Hello Ladies and gentlemen, yes I am updating now, but first it's time to thank the wonderful reviewers of my little brainchild.
Sydney Wild: Hey Aussie. Yeah Faye's a residual character, thanks for the compliments, its nice of you to read it even when you've never watched it, see ya soon. Oh, and Aussie, have a spam flavored internet cookie.
Kendra Luehr: Just watch and see, thanks for the nice words. And thank you, I worry a lot about the quality of this story.
Ni9htdream12: Thanks, here it is.
Trigger: Thanks, I feel loved.
Russetwolf713: Thank you, you are so nice. I'm glad that mine passed the test. (breaks into tears) You like me, you really like me!
Disclaimer: NO I do not own Cowboy Bebop, not rich enough to buy them yet. Maybe if I started a petition, the characters could be released to the public. (wanders off muttering to herself)
My Bebop Love Tune
Chapter Three
By: Captain Scarlet Penguin Keeper
A loud moaning resonated through the empty store, "I haven't heard anything, I swear! They don't tell me nothin' about operations like TIGER, please believe me!"
A grin formed on Spikes mouth, but it didn't reach his eye, "Now how am I supposed to believe that when I didn't say a single thing about TIGER?"
With a quick flick, Spike snapped his wrist back, resulting in a loud crack as it broke. The man's wails were loud and unbearable, so Spike grabbed his chin, turned his head and clamped a hand over his mouth, "So Mikanu, tell me, now that we've progressed to understanding what I'm asking you about, why are they bringing TIGER back?"
He removed his hand, wiping it off on his pant leg. For a moment the only answer he got was Mikanu's screams and strangled sobs. To speed things along, Spike grabbed the other wrist pointedly and gripped it tightly, "Calm down or I'll be forced to prove my point further."
The man's sobs lessened just enough so that he could speak, "Please, if I tell you anything, they'll kill me, and they can be so cruel."
Spike sighed disappointedly, but his eye was steely and cold, like the gunslingers of old that he was named for. He snapped back the remaining wrist and talked over the resulting cries, "Now, if you please, tell me why they are even discussing TIGER."
The man turned his wails down to sniffling and he looked at Spike with tears of pain in his eyes. He held his boneless flapping wrists to his chest, as though fearing Spike would attack them again, "They didn't tell me directly, and I don't know what TIGER does exactly, but I was cleaning outside of the meeting room and all I heard was, "With the gate guard decision coming up, TIGER sounds like our best course of action." That's all I heard, I swear, please man don't hurt me."
Without really listening, Spike turned to go, "Don't worry, I won't." He stopped, halfway to the door, and turned, "After this, I can't hurt you anymore."
He pulled out his Jericho, took quick aim, and pulled the trigger. Mikanu jerked backwards as the bullet hit him in the forehead, almost like a dance move, and he fell behind the counter and out of Spike's vision.
Spike turned and went out the door, "Thanks."
His Swordfish growled as it rose out of the Martian atmosphere, shaking under the pressure. He'd had to kill Mikanu, he told himself, he couldn't have him running to the syndicate, and he would've too, syndicate cruelty or not.
He reached across the seats to a picture in the console, ignoring the bloodstains on his baby's upholstery. The picture was old, at least seven years, and it was worn from much use.
Two men stood on either side of a woman. The man on the right had grey hair and looked unused to smiling. The man on the left had green hair and he was grinning, almost foolishly. The woman had blonde hair and was simply angelic.
Each of the men had an arm around her and she seemed happy.
Spike sighed and put the picture in his display. Why would they bring back TIGER now? All of the operatives trained for it were now out of commission. Spike steered the Swordfish towards the Bebop.
The Dragons would not interfere with this life again. He'd worked too hard to get back to the Bebop; they were not going to destroy the thing he'd just learned to appreciate. They could have him, but they would not touch Faye.
What he meant to think was they wouldn't touch Jet, Ed, and Faye, but it hadn't come out that way, figuratively speaking. What was his feeling towards Faye? He wouldn't call it dislike. Nor would he really call it friendship. He supposed you would call it a mutual understanding.
He remembered the day he came back through a pain-hazed fog. Tracking the Bebop from his ship, guiding the Swordfish into the hangar, dragging his half-dead carcass into the living room.
His mind was shutting down, but his body headed for the yellow couch, the only place that he could be healed.
When he'd made it, before he finally let his mind rest, he saw an angel, an angel with purple hair and green eyes. Wait a minute that was Faye. Then he'd blacked out.
Sleeping for three days, when he'd woken up, he'd been in his old room, bandaged and still exhausted beyond all memories. Besides exhaustion though, he'd been hungry.
Bending parts of himself that should not be bent yet, he got out of the bed and limped like a regenerated corpse towards the door.
Reaching his hand towards the button to open his door, Spike felt the first tingle of apprehension. What if they didn't want him here?
While the knives were airing out his veins, he'd concentrated on getting back to the Bebop. He still wished the bastards had let him die, but if he couldn't have death he at lest wanted to get back to a life that was more bearable.
Sure, they had bandaged him up, but that could just be common kindness. They could turn him out if they wanted to; they had every right. With a sigh, he gimped into the hall, if they did, he'd make due like he always did.
He heard the sound of voices from down the hall as he walked towards the kitchen and main room. They grew louder as he walked and he began to hear fragments of conversation. "I'm going to go bonkers if he doesn't wake up soon and tell us what happened." "Faye, who's to say that he even tells us what happened when he wakes up?"
So they wouldn't think he was eavesdropping, he'd made sure to make a lot of noise on his trek down the hall. The conversation stopped abruptly and when he came in they were seated around the table, sipping coffee silently.
Spike saw the Bebop coming closer and slowed down to prepare to enter the hangar.
The door closed behind the Swordfish and he opened the canopy and hopped out, stuffing the picture in his pocket as he went. He still had a slight limp. He supposed he always would, but it still kicked all right and he was surviving quite well.
The living room looked similar to the day he came back, everyone sitting around and watching the t.v.
Spike didn't pause when he came in and turned towards the hall. He didn't feel like explaining, or talking, or lying. For that matter, he didn't feel like breathing.
He'd almost made it to the safety of his door when a hand stopped him on his shoulder. He turned around to be met with large green eyes.
He came in looking like he'd been thrown a hard left hook, without the bruise to show for it. She didn't know what news he'd gotten, but obviously, it wasn't good. She thought that maybe he'd stop and acknowledge them, but he'd just kept going, not even breaking his stride.
Faye Valentine, or what she knew of herself, wasn't one to let things drop like that, she stood up, ignoring the looks from Jet and followed him down the hall.
Before he could escape into his room, she stopped him. He turned around and once again she was struck dumb by his eyes. The one just staying to adjust with the light and the other angry, angry and confused.
He'd never used to affect her this way. She could talk to him until the day ended, but since he'd come back, halfway to hell and still falling, she'd taken to silent fits of wonder in his presence.
"Can I help you Faye?"
As usual, his voice jarred her out of her reverie, only this time; her subject wasn't ridicule, "Spike, what happened to you there, when they had you... all that time."
Spike looked at her as though she'd suggested he tell Jet he was the antichrist, and then he lost all expression, "All I am willing to tell you, Faye, is that in that place, I learned to respect Hell. That's all you need to know, after that, it doesn't matter."
She cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms, exasperated, "Fine, if you won't tell me that, then at least tell me where you went today."
Spike arched an infuriating eyebrow and looked at her appraisingly, "Fine," he said with venom, "today, I questioned a friend, learned a few things, and I ended a long standing relationship. Satisfied?"
Faye huffed, "No, but I suppose that's all I'm gonna get today isn't it?"
He, yes he, the immortal he, with a soul encased in steel, turned around without answering, and went into his room, closing the door behind him with a loud swish of finality.
She was about to go back to the living room when she noticed something on the floor. She bent down to pick it up and saw that it was a picture. A picture with three people in it. Two of them she recognized, and the third was obvious.
A smiling Vicious, a happier Spike, and Julia squashed giddily between them. Spike must have dropped it before he went in.
Changing directions she went to her room and sat in the only chair next to the desk.
Later, she heard Spike searching in his room. She considered bringing the picture back to him, but she supposed it would just create tension.
Faye lay in her bed long after she'd heard Jet go down. She was waiting for something. Not that she wanted it to happen, but she was checking.
At about 2:15, she heard it, the low moaning from the night before. This time, she was going to be more careful. It just wouldn't due for him to wake up to her being there a second time. That would be near impossible to explain.
Again she crept down the hall, more quietly this time. Going in his door again, she left it open and used the little light she had been given for her observation. Tonight, she wasn't looking at his face, though it drew her.
Her eyes wandered over the contents of his room. Nothing severely personal, just some books, and papers. Relics of captured bounties, a few littered miscellany such as food wrappers and pens.
While gazing about the wonderland that was Spike's domain, she glimpsed something truly fascinating.
A sword. Not just a sword, a beautiful sword. It was a foot and a half long with a blade that shown brightly. The handle was red stone shot through with black veins, the end was gold capped. It was a thing of beauty, and she couldn't help but wonder where he'd gotten it.
Now for the thing she'd come to do. She wouldn't let him know it was her, but she couldn't very well let him carry on like that, it would kill him.
So, turning to go back out the door. She stopped and turned around. Spike hadn't tossed or moaned once while she'd been in there. Staring at him hard, she tried to determine if he was really sleeping.
After a full minute of staring, she nearly jumped out of her skin when his voice startled her, "Yes Faye, I know you're here, now why?"
His eyes opened and he stared at her curiously. He propped himself up on his elbows and he looked at her.
For a minute she considered lying to him, but she decided she didn't have the mental strength right now, "I heard you having a nightmare and I decided to check if you were o.k."
He stood up and got out of bed. Walking towards her, she winced at the limp that besotted his stride.
When he was directly in front of her, she could only stare into his face, eyes wide and wondering. He looked at her, his eye boring into her, "I haven't been o.k. for a while Faye."
He leaned in towards her face and as she watched the brown eyes getting closer, she felt her neck involuntarily lean forward to meet him. Their lips met and she tasted tears in the kiss.
It lasted for an eternity and when she pulled apart she saw him staring at her strangely, not exactly in a bad way, but like he'd never really seen her before.
The tears she'd tasted rolled down his cheeks where the stubble was growing longer, only to be lost among the bristles. Her thumb came up to wipe one of them away, "Oh Spike."
He grabbed her hand and held it, "I don't need sympathy, Faye."
Faye took her hand back from him, "Maybe you don't really need sympathy, but please let me at least understand what you would need sympathy for."
Spike considered her for a moment, then grabbed her hand again, tugging it southwards, "You want to know why you should feel sorry for me, do you?"
He seemed almost spiteful now, proving a point to her. He dragged her hand along his chest, stopping on a raised ridge of skin, "This, this is the early period, when they were still feeling lenient, they only used knives, I could take that." He dragged her hand further down to right below his pectorals, above the top ridge of the first of his abs muscles.
There was a mass of burnt flesh there the size of her hand, "Here, here is where they got inventive, they thought that acid would work better, lasts longer, stings longer. It was tough but I kept quiet."
He was spitting now, feral, angry. The tears fell faster, and he shook as he dragged her hand, but he was still going. She didn't think he would stop until she was in tears.
He brought her to a long scar in his side, in between ribs, "Ahh and this one. This is the only one I think belongs here, the only one I didn't mind having. This is courtesy of Vicious's katana. The strike that should have killed me, but despite my mind's better judgment, I still live."
Her mouth worked soundlessly like a fish and the tears he seemed to have been waiting for fell down her face.
Spike seemed to soften somewhat, but he still kept that spiteful look about him, he walked over to his desk, grabbed his cigarettes and walked out of the door, pausing as he passed her, "You pick a part to sympathize with, I'm going out."
And he continued past her, out through the main room and probably onto the dock to smoke a cigarette.
She'd gotten what she wanted, but now, she didn't know if she wanted to know anymore.
Sydney Wild: Hey Aussie. Yeah Faye's a residual character, thanks for the compliments, its nice of you to read it even when you've never watched it, see ya soon. Oh, and Aussie, have a spam flavored internet cookie.
Kendra Luehr: Just watch and see, thanks for the nice words. And thank you, I worry a lot about the quality of this story.
Ni9htdream12: Thanks, here it is.
Trigger: Thanks, I feel loved.
Russetwolf713: Thank you, you are so nice. I'm glad that mine passed the test. (breaks into tears) You like me, you really like me!
Disclaimer: NO I do not own Cowboy Bebop, not rich enough to buy them yet. Maybe if I started a petition, the characters could be released to the public. (wanders off muttering to herself)
My Bebop Love Tune
Chapter Three
By: Captain Scarlet Penguin Keeper
A loud moaning resonated through the empty store, "I haven't heard anything, I swear! They don't tell me nothin' about operations like TIGER, please believe me!"
A grin formed on Spikes mouth, but it didn't reach his eye, "Now how am I supposed to believe that when I didn't say a single thing about TIGER?"
With a quick flick, Spike snapped his wrist back, resulting in a loud crack as it broke. The man's wails were loud and unbearable, so Spike grabbed his chin, turned his head and clamped a hand over his mouth, "So Mikanu, tell me, now that we've progressed to understanding what I'm asking you about, why are they bringing TIGER back?"
He removed his hand, wiping it off on his pant leg. For a moment the only answer he got was Mikanu's screams and strangled sobs. To speed things along, Spike grabbed the other wrist pointedly and gripped it tightly, "Calm down or I'll be forced to prove my point further."
The man's sobs lessened just enough so that he could speak, "Please, if I tell you anything, they'll kill me, and they can be so cruel."
Spike sighed disappointedly, but his eye was steely and cold, like the gunslingers of old that he was named for. He snapped back the remaining wrist and talked over the resulting cries, "Now, if you please, tell me why they are even discussing TIGER."
The man turned his wails down to sniffling and he looked at Spike with tears of pain in his eyes. He held his boneless flapping wrists to his chest, as though fearing Spike would attack them again, "They didn't tell me directly, and I don't know what TIGER does exactly, but I was cleaning outside of the meeting room and all I heard was, "With the gate guard decision coming up, TIGER sounds like our best course of action." That's all I heard, I swear, please man don't hurt me."
Without really listening, Spike turned to go, "Don't worry, I won't." He stopped, halfway to the door, and turned, "After this, I can't hurt you anymore."
He pulled out his Jericho, took quick aim, and pulled the trigger. Mikanu jerked backwards as the bullet hit him in the forehead, almost like a dance move, and he fell behind the counter and out of Spike's vision.
Spike turned and went out the door, "Thanks."
His Swordfish growled as it rose out of the Martian atmosphere, shaking under the pressure. He'd had to kill Mikanu, he told himself, he couldn't have him running to the syndicate, and he would've too, syndicate cruelty or not.
He reached across the seats to a picture in the console, ignoring the bloodstains on his baby's upholstery. The picture was old, at least seven years, and it was worn from much use.
Two men stood on either side of a woman. The man on the right had grey hair and looked unused to smiling. The man on the left had green hair and he was grinning, almost foolishly. The woman had blonde hair and was simply angelic.
Each of the men had an arm around her and she seemed happy.
Spike sighed and put the picture in his display. Why would they bring back TIGER now? All of the operatives trained for it were now out of commission. Spike steered the Swordfish towards the Bebop.
The Dragons would not interfere with this life again. He'd worked too hard to get back to the Bebop; they were not going to destroy the thing he'd just learned to appreciate. They could have him, but they would not touch Faye.
What he meant to think was they wouldn't touch Jet, Ed, and Faye, but it hadn't come out that way, figuratively speaking. What was his feeling towards Faye? He wouldn't call it dislike. Nor would he really call it friendship. He supposed you would call it a mutual understanding.
He remembered the day he came back through a pain-hazed fog. Tracking the Bebop from his ship, guiding the Swordfish into the hangar, dragging his half-dead carcass into the living room.
His mind was shutting down, but his body headed for the yellow couch, the only place that he could be healed.
When he'd made it, before he finally let his mind rest, he saw an angel, an angel with purple hair and green eyes. Wait a minute that was Faye. Then he'd blacked out.
Sleeping for three days, when he'd woken up, he'd been in his old room, bandaged and still exhausted beyond all memories. Besides exhaustion though, he'd been hungry.
Bending parts of himself that should not be bent yet, he got out of the bed and limped like a regenerated corpse towards the door.
Reaching his hand towards the button to open his door, Spike felt the first tingle of apprehension. What if they didn't want him here?
While the knives were airing out his veins, he'd concentrated on getting back to the Bebop. He still wished the bastards had let him die, but if he couldn't have death he at lest wanted to get back to a life that was more bearable.
Sure, they had bandaged him up, but that could just be common kindness. They could turn him out if they wanted to; they had every right. With a sigh, he gimped into the hall, if they did, he'd make due like he always did.
He heard the sound of voices from down the hall as he walked towards the kitchen and main room. They grew louder as he walked and he began to hear fragments of conversation. "I'm going to go bonkers if he doesn't wake up soon and tell us what happened." "Faye, who's to say that he even tells us what happened when he wakes up?"
So they wouldn't think he was eavesdropping, he'd made sure to make a lot of noise on his trek down the hall. The conversation stopped abruptly and when he came in they were seated around the table, sipping coffee silently.
Spike saw the Bebop coming closer and slowed down to prepare to enter the hangar.
The door closed behind the Swordfish and he opened the canopy and hopped out, stuffing the picture in his pocket as he went. He still had a slight limp. He supposed he always would, but it still kicked all right and he was surviving quite well.
The living room looked similar to the day he came back, everyone sitting around and watching the t.v.
Spike didn't pause when he came in and turned towards the hall. He didn't feel like explaining, or talking, or lying. For that matter, he didn't feel like breathing.
He'd almost made it to the safety of his door when a hand stopped him on his shoulder. He turned around to be met with large green eyes.
He came in looking like he'd been thrown a hard left hook, without the bruise to show for it. She didn't know what news he'd gotten, but obviously, it wasn't good. She thought that maybe he'd stop and acknowledge them, but he'd just kept going, not even breaking his stride.
Faye Valentine, or what she knew of herself, wasn't one to let things drop like that, she stood up, ignoring the looks from Jet and followed him down the hall.
Before he could escape into his room, she stopped him. He turned around and once again she was struck dumb by his eyes. The one just staying to adjust with the light and the other angry, angry and confused.
He'd never used to affect her this way. She could talk to him until the day ended, but since he'd come back, halfway to hell and still falling, she'd taken to silent fits of wonder in his presence.
"Can I help you Faye?"
As usual, his voice jarred her out of her reverie, only this time; her subject wasn't ridicule, "Spike, what happened to you there, when they had you... all that time."
Spike looked at her as though she'd suggested he tell Jet he was the antichrist, and then he lost all expression, "All I am willing to tell you, Faye, is that in that place, I learned to respect Hell. That's all you need to know, after that, it doesn't matter."
She cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms, exasperated, "Fine, if you won't tell me that, then at least tell me where you went today."
Spike arched an infuriating eyebrow and looked at her appraisingly, "Fine," he said with venom, "today, I questioned a friend, learned a few things, and I ended a long standing relationship. Satisfied?"
Faye huffed, "No, but I suppose that's all I'm gonna get today isn't it?"
He, yes he, the immortal he, with a soul encased in steel, turned around without answering, and went into his room, closing the door behind him with a loud swish of finality.
She was about to go back to the living room when she noticed something on the floor. She bent down to pick it up and saw that it was a picture. A picture with three people in it. Two of them she recognized, and the third was obvious.
A smiling Vicious, a happier Spike, and Julia squashed giddily between them. Spike must have dropped it before he went in.
Changing directions she went to her room and sat in the only chair next to the desk.
Later, she heard Spike searching in his room. She considered bringing the picture back to him, but she supposed it would just create tension.
Faye lay in her bed long after she'd heard Jet go down. She was waiting for something. Not that she wanted it to happen, but she was checking.
At about 2:15, she heard it, the low moaning from the night before. This time, she was going to be more careful. It just wouldn't due for him to wake up to her being there a second time. That would be near impossible to explain.
Again she crept down the hall, more quietly this time. Going in his door again, she left it open and used the little light she had been given for her observation. Tonight, she wasn't looking at his face, though it drew her.
Her eyes wandered over the contents of his room. Nothing severely personal, just some books, and papers. Relics of captured bounties, a few littered miscellany such as food wrappers and pens.
While gazing about the wonderland that was Spike's domain, she glimpsed something truly fascinating.
A sword. Not just a sword, a beautiful sword. It was a foot and a half long with a blade that shown brightly. The handle was red stone shot through with black veins, the end was gold capped. It was a thing of beauty, and she couldn't help but wonder where he'd gotten it.
Now for the thing she'd come to do. She wouldn't let him know it was her, but she couldn't very well let him carry on like that, it would kill him.
So, turning to go back out the door. She stopped and turned around. Spike hadn't tossed or moaned once while she'd been in there. Staring at him hard, she tried to determine if he was really sleeping.
After a full minute of staring, she nearly jumped out of her skin when his voice startled her, "Yes Faye, I know you're here, now why?"
His eyes opened and he stared at her curiously. He propped himself up on his elbows and he looked at her.
For a minute she considered lying to him, but she decided she didn't have the mental strength right now, "I heard you having a nightmare and I decided to check if you were o.k."
He stood up and got out of bed. Walking towards her, she winced at the limp that besotted his stride.
When he was directly in front of her, she could only stare into his face, eyes wide and wondering. He looked at her, his eye boring into her, "I haven't been o.k. for a while Faye."
He leaned in towards her face and as she watched the brown eyes getting closer, she felt her neck involuntarily lean forward to meet him. Their lips met and she tasted tears in the kiss.
It lasted for an eternity and when she pulled apart she saw him staring at her strangely, not exactly in a bad way, but like he'd never really seen her before.
The tears she'd tasted rolled down his cheeks where the stubble was growing longer, only to be lost among the bristles. Her thumb came up to wipe one of them away, "Oh Spike."
He grabbed her hand and held it, "I don't need sympathy, Faye."
Faye took her hand back from him, "Maybe you don't really need sympathy, but please let me at least understand what you would need sympathy for."
Spike considered her for a moment, then grabbed her hand again, tugging it southwards, "You want to know why you should feel sorry for me, do you?"
He seemed almost spiteful now, proving a point to her. He dragged her hand along his chest, stopping on a raised ridge of skin, "This, this is the early period, when they were still feeling lenient, they only used knives, I could take that." He dragged her hand further down to right below his pectorals, above the top ridge of the first of his abs muscles.
There was a mass of burnt flesh there the size of her hand, "Here, here is where they got inventive, they thought that acid would work better, lasts longer, stings longer. It was tough but I kept quiet."
He was spitting now, feral, angry. The tears fell faster, and he shook as he dragged her hand, but he was still going. She didn't think he would stop until she was in tears.
He brought her to a long scar in his side, in between ribs, "Ahh and this one. This is the only one I think belongs here, the only one I didn't mind having. This is courtesy of Vicious's katana. The strike that should have killed me, but despite my mind's better judgment, I still live."
Her mouth worked soundlessly like a fish and the tears he seemed to have been waiting for fell down her face.
Spike seemed to soften somewhat, but he still kept that spiteful look about him, he walked over to his desk, grabbed his cigarettes and walked out of the door, pausing as he passed her, "You pick a part to sympathize with, I'm going out."
And he continued past her, out through the main room and probably onto the dock to smoke a cigarette.
She'd gotten what she wanted, but now, she didn't know if she wanted to know anymore.
