Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop or the characters therein, even though I wish I did. (Sigh) One day, dammit! One day! Bwa-haa- haa- haa! Oh.... sorry.
Notes: This is part of a larger story I'm writing that is far FAR from completion. Hence the inclusion of my own character, Ralla, but she plays a minor role here, so don't worry about it. I'm just experimenting so I need feedback-- tell me if you think my portrayal of Vicious is believable. I jump around a bit. But Read and Review anyway! There's more if ya want it!
So it was true. It was fucking true! He couldn't decide what to do, but it almost didn't matter. It could go one way, or another, but it would never be able to go in the direction that Vicious actually wished. Back. Back to the way things were before all this-- shit, for lack of a better word-- happened.
He'd never been a cruel man. Cold, yes. Feelings were not his strong suit, and they never had been, not even as a small child. Perhaps that was why the syndicate valued him so much. His keen eyes displayed his detached intelligence, and his quietness disturbed most people. It made him seem dangerous, and he was. But Spike-- when he met Spike, Vicious actually felt as though he now had someone he could relate to, someone he could talk to. Spike probably heard him speak more than anyone else he had known combined. And then he met Julia, and Vicious felt something-- something powerful. For someone so indifferent to most things, such a foreign thing wasn't just a new sensation; it was almost euphoric. It had made him feel whole. Invincible, like he could move mountains. Surely, the three of them would rise, together, to the top of the syndicate. Together.
Never. Not now, not after what they had done. Vicious had almost learned to appreciate the feelings that Julia had awakened in him. But how could he now? He hated her even more for that. Even the blue sky reminded him of her clear eyes, and the golden sun made him think of her fair hair. Everything spoke her name, everything held a memory. That bistro across the street was where she had first taken his hand. The streetlamps were a reminder of the night they had stood underneath the light outside of her apartment, of the orange light glinting off of her hair and making it seem to glow with an unearthly radiance. And that staircase there, that was the spot where he had seen them. Stepping out onto that fire escape with Ralla following, he looked down and there they were, laughing. Spike had his arm around her, and something about the casual way their bodies fit together screamed of an intimacy that Vicious thought only reserved for him. He stopped dead in his tracks, and behind him Ralla let out a small gasp.
Now Vicious glared up at the steps, hating the blue sky, despising the bright cheerful sun. He cursed them both, only wanting to get away from their damn dazzling happiness. A door offered shelter, and he darted inside.
He stood in a dim crowded curio shop, right before a vanity dresser with a large dusty mirror. His reflection was dark and hazy, and he could barely make out his own face. But even without being able to see well, he knew. Gone was that detached, silent youth that relied on intellect and skill almost amorally. He had been replaced by a young man who could feel, and who had felt-- contentment, friendship, even love. But that was not the face in the mirror now. This was the face of a man lost.
He could not go back to the young man who had experienced peace. Nor could he return to being the indifferent youth, for he had knowledge of emotions now. He could not kill those emotions, no matter how hard he tried. But he couldn't bear it. How could he? How was he supposed to live like this, when every moment was agony?
The face in the mirror smiled at him. Vicious couldn't breathe. With a sudden violent motion, he slammed his fist into the mirror. It splintered into a hundred pieces, each one reflecting a cold blue eye.
Sudden hate overtook him again, but this time it wasn't for Julia or for Spike. It was for himself. How could he have been so weak and so stupid? A woman, a damn woman, had brought him to his knees. He was supposed to be stronger than that, unaffected by trivial things like love and devotion. The self-loathing was so intense that he almost choked. With that hate came rage, an all encompassing rage for all things. It drowned everything else out, even the pain from his slashed up hand. The blood was red-- red like roses, red like Spike's good eye. Red like rage.
He took a deep, shuddering lungful of air. He could breathe again. This was the only way he could breathe. This anger, it was a gift. A blessing.
The real Vicious whirled and stalked out of the shop. The thought of what he might become did not cross his mind; it was too late anyway. A sharp pain spiked through his chest. It was the first sliver of his humanity dying. Vicious touched his hand lightly to his heart, but never once faltered in his stride.
*******************
Ralla heard him coming and stood up, opening the door of the practice room. If she noticed the change in his face, she kept it to herself. On its perch in the corner, Vicious's bird screeched in recognition of its master. He swept past them both and went straight for the katana hanging on the wall. Ralla watched as he sliced the long blade through the air with an air of purpose.
"So it's true then?"
Vicious kept slashing and didn't answer, but he did slide his eyes over to look at her.
There was a shift in her face, so small and so subtle that he doubted anyone else saw it. But it hit him in the face like a slap.
She was happy about it. Somewhere, deep down inside, Ralla was glad that this was happening.
He strode over and grasped her chin in his hand. "Did you know?" he hissed. Towering over her small form, he forced her to look at him. "Did you know?!"
"No."
After a second he let her go and turned away. Dammit, she was telling the truth. It would have been so much easier if she wasn't.
"You never had suspicions?" she asked quietly.
Suspicions. The rage flared up with renewed vengeance in his chest. Why should he have been suspicious? Of his one true love? And his best friend? These were supposed to be people that he could trust. It was the oldest story known to humankind; man steals his best friend's woman. But they never explained what happened afterwards. How did it end?
The bird in the corner cawed and flapped its wings. Black feathers fluttered to the ground, seeming like those from the wings of an angel. But she was no longer his angel, was she? She had fallen. These were the wings of a fallen angel. Julia. Julia, and-- and--
Spike. The association came unbidden to his mind. Inwardly he cursed, though his face showed nothing. Vicious felt his chest might explode, the sudden rush of pure rage was so great. He wanted revenge. He wanted, more than anything else, to hurt them. Badly. Worse than they had hurt him. Was that even possible? Death wasn't even a fitting punishment. They deserved worse than death, both of them. Even Julia. Especially Julia!
His bird tilted its head as a voice cut through his thoughts. "What are you going to do?" Ralla asked.
He wanted them to feel pain, to suffer. The dull roar in his ears suddenly diminished to a soft continuous ring as clarity suddenly came over him. "Ralla."
"Hai?"
"Listen carefully. This is your lesson for today." A cold smile crept across his face.
"Hai, sensei."
"Emotions are foolish things. Don't believe in them, they'll only cause you harm. The only one that is of any good to people like you and me is rage. Pure, unfettered rage, do you understand?"
"Hai..."
Vicious continued, grimly satisfied. "Anger is a gift that can be used. It eats from the inside out and leaves no room for hesitation. It's possible to exist on that and that alone, keeping only your purpose in mind. That's the best way." He stopped, staring past her at something only he could see.
"Are you going to kill them?"
"That would be far too easy on them." His eyes gleamed. "Stay here. Don't move." He swept out of the room, malice emanating from him in waves.
***********************
It was done; it was finished. The wheels were set in motion. Julia had 48 hours. If Spike wasn't dead before then, he would tell the whole syndicate that they were traitors, or worse, informers. Then the order would be sent out to take them both down.
How fitting, he thought to himself, and smiled. I'll bet you didn't think of the consequences when you hopped into bed with him, Julia. But now I'll bet the consequences are all you can think about. Kill him and save your own ass, or get shot down in the street like a dog, knowing that the same thing will happen to your 'beloved?' If you kill him, you'll have a whole syndicate full of enemies to deal with. Either way, he dies. Either way, you get what you deserve.
The smile faded from his face. What had he done? They were the woman he loved and his best friend. After this, no matter the outcome, he'd never see either of them again. They couldn't be the happy trio anymore. He'd never get to experience that wholeness again.
But that was their fault! His cold eyes sparked. Vicious would not let trivial emotions ruin him again. Pain spiked through his chest like an ice pick, causing Vicious to grimace. He glared at nothing with his ice cold eyes. The bird on his shoulder cawed.
Another little part of him died.