Immortal

By Lucifiel

Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop is so incredibly good, I could never possibly claim any part of it as mine.

I'm so tired of being here suppressed by all my childish fears

And if you have to leave I wish that you would just leave

'cause your presence still lingers here and it won't leave me alone

These wounds won't seem to heal this pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears when you'd scream

I'd fight away all of your fears I held your hand through all of these

Years but you still have all of me

You used to captivate me by your resonating life now I'm bound

By the life you left behind your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams

Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

These wounds won't seem to heal this pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone

But though you're still with me I've been alone all along

~Evanescence "My Immortal"

It had never been very hard to tell what Spike was feeling. Although he tried to disguise his emotions, they always shone clearly on his boyish face.

Or maybe he did manage to hide them from everyone else…maybe Vicious was the only one who could see right through him.

"Hey Vicious…?" His voice.

"What?" The reply, gruff and seemingly uncaring.

"Uh, nothing. Never mind." Timid.

"I hate it when you do that shit. If you're going to say something, say it." Annoyed.

Spike grinned, reaching into his pocket to grasp a crisp pack of tobacco death. "Whatever, Vicious. What's up with you today?" Long, graceful fingers offered a cigarette.

"Hm." Vicious took the cylinder and accepted the light that came with it. He ignored the question and glanced around the sparse room. "What the fuck is your dysfunction, Spiegel? There's barely anything in this shithole apartment and somehow it's still a complete mess."

"Whatever, Vicious," Spike's grin remained, "Least I got a place, You live in your fuckin' car, man." He took a long drag on his cigarette, "'Course, a one-room shithole ain't much better, eh?" A small laugh.

Vicious studied his companion, exhaling smoke. Spike's grin meant many things. He used it when he was sad and happy alike. Most couldn't tell if he was genuine or not. Vicious could. Spike's genuine grin was reserved for him, many times. He liked Spike's grin.

"No," Vicious snorted, answering Spike's rhetorical question, "It's not. By the way, Slater's supposed to stop by and give us orders today."

"Today? Fuck, when?!" Spike stopped grinning.

"Couple minutes." Vicious frowned, "What's the problem, you need more time to make yourself pretty for him?" Spike was wearing only a pair of loose pants, nothing more. Vicious was dressed in his usual tattered clothes and duster. It didn't matter to him. Slater knew they had nothing.

"Awww Vicious!" Spike ran around, snatching up his jeans and shirt. Off came the pants, and Vicious looked away, "Why the fuck didn't you say so?!"

"I didn't think I needed to. Why else would I be here?"

"Oh, I dunno. Because you're here almost every night?"

Vicious snorted, "Only because I can't afford cigarettes."

"Neither can I. I steal 'em." Spike was dressed, slipping on the ridiculous bomber jacket he always wore.

No sooner had the words come from Spike's mouth than the door bell rang. It was a sickly-sounding doorbell, but at least it worked. Spike and Vicious made no move to answer it until the doorbell rang in a strange pattern that faintly resembled the noise a dying mosquito made.

Spike crossed to the door and opened it, a hand on the gun stashed in his pocket just in case.

Slater walked past Spike into the apartment like he owned the place. He did, so Vicious wasn't exactly surprised.

"Got a job for you boys." Slater turned and raped Spike with his eyes, "Knocking off some rat. 48947 Rio Street. The blue building with the clothing shop." He smirked at Spike, "You boys pick yourselves out some nice clothes, you hear me?"

Vicious rose and went to stand by Spike's side, "Why? We'll just dirty our clothes in the line of work we're in."

"There's a promotion for both of you if you pull this off." Slater winked at Spike, "Gotta look nice if you're to see the Elders, eh?"

"Seriously?!" Spike's eyes lit up, "Promoted to what?"

"That depends on how good you are." Vicious didn't miss the double meaning, and glared. Spike remained oblivious. Slater chuckled and continued, "Here's a photo of the guy. Knock yourselves out." He handed them a picture of a balding, mid-forty-year old man.

Vicious's lip started to curl, and by the time Slater left it had developed into a full-fledged snarl. Spike remained oblivious.

"Promoted! Vicious, this is awesome! Mao's gonna be proud!"

"Doesn't it bother you?" Vicious shook his head, "At all."

"Huh?"

"The way that fucker is itching to make you his personal plaything. Or hadn't you noticed for the past few years?"

"Oh." Spike grinned, "Yeah. But what are you gonna do, eh? I can't help being beautiful."

Vicious started, "You mean to tell me you've noticed all this time…and you've been letting me fend him off?"

"Uhmmm…"

"You little bastard!"

"Come on Vicious don't get pissed!" Spike laughed, dodging the cuff Vicious aimed at him, "It's not that big of a deal." Brown eyes laughed at him, "Don't be pissed. Awww Viiiiciouuus!!"

"Shut up, Spiegal." Vicious rose and continued to glare at Spike, "Let's go find this place. I could use some new clothes."

The grin again, wider, "Sure thing," Spike slid his shoes on, "Maybe we'll get some money. I want meat."

"You always want meat," Vicious grabbed Spike's arm and hauled him outside, "I'm going to make you work for that last stunt, asshole."

"Man, you're such a fuckin' slave driver, Vicious!" Vicious snorted and shoved Spike into the car, making sure he banged his head on the way in. "Ow! Shit! Do you want a partner who can't focus due to a head injury, motherfucker?!"

"Shut up." Vicious got into the driver's seat and started his beat-up car. He listened to Spike's bitching until they, or he, rather, found the building. "I told you to shut up! We're here."

"Yeah, so? Don't tell me you just want to bust in there. We should wait until it gets darker and he leaves, at least."

Vicious was about to agree, however reluctantly, when a gunshot rang out. The front windshield exploded, covering them both in glass.

In a matter of seconds Spike and Vicious were on the opposite end of the car, in the gutter, covering their heads and returning fire.

"Shit! Those fuckers from the Tiger clan must have followed us! Didn't you notice them!?" Spike yelled, shooting.

Vicious deigned to reply, and Spike didn't press the issue. Both were too intent on surviving.

Spike dove to take cover behind a dumpster and managed to take out two of their attackers. "Yeah, it's those fuckers from the Tigers." Vicious nodded and dove across the narrow street, hiding behind another car and firing. Two more fell. He'd figured it was the Tigers from the start, seeing as how they were in their territory, but Spike's keen eyes had confirmed it. Why, and how had they found them? Territory or not, the Tiger's operatives rarely came to this part of their turf anyhow. Something was wrong.

"Must've been tipped off…there's no other way. Uhn!" One of the stray bullets hit the engine of the car, making it explode. Vicious was thrown backwards into the street, completely exposed. His ears rang from the explosion…he couldn't rise.

"Vicious!!" A figure darted in front of him and fired a barrage of shots at their attackers who, he could now see, were positioned in the windows across from the building Spike and Vicious had planned on entering. "Vicious, come on!" The voice seemed so far away…

He was picked up and hauled back across the street, behind the dumpster to cover. The smell of blood reached his nostrils. Blood…his blood, and Spike's blood. Spike had been shot.

Vicious forced himself to sit up. Spike was still firing at their opponents. He ducked down to reload and saw Vicious. "What the Hell, Vicious?! Lay back down before you die or some shit." Spike shed his jacket and tore his own shirt up to bandage Vicious. "You gonna be okay? You've got some luck…barely burned and scratched, 'cept for this gash on your side."

"I'll be fine." Vicious's hearing had semi-returned, and he reached inside his duster, taking out his spare gun. "How are you?"

"Just a scratch," Spike popped up and shot. A scream, then the sound of a limp body hitting the pavement, "Get on your phone and call Slater. Tell him we need to be picked up. Now."

Vicious did as he said. "No one's answering."

"That's bullshit!! Fucker should answer his cell!"

"I called it."

"Shit…" Spike ducked again, using his jacket to stop his wound from bleeding out all over the pavement.

"Where are you hit?" Vicious shifted and pulled the jacket from Spike. He frowned at what he saw, shaking his head, "You moron. Why'd you save me…" Vicious pushed Spike down when he tried to rise again and pinned him with a glare. "Busted collarbone. The bullet passed through, you'll live."

"I could've told you that." Spike growled, "This whole thing stinks, now that I think about it. Slater promising a promotion if we whack some fucker, guys from the Tigers waiting for us here…"

"You think we were set up?"

Before Spike could answer, a shadow fell across the both of them. Vicious spun, his gun aiming for the heart of…Slater? He lowered his weapon, "What the fuck, Slater?!" Behind him Vicious could see several of the Tiger's 'associates'. "It was you…fucking double agents…"

"Yes, it was me, dear Vicious." Slater simpered, aiming a gun at Vicious's head, "now kindly step away from Spike."

"What…?" Vicious was taken aback for a moment, then snarled, "You son of a bitch!" His hand started to slid toward one of many knives hidden on him.

A hand hell onto his shoulder, "It's okay, Vicious." Spike stood unsteadily, wobbling, with his hand still on Vicious's shoulder. "If I come, will you let Vicious go?"

Vicious was going to protest, kill, do something, anything but let his only real friend be taken by a horny two-timing bastard, but Slater spoke first. "Fine."

"No!" Vicious got to his feet as well, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

Spike squeezed his shoulder, "It's all right…you'll be alive." Twin amber eyes pleaded with Vicious not to do something stupid and get himself killed. In the end, Vicious could never refuse him anything.

"Come along, Spike." Slater stepped forward and seized Spike's arm, shaking his head, "We'll have to fix him up. I thought I told you idiots not to shoot him!"

"Couldn't be helped, boss." One of the Tigers muttered.

Vicious watched as Slater slipped an arm around Spike's waist and loaded him into a waiting limousine. He sighed, slumping to the ground. Mao was going to kill him.

All in all, not a very good day, he decided…

He got up and limped to his car. "Fucking Spike…can't stay out of trouble for two seconds." Vicious waited until Slater's limo drove away, then started his wreck up and sped after the retreating car, trailing them carefully.

To Be Continued…