While not quite ready to walk away, Faye finds herself capable of clinging to the smaller details, her fingers pressing into his palm or eyes darting across the faint color of freckles by the bridge his nose, where the sun's shone any number of times. Keeping herself busy's the only way to escape the most consuming of emotions, she's found, be it fear or mere restlessness, rustling quickly through memories she's not sure she ever spent the time to reflect upon. What was the point, after all? Thinking about a madman no one could save.

"Spike did," she corrects, biting down on her lower lip. "We all stopped the virus, but I didn't get away from Vincent. Vincent left. Guess I was only so interesting after a point."

Closing her eyes, Faye shakes her head. "Can we get rid of them? There's no point in keeping those things around."