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That's Not My Name	By : marksandspence Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 6314 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have not created the True Blood (credit to Charlaine Harris & Alan Ball) or BtVS universes (credit to Joss Whedon) and do not have any claim on the characters other than the ones I have added. I make no money off of these stories.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter 18
[flashback continues]
Peia hears a soft knock at the door and in a moment her face erupts with a subtly warm grin. She quickly finishes typing, closes the lid to her laptop and walks purposefully to the door, taking a deep breath on the way hoping to calm her racing heart in time. She pulls the handle and finds Spike leaning against the doorframe looking slightly apologetic.
“Forgot the bloody card again. Sorry.”
He smells of cigarettes, as usual, and something else. She wonders sometimes if he smokes to overwhelm the other, to keep her from recognizing the scent of feeding. Blood? Another human’s sweat or perfume? Fear? They never mention it explicitly. He will just say he needs to get something to eat as if he were going to pick up some fish and chips or a kebab on the corner. She will nod and agree to meet back at the hotel in a while. She could use the time to get some writing done and they both smile, acknowledging that these are things they do not share.
Tonight, he had been gone a bit longer than usual. But he looks fine, so it must have been fine. She does not ask.
He steps forward through the door, lifts her up with a little half turn as he shuts the door behind them. She wraps her legs around him and they kiss for a moment before he playfully tosses her on the bed. She sits up, wrapping her arms around her bent knees as he tosses his jacket over a chair and grabs a beer from the mini-fridge. He glances at the laptop.
“Is there going to be any sex in this story of yours we’ve been working on? I mean, it’s been good fun so far, but I’ve heard some things about your proclivities and was rather looking forward to a good shag scene.”
“Proclivities? That’s a big word,” she responds, avoiding the question.
“Don’t let the accent and general coolness fool you, I’m an educated man. I think I might have even been rather posh once.”
“Educated I can believe. Posh…???”
“Not in this century – bloody Sloane Rangers and the like.”
Peia sees his now familiar expression when he tries to remember his past; mild frustration mixed with anger that will only grow if left to hold his attention.
“There is one sex scene. A minimum of one.” Peia responds, quick to divert him.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Fire it up,” he says enthusiastically, glancing in the direction of her laptop.
“I’ve already written it.”
“Bloody hell.”
“It was kind of central and so…I’m sure there’s room for improvement,” she suggests, hopefully.
“I could still draw it, I suppose.”
“Sure,” she responds with mild trepidation. He hadn’t actually drawn much of anything so far. And she wasn’t yet convinced that a graphic novel was the way to go. But could be fun…
“Do you want to read it now?” She adds.
“Nah.” He waves it off.
He seems a bit jumpy, not quite pacing. He walks over to the TV, flips it on but then in a few seconds, turns it back off. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, but then stops before pulling one out and throws the pack on the table. Peia watches for a moment with mild amusement before asking,
“What’s going on?”
“Sorry. This town gives me the creeps.”
“Do you want to leave?” She asks with mild annoyance, as they were just getting settled.
“Nah. It’s a familiar sort of creeps, so we should probably stay and figure out why. Talk to that gay witch again.”
“Gay witch? First off, she owns a magic shop, which doesn’t necessarily make her a witch. And how do you know she’s gay?”
“Obvious on both counts,” Spike says dismissively before continuing, “And the blonde, too. Something about her...”
“Ok, so we’ll talk to them. Is that really why you’re so twitchy?” Peia asks. He has never before expressed this kind of nervousness about investigating his memory loss.
Spike sits down on the edge of the bed next to Peia. He shrugs his shoulders as if attempting to dispel the tension. After a momentary pause, he takes a deep (unnecessary) breath and turns to look at her.
“I got you something.”
Peia smiles a little awkward smile. This is not terribly unusual. He often brings her little things – a flower, chocolates, ice cream. But this time his tone is more serious.
“Okay.” She watches him closely, desperately trying to interpret his expression. Is this supposed to be irony? She feels the blood rush into her cheeks.
Spike fishes in the font pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a ring, which he then blows on to get the pocket lint off.
“Remember, you saw it in that antique shop window the other day. Was a bit of a bugger to find once they’d stashed everything away for the night.”
She did remember. It was a beautiful ring. Jewelry rarely caught her attention, but she did have a soft spot for antiques and she had paused long enough in the window that day to be obvious. Not that she had given it a second thought since.
She looks at Spike, who is just staring at the ring in his hand. She looks at the ring, then back at Spike. This isn’t just a gift. After a long pause, he starts talking again.
“Not really sure how this works and all with the likes of us. Or even quite what I’m supposed to ask. But I love you. Every minute of every day. And I don’t want it to stop. I want to keep being this happy. And I want you to be this happy. I hope you are…But I…I’d be miserable with you, too, you know? If that was the choice.” His voice trails off.
Peia’s brain reminds her that this is ridiculous. This whole thing. And perhaps not even real. Maybe she is in a coma somewhere, this universe a product of her mind’s ennui. But the rest of her is screaming with emotion, strong enough to make her feel like she will either throw up or burst into tears. Never in her life had she felt this kind of elation, though she had imagined it, as daydreamers do. But nothing compares to reality. She had already done the unthinkable – she had let her world wrap around this man in front of her; she had released the strangle hold she kept as protection and let herself love him in a way her mind knew was unsustainable. It was beautiful. And terrifying.
And so, at this moment here, now, when the parachute has opened, the safety net in place, the ground soft like a pillow she lets herself be happy. She smiles with only the hint of a tear in her eyes and reaches over to touch the ring in Spike’s hand.
In a voice desperate to be casual with only a slight quaver, she says, “How about this. You promise to shag me every night for some period of time, renewable upon mutual happiness.”
Spike lets out a relieved laugh.
“With this ring, I promise to shag you every night, with exception only for gross bodily injury or extreme inebriation, for a minimum of the next decade. Longer if we’re still up for making each other happy….Or miserable.”
“Terms accepted,” she responds with a smile, taking the ring and putting it on the ring finger of her left hand. And with that, in the brief moment she takes to close her eyes and reset her thoughts, she hears the very smallest noise she can imagine; a noise whose intensity is entirely disproportionate to its importance. She hears the sound of a thread snapping, a line of spider silk breaking; the last thing holding her back.
***
A few days later, while Spike lay fast asleep, Peia slips out from the covers, gets dressed and heads to the Magic Shop II. The previous two days having gone past in a blur of emotionally fuelled shagging, random adventures (their specialty) and a variety of gloriously ridiculous moments (there might have even been kitten poker). But by the third day, she had decided it was time to get back to the task at hand.
Arriving at the MSII, she walks in, heads straight back to the reference section, pulls out the giant book on memory and begins to pull a notebook and pen out from her bag. A quick moment later, Willow appears with a cup of tea in her hand.
“Brought you some tea. Peppermint,” Willow chirps with forced casualness.
“Thanks. You want to sit down?” Peia responds.
“I do.”
“Have a seat. Thanks for the tea.”
“I don’t want to pry, but that man you were with last night…”
“Spike.”
“Spike, oh, that’s an unusual name. Uh, is he a…”
“Vampire? Yes, yes he is.”
“How did you two meet? If you don’t mind my asking.” As she says this, she is glancing obviously down at the book. She also notes the lack of bite-marks.
Peia frowns, trying to interpret what Willow must be thinking. Finally, she puts it together.
“You think I wiped his memory. You know him from before. You were friends?”
Willow is a bit nervous about being so direct. For all she knows, this woman before her is a powerful witch and will react badly to being called out. There is back-up in the store – she had requested Buffy send a couple of the young slayers to mill about in case things went pear shaped.
“’Friends’ is a strong word. But yes, I knew him.”
“How long ago?”
“Twenty years. About. Why would you…?”
“Oh, I didn’t. He was this way when I met him. I mean, I didn’t know it then. He didn’t even know it. But…”
“What? I’m confused.”
“Sorry. Wow. Twenty years.” Peia is caught up in her own thoughts before she notices Willow’s expectant look. “When I met him, he had memories, but they weren’t his own. At least most of them weren’t. Are you a witch?”
“Card carrying. So he didn’t know he didn’t know. Interesting. That would take a pretty complex spell to overwrite memories with new ones.”
“So it could have been a spell?” Peia asks, excitedly.
“Sure.”
“So it can be undone?”
“It’s tricky. Technically, one witch can’t undo the spell of another witch unless the exact spell is known.”
“Oh,” Peia responds, feeling a bit disheartened.
“And though we may be able to bring back most of his memories from before the original spell was cast, the time in between – during the active stage of the spell – may not come back entirely.”
Peia feels a lump in her throat and is not able to say anything in response, so she just nods.
“But there might be a workaround. What else can you tell me?”
Peia tells Willow everything she knows about Spike’s situation and memory. In the end, Will says she will need to do some reading and brainstorm with some other witches before they can come up with a plan to help Spike. She tells Peia to wait a minute and after disappearing behind the stacks for a few minutes (during which time, Peia can hear whispered arguing between Willow and an unidentified male voice), Willow returns with a book.
“Before we go any further, you might want to read this,” Willow says with a glimmer of sympathy.
“A history of Vampyres, Volume XXII,” Peia reads.
“You’ll find Spike’s entry under ‘William the Bloody’.”
Peia takes the book, her hands shaking slightly. “Can I take it with me?”
A male voice from behind the stacks erupts with a “NO!”
“Sorry, but you’ll have to read it here. I’ll get more tea,” Willow offers.
*
A couple of hours later, Willow turns to see Peia carrying the book, open, walking towards her, looking a bit pale.
“It says he’s dead,” she says, confused.
“Twice, actually. He died twice. There aren’t bodies to recover when vampires die. The first time there were witnesses, but I guess the second time they just assumed since there were no survivors to say otherwise.”
“Guess its true what they say about assuming,” Peia shrugs nervously, not able to think of anything clever to say. She closes the book and hands it to Willow.
“Nobody would blame you if you walked away. Knowing what you know now.” She lowers her voice slightly before continuing, “Just sayin’ maybe it would better for everyone if he didn’t remember,” Willow offers, frowning with concern as she takes the book.
“Thanks. Please let me know what you find out about the spell. Here is my cell number,” Peia responds plainly, scribbling some numbers on a scrap of paper.
Peia walks toward the exit but stops after a couple of steps.
“One more thing. What’s a slayer?”
**
Peia didn’t actually get a proper answer to that question until much later. Willow had to answer a phone call and had said, cryptically, that her question could not be answered quickly and that she would explain later.
Peia did her best to keep the information she had learned to herself. She tried to not let it affect her interactions with Spike. But it was not easy. His history was epic. And this asymmetry she feared had the potential to wreak havoc on their relationship. Still, she put it out of her mind as best she could and carried on as usual.
Willow found a series of spells that she thought would work. It was contingent on finding something that Spike had held back when he still had his original memories. Willow cryptically suggested that Peia might ask Buffy (the recent 40 year old from the bar the other night). She explained that they had all worked together back in the day when Buffy was “The Slayer”. It had taken a few minutes for Peia to link Willow’s loaded comments to what she had read in the history book.
“It was rumored that William had become romantically involved with a Slayer he originally sought to kill. Although this information would typically be of little consequence for the official history (and more appropriate for the tabloids), we choose to include it here, as some would argue that this relationship represented a turning point in his life. That, in fact, it was his love for this Slayer that drove him to seek the restoration of his soul, which hence, resulted in his final sacrifice in the service of those who would traditionally seek to destroy him and his ilk. Others offer a different interpretation….”
So one day, Peia showed up at Buffy’s house in the middle of the day. It was a hectic visit due to the presence of Buffy’s husband, Xander, and their two young children. There was much in the way of public denials of the existence of any ‘keepsakes’, but in a private moment, Buffy quietly handed Peia a handkerchief in which was wrapped a metal lighter and wished her good luck. She could tell Buffy was nervous about what might all come of this and she certainly needed to be convinced that it was necessary. Peia tried not to over-interpret.
Then the day came. All the pieces were in place, all the witches assembled. Buffy was not in attendance. The old Watcher observed from a distance. Spike was a baffling mix of skepticism, nerves and anger. Peia found his mood uninterpretable, but tried to shrug it off, so focused was she on moving forward. After the symbols were painted, the words spoken, the lighter ignited, Spike’s eyes closed and he slumped for just a moment. Peia realized she had stopped breathing and needed to gasp for a breath, causing everyone to abruptly look at her. By the time they all turned back to Spike, whose eyes were now open, it was obvious to Peia that the spell had worked. Something in his expression, his posture, was just different enough. The moments that followed were a blur to her, clouded in her memory by their significance. She remembers standing up too fast and nearly falling over. Spike had stood up at the same moment and looked at her. She reflexively moved toward him and threw her arms around his neck in celebration. He seemed surprised, pulled back slightly and looked at her with a nearly blank expression. He took a step back.
“I know who you are,” he said to Peia. Then he scanned the other people in the group. Finding Willow, he smirked slightly, “I remember you, Red. Where’s that fuzzy pink number with the lilac underneath?”
“Aww,” Willow replied, “always the charmer. Well, not always exactly.”
Then the smirk faded and Spike began to look a bit agitated. He brought his hand to his forehead as if he was just struck by a headache. He turned back to Peia.
“I have to go. I need to sort some things out.”
“Yeah. Of course. I… Go. I’ll be here.”
Spike nodded, still frowning. He began to walk away, but turned after a few steps.
“Thank you,” he said before turning back around and disappearing.
Peia just nodded, numb.
Willow called out, annoyed “You’re welcome!”
***
Hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. Peia set about structuring her wait. She rented a room from a nice lesbian couple, who were friends with one of the witches. She got the job as a bouncer. Discovered her strength. Took up Aikido. Started a new story.
She could wait. She knew how to wait. Waiting was something she had experience with. It was not always easy. It was not fun. But it was familiar. She made friends. Daisy, the seamstress, Billy, the bar owner, Zebedayo, her Aikido instructor. The time passed. She wrote when things got too painful. Never once did it occur to her that he would not come back. It was just a matter of time. She would just wait and when he was ready, he would come back to her. She could wait.
She thought she caught a glimpse of him once – about six months in. She couldn’t focus on anything for days afterward. She stopped writing and started drinking. Just for a weekend. Still, at the end of it, she found herself onstage at the club where she worked doing karaoke. They had these voice enhancers that made everyone appear to be able to sing. She was a huge hit – no one had seen her lose control before and found it rather startling. She sang her heart out. Her alcohol drenched brain thought he might be listening….
“It’s all your fault” by Pink:
I conjure up the thought of being gone
But I'd probably even do that wrong
I try to think about which way
Would I be able to and would I be afraid

Cause oh I'm bleeding out inside
Oh I don't even mind

It's all your fault
You called me beautiful
You turned me out
And now I can't turn back
I hold my breath
Because you were perfect
But I'm running out of air
And it's not fair

I'm trying to figure out what else to say (What else could I say)
To make you turn around and come back this way (Would you just come back this way)
I feel like we could be really awesome together
So make up your mind cause it's now or never (oh)

It's all your fault
You called me beautiful
You turned me out
And now I can't turn back
I hold my breath
Because you were perfect
But I'm running out of air
And it's not fair

I would never pull the trigger
But I've cried wolf a thousand times
I wish you could
Feel as bad as I do
I have lost my mind

It's all your fault
You called me beautiful
You turned me out
And now I can't turn back
I hold (I hold) my breath (My breath)
Because you were perfect
But I'm running out of air (running out of air)
And it's not fair

I hold my breath
Because you were perfect
But I'm running out of air
And it's not (It's not) fair

**
Then she caught another glimpse. And another. And another. Spike was in town, for sure. He was with them. The slayers. The witches. Why didn’t he come to her? Explanations swirled in her head. She should wait. He’ll find her. But then came the night when he saw her. She knew he saw her. But then he disappeared again. She spent the next two nights in her basement apartment putting the finishing touches on the final chapter of her story, anything to distract her brain. The minute she sent it off to her editors, she decided she was done waiting. She had to see him. She had to talk to him. It had been real, right? It wasn’t part of a story. She looked down at the ring on her finger. “He did give this to me, didn’t he?”, she thinks. Surely there was just some misunderstanding.
The next night, just as she had finished her shift at the club, she caught a glimpse of him disappearing around the corner. She ran to catch up and shouted after him. He stopped and turned around. He was wearing a coat she hadn’t seen before. Long and black. He was still too far away for her to interpret his expression. In a panic, not knowing quite how to begin, she blurts,
“Spare a cigarette?”
He smiles and walks over, fishing a pack out of his coat on the way. He stops in front of her, hands her the pack and flicks his lighter. She hadn’t actually been smoking much since he left, but decides to play along and takes a drag before saying anything more.
Spike looks at her with a mix of admiration, pity and warmth.
“You’ve made quite a name for yourself around here. Even got the slayers’ knickers in a twist trying to figure you out.”
“How long have you been in town?” Peia asks directly.
“Couple of weeks,” Spike shrugs.
“What have you been waiting for?” She replies, desperately trying to hold it together.
“Waitin’ for you to finish your story, of course. It’s a good one,” he smiles, letting some warmth slip.
In a rush of emotion, she reaches forward and slaps him hard across the face. Immediately she regrets it.
“I’m sorry. It’s just been so hard and I was confused….and I only wrote the bloody story to pass the time.”
“’Completely deserved that. I’m a right prick when I get nervous.”
Peia takes deep breath and starts again, this time with a bit more control. “I don’t want to rush you, but I feel like I’m running out of air. I need to say some things…”
Spike interrupts, “And I will listen, but I don’t think it’s a good time right at this very moment.” He glances toward the alley, which has suddenly filled up with a group of about 8 to 10 people in black masks.
Peia sighs and mumbles to herself, “now??” She turns back to Spike, explaining,
“It’s my black belt test. Scheduled for sometime this week and obviously my dojo master has picked the worst moment possible.” She says these last three words loudly.
To the crowd, “Can’t we do this tomorrow?”
One of the figures shakes their head.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Peia says sternly to Spike.
The fighting begins in the way she was expecting, but quickly escalates beyond the abilities of the other fighters in her dojo. Soon it is clear that this is a set-up. She is forced to not hold back her strength or quickness as she usually does in class and instead begins to fight as if she were dispatching an unruly group of vampires from the club. The fighting goes on and on and Peia maintains her focus, despite the change in circumstances. More and more of the fighters drop out either due to injury or exhaustion. Just as she is down to the last two, Peia feels a searing pain in her side as one of the previously fallen fighters returns with a taser. As she is collapsing to the ground, she sees Buffy observing from a few feet back next to an older gentleman. Due to inexperience, the woman who tased Peia used too high a voltage, too close to her heart. Soon after falling to the ground, her heart stops.
[Author’s note: This next section is going to be abbreviated for expediency. Wish I had more time….]
Buffy and Giles rush forward. Mass pandemonium and shouting follows. The use of the taser had not been approved, etc. etc. They take Peia to the hospital where they are able to start her heart again. The smells and sounds of the hospital cause Peia to lose her shit when she regains consciousness (result of her years in a coma & the accident that put her there – PTSD). They give her sedatives, but whenever they wear off, she freaks out again. They put her in restraints, which just makes things worse. The cycle continues until she is given the max amount of sedatives possible. Which make her body limp, though mentally she continues to freak.
Finally, in the middle of the night, Dali sneaks in, breaks her out and takes her back to her crypt to heal. Peia wakes up to Dali brushing her hair and giving her a bath. Dali introduces herself and asks about the story. Peia worries that this is going to turn into a Misery kind of situation, as Dali seems far too invested in the vampire heroine. Peia explains that the final chapter is with the editors and will be posted soon. Peia notices that Dali’s crypt is filled with books on bookshelves. They chat about books and writing, etc. Dali is aware of the situation with Spike (because, you know, she’s a stalker) and agrees to help Peia recover and clean up so she can go back and find him. Dali accompanies her when she is ready to leave to protect her from another attack. They find Spike leaving the Magic Box II. Peia has a mild desire to go in and chew the slayers/witches/whoever out for, you know, killing her, but is much more invested in working things out with Spike.
Tonight is the night, she believes. She replays the scenario in her mind – the one she has been over and over again while recovering with Dali. She gives him her little speech. He accepts her wisdom about the situation and they spend the rest of the night talking about what he’s been up to the last six months. And then shagging and then the rest. The details don’t matter, only that after tonight, things go back to a slightly altered version of what they were. And tonight is now.
They let Spike get some distance away from the shop before Peia gives Dali the nod telling her she is ready to go ahead on her own.
“Spike.” Peia calls out to him, with steely confidence.
He stops and turns more quickly this time, his shoulders dropping in relief when he sees her. He walks quickly toward her and then slows on approach, as if something is physically holding him back from reaching out and pulling her to him in a tight hug. Instead, he stops short and reaches his hand out and touches her lightly on the cheek.
“Didn’t know what’d happened to you, disappearing like that,” Spike says with muted emotion.
“I’m fine. No thanks to your friends. Still immortal, it seems. Luckily.”
“I didn’t think they’d….”
“It’s okay. That’s not what I want to talk about.”
Spike suddenly stiffens. “Maybe you should rest. You live over on Driftwood Lane, yeah?”
“I said I’m fine. We should talk,” she responds, smiling.
Spike nods.
Peia launches in, “I told myself to be patient. But when you came back and didn’t… well, I thought maybe you were waiting for me. Maybe you weren’t sure how I’d feel about everything I’d learned about your past or how the memories might change things. And the truth of it is that I can’t say for sure. Who knows how important memories are? But the way I see it, I didn’t fall in love with who you thought you were. I fell in love with something deeper than that. Something that I believe must still be there. And the stories aren’t that different, are they really? Perhaps a bit less epic, but Gillian mostly tweaked – put herself in where others had been. So maybe you are just my Spike with more baggage. And I am good with baggage. I’ll help you carry it. I’m stronger than I look. I don’t mind. I’m not so naïve to think it will be easy. And I can’t promise epic or novel-worthy or apocalyptic romance like you’ve had before. But what we had was good and fun and perfect in it’s own way. Maybe you don’t remember clearly, but we were happy. We could be happy. So if there is any small part of you waiting and wondering, I want to be clear. I’m in. I want my decade.”
Spike listens intently and when she finishes, he reaches for his cigarettes, pulls one out and lights it, hands shaking subtly. He takes a long drag. He thinks about telling her the he caught that reference to ‘the decade’ in one of the chapters he’d seen. He really had been reading her story. There are so many things he wants to tell her. But right now, all he can think about is how to make this moment last for an eternity.
Peia smiles and jokes “I’ve just laid my soul out on a platter, but take your time with that smoke.”
He drops the half smoked butt on the ground and steps on the lit end. He stands up straight and looks her straight in the eye for just a moment before looking away.
“I heard your song, you know. I didn’t mean to make you wait so long. It’s just…..I’m such a bloody coward. I took advantage…I knew you’d wait. And I didn’t think I could bear it. And the truth is I can’t, but I have to.” He glances back up at her face, noting the growing realization. “The thing is, it’s just too much. You could sink an oil tanker with the baggage I’ve got. I can’t…”
“Turn around.” Peia blurts, interrupting. She knows the rest already. It is completely transparent.
“What? Jen, I…” Spike tries to continue.
“Turn around and walk away.” Peia says, almost wistfully.
“No, let me at least….”
“Turn around and walk away. Now.” Peia insists with a frightening authority.
Getting it, Spike does as he is told. He quickly disappears down the street. Peia stands there, unable to move, unable to react. Odd that she never seriously considered that this would happen. Not when Eric told her it would. Not when Willow insinuated the same. Not after six months. Not even when he told her he’d been in town for two weeks. Her belief that it would work out, that all she had to do was the right thing and then wait patiently was so deeply ingrained that faced with the new reality, she can only be witness to her own collapse. She feels it travel down her body, the crushing truth of it; when it gets to her legs, her knees buckle and she falls to the pavement. She is not sure how many minutes pass before her brain regains control of her body and she is able to stand again, if doubled over. Her heart pounding, her head throbbing, she staggers down the street toward her apartment. Soon the tears flow so hot down her cheeks that she can barely see. She is overcome with nausea, pukes in a garbage can and decides to sit for a minute hidden in a narrow alley. Her limbs feel heavy while her mind races, sifting through the last six months, contemplating versions of her future all of which feel sickeningly bleak. She sobs, then shrieks, hoping to expel some emotion.
Minutes (?) later, she hears an angry voice, dragging her out of the endless loop of misery conjured up by her brain, upset to be bathed in such toxic emotion.
“Get up. Get. Up.”
She wipes the tears from her eyes and squints toward the source of the words.
Shaking her head, she scowls, “Not tonight, Bruce.”
“Oh, it’s going to be tonight, Veronica.”
“NOT TONIGHT,” Peia shouts as loud as she can. In a flash, she feels a sharp pain as Bruce kicks her hard in the ribs.
Quickly standing up, she spits, “I think you will find its best not to kick the hornets’ nest.”
***
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That's Not My Name