This is set in the middle of Real Folk Blues II, after Julia's death, before Jet finds Spike putting together his one-man-army arsenal. Words by OMD, but I recommend the Nada Surf cover.

Don't Look Back
By Rashaka

If you leave
I won't cry
I won't waste a single day
But if you leave
Don't look back
I'll be running the other way
Seven years went under the bridge
Like time was standing still
Heaven knows what happens now
You've gotta say you will

I touch you once
I touch you twice
I won't let go at any price
I need you now like I needed you then
You always said we'd still be friends some day

She found him by following the wet footprints. A single rainwater path, one pair of boots. The first thing she did when she caught up to that one person was ask, as kindly as she was capable of which wasn't as kind as she'd like, what he was doing here. She didn't say "alone" but he heard it.

He stopped rearranging his scarce possessions, and looked at her so curiously and quietly that she swallowed the rude comment she'd been planning to conquer the silence with. She watched a scale tipping in his gaze, a mathematical question, and when she saw him find his answer he had already moved to place his body in front of hers.

As always, Faye found her voice with confrontation. "Spike what do you think you're do—" His mouth put a stop to it.

He pushed her against the door till it snapped shut, long fingers wrapping around her waist and lips insistent. Twice more she tried to ask him why, ask him if. And twice more he kissed her words into moans. When she caved and wrapped her legs around his hips with the power of a woman who fights more than she fucks, he smiled in return.

Spike's bed was hard (no wonder he slept on the couch, her brain whispered to itself between the gasps) but his skin was soft, as after a shower, and his hair smelled like the city. Faye snickered and grinned when she tugged his shirt down and he left her lips only to lean back and remove it completely. She watched the play of muscles as he stretched upward and out, admired his body that she'd wanted to see this way for a long time now, and went to work on his zipper.

He was swift but careful in peeling away her clothing, and in moments less than an insult could fill they were climbing over each other with only skin to hang from.

Maybe he wanted something real.

Maybe she just wanted something of him.

Five gunshots cut a canyon between them, but not before he turned his back on her.

She wiped her cheeks with the edge of her hand, and sniffled. The dim lighting wasn't doing her wet face any favors but today Faye honestly didn't care if she was ugly or not. She hadn't cared when she'd woken alone or when she'd screamed at him for not turning when she aimed her weapon. After some kinds of contact, a snotty nose and red eyes just didn't matter.

He wrapped one sorry hand around his middle and stood something less than his full height. Fate was a bitch, but Spike was a bigger bitch, and he refused to let her run out on him again. A smart man would be laying down right about now. So he did what he wanted—he walked. He walked and breathed in single breaths and remembered everything he could pull from the fucked up swamp of his life. He remembered the night before, and the years before. He remembered the people—person—waiting somewhere out there for him, and he remembered the person he waited for.

Faye latched onto the metal walls of the ship, and pulled herself to her feet.

Spike looked out on the circle of men, and descended another step.

She thought her love could save him.

But Spike was an asshole and a coward, a loyal one at that. Spike fled from possibilities, Spike escaped, Spike abandoned the world.

And Spike fell into a morning dream, with Faye in his mouth and Julia in his eyes.