm sorry that happened to you—and especially to Lawrence. I'm sorry it took a personal tragedy to get you out. But I'm glad you made the connection, that you realized the weight of your actions, and that you had the strength to leave."

She looked away. "I've never talked to someone with a situation like yours. I've counseled some who suffered abuse from their families, though, and I've seen how it warps their perspective and their worldview. It's not the same thing, of course, but...people can do and believe a lot of awful things when they're taught it's normal. And they can suffer a lot when they think they deserve it. Ah, but I'm rambling."

Looking back at him, she cocked her head. "I do think you're wrong about one thing, though. I never thought you were emotionless—you wear your emotions on your face quite plainly if you know what to look for. Mostly remorse. You're hardly an empty husk, you're just...hurting."

She met his eyes. "Am I wrong?"

[MorningStar]

She was right, and it felt like a gut punch. He was taught never to show emotion, and it was trained, and beat into him, not to have them entirely. But he was still human. It took him a long time to learn that, and no matter how much you suppressed, things will eventually resurface.

He had known he was human for a long time now, with raw emotions, and that just made the pain of his sins worse.

"I guess I..." he trailed off, a light pink flushing into his face, the sensation of tears held back. Turning his head to peer up at the bed, he admitted, "I'm afraid." A weak smile appeared, surprising even himself for confessing such vulnerability. "You know, someone like me, there isn't any coming back from all of this. I just need them to have closure," he said softly, his gaze returning to the ceiling. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. You're... you're a good person, Fang. But me? Well, I'm just a killer."

[Rhindeer]

"No," Fang said abruptly, sitting up suddenly. "That's...that not really true. I mean, it is true that you can't undo what you've done. There's no going back—but you can still go forward."

She cleared her throat, looking down at her hands, gathering her thoughts. It was a heavy subject, so different from what she was used to dealing with. But between her religious studies, listening to the troubles of the common folk, and dealings with the dead she had grown a perhaps unorthodox perspective—and deep sense of empathy. Some might be quick to condemn him, but that just wasn't how she saw it.

How to put this...? "As I said before, the dead are still dead and their stories are over with or without you in the world, but you can do good as long as you're still in it. We're not born with knowledge and foresight, we're all born innocent blank slates. And we all get born to different parents in different places with different circumstances and opportunities. That's not your fault. And it's not your fault that the people that raised you, the people that are supposed to nurture you and keep you safe, the people you trusted and loved, molded a child who knew no better into a killer."

She looked at him then, studying his face, the reddening in his cheeks and glassiness of his eyes. Was he...? Her chest squeezed and instinct kicked in; she could not sit above him while he was at such a low point. Sliding off the bed, she knelt in front of him and with a light touch of her hand, turned his face toward her. 

"You were a child, were you not? When they raised you and taught you how little life's worth, when most would be playing with dolls and sticks? Would you have been a killer if you were born into my world?" Her expression softened. "Would I be a killer if I was born into yours?"

[MorningStar]

Fang's gesture of sliding off the bed to offer comfort didn't surprise Spike; it resonated with the essence of who Fang was, at least from what he had gleaned so far. As her hand gently cradled his cheek, he felt a raw vulnerability, an unexpected connection forming in that quiet moment. "You might be right," he admitted quietly, acknowledging the truth in her words.

Closing his eyes, he sought solace in reaching for her hand, yearning for that connection amid the emotional turmoil. In the midst of this vulnerable exchange, he humorously added, "You could never be a killer though," his eyes still closed. "Little legs."

[Rhindeer]

Spike's comment—was that a joke?—cut straight through the heaviness like a hot knife, all the more surprising because it came from him. It caught Fang so off guard that she laughed—and quickly drew her hand from his face to cover her giggles, her face flushing. It felt wholly inappropriate to laugh at a time like this, but...it was also, admittedly, a nice release of tension.

"Hey now! Shorter legs give a lower center of gravity. That can be quite lethal in combat!" She grinned at him, giving his hand a squeeze. 

She'd just leave out the part where she'd cried the last time she'd accidentally killed a spider.

[MorningStar]

That can be quite lethal in combat!

Spike chuckled, a genuine and amused laughter that lifted his spirits almost instantly. She truly was something.

"I'll take your word on that," he said playfully, reaching for her hand and taking hold of it once more. Unsure if this was the right way to express his feelings, it felt right in the present moment. "You're fortunate I wasn't born into your world. I'd likely dedicate more time to pursuing you than pursuing ghosts."

[Rhindeer]

Fang blinked at him, confusion flickering across her face. Pursue her...? Huh?

But after a moment, she just smiled, giving a little shake of her head and patting his hand with her free one.

"Oh, well I'm afraid it wouldn't be much of a chase! I can hardly keep up with you when you're walking!" she said with a laugh, his point soaring cleanly over her head.

[MorningStar]

His broad smile gradually softened, and his gaze drifted downward as he gently withdrew his hand from hers. Did he he say something wrong? Banter and, well, personality were never his strong suits - he likely said something wrong.

"Well, it's been a long day," he eventually remarked, lowering his back to the ground. He placed his hands behind his head, creating a makeshift pillow. "How about we get some sleep, hm?"

[Rhindeer]

Spike's expression changed and then he was retreating—and it was Fang's turn to wonder what had happened and if she'd somehow said the wrong thing, or missed something. As he laid back and settled in, promptly ending the conversation, she rose to her feet and sank back down onto the bed.

Well. It had been a heavy conversation, putting it lightly; no doubt it had taken its toll even if he didn't show it. He was right, in any case—it was late and for all that she was keeping it together, she was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and the moment she laid down she knew she wouldn't be getting back up.

As she pulled back the blankets and slipped under, she gave him another look. "Do you want a blanket or pillow at least? That can't be comfortable."

[MorningStar]

With his eyes closed, he mustered another slight grin. "I couldn't," he replied, attempting to embody the concept of being a gentleman that he had heard about. "Just being under a roof is enough for me. Promise."

---

In the quiet stillness of the night, as Spike and Fang succumb to the embrace of sleep, an eerie presence returned. Unseen by the waking world, spirits materialized around Spike, casting an ominous atmosphere that hung heavily in the air. Their spectral gazes fixated on Spike with an intensity that would send shivers down the spine.

As Spike descended into slumber, the spirits' malevolent influence took hold. His nightmares intensify, turning the peaceful slumber into a chaotic battlefield. In his restless state, Spike tossed and turned as though locked in a fierce struggle against an unseen giant, the weight of an unseen adversary pressing upon him.

During his dreams, a particular image lingered prominently in Spike's mind. It was that of Maya, a woman from his earliest days of carrying out hit jobs. In stark contrast to the other spirits who assailed him relentlessly, Maya's apparition was distinct. He could vividly perceive her mouthing the words, "Me next," as if pleading for a release.

Amidst the ghostly congregation, one spirit deviated – Lawrence. Unlike the others, he chose not to loom over Spike but instead positioned himself on a spectral chair in the corner of the small room. His eyes, dark and vacant, dart maliciously between Spike and Fang. An amused and malevolent smile creeps across his ghostly lips, hinting at a sinister satisfaction derived from the plans he may have had brewing.

[Rhindeer]

Unlike Spike, Fang's sleep was restful and dreamless, a sleep of pure exhaustion that was more emotional than physical. That had taken...a lot of mental labor, and . She passed out mere minutes after her head hit the pillow--but unlike Spike, she usually had to go looking for spirits rather than them latching onto her.

But though she fell asleep fast, she had always been a light sleeper, and Spike was sleeping on a wooden floor that thumped and rustled with his tossing. She slept maybe a couple of hours before the sound woke her.

Stirring awake, her vision blurred with sleep, she yawned and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms as she sat up, blinking in momentary confusion as her mind struggled to wake just behind her body. As her vision cleared in the darkness, she saw Spike turning restlessly--

And the real Lawrence in the corner, watching.

A chill raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but Fang ignored it for the moment, instead sliding off the bed and settling in a crouch beside Spike. "Spike," she whispered, reaching for him--and hesitated. Mmm. Maybe...that wasn't a good idea. She wanted to wake him, wanted to bring Lawrence to his attention and snap him out of whatever was plaguing him, but the last time she'd touched him when he'd been out, he'd put a knife to her throat.

She bit her lip, hand hovering over him, then gently touched his shoulder. "Spike, it's me. It's Fang. You're having a bad dream, I think."

She hoped, that is. Hopefully his spirits didn't follow him into sleep.

[MorningStar]

In the grip of his turbulent dreams, Spike tossed and turned more, haunted by the relentless assault of the spirits. As Fang moved to wake him, his instincts kicked in once more. This time, instead of reaching for his knife, he grabbed her, rolling over to pin her to the ground with an intense, tortured expression.

Caught in the grip of his subconscious struggle, he hovered over her, his grip firm but not aggressive. Slowly, as he came to his senses, the realization dawned on him, and he softenened his hold, his face perfectly portraying "oops."

"Oh," he whispered, though his position unchanged. "Sorry, Fang."

[Rhindeer]

"A-ah!" Fang had time only to yelp before the world went topsy-turvy and her back hit the floor, forcing the air from her lungs in a whoosh. Spike was on her before she could react--not that it would have done much good either way--and she stared up at him in wide-eyed panic as he pinned her to the floor, his body heavy on hers.

She should have known better! She knew it was a bad idea! Yet here she was, staring up into his not-all-there expression and struggling to find her words as her throat constricted. But then his eyes seemed to clear, recognition sparking, and his grip eased.

Fang let out a relieved breath and closed her eyes.

"No, no...that...that was my fault, I think," she breathed, chest heaving as she struggled to calm down after the scare, her pulse thunderous in her ears. "I'm sorry. I knew better but...but I couldn't just...you sounded like you were having a hard time," she finished lamely, wincing, and peered up at him with a shaky smile. "Lesson learned this time for certain, promise! No more poking the bear! Or, um, rather...perhaps next time I'll use a stick. A really, really long stick. Yeah, that sounds..."

She trailed off. As the shock died down and she no longer feared being strangled or something, she became more aware of his position. And hers. And, ah...how drafty it was.

Her face went red, her body going rigid. Her sarong reached to just above her knees--and it seemed when he'd rolled them both over, it had gotten hiked up in the process.

[MorningStar]

Throughout Fang's speech, Spike remained nearly motionless atop her, growing more concerned when she ceased speaking and her face flushed beet red.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he finally asked, his expression filled with concern as he studied her face at a near nonexistent distance. His gaze then drifted downward, closely examine the rest of her.

...Did she always wear her clothes this revealing?