Disclaimer:
I do not own anything...except for this toaster! *Holds toaster with pride*
Notes: This story is intended to be a Spike/Faye romance but there isn't really
much of that in this chapter because I'm just setting the scene right now. I'm
trying to make it sort of Spike-focused when it comes to POV, because I have to
admit that I'm sort of bored of almost always reading romance 'fics from the
girl's perspective. I'm trying to take a sort of different approach to the
"Spike really survived at the end" idea, though you'll see what I mean
in later chapters. Sorry if there are typos but my writing process kept on
getting interrupted by bogus tornado-sirens. ^_^'
Please R&R!
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Rain thundered down from the steely gray sky, its darkness increasing with every
minute that passed as day slowly slipped into night. The street was almost
deserted save the few straggling, umbrella-toting figures hurrying to their
homes. Slowly, street lamps flickered on along the street, doing little to
illuminate the dark alleyways that branched off from the wet street. On a bench
illuminated by an overhanging street lamp, a lone figure lingered long after the
street emptied itself of all other life.
He was bent slightly forward, his long legs stretched out before him, soaked to
the skin but not appearing to care. A beaten, nearly extinguished cigarette hung
from his lips and his mismatched, red-brown eyes stared distantly at a space
just above the pavement in front of him. He blinked slowly, seemingly unaware of
the locks of wet curly hair that hung down almost to his eyes.
Deja vu...thought Spike Spiegel with a slow sigh. I guess being awake
isn't all that much better than living in a dream.
He lazily plucked the cold cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the ground
with a practiced flick of the wrist. He stood up slowly and carefully, nursing a
long, deep wound that crossed his abdomen, careful not to reopen it.
He walked slowly down the empty street with no particular destination in mind.
It's strange, he thought. Now that she's gone...I have no desire to
see her again. Does this mean I'm that shallow? Was it even love in the first
place? Is there really a difference between love and lust? Is it possible to
have one without the other...or both at the same time?
Questions circled their way around in his head like some sort of demented
merry-go-round. He really wasn't even trying to think up answers to them. What
was the point? He was all alone again and nothing mattered.
He should have died. It was all just a farce. He had gone to see if he was alive
and he had realized that it didn't really make any difference. It would've been
better if he had died. If the dream was hell and life was hell, what was there
to live for?
He was empty inside. Empty, empty, empty. At least when he had been
dreaming he had had a mission, a purpose. The fire of revenge and the pain of
loss had burned inside of him. Now all he felt was a hollow, chilling cold.
He knew that pickpockets and murderers waited in the alleys he passed and he
would've happily let them kill him.
He looked at where he was and realized that he was standing in front of a
pay-phone. It was fitting yet completely out of place in its surroundings.
Standing there, solemnly and unimposingly, seeming to look back at him just as
he was looking at it.
"What are you staring at?" Spike asked it angrily.
It simply looked back at him, as if saying You know what.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Of course you do.
"Do you know how ridiculous I look, standing here and arguing with a pay-
phone?"
Silence.
"How do you know they'll want me back?"
They will. They care about you.
Something ached, somewhere in the recesses of the emptiness inside of Spike,
which he quickly stifled.
"They were just a bunch of weirdo's that didn't get me into anything but
trouble."
Weirdo's who can give you a reason to live.
Spike definitely felt a pain in his heart at those words, one that he couldn't
suppress. After a moment of indecision, he walked slowly over to the pay phone
and punched in the Bebop's communicator number.
I knew you'd give in.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ed returned to the Bebop only seven weeks after leaving to live with her father.
"Ed woke up one morning and Father-person was gone." She admitted.
"Ed searched for a long, long time but couldn't find him.sooooooooo Ed came
back to be with Faye-Faye and Jet-person and Spike-person!"
At the mention of Spike's name, Jet scratched the back of his head and looked at
nowhere in particular and Faye turned away and sighed, taking a long drag from
her cigarette.
"Ed," Jet said slowly, searching from inexperience to find the words
to tell a child that someone they were attached to had died.
"What's wrong, Jet-person? Why isn't Faye-Faye saying anything? Where's
Spike-person?"
"Ed, well, you see." Jet attempted to start again. He sighed heavily.
"Damn, I'm bad at this," He muttered.
Just then, the vid screen beeped, indicating an incoming call. Saved by the
bell, Jet thought to himself.
"I'll get it, Jet," Faye called from the old yellow couch where she
had recently made it a habit to sleep, in what Jet thought was her own way of
mourning Spike.or maybe she was still waiting for him to return. The both knew
how naОve her actions were, but he wasn't so insensitive that he would
tell her to stop. Jet had seen the encounter between her and Spike before he had
left and he wasn't so slow as to not be able to see her true feelings. Faye
perched on the table in front of the screen, wearing the same blank, slightly
sad look that hadn't left her face since Spike had left. She tapped the receive
button and fell of the table with a sharp gasp when she saw the face of the
screen.
"Do I really look that bad?" Asked a voice from the screen A voice
slightly muffled by the sound of heavy rain in the background. A voice that sent
Jet into momentary shock.
"Spike-person!" Ed shouted with joy, leaping over the couch and
landing on the table in a headstand. "Spike in the rain, a doggie on a
train!"
"Y-you're dead!" Faye stammered in shock from the floor.
"Not the last time I checked." Spike laughed dryly.
Jet had slowly recovered and made his way around to the vid screen. "Dammit,
Spike. You gave us a bad shock. Where have you been for the past two months? Why
didn't you call us?"
Spike ignored the questions. "Look, Jet, I need to be picked up. Could you
come and get me? I assume you're still near Mars."
"What happened to the Swordfish II?"
"I don't know."
"You don't look too good."
"Maybe it's from standing in the rain. I'm sending you the
coordinates."
"We'll be there as soon as we can."
"Thanks."
The screen clicked off and Jet shook his head in bewilderment. "He
disappears for months and then just calls one day like he never left." He
glanced over at Faye. "Are you okay?" He asked.
Faye had a glazed look on her face. Her eyes were staring at the place where
Spike's face had just been on the vid screen. She suddenly shook herself and ran
a hand through her hair, flashing a weak smile at Jet. "Sorry, this is just
kinda weird for me. I think I need to get some rest." And with that, she
stood up and walked to her room for the first time in two months.
Ed had already disappeared to some other corner of the ship along with her
Tomato and Jet heard Ein scratching himself lazily from some small nook behind a
piece of furniture.
Jet shook his head again and sighed, walking to the controls to set the course
for the coordinates Spike had sent.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Spike sat on his bench once more, feeling a world different than how he had the
last time he had sat here. Now his heart was aching. In fact, he was aching all
over and he could feel now that the long period of self-neglect in the rain had
given him a fever and a severe head cold.
Gradually, as he sat there and watched the street lamp, the rain slackened off
and the clouds began turning a lighter shade of gray. Eventually, the street
lamp flickered off and the rain stopped completely, slowly pulling the clouds
away with it.
As the rumbling engine of the Bebop grew louder as it approached, sunlight, warm
and golden, cracked through some miniscule holes in the heavy gray clouds.
After all, Spike thought. The pain is a hell of a lot better than the numbness.
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To be continued! Please review!