Spike took the key from his pocket, undoing the door lock and pushing the door open with a slow creak. He glanced over at Rarity and gestured inside, running a hand over the fake moustache he wore. “After you, Mrs. Plisskin.”

“Thank you, dear. Ever the gentleman,” she replied with easy sincerity. She crossed the threshold and stopped, looking around the room. The most immediate word that came to mind was “earthy”. Wood panel floors and log cabin-style walls were matched with decor that was suitably rustic. The furniture was also made of rough wood, though it was in good shape. Across the way was a large bed, complete with fur comforter. At its feet, atop a small table, chilled a bottle of wine in a simple tin bucket.

There was a movable shutter-wall between the bedroom and the rest of the room. It was split between a small dining room, with a kitchen, and a living room. A shaggy bear rug rested in front of an impressive stone fireplace, split wood lying in a neat pile beside it. Above the fireplace mantle hung a stuffed moose head, its antlers wide and menacing. There was no couch, but a well-used, padded reading chair sat next to a low shelf filled with books.

Surprisingly, to their left were a set of double doors that led out to a balcony. A quick glance showed a pair of simple wooden chairs, piled with snow. The door opposite the balcony likely led to the restroom, which, upon inspection, was found to hold both a decent walk-in shower as well as a large, deep-set tub. It was all a bit cliche, to Rarity’s mind, but after spending weeks in an old apartment with next to no amenities, it seemed perfect and comfortable. Near heavenly.

Exiting the bathroom, she found Spike unpacking his bag, moving to the table, laptop at the ready. “It’s a surprisingly impressive room. Very… thematic.”

“I told them to set us up with the best they had to offer. Should of guessed it’d have this sort of, uh, motif.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Still pretty nice, though. I’m sure Jack would flip.”

“Oh yes,” Rarity said, suppressing a giggle. “She’d no doubt find it very familiar.” Approaching another side table in the far corner, she lightly poked at a stuffed beaver. It had been posed on a twist of log and seemed rather lifelike. “Are all the, ugh, dead animals really necessary, I wonder?”

“I’d almost call it cozy. Except for their eyes. Reminds me too much of china dolls.” Spike shivered. “Twila’s mom has quite the collection in the guest room. And let me tell you: waking up to dozens of unblinking eyes watching you? Not. A. Fan.”

Rarity made a thoughtful noise. Ignoring the hideous decoration, she asked, “So, shall we find our things and enjoy ourselves, Spike?”

“Your wish is my command.” He smiled, nodding towards the wine. “You should look at that vintage, by the way. You’d be surprised at their quality.”

She pulled out the bottle and examined it closely, letting out a small gasp of surprise. “You’re not kidding.” She placed a finger to her chin, then moved to the small kitchen. Searching through the few cabinets, she exclaimed, “Ah hah!” and brought out a pair of glasses. Raising the bottle towards Spike, she said, “Shall we? Just a glass before we go?”

He paused, once more stroking his fake beard. “I really should wait a few years, but honestly? With all the other illegal things we’ve done? Sure. I’ll have a drink.”

“Fantastic,” she said. “Let me find a corkscrew…” Hunting through drawers, she asked, “So when exactly are we supposed to meet the Father?”

Spike watched her fish through the drawers, then blushed when he realized where his eyes were drifting. He quickly glanced to the ceiling and crossed his legs with a cough. “Uh, ten o’clock. I, uh, figured we’d want time for breakfast.”

Coming up victorious, she quickly opened the bottle and poured two healthy glasses. She put the bottle away and lifted up her glass, waiting for Spike to do the same. He grabbed the glass quickly, nearly sloshing some, and raised it next to hers. Smiling, she said, “Shall we say… To the safety of our friends, a lovely evening for us, and a successful mission tomorrow?”

“Something I can drink to,” Spike agreed heartily. “To friends, to fortune, and to us. Cheers.” He tapped his glass against hers and took a sip. The bitter flavor made him grimace, but he tried to hide it by taking a bigger sip.

Rarity downed her glass easily. It wasn’t the best she had ever had, but she could hardly think of a better time to have it. She put the glass down and said, “Well, hurry up then, Spike. I want to go skiing while the weather isn’t so terrible.”

“R-right.” He squinted his eyes shut and swallowed the remaining wine whole, nearly letting out a cough. Rarity’s gentle laughter snapped him to attention, and he blushed. “Man. That’s rough,” he admitted, his flush deepening to his cheeks. Rising, he blinked his eyes rapidly a bit and shook his head. “Dang. Alright...” He put a hand to his hips and cocked a thumb. “I’m no Isabelle, but I think I’m gonna get this skiiing thing down pat. First try!”

Rarity smiled at him as she opened her bag. “I have nothing but confidence in us both, darling. Just let me put on a thicker jacket.” After a moment’s searching, she asked, “Do you know where the lifts are? Maybe the hotel clerk can give us directions?”

Spike nodded, reaching into his bag to don a coat as well. “I’ll go ask, yeah.” He took a few steps, then paused, his hand on the door. “You know,” he started, turning to limply point a finger at her. “You’re always calling me ‘dear’ and ‘darling.’ I should really think up a pet name for you sometime.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Maybe later. Let me go find the clerk and we’ll go have some fun, OK?” Spike took a step out into the hallway and was off.

She blinked, then held back a laugh. “Oh, Spike—so cute.” Turning back to her bag, she brought out her thick, faux-fur trimmed coat and wrapped it around her. Right away, it helped against the chill that had been sinking into her. The room wasn’t cold, exactly, but neither was it comfortably warm.

Her eyes passed over the fireplace. They would have to light it, most certainly. Or… She looked at the bed, then noted the lack of a couch or really any other decent place to sleep. Her lips formed an impish smile. That could prove entertaining, she thought, closing the door behind her. “Oh, Spike—wait for me!”

A few hours later, Spike threw the door open once more, letting out a weary groan as he unzipped his jacket and tossed it to the side. He paused for only a moment, his tired mind reprocessing his priorities, before returning to the door and holding it open until the tailor walked through.

“Heck of a workout,” Spike said, shutting the door and blowing into his chilled hands. “Everyone on TV makes it look simple.” He rubbed at his backside as the memory of a particularly painful crash replayed itself.

Her hair somewhat matted from sweat and melting snow, Rarity stripped off her own coat, tossing it on the kitchen table. “Oh but what marvelous fun! Sliding down the hill, the wind whipping at you, the snow splashing as you suddenly stop… Absolutely invigorating.”

“I’m glad you had fun.” Spike grinned, moving to the fireplace and fiddling with it for a brief moment. Thankfully, it wasn’t very complicated and he managed to light it. “I was a bit afraid it might not be your ideal date, to be honest. Glad I decided to take the chance.”

“Oh but it’s only getting started, Spike. I do believe I’m famished, how about you?”

“I’m on the case!” he exclaimed, tapping at his bag. “I knew this room had a full kitchen, so I brought some things. How does foie gras sound, buttercup?” He rolled the word in his mouth for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah. That one doesn’t work,” the boy muttered, scratching at his nose.

She laughed. “I’m sure whatever you can manage will be delightful, Spike. I’d offer to help, but I think I’d like a hot shower while you cook. If it’s not too much to ask…?”

“Go right ahead. I’ll have dinner done when you get out.”

“Thank you, Spike. Always so kind.” She went over and gave his cheek a peck before heading to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind her. Minutes later, the sound of running water could be heard and steam leaked from the door’s edges; a moment after that, Spike could hear singing come from the bathroom. It was a song he didn’t know, but it sounded well done all the same.

Spike smiled as he listened to her. After a moment, he shook his head, snapping out of the trance she put him in. “What a woman,” he said under his breath, reaching into his bag and producing a small cooler. The boy quickly went to the kitchen and began preparations, deciding to saute the liver. As he worked on that, he diverted his attention to making a salad in a large mixing bowl and sprinkling it with olive oil. He finally pulled out a loaf of french bread from his bag just as the main dish was finished. Satisfied with his work, he kissed his fingertips.

“Dinner a la Spike!” he declared, proudly clenching a fist in front of him. All those years cooking for Twila when she was busy had finally paid off. “I’d like to see those guys in Rarity’s novels pull this off.”

“Actually,” came an amused voice from behind him, “Raoul, from To Serve Beauty, was a five-star chef. In his spare time, of course.”

Spike turned quickly, having been too absorbed in his final preparations to notice the shower was off. He nearly did a double take as he saw Rarity standing there, her hair wrapped up in a towel, wearing a simple pair of shorts and a white, long-sleeve shirt. She cocked a hip and smiled at the young man confidently. But her expression quickly changed as she breathed in deep, saying, “Jokes aside, that smells wonderful, Spike.”

“Let’s hope it tastes half as good, then.” Spike looked over her once more, feeling a heat surging to his face. “I—” His voice cracked a bit. He coughed into his hand and ran it through his unkempt green hair, regaining his composure. “I like the, uh, casual look on you.”

Walking by, she gave a light tousle to his hair. “I knew you would.” Raising her arms, she gave her body a quick turn left and right. “Normally I’m not such a fan of these things, but they’re more practical than my usual evening gown, all things considered. And surprisingly comfortable.”

“I’ll just take it as a vote of confidence for me too,” Spike replied. “Why, if word got out that you wore shorts with a long-sleeved shirt, think of the scandal! You must really trust me.” He boyishly grinned, suddenly aware at how easily she made him smile.

“Of course, Spike,” she said, her voice lowering to just above a whisper. “You’ve more than earned it. I trust no one more than you.”

He paused, the smile fading away as he looked into her eyes. Without provocation, he reached up, putting a hand to her cheek. “I won’t let you down,” Spike said, the words as serious as a deathbed oath. “That’s one thing I can do better than any of those muscled guys in your books, Rarity. You can trust me.”

She returned his gesture and rubbed her cheek against his palm. “I know, Spike. I know you won’t.” They stood there a moment, just enjoying the simple contact of each other’s skin. Finally, the moment was broken by a low rumbling noise. Rarity blushed, saying, “H-how embarrassing. Let’s eat before it gets too cold, yes?”

“Agreed.”

They sat, poured more wine, and enjoyed a quiet meal—but more than the food, they enjoyed the company. And the peace. Dinner came and went, quiet, easy conversation passing between them as they enjoyed Spike’s surprising culinary skill. It was almost a sad affair when they finally emptied their plates. Quickly, Spike rose and began gathering the dishes.

“Go on and relax, I’ll wash up,” the boy said as he stood over the sink, glancing over his shoulder towards Rarity. “Maybe get some music playing, if you’d like.”

She thanked him and went over to the radio. Looking for the power switch, she said, doubtfully, “I don’t know, Spike—I’ll be impressed if there’s much radio in a place like this.”

“Worst case, we can use my laptop,” Spike replied over the sound of the water coming from the faucet.

“True,” she replied, her attention turning to the radio. She flipped it on to the low grumble of static, as expected. Turning the tuning knob brought on more of the same, with the exception of a single talk show. In Somani.

“We might have to use your laptop, Spike, I can’t seem—oh!” She stopped, turning the knob back a hair. Turning up the volume filled the room with a modern take on oldie big band music. A gorgeous saxophone led the tune in classic jazz style, with a heavy string backing. Despite the prominent brass section, it was a laid back—though full—song that relaxed the mind without putting it to sleep.

Spike passed from the kitchen to the living room, wiping at his hands with the tail of his shirt. “Not bad. I kind of like oldies.” He moved over to the room’s single chair and sat with a content groan, then paused, briefly feeling at his face and taking off the fake moustache he wore. “Did you really let me go through all of dinner wearing this?” He shook his head, tossing it to the bookshelf. “I had completely forgotten I was even wearing it.”

Rarity smiled. “Good. There’s little point if it doesn’t feel as natural as your own nose.”

“Not much point of a disguise if it doesn’t look the part, I guess.”
They were silent briefly, listening to the music. A ghost of a smile crossed Spike’s face. “I remember stuff like this playing sometimes at your boutique, when you’d actually take a moment off.”

“Inherited from my parents, I suppose,” Rarity replied, a thin smile for memories not often recalled on her lips. “Mother refused to listen to anything unless it was at least fifty years old, until she started dating my father. He would often take her to some of the small jazz clubs throughout Manhattan, right when they were at the peak of their popularity. His stories always made them sound so romantic—smoky atmosphere, expensive drinks, and soulful music.” She sighed deeply. “Such romance of the highest quality, how could I not fall in love?”

Spike nodded in agreement. “Those kinds of clubs always have a pretty cool atmosphere to them. Makes me think of trenchcoated detectives and femme fatale’s hiding out and flirting.” He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “You used to sing to a lot of those old songs too—remember that?”

Leaning against a wall, a hint of blush touched her cheeks. “Spike! Did you just sit around and listen at the boutique all the time?” she asked with a laugh. “I do remember, yes. I don’t have Stephanie’s voice, of course… but the music just takes you away to forgotten days. To a past so elegant and stylish. I know it’s silly and romanticized, but it’s like you said, Spike. There are just these images associated with the time, and they’re so very appealing.”

Spike’s cheeks took on a rosy color of their own. He kneaded his hands together and kicked at the ground, then meekly asked, “So... I was wondering… m-maybe you could sing for me?”

The tailor pushed herself off the wall, not saying a word as she closed the few steps between her and Spike. Carefully, she took a seat on the chair’s arm, lightly brushing one of his legs with hers and batting at his spiked hair. She laughed. “For you, Spike, of course. Just give me a moment to think… Unless you have any requests?” She moved a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“A-anything would sound good.” He swallowed, looking up at her. “As long as you’re singing it.” After a beat, he continued. “Maybe… maybe what you were singing in the shower earlier…?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Perhaps next time. I have a better idea, and it’ll fit the music more. It’s…” She paused, hesitant. After a moment, she added, “Now, it’s one of my father’s favorites, so no making fun. Promise?”

“Pinkie Promise.” He quickly pantomimed the gesture with one hand, the other resting gently on her knee. Spike gave an enthused smile. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m not entirely sure how well this will sound but… I’ll give it a try,” she said, listening more closely to the instrumental, trying to sync up the lyrics despite the differences. After a few moments, she hummed the beginnings to herself, before starting off slowly and picking up volume as she altered the flow of words to match up the song.

As the last note of the saxophone stretched on, Rarity held the final syllable, her eyes closed as she recalled the hundreds of times her father would play the song and sing as they drove all over town. Silence fell for a moment as she stopped, replaced by another, more lively, song coming from the radio. Opening her eyes, she smiled at Spike. “I hope that was enjoyable? I’m afraid I’m not exactly one for improvisation.”

“It was beautiful. Just what I wanted to hear.” Spike took her hand and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing the back of her palm, somewhat awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Caressing the young man’s cheek, Rarity’s smile widened into a yawn. “Ah! I do think dinner is catching up with me.” Looking at the clock, she added, “And it is getting a bit late for such an early morning. Shall we?”

“Sure.” He nodded, glancing at the clock himself. “I’ve got a blanket, but, uh, could I steal a pillow from the bed?”

“Hmm?” Rarity tilted her head, confused. “Why?”

He gave a sheepish smile. “I may have forgotten to pack one. That, and I was hoping there’d be a couch instead of just the chair.”

Her eyes widened slightly as realization dawned. Covering her mouth, she suppressed a giggle. “Always such a gentleman, Spike.” Getting up, she headed for the bed and gave it a pat. “Come on, young man. It’s big enough for the both of us.”

“W-what?” he stammered out, his eyes wide as he glanced from the woman to the bed and back again. “Rarity, a-are you sure?”

“Don’t be so prudish, Spike. There’s no sense in you sleeping in a chair or, Elondrie forbid, the floor.” Sitting down on the bed, she pointed to the other side. “See? Plenty of room for us each to have a side.”

“It does seem spacious…” he agreed. After a beat, he nodded. “Alright. Yeah. L-let me get changed.” Spike grabbed some clothes and went to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He quickly changed to a sleeveless shirt and a set of long shorts, then walked over to the bathroom’s mirror. The man stared, checking out his face and brushing his hair back. Then, as a last touch, he pinched his arm.

“Not a dream,” he muttered in surprise. “I’ll be damned.”

Spike stepped back out, putting his dirty clothes near his bag, then returned to the bed. He was all but sweating bullets as he lifted the covers and slid in. Staring at the ceiling, his body shrank to avoid crossing any unknown lines. He had never even dreamed of a situation such as this.

Rarity had taken his changing to turn out the lights, save for a small bedside lamp next to her. She was under the covers on her own side, a sleep mask ready to be lowered. Her face held an amused expression as she watched Spike the entire way from the bathroom to the bed. He’s so nervous, moving so carefully, she thought to herself. So cute!

“It’s never as good as home, but it’s fairly comfortable, isn’t it?” she asked him.

“Y-y-y—” He bit his cheek, curing himself from the stutter he found himself with as he stared, still all but transfixed at the ceiling. “Yes. Nice and w-warm too.”

Shuffling down as she pulled the thick fur comforter tight, she said, sleep already lacing her words, “Quite so. I suspect we’ll be thankful—I put out the fire.” She reached up and turned out the light. After a couple moments of silence, she gently asked, “How nervous are you, Spike?”

He let a small breath of laughter pass through his mouth. He wasn’t surprised that she could read him this easy, but it was nice knowing that she could, in a way. “I’m laying next to the most beautiful woman I know. On a scale of one to ten? About eleven and a half.” Spike let another weak chuckle escape. “L-let’s just make that an even twelve.”

The room was pitch black, his eyes not having adjusted yet, so he sensed rather than saw movement as she rolled over and took his hand in hers. She gave a light squeeze. “It’s OK, Spike. I’m more than fine with this, I promise. I trust you, remember?”

He returned the squeeze and nodded. “I’m glad you do.” He waited a moment longer, then spoke up again. “Rarity?”

Her voice was becoming breathy, sleep coming on fast. “Mm, Spike?”

The young man bit at his lip, debating on his words. After a beat, he shook his head. “I… that is… you know what? It’s… it’s nothing that can’t wait. Nevermind.”

“If you’re sure, Spike,” Rarity replied into another yawn. “Goodnight, dear.” Another pause. “I missed having you near, Spike.”

“Me too,” he agreed. Though he liked this arrangement a lot better than the pallet near her bed back at the safehouse. A thought came to him about a pet name—it was right there under his nose this whole time. “Goodnight... Gems.”

The only reply was the steady rhythm of Rarity’s breathing. He suspected she had been exhausted by hiding out alone for so long. Smiling, he gave her hand another squeeze as he found a comfortable position. He hoped he wasn’t too restless a sleeper, he didn’t want to let go. It wasn’t much, but at the same time it was everything. Simple, powerful; warmth and trust in one small gesture as sleep took them through the night.