"Purple Rain"

A Not-Quite-Bedtime Story by The Scary Godmother

~I know the last part of chapter 4 was kind of short and more than a little rushed, I hope this makes up for it. We're really getting into things now, aren't we? The next chapter is going to be a lot longer, so it may take a few days.

~Thanks to my fan-fic-fan FarStrider for giving me a great opening line for the chapter :~{)

CHAPTER 4 & 1/2: Desperado (in which everything goes to hell.)

When time caught back up with him again, Spike realized that shooting off a gun in an elevator maybe wasn't the smartest thing. The first shot grazed Elka's arm and collided with the wall, sparking off as it ricocheted and firmly embedded itself in Spike's shoulder. Keeping a firm grip on his gun, he grasped the wound. Shit, this was going to stain his suit. This was his favorite suit....this was his only suit!

The second shot landed in Elka's shoulder and stayed there. She mirrored Spike and squeezed the tissue, glaring at him with a combination of shock, anger, pain and, if he wasn't mistaken, vague amusement. "You feel better now?" she asked.

"No. You?"

"A little."

"You deserved that you know."

"I know."

Spike slid down the wall and sat across from Elka, who was still crouched down.

"We're out of cigarettes?" he questioned.

"Yeah." she nodded. "Out."

There had never been a time in his life when he needed a cigarette so badly, and that was saying a whole hell of a lot. "Is that why you killed her, just because you didn't like her?"

"I'm not that stupid." Elka answered, wondering if he was going to let both of them sit there and bleed to death waiting for answers.

"Care to elaborate?" he prompted.

"I don't want to get shot again, so No Thank You."

He was confused. "I'll shoot you again if you don't, not if you do."

She sighed, banging her head against the elevator wall in frustration. Did he realize how hard he made it for people to care about him, was that the point of being an arrogant, trigger-happy, thick-headed schmuck? So people wouldn't bother to care? "Maybe I did it for you."

He looked at her with eyes almost dead except for the barest hint of humour. "You killed the woman I love for me? Why not just send flowers?"

"I did it to protect you."

"From what?" he asked, "I don't need your protection from anything I can think of."

"To protect you from getting hurt, from finding out the truth and realizing how far off you were on this one. You need my protection from that. I fix your problems, I tell you when to run away, when to take it like a man and when to not even go in, I try to keep you alive and give you smart advice....or, at least, I used to. Some habits just won't die with time."

Spike glanced up. The elevator was taller than he had thought, there was an echo as she spoke and he hadn't just imagined it. He felt stupid, desperately stupid. Here he was pushing, begging, shooting the answers out of her and suddenly he didn't want them anymore. He felt this cold icy needle sinking down his throat and into his stomach and he did not want to here anymore.

"Julia," she said with labored breathing, "belonged to Vicious. As soon as it was safe, as soon as he had enough power to be the only viable choice, she went trotting back to him like a little bitch puppy that had gotten lost on the way home. I don't know if she ever loved you, I don't know if what you thought you had was real, but as soon as you were gone, it was. You weren't there to keep her out of the line of fire anymore and Vicious was. She betrayed you. Either she didn't love you enough to make it on her own or she never loved you at all. Either way. She wasn't worth it."

He raised his hand up as if he might strike her again, but instead he dropped his head down into his palm and rubbed his forehead. "I loved her."

"But she didn't love you...."

"Not enough to go with me, not enough to spend her life running. Who would want my life? You can't blame her."

"The hell I can't. She didn't even love you enough to keep out of Vicious' bed."

He shook his head. "She must not have had any other choice."

"Spike, don't you trust me?"

"No, not about this. I ...need to hear it all, I can take it. You had a better reason....If Julia had just gone back to him, you would have let me decide, right?" he asked, standing up.

Elka turned her head, facing away from him. "You're right, that's not all. She was..... pregnant." she announced.

He banged his head and fists into the wall. He should have seen that coming. He didn't need to ask her who the father was. He realized he'd left his gun on the elevator floor. Fuck it. If Elka wanted to shoot him right now he wouldn't have minded. Pregnant. Julia. They had talked, a long long long time ago, about having kids, someday, in a little place called Never. Julia didn't want kids. Now he'd wonder, he'd always wonder, if she just didn't want his kids......not that he liked children anyway, but it was the principle of it that hurt. She would carry the child of that murdering heartless bastard who all but held her prisoner, but she would have never carried his. And now he would never know for sure, he'd never be able to ask her, or tell her to go to hell, because Elka had already done that. The only person he could get answers from now was her.

-----------------

"How did you know?" Faye demanded.

"Faye Valentine," he said, taking back his card, "also known as Poker Alice. Very Bad Debts. A very interesting legal file open to public viewing. Taken up with Jet Black and Spike Speigel, the one armed man and the devil-may-care kid. You need to think of a more creative alias."

Faye bristled. She liked Alice. She liked Faye for that matter. "I'm not the one being hunted."

He smiled, touching his shoulder. "Aren't you?"

She let his hand remain there just long enough to get the feel of it. Smooth, not the hand of a working man. It felt good, but she pulled away after a second. "Not anymore. Did you bother to do a background check just so you could rub up against me?"

"I haven't yet begun to rub Doll face. How about we make this business personal?"

Faye rolled her eyes. Great. Another one of those guys. "How about I shoot you in the crotch and drag you back to whoever's paying for you?"

He growled a little, a masculine, very sexual growl. "You like to be on top don't you?"

"None of your goddamned business." she said, turning to face him and making sure he could see just enough of her gun.

He raised his hands defensively. "Ok, we can do this the easy way. Have dinner with me, then you can do whatever you want."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "All I want is your bounty."

"Dinner. Isn't that easier than, how did you put it, shooting me in the crotch and dragging me back to whoever's paying for me?"

"Easier. Less fun."

"You know," he said, "I bet I can guess your problem. They don't appreciate you. You do all the work and it still isn't enough. I know guys like that. Hell, I am a guy like that. So why don't you show them how you can bring in a bounty, nice and easy, no fuss, no muss?"

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm a gambler Ms. Valentine. I'd like to make a gamble on you."

"And what exactly is the bet?" she asked.

"I will bet you my bounty that after dinner, you won't feel like turning me into anyone. If you do, I'll double the money you're getting. If you don't...well, if you don't, that has it's own rewards."

"You're awfully confident for someone who just got caught." she said coyly, almost meaning it this time. He was offering her a great deal, a great way to show both those sons of bitches that they needed her on the Bebop, that she pulled her own weight.

"You didn't catch me, I caught you. So, do we have a bet?"