Chapter 3.

Light me with your candle

And watch the flames grow high

No, it doesn't have to try

It doesn't have to try.

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Mars; it was always crowded at nightfall. There were many people in the streets that night, off to their own celebrations around the town, happy faces spread across each of their lips. There was no care in the world for these people. If things were different, could he possibly feel the same thing as each of them? Perhaps so. But what already happened, happened. There was no changing that. While he had a lot of weight to carry; branded with the unwanted memories he couldn't forget , he was certain he would never feel the way these people were right now. He was one of those people who went along their way, unappreciated of what was ahead of them. He could no longer appreciate it like he used to. With his feet dragging along the concrete sidewalk, his hands dug deeply into his pockets, eyes shifting over to the faces of others, his face was thin and blank at the sight.

Smiling faces.

Giant beaming eyes.

Echos of their laughter.

Spike carried on, careful to avoid bumping into others with his wounds. With one hand over his ribs, he maneuvered through the sidewalk in slow strides. Brushing through people swiftly, glancing at their blank faces as they stared at him. Yes, it is blood. Yes, some were gunshot wounds. Spike could read their faces in an instant. Seeing their smiling faces fade through the neon lights when reached to him. Through the crowds of people he came to a halt. Feet in front of him, he eyed only one woman ahead of him. Her head was turned, only to be facing her long blond hair. It swayed side to side as she walked. In mere seconds, she now turned around, walking into the direction of a store nearby. Spike blinked, his face now blank. He was seeing her wherever he went. He was seeing Julia.

The lofty man had shut his eyes briefly, exhaling his breath deeply. She wasn't here, he knew that. His mind was just not all there; with his headache that felt like a tremor pulsing through his head, dizziness now taking over his sight. He needed to leave quickly.

Spike reopened his eyes, the blaring lights of the Mar's streets just flashing through his mis matched eyes. A cool breeze had swept through his unruly thick hair, parting his olive hair slightly. Each night in this place were new faces, new people who didn't have a clue who he was, new people who only gave him curious glances. They didn't have to know anything about him. If anything, it was one of the only thing he came to be fond about Mars at this time; that there weren't any familiar faces. And that left him at ease in the pressing darkness.

He stared ahead to a big structure his eyes weren't able to avoid. Neon lights posted outside the windows of the building reading Bar. Of course it wouldn't be the name, but it seemed to be a discreet joint, considering the dim lights shone from the inside of the glass. Spike pressed his lips together in contemplation. He was torn between venturing to a hospital, or walk into the bar that was silently calling out to him -- well he did need something in his system. Of course common sense would be to get treated for his injuries, but common sense didn't matter to him at this point. Nothing really did.

The lanky man entered through the double doors of the bar, the cool breeze of the inside air condition flowed through his body. It smelled of cigarettes and alcohol of course. It was a scent that would always remain with him. Luckily for him, the ceiling lights above were soft and dim. There would be less attention in here then going back the Mar's streets. But with his sluggish posture, maybe it could turn a few heads around.

Soft music was heard playing through the center of the stage. A man, black suit, black top hat, saxophone in hand. Typical. It was of a slow jazz piece. No words, no other instruments to synchronize with it, just the soft melody of the saxophone echoing through the inside of the bar. It was of a calm tune, almost poignant. It was something that suited him, though he never showed it through his calm face. He was drawn to the thick music, seating himself on one of the many bar stools to the left of him. He felt the pressure lift up from his body as soon as he sat down. It gave his long legs time to rest -- this place gave him time to relax and just think before continuing on.

Propping his elbow onto the mahogany table in front of him, he buried his cheek into the palm of his hand; brown eyes fixed on the man in the center of the stage. He brought up his sax, fingers swiftly switching from key to key, inhaling large amounts of air into his mouth for every section of notes, the bell of the sax letting out soothing descants through the smoky air.

"Sir?" A feminine voice interrupted Spike's train of thought. His eyes altered from the music to the woman, head still resting on his hand. The woman was thin and petite wearing a simple button up shirt, sleeves folded multiple times before it reached her elbows. With one hand holding a rag, the other gripping a cup as she cleaned the inside contents of the foaming alcohol that was within from the last user. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she caught the features of Spike's bleeding face, and she came to a pause, placing the glass down beside him. "Uh..." The woman spoke once again, her voice trailing off as she pushed back strands of dark brown from her eyes. "I'll go ahead and get you a rag." And with that said, she bent over slightly towards the shelves below the counter, shuffling through all the glass to find any sign of cloth.

"Uh huh..." Spike muttered softly, straighting his body posture and reached one arm out, grabbing a beer that was laying in an open cooler. He figured the bartender was too busy. The chilled ice touched the tips of his fingers, a residue of liquid stuck to his fingertips. He placed the beer beside him, now pushing back thick strands of olive hair from his face, feeling the adhesive amount of dry blood above his left eye. After long moments of the bartender's rummaging around the counter, she grabbed a simple white rag, drenching the material in warm water and handed it to Spike.

"Rough night, I'm taking?" The woman's velvet voice inquired with a short chuckle. It seemed with the light shining down over Spike's frame, she was still unaware of his other wounds. He did not let out a laugh, but merely shrugged his shoulders, thinking over the events earlier. There was no use reminiscing about the past, it would solve nothing.

"You could say." Spike finally replied gripping the warm cloth in his hand and dabbed it against his face, wiping away the blood stains. He looked back at towel, stains of crimson ruined the pure white fabric of the rag. The bartender stole a glance at the man as she continued to clean the glass in front of her. Spike sighed greatly, continuing to wipe the rag throughout every inch of his face, cooling his skin.

The bartender came to a halt, seeing the beer Spike had placed in front of him. They always had an interesting job; just tending to others, if it was just a celebration, or if they were heavily damaged and wanted to simply to get drunk. They knew every single story about the person before they even sat upon the bar stools; from the expressions on their face, or to their posture. They could read through them easily. But for this man, this olive haired, lofty man, he was unsure of his story. His heavy mix matched eyes narrowed slightly with a glint of emptiness to his orbs. His idle posture as he ambled over to the stool. The man was difficult to read. "I see you already got your drink." The bartender said through arched brows.

Spike simply nodded his head, lifting the bottle lazily with one hand to show her. With his thumb, he popped open the bottle cap with his nail. He could immediately smell the cool alcohol reaching his nose. In moments passing, the bartender had brought down a clean glass beside his bottle. He lifted his eyes once again to the woman, and with a nod he looked back to the cool drink. He tilted the bottle slowly towards the empty glass, the chime of the two glass resounding from the hit. The empty glass was soon being filled now, filling slowly with rich gold swishing back and forth through the inside of the cold glass. Spike brought the glass under his nose and closed his eyes, inhaling the aroma deeply. This was exactly what he needed right now. Just one beer to break the edge... maybe two, or three... He brought the glass to the tip of his mouth and took in a large amount into his parched mouth. After swallowing his first gulp, he exhaled his breath softly; the fresh stench of beer lingering from his cool breath. He dropped his eyes down to the glass in hand, observing the foam making its way to the surface of the glass. Evaporated water trickling down his fingers.

Cheers.

He thought discontentedly with an inward sigh. Couple drinks, a walk to the hospital. Then what? To go back to the same life he had before? He had chances to start over. Each time, it led him to the same bloodshed he kept living through. It was now time that he stopped; he didn't want the bounty life any longer. Now he was given another chance to start over anew, and this time, he was going to start it right. The way he should have done so long ago. He would not say goodbye to all back at the Bebop it was better for Spike, for everyone. Still, he could not imagine himself actually working a real job, to live in a small home somewhere off this planet; it was unlike him. Even so, whatever it took for him not to walk down the same path like he's done before, he would gladly take it with no hesitation.

"Tippings ones glass alone deep in thought." He spoke softly before taking in one more swig of the drink and glanced over to the bartender indolently. The bartender came to a pause from her cleaning, breaking her gaze away from the man. Spike knew the woman had kept his eye on him the entire time, stealing glances from time to time with her auburn eyes. "That's my reason being here." She blinked at him quizzically, the shadows defining her soft face now falling into a slight frown as if she hadn't the slightest idea of what he was saying. "I noticed you were just staring. Probably trying to figure out my story." With that, he shrugged his shoulders apathetically, closing his eyes as he took another drink of his beer. Typical bartenders.

The woman had paused, lips tightening into a firm line in slight embarassment. Spike reopened his eyes, staring into the cracks of the mahogony table with no reason. He didn't need to explain himself to anyone, especially to a stranger in front of him. His eyes lingered down to his glass. Almost empty. He would need a refill soon.

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"Jus' one more..." Spike mumbled dryly through his cigarette in mouth, loud enough for the bartender to here as he waved his arm lazily in the air. Beside him were four empty bottles of beer, and it wasn't even past an hour yet. His vision was now fogged, mixed with the smoky air and dim lights of the bar's surroundings. He blinked several times, his eyes heavy.

When you're drunk, you only speak in slurs.

More individuals had entered the bar, leaving the bartender to tend to others, zooming past each person, mixing drinks and retrieving bottles of wine, brandy, whatever these people had chose in that moment's passing. Then it would be another cycle again, going back and forth to the other.

Spike waited; parted lips, fidgeting hands.

It was rare times that he went ahead and got drunk like this. But after everything, there was no reason why he shouldn't. Some earlier events were blocked by his drunken haze, but by the morning he would have remembered... along with a hangover. Through his muffled hearing, he could sense the jazz cease, now being replaced with soft piano keys. He asked himself for a moment why he never came here often. This place was perfect for him at the moment; with the melancholy melodies, playing key after key. It was as if they knew exactly how he was feeling at this moment. It reminded him too much of memories from his past. Faint, splotches of familiar faces that he had left behind. Spike came to a pause, relaxing his hands. His heavy eyes narrowed slightly, mouth now shut into a fine thin line.

A moment later, the bartender had placed one more beer on top of the wooden table, but he did not seem to react to it. Instead, he began to shake his head slowly, the woman now giving him a curious look.

"No..." Spike muttered, propping both hands firmly now upon the table, attempting to stand. The numbing sensation of his wounds now prickling at his ribs gave him a painful reminder of his injuries, and he winced slightly. The woman's eyes now widened as she saw his full figure through the bar's dim lights. From gunshot wounds to deep cuts, she was taken aback by his foolish decision to arrive here instead of a hospital.

Spike didn't seem to take any notice to her reaction as he began to fumble through his pockets for his money card or just spare woolong at that. "Lemme' see here..." He muttered slowly, now checking his suit jacket pocket. The woman instantly shook her head, her eyebrows pinched together with worry.

"No, no... It's on the house. I think you should see a doctor right this second." She pressed with one hand propped on her hip. Spike slowly stopped searching, lifting his head slowly to meet eye to eye with her. He dropped both hands to his side and attempted to straighten his posture, but soon fell into a slouch in mere seconds. He didn't seem to process the other part of her sentence, but he was obliged for the free beer.

Turning around, he stumbled on his feet, circling around the bar stool; his body swaying lightly. But he soon caught himself, straightening his legs and he continued through the tables scattered across the bar. Through the smoke of his cigarette flashing through his vision, he came across a neon green sign across from his current place. With his blurred vision, it was difficult to make out the words. Exit. He finally pictured through his mind, and his lean figure sauntered passed the round tables, faces of random figures staring at the man's wounds with mortified eyes. It did not lower himself in any way, drunk or not, he didn't care.

Now opening the door, he craned his head sluggishly, unable to piece together his memory of direction to head off to. With legs trembling, numbing pain surfacing from his drunken state, he began to walk. Neon lights were still radiating throughout the dark night; flickering colours blinding Spike's vision. Everywhere he turned, multicolored xenon, krypton, argon flickering of lights sinking into his mix matched irises.

Spike blinked furiously, hoping to eliminate the multiple colours, but unfortunately it did not favor him that night. His eyes now darted to the sidewalk, now pressing on through the booming streets. His cigarette fell from the corners of his lips now hitting the floor. A small spark emitted from it the second it hit the concrete ground, but Spike merely ignored it, his gangling feet still treading forward. He was yards away from reaching the intersection of the street, lamppost emitting a dim light from the bulb. His vision spotted a figure, beside the post. All except the figure seemed blurred through is vision, and as he advanced forward, their frame seemed to glow. Eerily. Almost ghostly.

Spike came to a pause they turned their head towards the sloshed man. "Julia..?" His voice cracked, almost voicing out as a whisper. He squinted his eyes towards her frame; glowing azure eyes penetrating his own with softness to them, gentle face with not a single silhouette added to her figure. She was absolutely beautiful, just as he always had found her.

That can't be you.

He thought to himself almost in a somber tone with his hand falling back to his side. His face now softened, eyes narrowing slightly at her presence. He was was waiting for her image to wither away under the dim light. He closed his eyes gently, hoping that the moment he reopened them, that she was gone. But to his dismay, she was still present. The light seemed to favor her golden hair, for it shined beneath its light. She made no sudden movements, just kept her eyes on the green haired man. Spike's lips tightened into a firm line, knowing that this was only a brief image. He was sure that even when he was sober, he would still be seeing her everywhere he went. He would be branded with her face always deep in his mind. To his surprise, he wasn't sad, he was just numb.

Just... numb.

Perhaps it was another reason for him entering the bar on that dark night; to numb away all the feelings he felt, to numb away all of his past. But apprehension had won over him, because with his drunken state, it wasn't enough to fill the empty holes he had buried within him. It was not what he had in mind when stumbling upon that bar.

Spike shut his eyes tightly, bringing both hands over his eyes to rub them.

Clenched fists over my eyes I'm still suffering.

He slowly brought his hands down, dragging skin along with his fingers before he dropped them down to his sides once again. As soon as he eyed the lamppost, Julia's figure was gone, disappeared out of his mind. Spike opened his mouth, wordless for any sound, and he bowed his head, eyes barely open. When he reached the hospital, he would rest. And with that following morning, he hoped he wouldn't remember any of these moments.

Not a single one.

Spike let out a deep sigh, the stench of beer releasing from his breath. Alright, no more distractions. With tired feet, tired eyes, it was to the hospital and he would keeping walking until he reached his destination. Pulling out of the city streets, he was now away from the constant blaring lights. His pupils adjusted easily to the dim street lights ahead, making his sense of sight more durable to maneuver through the streets. The compressing buildings now grew distances apart as he left downtown. Bank companies. Pharmacys. Hotels. Numerous developments that was the least on Spike's mind now.

Eyebrows pinched together, he darted his head left to right; squinting through hazed eyes, until he finally reached his destination. And the building was only feet away, just in time before his body had failed him. He chuckled dryly, dragging his feet over to the entrance of sliding doors. Bright light had entered through his vision once again as soon as he entered, clouding his eyesight, his breaths were in irregular patterns, legs quivering. Called it.

No longer able to keep a steady balance, he toppled over the ground, eyes facing the shuffling feet of people hurrying over to his fallen figure. His vision was now a broken haze, brown irisis shifting from clear to dim. The voices above his being were barely audible to him now. The only sounds that he was able to hear were the short, unusual pattern of his breaths; chest rising and falling, along with the beating of his heart. Spike shut his eyes, feeling the vertigo now taking over. He could feel hands pulling him from the cold ground, lifting his lofty frame unto what he guessed to be an emergancy bed. For a slight moment, he felt annoyed by the constant hands touching him, trying to remove his coat. He reopened his eyes weakly, facing splotches of ceiling lights as they rushed from one to another in seconds. Spike could hear muffled voices from another as they pulled into a large room. He was sure that the person was addressing him but fortunately, he wasn't able to comprehend a single word that came out of their mouth.

Hands were now cupped under his sides as they lifted Spike's figure gingerly off the emergancy bed and onto the one beside it. The cotton, one hundred percent polyester fiber pillow was enough to put him at ease. His eyes flickered to a blurred figure beside his bed, and he placed a mask over his face, lifting his head slightly to adjust the strap gently over his thick, unruly green hair. The mask was producing oxygen for him, and at one point, he overheard the same muffled voice trying to speak to him. The oxygen was now replaced with a bitter scent. One of maybe a sedative medicine. Perhaps that's what the doctor has been trying to tell him. Spike relaxed his rigid frame, his breathing easing at a slow pattern.

As Spike inhaled the odor from the mask, he could feel his eyes growing heavier than before. He narrowed his eyes, almost closing them. In moments, the darkness had began to overtake his being, and he did not fight it. With a long exhale, he closed his eyes, letting the shadows blanket him warmly.

See you later space cowboy.


I'm growing very lazy with these updates. Most of the time I don't have the motivation to write anymore. But I'm going to try and keep up ith this than ork on my other projects. The other stories I'm sure, won't get far.

Reviews are glady appriciated!