Chapter 3: The Dragons Den

It was the dead of night, two days later when Jet finally fixed the Red-Tail and took Faye to see the syndicate building. He hadn't slacked off, the Red-Tail was just in a far sorrier state than either of them had realised. It wasn't like Faye, normally quite happy to let the boys do all the work for her-although now it was just boy, but she'd actually helped with the repair. She'd tried to at least, though Jet got pretty steamed up when someone doubled his workload and had yelled at her to: "Go sunbathe or something!"

That morning, when the Swordfish two had showed up, carried in on one of the heavy freight lifters the ISSP used for impounding vehicles, she'd almost had a heart attack. Then, not long after she felt a pitch of sadness and self loathing as she looked up at its aerodynamic, sharp edged fuselage of what made her think of a big red dart with wings.

She still felt bad, even as she looked up at the towering syndicate building with dozens of blown out windows stretching all the way up to the top floor. Even from ground level, Faye could see the whole roof section had been blasted out.

Jet's metallic hand clasped her bare shoulder and made her realise just how cold the nights air really was. Cold enough for her to pull the red jacket she wore through the sleeves up on to her shoulders. Then, without a word, big old Jet Black started toward the yellow and black tape that surrounded the building with ISSP DO NOT CROSS written on it in big white lettering.

The night guard had gone off somewhere, probably for a smoke or a piss but they had permission to take a quick look around anyway. At least, that was what Jet had told her. He strained a grin as he held up the tape for her to step under. Faye's toes curled and her bare creamy thighs trembled--either from the cold or from fear of what she might see.

After what felt like an age, she ducked under the tape and caught the glance in Jets eyes. It must have been hard for him, he'd seen this place once already while she'd been sat around wallowing in self pity. At that moment, she felt disgusted with herself. When exactly had Faye Valentine become so weak? She silently promised herself to buck things up and troop on no matter what, that's what Spike would have done and even now, that was what Jet was doing. Even though, whether he said it or not, it was killing the poor bastard on the inside.

Jet nodded down at her as he clearly became frustrated with the wait. He was barely off his crutch and she was dilly-dallying like some foolish schoolgirl. Faye felt sorry for him, wanting to say it was alright if he didn't want to see the inside again, but she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't let her go in alone.

The stench was the first thing Faye noticed, entering the building. It was the pungent bitter tang of blood that stained the air like gunpowder smoke. She wrinkled her nose at it and felt teardrops crest her eyes. It must have been bad because Jet was doing the same thing too, while looking around the syndicate lobby.

Bullet holes marked both flanks of the lobby and crimson smears painted the walls in large dripping puddles. ISSP had taken care of the bodies but evidently there was still a hell of a clean up job. Faye had seen death before but not like this, it made her think of some surreal war zone and the invading army had been just one man: Spike Spiegel. She smiled for a moment, only a man as impressive as Spike could pull this off. Maybe he was alive; somewhere.

"I can tell you how it went, if you want," Jet said somewhere between a whisper and a choke.

"How it went?" she said, looking in awe.

"Well, I can guess. I knew Spike well enough to know how he fights,"

"Alright, tell me," she said in a soft silky voice.

Jet nodded and walked to the centre of the lobby where the yellow trimmed red carpet was scorched black and had been burnt to the marble floor. Jet gestured around himself and grinned, almost sincerely for the first time in days.

"He tossed a grenade in to say hello. Although, knowing spike I bet he was lazy and just kicked it in here," he laughed, Faye caught herself chuckling at the very real prospect too. Then, Jet continued, beckoning her to follow him toward one of the escalators. "I bet he ran through here and got the idiots behind the desks to shoot each other." he waved at the blood smeared walls and then stepped onto the escalator with Faye.

"I bet I know what happened there," she said, looking at the adjacent escalator that was blown apart about halfway up.

"C4," they said together with a smile.

Jet stepped off at the top and guided Faye along a blood draped piece of carpeting toward the main elevator. Oversized columns flanked it with bullet wounds peppering their surface. The ride up to the top was smooth and surreal amidst the silent battlefield.

Faye followed Jet at every corner, hanging on his every word and speculation about who spike had killed, where, and how. He was even smart enough to pick out when Spike had taken hits himself, though Faye suspected that was from the ISSP forensic experts analysing the blood stains and leaving little folded cards with numbers and letters by the blood. She felt quite perturbed when Jet suddenly stopped and touched a knuckle to his chin, head slightly bowed as he gazed at a scarlet puddle dried to the floor near an elevator.

"What is it?" Faye asked.

"I dunno. Something just doesn't seem to add up here,"

"Whaddya mean?" she said, squatting down to look at the blood.

"It looks like, whoever died here, that…that they were fighting with Spike,"

"What?"

"I dunno, maybe its just a coincidence." he paused and looked out of a bullet shattered window. "But I'd like to think Spike still had a friend willing to do the right thing in the end. Don't you? Maybe it was that Rin guy," Jet mused, patting his bandaged leg.

Faye nodded and followed Jet as he distractedly tore himself from the scene. She followed him around a few corners and into a long straight hallway, elegantly decorated with the only battle wounds being a well spaced out drip of blood.

Even Faye, a girl more interested in gambling than combat analysis any day of the week, could see what had happened here. Spike had sprinted with those long, lanky (and sometimes sexy) legs, all the way to the end of the hall. The poor bastard had already taken a hit by this point.

When they stepped into the Syndicate master's throne room: Vicious' throne room. Faye was gob smacked by the destruction wrought here. Spike really was a one man army.

Whatever explosives had gone off in the throne room had done their job, damn well. Rafters had shook free from the ceiling and every single pane of glass had exploded from pressure. Faye kicked a chunk of debris out of her way as Jet led her toward the oversized staircase before them.

He looked around and after a moments respite, he began the long climb up the stairway to the Dragon's throne. Or the stairway to heaven, as it had been for spike. Faye followed quickly, wishing she hadn't worn her favourite white boots as they scuffed and dirtied amidst the carnage.

After what felt like a hundred or so steps, they finally crested the brink of the stairs and looked onto where Spike and Vicious had fought their final battle. Unless Spike was still alive, Faye thought hopefully. The floor was littered with bullet casings and scorched blood in a roundabout dance that represented the movements of the two combatants.

Faye only noticed Jet after she'd looked at some of the bullet casings on the floor and taken a long look at the dust covered throne in the platforms centre. For some reason, Jet Black was sat on the top step, looking down at the bloody trail that had been made on the stairs. He smoked a cigarillo in great long draws. For a moment Faye thought she knew what he'd seen. There was a footprint, and not just that--it was leading away from the scene! Someone had walked away from this and looking at the odd shape, she recognised it. Those stupid boots spike always wore.

Her heart sank, when she realised what he was really looking at. She hadn't paid it any attention walking up but now she could see, the print lead down the stairs, into a dried up blood stream and finally into a reservoir where a body had fallen halfway down the stairs. She felt the hot feeling of despair in her chest again and cursed herself. The ISSP wouldn't miss such an obvious clue, stupid girl; she thought.

The moon shone in from over head and lit Jet up in his own personal spotlight, as Faye slumped down beside him. For a moment she felt an urge to take his hand and cry some more, to use his chest as a pillow and his voice as a lullaby. But she couldn't. Remembering the promise she'd made not long ago, that would be selfish, to make Jet her confidant when he was struggling; probably more than she was. And then, she realised just how hard it was for Jet.

For the first time since they'd met she noticed his strong, stiff mouth was turned down at the corners and hung sloppily like the face paint of a sad clown. But it was his eyes, his strong dark eyes that always seemed to reflect determination and honour. They were drab and defeated, tiny tears threatened to spill over at the lip of his eye lids. One of them finally did, and ran down his cheek, disappearing into his thick beard. Faye felt her heart skip a dozen beats at the sight and snapped her head away, pretending it hadn't happened.

"Jet?" she said, still not looking at him, instead, concentrating on the moon overhead.

"Yeah," his voice was rough and tough, but it wasn't hard to see through the front.

"Thanks for coming here with me," It wasn't everyday she showed her thanks but today wasn't like everyday.

"Yeah, you're welcome," he said, his voice quavering.

"If I say this, promise you won't ever bring it up again?" she said quickly.

"What?" his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

"Just promise,"

"Alright, I swear it, I won't bring it up,"

She caught a glimpse of another tear from the corner of her eye but decided to ignore it. Turning to look him in the eyes, she owed him that much,she hurriedly said, "I'm sorry for all the trouble I put you and Spike through in the past. And I'm sorry for being so selfish the past couple of days," then snapped her head away as though she'd never said anything,

"Huh, the shrewish Faye Valentine apologising. I must be dreaming," he said, forcing a smirk and then said, "So, have you seen enough," she didn't answer right away and he continued, "because if I don't get outta here soon I think I'm gonna go crazy,"

Faye's mouth fell open but she had no words to say. It was rare she found herself speechless but then again, it was even more scarce to think of Jet Black as being capable of fear, anguish or any other emotion that would betray his calm, stone like image. She worked her jaw for a moment, getting used to using her voice again before she finally managed, "Yeah, sure thing Jet,"

"Alright," he rose slowly and turned toward the throne where it was clear the main fight had unfolded, "I'll miss that green haired idiot," he muttered.

"Oh wait," Faye said, "I forgot something," she looked to the blood in fornt of the throne and then remembered Spike had fallen on the stairwell. She turned and hopped down to where the reservoir of blood had dried up.

"What is it?"

"This," she said, pulling out the Jericho nine four one and ejecting the magazine.

"Ahh, Faye you were supposed to put that in his casket!"

"What? I thought it was a memento, for us to remember him by,"

"No. That's why I took the swordfish two, the gun was a gift for him,"

"You shoulda said," she paused and looked at the magazine in her hand, slowly ejecting five bullets with her thumb. "I'll go put it on his grave when we're done here,"

"What are those bullets for,"

She smiled sheepishly, feeling stupid at her idea but after a moment she said, red faced, "There's one for each of us," she said, laying the five bullets in the blood, rubbing one of them and standing it on its base. "Bullets, money and blood. Seems like that's all we ever got with Spike," she added as she tossed a handful of woolongs into the pile that she'd carefully counted out to fifty--she'd only waste them at the race track otherwise. Then, finally she dropped a few of her old betting slips -mostly losers- into the pile.

"Huh, never thought I'd see you do anything like that,"

"Well, I won't be doing it again unless you up and die on me too," she snapped, suddenly getting the feeling that Jet thought she was weak. Then, seeing the hurt look in his eyes, she said, "Okay, I think we should go now,"

"Yeah, I'll see you back on the bebop. And when you bury that pistol, make sure it's a few inches under, otherwise it'll probably be snagged by some kids,"

"Right,"

Jet settled the hammerhead gently in the Bebop's dock. After quickly checking the mirrors, satisfied Faye could manoeuvre the Red-Tail back in when she returned, he lit up one of the cigarillos from his top pocket. Their sweet aroma and taste comforted him while he sat in the Hammerhead in the big empty hanger.

Half a cigarillo later he realised how hungry he was, and how thirsty. Jet knew there were a crate of bell peppers in one of the storage rooms and some beef in aft storage where Spike had once stored a Ganymede rock lobster. Of course it was Jet who had to replace the refrigerator after that little escapade. As far as his drink went though, Jet could only hope Faye hadn't pillaged the last of the bourbon he'd stashed in Spike's old room. She'd already gone through most of the Tequila and Rye after the jackass had run off.

After dumping the beef and bell peppers on the stove, he went to check it out. The bebop sounded far too empty with just him there; the sound of his metal boots clanged around the corridors like drum beats and the humming from the neon lights buzzed like a thousand bees. Jet smoked the last of the cigarillo and stubbed the butt out against the door frame of Spikes room.

It wasn't in the least surprising that Spike had left his room a mess, and Jet had no desire to fix it up. If that's how Spike had wanted it, then that was fine by Jet. Despite all the bedding strewn about and clothes -mostly yellow shirts and blue trousers- packed in bulging old cardboard boxes, the room seemed overly empty.

Jet pulled out the old brown crate from under Spikes bed where most things would stay safe from his mitts. Food and cigarettes disappeared real quick but Spike wasn't much of a drinker, so half a bottle of bourbon still idled there. Aside it were a pack of cards and a few poker chips along with an old pair of Jets sunglasses and a set of headphones. When did all this stuff get put in here?

Back in the kitchen, the stove blazing hotly with its bright blue flame, Jet tossed the bell peppers and beef while draining the golden brown bourbon. The last drops of the liquor fogged around his mind and made him smile as he watched the big empty wok of food swirl around in the sizzling heat. Without thinking he grabbed a set of chop-sticks and picked a chunk of beef straight out of the wok. The moment it touched his tongue, he regretted it.

Jet howled in pain as the hot beef scorched his tongue. He dropped the chopsticks into the wok from pain and his bionic arm shattered the empty bourbon bottle on instinct. There was probably a lot of truth to the idea that cooking and drinking didn't mix.

A short while later, Jet sat at the coffee table in the yellow chair opposite the empty yellow couch. The plate of Bell peppers and beef was empty, his stomach still felt empty too, the halls and rooms were empty in the big empty bebop with its big empty hanger. Big empty hanger!

Jet sprang to his feet and sprinted through the ship, ducking through the doorways into the hanger.

"Uh, what the hell!"

Faye brought the Red-Tail down at the summit of the graveyard. Orchards of little white tablets stretched out below her, marking the bed and breakfasts where nobody ever needed breakfast. She hopped out of the life capsule and settled her white boots into the muddy grass of the saturated ground.

She sighed heavily, looking down to where she vaguely recalled the funeral being held the other day. A heavy gulp swelled up in her throat as the prospect of visiting Spike's empty grave got closer. She quashed it with a swallow and started out down the rain slicked path, pulling her scarlet jacket over her head as the rain came down hard.

For the first time in her life Faye valentine witnessed a miracle. She'd never believed in such things; deceive or be deceived, easy come easy go and shoot them before they shoot you were what she had always believed. Now she saw something right in front of her that was far more than mere coincidence.

A man, stood in front of one of the many graves within this archive of the dead. He was the only person there aside from Faye and she pulled her jacket higher, shielding her face to get a better look through the rain. He wore a long overcoat and held a soggy bunch of roses in his right hand. A cigarette dangled from his lip with a pillar of smoke drifting in the rain. Nothing too special about that. But he had scraggly puffed out hair and the guy looked like he was all legs. Far more importantly was the grave he stood at. Spike's grave. No, not Spike's grave…Julia's grave!

Impulsive was a word Jet had often used to describe both Spike and Faye. But even the cool headed Jet wouldn't be able to control his impulses if he were here. Faye found herself sprinting faster than she thought she could, down the steps toward the mourning rose barer. She watched him set the rose bunch down on the grave of Julia and then turn away from her. No! why was fate so unfair, why didn't he turn toward her? Why not see her?

The rain was pretty heavy and the sound of the droplets spattering on the pathways and graves were pretty noisy along with the click of her heels, but it was dead of night. He should be able to hear her. She yelled out to him and pushed herself to run faster, feeling the burn in her legs. The man didn't look back, instead he just kept walking. Faye cursed silently and began jumping down the steps two of three at a time.

"Hey! Can't you he-" She stumbled over her own high heels and quickly found the steps below her rushing up to meet her face.

Sheslammed hard on her face and moaned painfully as she looked up across the path that had met her face. She tasted the copper tang of blood on her busted lips and smelled it in her trickling nose. Her knees and arms ached where they'd grazed but she shrugged it off, drawing on her reserves as she fought to her feet.

She looked around but it was too late, the man had disappeared. "Hey, where'd you go!" she must have shouted at least five times while spitting out gobbets of blood.

The roses she'd seen were wilting by Julia's graves as their petals drifted off in the rain. She hadn't dreamt it. Someone had definitely been there. She let her tears mix with the rainwater and blood on her scuffed face as she knelt down in front of Spike's grave. She hastily buried the Jericho pistol at the graves head before swiping up the roses and inhaling their aroma: Cigarettes and flowers. It had to be spike, who else would it be? She grabbed her phone and started to punch in Jets number. It rang before she could finish with Jets number on the screen.

"Faye!" Jet said the second she answered.

"Jet, I was ju-"

"Faye you aren't gonna-"

"Jet you have to-"

"Listen Faye, just shut up fo-"

"No, its him Jet-"

"Hold on Faye, listen for a moment," Jet said, refusing to let her cut him off. His video image held up silencing hands.

"Fine, go ahead,"

"It's the swordfish two Faye. Someone's taken it!"

"What? Who,"

"I dunno, it ain't here though. But what did you have to say? And are you okay, you're cut?"

"Huh," she sniffed up the blood and wiped her lips, "I'm fine Jet. But its Spike,"

"Huh?"

"I just saw Spike."