Just about the only thing I own outright is this computer, and I certainly
don't own cowboy bebop... that being said, enjoy this little piece.
No survivors
She watched him walk away, while every fiber of her being screamed for her to stop him, but what could she do, when he'd made the decision to throw his life away? Decided to wad it up, like an old piece of paper and toss it in the trash. It wasn't fair.
She didn't know what else to do, so she pulled out her gun and sent a warning shot hurtling passed his left ear.
She didn't want to hurt him; she just didn't want him to walk away. So much of what
she'd had was gone, her house in ruins, her friends all dead, or old beyond recognition, and her family... she'd sort of got to feeling that her family was here, on this ship. She'd lost so much, and suddenly, she couldn't bear the thought of losing him too.
So she took aim and pulled the trigger.
Spike went down with a slug buried in his kneecap, and a look of surprise on his face. The surprise however was shortly replaced by a peaceful serene look as Faye clubbed him in the back of the head with the butt of her gun.
She bit her lip. Spike would be pissed when he woke up, but at least he would be alive. For a while anyway.
She knelt beside him, and brushed the hair form his eyes. She never realized until this moment how much he'd come to mean to her. How much all the Bebop crew had. She knew that soon he'd be healed, a day or two of recovery, and he would be all too happy to run right back into the arms of death.
"Is she that tempting a mistress?" she asked the unconscious figure.
She looked into his face, the face she'd become so familiar with, his mis-matched eyes were now closed, and she imagined for a moment that they had closed forever, that his wish for rest had been granted. She felt her heart crack.
On impulse, she leaned forward, and allowed her lips to brush his cheek, then stood up, a wistful smile on her face, and a look of grim determination in her eyes.
"No matter what, you won't leave me, Spike." She whispered.
Jet watched as the swordfish headed out into space, knowing he'd never see the pilot again. He wasn't the type to cry, and he wasn't going to start now, but he felt a heavy sorrow settle on his chest that made breathing uncomfortable.
Spike hadn't even sent a final farewell communication.
"Good bye, Spike old buddy," he said, flicking his spent cigarette to the floor, watching the cherry red light arch through the air before he ground it into the floor with the heel of his boot.
"What's that supposed to mean?" came the gritty intonation from the doorway.
Jet turned around slowly, hardly daring to believe.
"Spike!" His face broke into a broad smile. "I thought you were already gone."
Spike approached him, and Jet's smile faded as he notices his partner's limp. There was blood pouring out of a wound in his knee. "What the hell happened to you?"
Spike reached into his pocket, extracting a cigarette, not deigning to answer until the tube was smoldering between his lips.
"Faye didn't tell you?" he said, after a long drag.
"Nope."
Spike curled his lip, showing his canines as he spoke. "She kneecapped me and left me unconscious in the hallway, when I get my hands on her..." Spike trailed off, Jet had gone pale.
"What's wrong Jet?"
Without a word, the big man jumped behind the control console and began typing.
The cockpit of the swordfish appeared on the screen, and Faye's head was bent over the controls. The cigarette dropped from Spikes nerveless lips, but he didn't notice.
. Faye raised his head to look at the display, and gave them a bright smile, looking for all the world like she'd gone on a joyride.
"Hey guys, sweet machine, Spike, but I'm still getting the hang of the controls."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Spike asked in a screeching tone.
"Wow, this thing handles like a dream," she said, ignoring him.
"Faye, where do you think you're going?" Jet sounded like a concerned father. He always was looking out for them. Faye gave him a smile, a rare genuine smile.
It was a smile full of sorrow. "I've never been any good at this tragic hero thing, but I couldn't play the part any worse than Mr. Personality over there."
Jet turned toward the door, "I'm going after her."
Faye shook her head, "don't think so, the Redtail's trashed, and as for
the Hammerhead... well let's just say it's taken care of."
"Can I talk to Faye alone for a minute, Jet?" Spike placed his hand on Jet's shoulder, and pointed him in the direction of the door. He glanced back once, before he turned the corner, but Faye averted her eyes.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Spike repeated.
Faye gave him a half smile, "I'm leaving first."
"You're going to Mars then?"
She bit her lip, but didn't answer.
"You think you can to take on the syndicate?"
"Why not, you thought you could... some one's got to keep that appointment you made with destiny."
Spike sat down, and when he spoke again, his voice was so quiet, Faye had to strain to hear him. "Come on Faye, this isn't your fight, it's mine, and..."
"Shut up." She cut him off her voice full of every bitter feeling she had, every ounce of pain, every dash hope, and shattered dream. Every un- requited love. "Everyone I ever cared about is dead, I shouldn't have to tell you how much it hurts, to have the thing you love most be ripped away from you, to have to face every day knowing that you have to find the strength to carry on," the tears were flowing freely now, and she didn't even bother drying them, or trying to stop them.
"Yeah, but..." Spike began feebly
"Let me finish... It took me a long time to let you guys into my heart, and I didn't
start caring about you to have you rush off to your death." There it was, the confession, she cared about someone... she cared about them
There was a long pause before either of them spoke. "You're right, you're no tragic hero," Spike said lamely. Faye just shook her head.
"Always gotta add in the wise cracks, don't you? Can never let anything get serious. Well, if you did, you might realize that it's peoples hearts you're playing with."
"Look, just come back... don't do this," he was getting desperate now, sure that he was losing her.
"Don't worry about me, Spike, by all rights I should be dead anyway; I should
have died 54 years ago, this isn't my time." she reached over to the power button on the display, but just before she turned it off, she looked up, her emerald eyes meeting his, and for the first time, there was no deceit in those eyes, just anguish ripping aside all the layers of subterfuge to the honesty beneath. " Just promise you'll remember me," she whispered.
The display went black.
Spike slumped in his chair. How could he ever forget. He was only partially aware when Jet put his hand on his shoulder.
"Don't blame yourself."
He turned his face to Jet, and wondered if he looked as pale and distressed... and helpless... as his friend.
Suddenly Jet's brow furrowed, as he move in closer to his friend.
"What's that?" he asked, pulling away, and pointing to a spot on his cheek that corresponded to one on Spike's.
"Huh?" he asked, and reached up, feeling a waxy substance and pulling his fingers away. It was red.
"Lipstick?"
"Any word?" Spike had been pacing all night, despite all warnings to stay off his knee.
Jet shook his head, sadly and looked into his partner's eyes. "There was a fire at the Red Dragon headquarters last night. The police suspect arson..." He looked away. "No known survivors."
No survivors
She watched him walk away, while every fiber of her being screamed for her to stop him, but what could she do, when he'd made the decision to throw his life away? Decided to wad it up, like an old piece of paper and toss it in the trash. It wasn't fair.
She didn't know what else to do, so she pulled out her gun and sent a warning shot hurtling passed his left ear.
She didn't want to hurt him; she just didn't want him to walk away. So much of what
she'd had was gone, her house in ruins, her friends all dead, or old beyond recognition, and her family... she'd sort of got to feeling that her family was here, on this ship. She'd lost so much, and suddenly, she couldn't bear the thought of losing him too.
So she took aim and pulled the trigger.
Spike went down with a slug buried in his kneecap, and a look of surprise on his face. The surprise however was shortly replaced by a peaceful serene look as Faye clubbed him in the back of the head with the butt of her gun.
She bit her lip. Spike would be pissed when he woke up, but at least he would be alive. For a while anyway.
She knelt beside him, and brushed the hair form his eyes. She never realized until this moment how much he'd come to mean to her. How much all the Bebop crew had. She knew that soon he'd be healed, a day or two of recovery, and he would be all too happy to run right back into the arms of death.
"Is she that tempting a mistress?" she asked the unconscious figure.
She looked into his face, the face she'd become so familiar with, his mis-matched eyes were now closed, and she imagined for a moment that they had closed forever, that his wish for rest had been granted. She felt her heart crack.
On impulse, she leaned forward, and allowed her lips to brush his cheek, then stood up, a wistful smile on her face, and a look of grim determination in her eyes.
"No matter what, you won't leave me, Spike." She whispered.
Jet watched as the swordfish headed out into space, knowing he'd never see the pilot again. He wasn't the type to cry, and he wasn't going to start now, but he felt a heavy sorrow settle on his chest that made breathing uncomfortable.
Spike hadn't even sent a final farewell communication.
"Good bye, Spike old buddy," he said, flicking his spent cigarette to the floor, watching the cherry red light arch through the air before he ground it into the floor with the heel of his boot.
"What's that supposed to mean?" came the gritty intonation from the doorway.
Jet turned around slowly, hardly daring to believe.
"Spike!" His face broke into a broad smile. "I thought you were already gone."
Spike approached him, and Jet's smile faded as he notices his partner's limp. There was blood pouring out of a wound in his knee. "What the hell happened to you?"
Spike reached into his pocket, extracting a cigarette, not deigning to answer until the tube was smoldering between his lips.
"Faye didn't tell you?" he said, after a long drag.
"Nope."
Spike curled his lip, showing his canines as he spoke. "She kneecapped me and left me unconscious in the hallway, when I get my hands on her..." Spike trailed off, Jet had gone pale.
"What's wrong Jet?"
Without a word, the big man jumped behind the control console and began typing.
The cockpit of the swordfish appeared on the screen, and Faye's head was bent over the controls. The cigarette dropped from Spikes nerveless lips, but he didn't notice.
. Faye raised his head to look at the display, and gave them a bright smile, looking for all the world like she'd gone on a joyride.
"Hey guys, sweet machine, Spike, but I'm still getting the hang of the controls."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Spike asked in a screeching tone.
"Wow, this thing handles like a dream," she said, ignoring him.
"Faye, where do you think you're going?" Jet sounded like a concerned father. He always was looking out for them. Faye gave him a smile, a rare genuine smile.
It was a smile full of sorrow. "I've never been any good at this tragic hero thing, but I couldn't play the part any worse than Mr. Personality over there."
Jet turned toward the door, "I'm going after her."
Faye shook her head, "don't think so, the Redtail's trashed, and as for
the Hammerhead... well let's just say it's taken care of."
"Can I talk to Faye alone for a minute, Jet?" Spike placed his hand on Jet's shoulder, and pointed him in the direction of the door. He glanced back once, before he turned the corner, but Faye averted her eyes.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Spike repeated.
Faye gave him a half smile, "I'm leaving first."
"You're going to Mars then?"
She bit her lip, but didn't answer.
"You think you can to take on the syndicate?"
"Why not, you thought you could... some one's got to keep that appointment you made with destiny."
Spike sat down, and when he spoke again, his voice was so quiet, Faye had to strain to hear him. "Come on Faye, this isn't your fight, it's mine, and..."
"Shut up." She cut him off her voice full of every bitter feeling she had, every ounce of pain, every dash hope, and shattered dream. Every un- requited love. "Everyone I ever cared about is dead, I shouldn't have to tell you how much it hurts, to have the thing you love most be ripped away from you, to have to face every day knowing that you have to find the strength to carry on," the tears were flowing freely now, and she didn't even bother drying them, or trying to stop them.
"Yeah, but..." Spike began feebly
"Let me finish... It took me a long time to let you guys into my heart, and I didn't
start caring about you to have you rush off to your death." There it was, the confession, she cared about someone... she cared about them
There was a long pause before either of them spoke. "You're right, you're no tragic hero," Spike said lamely. Faye just shook her head.
"Always gotta add in the wise cracks, don't you? Can never let anything get serious. Well, if you did, you might realize that it's peoples hearts you're playing with."
"Look, just come back... don't do this," he was getting desperate now, sure that he was losing her.
"Don't worry about me, Spike, by all rights I should be dead anyway; I should
have died 54 years ago, this isn't my time." she reached over to the power button on the display, but just before she turned it off, she looked up, her emerald eyes meeting his, and for the first time, there was no deceit in those eyes, just anguish ripping aside all the layers of subterfuge to the honesty beneath. " Just promise you'll remember me," she whispered.
The display went black.
Spike slumped in his chair. How could he ever forget. He was only partially aware when Jet put his hand on his shoulder.
"Don't blame yourself."
He turned his face to Jet, and wondered if he looked as pale and distressed... and helpless... as his friend.
Suddenly Jet's brow furrowed, as he move in closer to his friend.
"What's that?" he asked, pulling away, and pointing to a spot on his cheek that corresponded to one on Spike's.
"Huh?" he asked, and reached up, feeling a waxy substance and pulling his fingers away. It was red.
"Lipstick?"
"Any word?" Spike had been pacing all night, despite all warnings to stay off his knee.
Jet shook his head, sadly and looked into his partner's eyes. "There was a fire at the Red Dragon headquarters last night. The police suspect arson..." He looked away. "No known survivors."