SPIKED DRINKS
The lights of the Loser Bar were dim, as usual. Most no one who ever went inside wanted to see where they had found themselves. The only thing of it that could be seen outside was the purple neon letters glowing in the dark; a gaudy beacon to those that walked the trestles of human society. The street lights lining the canopy illuminated only the sidewalk surrounding the building, keeping the Bar a shadowed haven for those that lurked outside of the light of safety, stability, and humanity.
Cops.
Criminals.
Burnouts.
And Bounty Hunters.
The door swung open, inviting cursed light to invade the room. Several of the stoolplants looked up, while many more turned away. Only the bartender stood fast, staring at the silhouetted form that stood coolly yet powerfully in the doorway.
A moment later, the form took a step forward, and the door swung closed. The light quickly vanished, and the stoolplants returned to their reveries. The form continued moving forward, coming to a stop at the bar. A slender hand shot forward with unnatural speed toward the bartender, coming to a stop mere inches from his face. The bartender did not flinch. With an unchanged tempo, he reached under the bar and produced a matchbook. He struck a stick aflame and held it to the cigarette delicately balanced in the fingers of that slender hand.
A quick flick, and the tip was lit. The hand brought the cigarette toward a mouth in a cupped palm, and for a moment in that shadowed room, a long, angular face tufted with a bush of greenish hair could be seen.
The face scanned the room. There was barely enough light to see. His waft of smoke mixed with the others, forming a nicotine-stinking haze that further obscured view. There were others like him, huddled into booths and onto stools and at tables, nursing drinks and sucking on smokey death. The bar was rather full tonight. That was odd. That last time he had been there, it was only him, the bartender, and one other. That was, until the others arrived. But they hadn't been there for the usual reason.
He chose a stool, leaned back against the bar, and rolled up the sleeves of the blue suit he always wore, fruffed the collar of his yellow shirt, and tugged at the already loose tie around his neck. He sucked a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled it back out slowly, trying to calm the feeling that was creeping into his mind.
It was very strange to be back in that place, considering he figured he never would be again.
He had barely had time to finish the thought when the doors flew open again.
He had pushed a single door open gently, not wishing to disturb the shadows within. He had wanted their embrace.
Whoever had just entered threw both doors open with both hands, and swaggered forcefully inside without so much as a by-your-leave.
The face kept staring ahead into the light as it kept the approaching figure anonymous. The only thing he could make out in the quickly vanishing light was the trench coat that swayed with each gyration of the figure's hips.
The figure strode up to the bar, right next to his observer, and thrust his hand out in a similarly mercurial fashion. Another match lit, another fag burned. For a moment, black-painted fingernails cupped the fag's light to reveal a face with sharp cheekbones and topped with bleach-blonde hair.
Once the second figure's smoke began to mingle with the collective mist, he nodded to the man sitting in the bar stool before him.
"Spike." The man in the barstool's gargled voice acknowledged.
"Spike." The North London Cockney voice of the blonde returned.
The blonde sat at the adjacent stool. The other raised his hand to the bartender.
"Red Bull and Vodka. Double."
"Whiskey. The whole bottle." The blonde requested.
The bartender nodded and went to the back to collect the bottles. Spike and Spike spun in their stools to face each other.
"Spike Spiegel." The blonde said, not sure quite how to begin the conversation.
"Spike...Spike." Spike Spiegel said, equally awkward, and not completely focused on the vampire that was sitting across from him in the Martian bar.
Thirty seconds of silence hung in the air between them until the bartender returned with their drinks. They nodded silent thanks, and the bartender returned to dispensing liquid amnesia to society's dregs.
Vampire Spike jerked his head over toward the other side of the room.
"Wanna get a booth, mate?"
"Yeah, alright." Human Spike agreed.
They moved through the haze of smoke and broken men like tigers through pack hounds, silent and graceful. They slid into the seats under the hanging lamp, providing only slightly better light overhead.
Vampire Spike downed his first shot, and without blinking, poured another. Human Spike continued to suck on his cigarette.
"I suppose you might be wondering how I found you." Vampire Spike finally said.
"The thought crossed me, but I was more worried about..."
"What you're even doing here at all?"
"Yeah..."
"Yeah...I know the feelin'."
"You do?" Spike raised an eyebrow.
"Ya know, mate... I hadn't seen you for a while when you had your seemingly untimely demise, but thank...whatever's out there for second chances. I've been around now for...what year is it? Two Thousand Seventy Something?...I'd say roughly two hundred and fifty years. I've died twice in that time. And Hell still doesn't have my English Arse. Then I heard about your one-man berserkin' spree with the Red Dragons. Wiped out the whole Syndicate by yourself. Helluva job, mate. Proud a' ya. But o' course, you..."
"Died."
"Right. Now if I remember, you told me you had died once before. So that would put us on an equal scale, wouldn't it?"
"I guess...How did you die, Spike?" Human Spike lifted his glass to his lips.
"Both times?"
"Yeah."
"Woman."
"Me too."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Fascinatin'. When I was sired by Dru, I gave myself to her, and she killed me. Well, killed who I was. My heart stopped beatin', but I was still standin'."
"Julia...she did the same thing to me."
"You're not a bloodsucker, mate. 'Least I don't think you are. You are alive when you shouldn't be."
"Am I? After Julia, I was dead. I didn't care about anything after that. I was tied to the past. The present was never real. I kept wondering each day if I would die, just so it could all be ripped away. Then finally it was."
"Vicious."
"Yeah. We released each other. We were only ones who could kill each other and set each other free."
"What makes you think that?"
"He killed me. No one else succeeded at it."
"Spike...you died that day because you wanted to. Nothing else. What made you go in there in the first place?"
"Julia...Vicious killed her."
He downed the entire glass in a single gulp, and nearly choked forcing it down.
"This the same bird who killed you?"
"Yeah..."
"Then what the bloody hell were you doin'? Wait a minute...was this Julia blonde?"
"Yeah. How did you kn..."
"Did you die in a noble selfless manner of sacrifice for a greater good?"
"Um..."
"So you died FOR her. Right, mate?"
"I went there because I ...had nothing left..."
"Did you use her name as a motivation at any point?"
"When I was fighting Vicious, I said, "Julia is dead. Let's finish it now.'."
"What's that mean?"
"That's personal."
Vampire Spike leaned in closer.
"I know you're a private bloke, Spiegel, but there's something I have to know. If you don't wanna tell me on your own..." Spike's face wrinkled and distorted as fangs elongated from his gums. "...I can be far more persuasive."
Human Spike pulled his Beretta from his jacket and leveled it at Vampire Spike's face. Vampire Spike shoved his finger into the barrel and smiled a fang-filled grin.
"Still usin' the same tactics. I thought coming back from the dead would have changed you. That won't hurt me. But this gun will go off in your face if you pull that trigger."
Human Spike lowered the gun only slightly. Vampire Spike kept his finger where it was.
"This from the vampire with a soul?"
"I spent ninety years without one. Besides, even Adolf Hitler had a soul. Now...please. What did that mean?"
Spike Spiegel was silent for a while. Then he spoke. Each word was like ripping out a deep-set root.
"When...I...was in the Red Dragons, I met Julia. Until then, my life had been a worthless nothing existence. I joined the Dragons because I was poor. It was a way out. I didn't care about anything. I had nothing to care about. Then I met Julia. She opened up something in me I never knew I had. The whole world changed. All of a sudden, I actually cared about things. I actually feared death, since I had some semblance of a life. But she was with Vicious. We kept it secret. Midnight rendezvous'when Vicious was out doing Syndicate business...but he found out. We used to be friends, watched each other's backs...we killed each other over her."
"That's what women do. So, you left the Syndicate over her, right?"
"Basically."
"She obviously didn't come with you. I never saw you with her. Is that when she died?"
"No. She died three years later."
"Then where was she?"
"Still on Mars. Vicious wanted her to kill me so he wouldn't kill her. She didn't do it. I didn't see her again until the day she died."
"So she was protecting you?"
"Yeah. She took off sometime after that. She was on Callisto for a while, drinking at the Blue Crow. Gren told me. So did Vicious. I missed her, though. I never knew where she was."
"Then how'd you find her?"
"Vicious led an attack on the Van and lost. The Van were seeking out everyone ever associated with Vicious. Julia found Faye and had her point me to her."
"People were trying to kill her? Vicious wasn't doing anything about it?"
"He couldn't. He was on death row."
Spike's vampire face reverted back to normal, and he removed his finger from the gun barrel. His head drooped downward in thought. A few moments later, he looked up again. His expression was steely, almost pained. He downed his second shot of whiskey, and poured some into Spiegel's glass.
"I think Julia and Buffy could have compared Bitch Awards."
"WHAT?!" Human Spike screamed.
A few heads in the smoke-filled room looked up momentarily, then returned to their own worlds. His Beretta shot up in burst of speed, but vampiric agility won out the contest. The gun went flying across the room. The bartender caught it without missing a beat, and placed it on the back counter to be collected later.
Vampire Spike kept his tone even.
"Buffy knew I loved her, but she only used me as a breath mint to cover up the stink of what she was. She kept running back to Angel, even after everything he put her through, and knowing it could never be. In the end, she came running to me because everyone else had turned her away, and she had nowhere else to go. She knew I'd take her in and give everything I had for her. That's all I was to her. Prozac for low self-esteem. A temporary solution to a permanent problem. And in the end, I died for her. I gave my life for her cause. Dru may have killed me, but Buffy finished me off."
"How can you possibly say that Julia...?"
"Simple. I don't doubt you loved her, Spike my boy. In fact, I'd bet money on it. From what I'd always heard of Vicious, there's no way he could have loved her. He didn't love anything. So why was she with him? The easy street of being a mafia bird, with all the perks. Then she meets you. You give her something she didn't have. You loved her. So she runs to you to fill that void, but when the time comes to make a choice, she runs the other way. Back to Vicious. She chose the easy way over you. You risked your life to escape the Red Dragons. You risked everything to get what you wanted. That's why I've always liked you. You're soddin' focused, and you get what you want. She wouldn't do it. If she knew about Faye, and she knew to use her to get to you, then she could have done that a long time ago. When did she finally do it? When her life was in danger, and she had no where else to turn. That's got opportunistic bitch written all over it. What is it with the blondes?"
"Then what about Harmony?"
"She's not a real blonde. I would know. Anyhow, then you came running without a thought, like usual. Didn't think about why. Didn't think about any of it. When Buffy came to me, I knew exactly what was happening. I expected nothing more than I got. It was kinda pathetic, now that I think about it. What were you thinking, Spiegel? She came to you when you were her only chance of escape. She didn't care about you. She wanted someone to rescue her. And you never saw that. I may be Love's Bitch, but I'm smart enough to realize it. I fell victim to two women. You got suckered by the same one. Twice. That's just weakness. Or stupidity, I'm not sure which."
Spike Spiegel sat there motionless. He didn't even blink. Vampire Spike puffed on his fag and took another shot of whiskey. He leaned back in the booth and waited for his Martian acquaintance's head to either come to a revelation or explode.
Finally, Spike yanked the bottle from Spike's hand and swallowed two huge mouthfuls. He sat there as his bush of hair stood nearly on end as his face turned red and his eyes teared up. Eventually, after a monolithic effort, he swallowed.
"What a pathetic way to end a series."
"Don't feel so bad. Buffy's series ended with my death, too. At least in Japanese anime, it's expected. You have that whole 'Nobility of Failure' idea. I just looked like I was pussy-whipped to the Western audiences. Although the women viewers didn't mind so much."
"Right, you get to actually pay attention to the female. I had Faye flashing her tits in my face every other episode, and I was supposed to act completely uninterested."
Vampire Spike nodded.
"When I watched Cowboy Bebop, I was absolutely shocked at how you and Jet always never took any interest in her. You two kept running back to your dead pasts, in your case literally, while she was right there for the taking!"
"What the hell was wrong with me? I'd expect that from Jet, but...stupid Japanese culture. She could be a bitch at times, but..."
"Right there, mate. They gave her those qualities to make her unattractive to the Japanese males. The proper Japanese male is supposed to be with the most ordinary, average girl he can find. Why else would Julia be as bland as soddin' white bread?"
"Contrast. But look at your show. There wasn't a normal person in the entire run. Not even Xander could qualify. Yet you and Anya and Dawn were always excluded from the core because you were 'outsiders'. The last episode illustrated that. You and Anya both died."
"True. No one really wept for us when Anya and I passed on. You ever notice Julia never shed a tear for you? Faye nearly had a nervous breakdown when you left the Bebop. She actually cared. She just didn't know how to show it."
"You sure about that, Spike? She came back when she realized she had nothing, just like Julia, just like Buffy. She came back when she had nowhere to run. What's the difference?"
Vampire Spike smiled.
"You're gettin' it. That's good. But there's one big difference. Julia and Buffy never cared. Faye did. She just never knew it 'till then. Bollocks, even if she didn't, which would you rather have? The bitch that gets you killed, or the bitch with the huge knockers?"
Spike and Spike toasted that statement with a shot and drained their glasses. Vampire Spike wiped his mouth.
"Besides, I already shagged her."
"WHAT!?" Spike Spiegel exclaimed a second time.
This time, no one moved.
Vampire Spike shrugged.
"You were dead. She was distraught. I comforted her. Ohhh, she's a firecracker. Besides, you had plenty of chances, and you never did anything. Don't blame me."
Human Spike shook off the oncoming rage and changed the subject.
"Why am I alive, Spike?"
Vampire Spike smiled his Billy Idol smirk.
"Because you're popular, mate. I was supposed to die with the Buffy series. People liked me so much, I was resurrected. You were too."
"Well, I do have that movie..."
"There's that..."
"And the manga."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"But all those stories happened before I died. How can I be alive now?"
"Were the movie and the manga made AFTER your series?"
"Yeah."
"There ya go. Time doesn't affect us blokes in any logical way. So long as there's stuff coming out with our names in it, we're alive. Even if we're dead."
"So all those fanfictions and comic books people make...They make us immortal?"
"Pretty much. There're also things called reruns. Syndication is true immortality."
"All right, so I'm back because people like Cowboy Bebop. What about you, William the Bloody? Your shows ended permanently when the jump gate disaster broke the moon and wasted the Earth. Why are you still alive?"
"This is called a crossover, mate. Logic doesn't apply. Also, considering I'm immortal, what makes you think I couldn't have survived this long?"
"Ah, I see..."
"People are going to be making stories about you and me as long as the idea exists. And fanfictions rarely make sense with the continuity anyway. In fact, a lot of fanfics are just stories of how people WANTED the show to be, but never was. So..."
"Kiss logic and stability goodbye, and buckle up for the roller coaster."
Vampire Spike raised his glass in celebration.
"Now you're talking like a pro. I think you're ready. Get yourself back to the Bebop, mate. Jet misses you, and Faye's waiting for you. And..." He winked. "No more psychotic kid and layabout dog to get in the way. It's going to be a long, unending ride, so make the most of it."
Spike Spiegel toasted yet again to his newfound life. He drained his shot, and ran out the door, out into the Martian night, which held more brightness for him than the Loser Bar ever could.
As he stepped out into the street, he stopped for a moment as he remembered his gun was still inside. He reflexively grasped the place his Beretta was kept, and gasped when he felt it there, as if it had never been removed.
Chalking it up to his newly found chaos-filled existence, he continued running, back to where he last remembered the Swordfish was, and his ticket back to the Bebop.
As he was running, he recalled the long black hair of the bartender, and the soft, almost girlish face he bore, as well as the unshakable, constant demeanor he exuded. He thought back to a pub on Callisto, and a dead man.
"Nah...couldn't be."
Spike the Soul-Having Vampire got up from his booth seat and returned the remains of the whiskey bottle to the bartender. He didn't bother taking a stool. He handed the bottle over to the bartender, whose bishonen face was breaking into a grin. He began to laugh; a foreign and disturbing sound in the present environment. Spike's scarred eyebrow arched, and almost threatened to chuckle himself.
But he didn't.
Instead he spoke.
"Thanks, Loki."
"My pleasure." The bartender finally spoke, tossing his ebony mane behind his Grennish-looking face. "I always thought Spike Spiegel was an idiot, but I blame the writers. Now and then, he came off as competent if the right person was writing him. But I always had a soft spot, or should I say a hard spot, for Faye. Since she had it for Spike, I figured I'd give her what she wanted. You were the best man for the job, in both cases."
"Glad you gave me a shot."
"More like you gave her one. Ah well, Spike was going to be subjected to this anyhow. He needed to be prepped for his endless dynamic existence."
"So, gonna hang out here then, and watch these background flavor texts waste away?"
Spike gestured his hand toward the room filled with ever-silent patrons.
"Yes. I have a cameo appearance in a mystery novel as the comforting bartender. I'm supposed to be the free-of-charge psychiatrist. How cliché can you get?" He sighed. "The protagonist should be getting here in twenty minutes, so I need to air the place out a bit. I made it extra seedy for you guys since Cowboy Bebop was so depressing and nihilistic."
"Bollocks right, there." Spike agreed. "Buffy and Angel at least offset the drama with a sense of humor. So did your escapades."
"Well, you know my character, figuratively and literally. Anyhow, I need to get started on rearranging. So I'll catch you later. Got somewhere to go?"
Spike sighed.
"Canada. I'm being used in a Red Green/Buffy crossover. I'm supposed to be a closet Red Green fan."
"That's not that bad. I made a guest spot on that show with the Scooby-Doo gang. Harold became a super-villain and was trying to off me. It was great!"
"I think the Scoobies, the animated ones, are making a cameo in mine, too. They just seem to fit there, don't they?"
"Nearly every person on Red Green would make a perfect Scooby-Doo villain, so it makes perfect sense."
"This fic's really anti-Buffy. Even Harold turns her down."
"Guy grew some backbone. Nice. Well, have fun with that. I'll see you in lit. Later, Spike."
"Later, Loki."
As Spike exited the Loser Bar, Loki cast his hand across the area. The smoke clouds lessened in intensity, and concentrated themselves on the opposite side of the room from the bar. The bar grew brighter, and a peppy jazz beat began to filter in from speakers previously hidden from view. The patrons grew livelier and began to carouse and gallivant about like overworked businessmen on a Friday night.
Within a few minutes, a blonde man in his early twenties drug himself into the bar and collapsed onto one of the barstools.
Muffledly, he murmured, "Tequila Rose."
"Excellent choice. My favorite." Loki smiled as he poured a shot. He slid it under the man's nose. "So, Greg..." he asked as he polished a glass. "How's that Renaissance Faire case coming along?"