The dance hall was mostly empty by this time, only a few of the youngest had kept up the endurance to dance for this long. A majority of the others had made their way to the main dining hall, where the night’s second dinner--there were three planned in a staggered schedule--was beginning.

Rarity wasn’t hungry, not as nervous as she was. However, she did have to watch herself whenever a tray of champagne passed her. The glasses were moist with condensation, their golden liquid sparkling in the lights. If she asked, she was all but certain the waiters could find her something harder...

She turned her eyes away from temptation to the massive grandfather clock against the inner wall. Chylene had been gone for about thirty minutes. Rarity had checked the time only two minutes ago. Was the time rushing by, headlong into the crash of disaster? Or was it trudging, each step building and building the tension and worry for her friend whom she had so enthusiastically dropped into the shark tank?

She thought about leaving, searching through the place to find Francis or Twila--Elondrie only knew where she was--and figuring out a way to save Chylene.

How had she ever thought Chy could handle such a task? Yes, Blueblood was a fool, easily manipulated by the right sort of skills, but Chylene was innocent to such matters. Like a shark, he would smell the blood in the water, the timidity and lack of confidence the kind girl possessed. Why ever did Rarity support this? She had practically shoved Chylene at him.

Because it was the only thing to do. Like robbing a bank. Shooting up police officers. But it was different when the victim you put in harm’s way was someone you knew and cared about. But it had to be done. And of all of them, Rarity was probably the only one who would ever do it.

It was part of what set her apart, despite being so welcomed and loved by her closest friends.

That reminded her of an out that worry had pushed aside. Making sure no one was near enough to hear--a simple task--she said, hesitantly, “Drake? Drake, are you there?”

There was no response.

She tried again, a little more forcefully. “Drake, come in, Drake. Are you there?” A tinge of desperation. “...please?”

Perhaps he was busy helping Jack and Dash through some harrowing danger. Perhaps something had happened with the connections. Perhaps Spike was just visiting the washroom... Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Nerves caused her foot to tap, and she looked at the clock again to no relief. Again she tried. And again. And again.

Still silent, still nothing.

“Drake, for the love of God, please answer me because I need to talk to you now.”

“You wanna talk? You can talk to us, sugartits,” a gruff, scratchy voice said. Rarity glanced up to see three rough looking men in cheap suits. The leader scratched his thick, unkempt stubble and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a cigar. One flick of a silver lighter, and he took a deep drag, blowing the smoke directly down into Rarity’s face. “Me and my boys were just coming to talk to you, as a matter of fact.” He smirked past his thick cigar, putting his hands into his pants pockets and glancing over his shoulder. “Weren't we, fellas?”

A tall, lanky redhead nodded, and a dark skinned man with curly hair snorted back a laugh.

She coughed roughly. The cigar was cheap and poorly made, giving out a noxious stench even worse than most. When she could breath again, she choked out, “I ca-- Can’t imagine why you’d think I’d want anything to do with you and your ‘boys’.”

“Oh really? Well, that’s a shocker. Blueblood said you were just. Our. Type.” He chewed briefly on his cigar. “The kind you don’t take home to mama. Kind that’d wanna ditch this place--a bit too high-brow for ladies like you, anyway.” He glanced behind him again. “Don’t you think so too, boys?”

They both nodded. The redhead quickly held out his index and middle finger to his mouth and wiggled his tongue in between his digits, as the black man laughed once more, gently elbowing the other in the side.

Never had Rarity known a night like tonight. Twice now, she had been rudely, disgustingly rudely, berated and talked about. The first time had been a shock. But this time? Her nervousness flashed to anger, piercing and dangerous. She glared at all of them, to no effect, and said, coldy, “Leave here? Gladly! But for better company and more class than this shallow, gilded hall could dream. Better than you could even process in your thick skulls. Perhaps some nice worms under a log? Oh yes, “she gave a sharp smile, “that would be an enormous improvement over the likes of you.”

The ringleader offered a mock wince. “Oooh, ugly tongue for such a pretty face. I’m hurt.” He stared hard at her, taking his cigar out from his mouth and tapping it onto the ground. “Tell me, what are you gonna do when your looks crap out? You’ve got ten, twenty years tops. After that, you’re just going to be some cackling hag that none of the boys--especially not courteous, upstanding fellas like us--will be interested in.” He took another inhale of his quickly vanishing cigar. “So why not take advantage of it while you’ve actually got it going on? I’m sure I can make it worth your while... ”

“The only thing worth my while here is some air, devoid of fumes and fools. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving.” She said it quick, turning on her heel to storm out of the ballroom.

The man shot his hand out, grabbing her wrist. “I don’t think you understood me...” he growled, stared down at her with his grey eyes, following her every curve. “Blueblood said you were going to show us a good time. Me and my boys expect a good. Time.”

She tried to pull away, to no avail. Grumbling in frustration, she put on a condescending tone and said, “I’m no leashed dog for Blueblood to handoff as he sees fit! Unhand me and follow your own leashes, find your good time with your master, since he rides you so well.”

“Listen to this bitch,” the black man snorted out. “Acting so prim and proper. We’ll see how long that lasts when we get outta here.”

“You’re not leaving with her,” a familiar boy’s voice said, his tone hard and uncompromising.

Spike stood a few feet away, wearing a royal-purple tux, his hair slicked back and his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

The man holding Rarity briefly paused. He cracked a smile. “And who the fuck are you, shrimp?”

Spike’s frown deepened. He uncrossed his arms and took a breath. “Better question is, who the hell you are.”

“Spike!” Rarity breathed. What was he doing here?! What was he doing period?! With her free hand, she waved him away. “What... You’re here? I mean--what? How?”

He glanced at her, briefly losing his grim composure. The young man returned his gaze back to the cigar smoking man and tersy blurted out, “I don’t need you to answer that--I know who you are.”

The man rolled his eyes, clenching Rarity’s wrist harder in his rough hands. “Then you know I don’t take kindly to people messing with things I want. Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll fuck off. Otherwise--”

“Otherwise you and your asshole friends will take me out and work me over?” Spike snapped.

“Smart kid.”

“Smarter than you,” he quickly added. “I’m smart enough to know an alias isn’t enough for the work you do, Skully.” The slightest smile quirked out. “Actually, where are my manners? I might as well address you by your actual name, Remiel.”

The man briefly paused. His cigar hung limply in his mouth. “How’d you--”

“Remiel Pendergrath. Age forty-two. On this evening you drove a Fernando Valkyrie to the party, VIN number 7b6ks11y6g8259311.” His smirk widened, exposing a row of teeth. “Your address is 1027 Remembrance avenue, where you live with your wife, Kendra, and two sons, David and Stephen. Both attend Camelot's illustrious Cambridge academy for advanced minds. You play soccer with them on the weekends. Stephen's better, according to the texts I looked over.” He put a finger to his chin. “And if I recall correctly, Remiel, didn’t you have a DUI? Crippled a kid when you were drunk. Surprising you’re not in jail from that--maybe I should get in touch with a few friends. Look into the case some. Prosecution, cops involved, judge. Give the whole thing some fresh air.” Spike narrowed his brow, his small stature doing nothing to dampen his carefully chosen words. “If you want to kick my ass, go ahead. I bet you could, I bet your friends could. But just keep in mind that if you don't leave her alone right now, I can give the go-ahead to fuck up your life.” He crossed his arms again with a sneer. “Your call.”

Remiel’s cigar slid from his mouth, dropping to the floor. He let go of Rarity’s wrist. “Come on, boys,” he muttered, turning and taking a few plodding steps away. “Fuckin’ dyke and the toddler ain’t worth it.”

The black man quickly followed behind, while the redhead seemed ready to protest, but on noticing Spike’s stare, he seemed to retract his interest, quickly following his boss.

Spike held his composure for a few moments, then released a breath and clutched a shaking hand to his heart. He paused after a beat, quickly moving to the violet-haired beauty. “Rarity! A-are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Spike that was..” She paused, looking for the words. They were simple. “You saved me, Spike. I could’ve handled just one, but three?” She cupped his face with her hands and gave him a slow kiss on the forehead. “I wanted your voice, but you gave me something even better. Thank you, Spike, my brave knight.”

Heat flooded his face at the kiss, he half-smiled, swallowing. “It’s nothing. W-we have to take care of one another, you know?”

“You’re absolutely right.” She smiled back, hands still on his cheeks. Then something occurred to her again. She tightened her grip, only slightly. She gave him a look of amused irritation and asked, “But seriously, Spike--what are you doing here? How did you even get in? We took the only invitation.”

“You do realize who you’re talking to, right? A duplication wasn’t that hard to pull off. As for why I’m here...” He glanced to the side, briefly biting at his lip. “Couple of reasons, I guess. Big one is that I wanted to show Twila I could help on the front just as much as you guys. I mean, this isn’t as bad as the bank, but...” He briefly reached into his pocket, showing off his phone. “I did a bit of work on it. Linked up some stuff and got my whole little operation at the touch of a finger.”

Looking him hard in the eye, she shrugged and gave a laugh, lowering her hands. “Twila will be furious, you know. But I love how clever you are, dear! Not a moment too soon, either. I’m not sure how up to date you are, but things aren’t going exactly as planned on our end.”

“It’s starting to feel like Jack and Dash have the right idea on just winging things. Our plans never work,” Spike said, rubbing his forehead. “I overheard Chylene’s attempting to go after Blueblood. With Dagger still making their way towards the vault alright, I figured now would be about the only time I could...” He swallowed, giving a gesture towards Rarity with a palm. He opened his mouth, shut it. Opened it again. Wiped it with a hand. Grimaced. He finally gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I, I really thought I could do this better. Elondrie knows I’ve ran it through my head enough. It’s just...” He let out another breath and tilted his head back, closing his eyes in weariness. “It--it’s just that I, uh, I need to talk to you.”

Rarity thought for a moment, then nodded her head. “Can it wait for perhaps just five minutes, darling?”

“F-five minutes?” he repeated. “Why?”

With a bash of her lashes, she held out a hand. “I do believe I promised the last dance to you, Spike.” She smiled wider. “And perhaps it could even be just the first.”

He stood briefly as her words sank in. The young man quickly gave an ear-to-ear grin, holding an exuberance that reminded Rarity of a child. After a beat, he calmed down and offered a wry smile. “I didn’t think you’d take me up on it, to be honest. I don’t r-really know how.”

Without a word, Rarity grabbed both of Spike’s hands, placing one on her waist and holding the other out. “This isn’t the first time I’ve danced with a new partner. Just take it slow, watch my face, not your feet. Relax and let your body go where it wants to go.”

He tilted his head up, staring at her eyes as he held tight to her extended hand. “A-alright.” He took a slow, careful step to the side, not exactly with the tempo, but not terribly far off. After a few more experimental movements, he guided Rarity into a semi-passable box-step, only stumbling slightly on a few initial sweeps. “How am I doing?”

“Not too bad, not at all.” She laughed. “You at least haven’t stepped on my feet. Now, let’s try this.” And she pulled Spike a little faster along, adding a bit more grace and movement. At first he was following her lead, but she gradually stopped pulling, allowing him to build up the momentum on his own. “Basic, but you learn quickly, Spike.”

“Being a quick learner’s about my only saving grace.” He smiled up at Rarity. His expression slowly faded as he seemed to retreat back to his thoughts. Spike shook his head as they danced, looking towards their entwined hands. After a long pause as they skirted across the floor, he quietly spoke again. “When I was a kid, I had a dream like this once.”

She gave a small tilt of her head. “Yes? I hope some of the circumstances were better.”

“Yeah.” He squinted in thought. “Remember the first birthday I had in Mansfield with you guys? I was, what, twelve, thirteen?”

“Twelve, I believe,” Rarity said, thoughts turning back to that day. “You hadn’t been with us for too long, but you and Twila both fit right in so quickly. And Pinkie never complains about another party to throw.”

“Well. It’s like that. Uh, the dream was. Except instead of a group line-dance in Jack’s old barn, it was just us, dancing in the moonlight. I mostly just remember looking down into your eyes--” He blinked, glancing up at her. “I may have been taller in the dream.” She laughed, making him blush slightly. “A-anyway...” he trailed off. “I looked straight at you, and actually was able to talk without tripping over my words.” Spike gave a small tilt of his head. “That’s the nice thing about dreams, I guess. You never really mess up in ‘em. You can be this suave guy who isn’t scared to death by being so close to someone. You’re a master of timing things--and that’s pretty important in life, isn’t it? Timing things.”

“Perhaps you’re worried too much on the timing and not enough on the things,” Rarity said coyly. “Not everything’s like a movie or a book, or even a dream.” With a wistful sigh, she added, “Often, I think real life shuns them, no matter how pretty or perfect they seem.”

“I dunno, Rarity,” Spike said, nervously squeezing her hand. “Maybe I’ve been around Twila too much--some of her eccentricities are rubbing off on me, I guess--but I think timing is what brought me here, here right now.” He briefly nodded, seeming to make up his mind. “Know how I said I had another reason for being here? A-aside from proving a point to Twila?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Well... I, uh, had to say something to you.” His brow narrowed. “And I think now might be the only time I can.” His lips briefly quirked into a small frown. “I think a few years back if I had tried to say anything like this, you would have laughed in my face.”

Rarity’s heart fluttered, just a bit. She had had her own dreams, not so unlike this one--though they had never featured Spike, so she couldn’t tell him. They had continued to move, the steps simple but flowing, around and along the ballroom. Rarity hadn’t noticed they were alone, all the couples having gone for refreshment at dinner.

Very quietly, she whispered, “Perhaps your timing is not so poor, darling... What is it?”

He steeled himself, his hands shook slightly as he fought his nervousness on opening up to the woman--the woman he was willing to live and die for, if needed. No matter what she thought of him.

“That what I’m feeling for you isn’t some dumb kid’s crush,” Spike tersely said, briefly surprised by his own boldness. “I know it’s gotta be more than that. I...” He looked away, not meeting her gaze. After a moment, he grimly, quietly marched on with his words. “I mean, I... I can’t say I love you. Thats not what this is... I, uh, don’t think.” He painfully swallowed. “It’s close, oh it’s close, but...” The young man blushed deeply and ran a hand hastily through his hair, all but swimming in shame at his inexperience, and at how hard he was putting his foot in his mouth. Rarity remained silent, giving Spike the moment she knew he needed.

“E-even if it was, I don’t think that it’d be fair, just dumping something that big on you. But I know with some time with you--together, I could. Maybe you could t--” He stopped himself with a wince, the brief moment of silence he created deafening as he stared down at his feet. “I think I could become someone you could depend on,” he lamely finished. They parted, the dance over.

Spike sighed at Rarity’s continued silence, slumping his shoulders in defeat and putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry, Rarity. M-maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut. I was just terrified that you might meet your Prince Charming here tonight, before I could grow the Goddamn balls to tell you how, how I...” The young man swallowed nervously once more, growing stony and silent. After another long-drawn pause, he looked up at the violet-haired woman, disgusted at his poor way with words and hoping she didn’t hate his guts.

His face fell at her cold glare. She replied, “Young man, I will not tolerate such rude language from you. Obviously, you spend too much time with that ruffian, Dash.” Here, her expression melted into a welcoming smile as her eyes lightly tearing at the edges. “You’ll just have to spend more time with me, instead. Perhaps a lot more time.” Her arms went around his neck, and she hugged him tightly. “Spike, I already depend on you--more than even I realized. I’m so sorry for not seeing that sooner, but I see it now.” She sniffed as a few tears fell. “I see it now. My gentlemen, my hero.”

Spike returned the embrace, squeezing her close and resting his head against her shoulder. “C-come on, Rarity, don’t cry,” the young man said quietly. “You’ll make me.”

Rarity choked out a small laugh. In a way, the situation was absolutely absurd. She in Spike’s arms, feeling accepted, truly accepted, for the first time in a long while. It felt a little bit like how Pinkie must have always felt, she surmised. A little crazy, perhaps, but in a joyful, happy way that worked. “Don’t let the rabble lie to you, Spike. Even a real man cries sometimes.”

“G-good to hear,” he sniffed, rapidly blinking. The young man reluctantly turned his gaze from Rarity, noting with surprise that they were alone. “I, uh, know this isn’t a simple social call for us, but would you like to step outside for a moment? It was really nice when I came in earlier,” Spike offered.

She clapped her hands together lightly. “I know of the perfect place. Come along!” Taking him by the hand, she began to lead him out of the ballroom, back to the same balcony she had spoken with Chy and Pinkie on just about an hour before.

It didn’t take them long before they were back outside. Shivering some--it had grown a bit chilly since she had been out before--Rarity took a couple spins in the center before resting on the balcony rail. Spike noticed her discomfort and took off his jacket, putting it on her shoulders. He joined her, leaning against the railing and briefly staring up toward the stars as he rubbed his quickly chilling arms.

“They’re more visible than you’d think, being in the city like we are,” the man commented.

The violet beauty nodded, saying, “It’s not like Manhattan, despite how urbanized and developed Camelot is. The air’s still clear. And did you know that most of the city goes dark after eleven?” She smiled. “It really is the gem of the nation, the diamond in our crown, shining, brilliant.” Her train of thought caused a frown to wrinkle her brow. “Shame we found a flaw in it.”

Spike wordlessly nodded in agreement. “But we’re working on getting that flaw polished out, at least.” He blew into his hands and rubbed them together. A moment later, he pointed upward, to a collection of stars that formed a vague, uneven circle in the sky.

“Jasmine’s ring,” he stated simply.

“I’m afraid I know little of the constellations, Spike.”

“Twila made me help her find constellations when I was younger. She’d be out on balconies all the time, hunting for them.” He smiled, nostalgia obvious on his face. “A lot of the constellations had legends to go with them--Jasmine’s was one of my favorites.”

“Would you--oh, this feels so childish!” Rarity turned away, blushing. Whispering, she said, “Would you tell it to me, Spike?”

“Of course,” he agreed. Spike briefly paused, thinking for a moment. “Once upon a time, in the lands of the Kvaat, there was a beautiful princess--”

A sharp crackle pierced the night sky. “Yo, Drake,” Isabelle said through the light static of the radio. Spike winced, reaching for his ear and lowering the volume of his piece. “What do triplines look like?”

Spike seemed briefly dazed, as if he had just awoken from a wonderful dream and into a terrible morning. “Electronic, correct?”

“The fuck you think?” her voice hissed. Spike rolled his eyes.

“Well, keep an eye out on the walls. They’ll look similar to doorstops--sort of a prong on either side. Usually they put them about a foot or so off of the ground.”

Rarity heard a small warble of agreement--Jack’s voice, perhaps--then the coms went silent again. Spike frowned, briefly reaching into his pocket and making a few small swipes across his smartphone, before putting it back.

“I... I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad you’re not with them,” he quietly said, leaning over the railing and wringing his hands together. “You and Twila, I just...”

Placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder, Rarity stood next to him, closer than she ever had before. “I understand, Spike. It’s the risk we take, not just on ourselves, but the potential cost for our friends? Our families?” She gave him a determined, unafraid look. “But we pay, or we risk to pay, so that we may buy something better for those same people.”

Spike turned, directly facing her. For a brief moment, he ignored how close their bodies stood and instead lost himself in her azure eyes. “You’re willing to do all that...and you’re always thinking you’re a bad person.” The young man slowly shook his head, feeling almost drunk off of Rarity’s presence. “You and the rest of the girls. I’m lucky to know all of you.” He lowered his voice slightly, tilting his head up. “N-no matter what happens in this, now or later, I want you to know how much I care about you guys. How much I care about you.”

“And that’s why I fully believe we’ll all make it through this, safe and sound.” Rarity looked down, not terribly far, and saw what she had perhaps always seen. Spike had grown up, his feelings with him. They had all--the girls and he--been around one another so much over the past few years, it was hard to truly see the changes they had brought about in one another.

But she saw them now. Distinctly, significant, and forever. Not only in him, but her, as well. A small part of her wondered if it was not instead a result of the danger they had been in, the danger they would be in.

And if it is, so what? she told that voice. I believe. I trust. And maybe...

Caressing his cheek with one hand, she leaned down and in, not slowly but with no rush. With confidence. That this was real. That this was to last. That this was right.

That this kiss was an acceptance, for one to the other. A marker to set the future by--a potentially scary, terrifying one, yes. But not a lonesome one.

...I need you, Spike.