VII. You Came, You Saw, You Conquered Me

Faye walked back to her motel as dawn began to flicker against the horizon, layers of oranges and lavenders painted like garish brushstrokes against the blackness of the night. Her body vibrated with exhaustion, but she felt like she was floating. Store owners were just beginning to open up their shops, wearily sweeping their front stoops and emptying buckets of dirty dishwater into the gutter.

The morning air was a cacophony of smells: exhaust and seawater and old fish and cooking oil and honeysuckle and garbage and baking bread. After a moment of consideration, Faye realized that it reminded her of her childhood. Humans had to make everywhere they went so very Earth-like, she mused, even if they hadn't lived on the planet for generations. The thought made her feel unexpectedly tender towards the people she passed. Everyone was just trying to make homes out of their allotted chunks of space rocks, drifting through the stars like so many specks of dust in a beam of light.

Spike had offered to let her sleep in his room, (and Faye was unclear as to whether that offer included him in the bed), but after their unexpected kiss, Faye wanted to return to the motel for a few hours, digest what had just happened, and pass out until her head cleared. Everything about the morning felt dreamlike and strange as she walked.

"So you'll swing by later?" Spike had asked as she stood in the doorway. He slouched against the wall, hands in his pockets in a posture that Faye thought of as quintessentially Spike, but his voice contained a note of pleading that tugged at her heart. She realized for the first time just how lonely he must have been.

"I'll be back later today. I promise. How about three?" she had told him reassuringly, unsure whether to touch him again. What was the protocol for this kind of thing? Usually after spending the night with a guy, she snuck away while they slept, their wallets finding new homes in her pockets. She settled on grasping his hand just as he went in for a long-armed hug and they collided awkwardly, all elbows and knees. Faye laughed but stopped as soon as she saw the look on Spike's face. He feigned nonchalance and gave her a quick squeeze on the arm as she opened the door.

"Sorry. I just...haven't done this in a while," he said, looking abashed.

Faye reached her motel room door and fumbled in her pocket for the key card. In her haze of tiredness, she didn't notice that the door had been left slightly ajar until she jammed the key into the slot and the door swung open without unlocking. She stumbled into the room, thrown off balance and wary. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the musty darkness, and as she fumbled against the wall looking for the light switch, a calloused hand reached out and clapped a rag against her mouth. Her nose filled instantly with the vicious stench of ammonia. Eyes burning, she struggled frantically against her unknown assailant and tried to scream out, but black spots clustered at the edge of her vision and she couldn't make a sound. The last thought she had before losing consciousness was of her Glock, lying forgotten on the countertop back at the cafe.

After Faye left, Spike collapsed in bed, happiness spreading across his chest like warm oil. It had been so long since he had felt true excitement about anything besides food or money. He knew it was time for him to call Jet, but a part of him wanted to savor a few more secret hours with Faye before reaching out to his old partner. Spike wondered what Jet would think if he knew what had happened between Faye and him; frowning, he promptly decided to save that thought for later. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days. Sighing and stretching his spidery limbs across his mattress, he caught a whiff of Faye's flowery perfume on his wrist and felt his stomach do another backflip. Smiling drowsily to himself, he slipped into the kind of deep sleep you only get in the mornings after sleepless nights, thick and overgrown with visions branching out in every direction like the roots of a dark forest.

Spike stood in the pool hall, the collar of his sherpa jacket upturned jauntily. Vicious hovered beside him like an overgrown stork, four whiskeys deep and prattling on about some plan he had to approach their boss Mao Yenrai with a new proposition to forge an alliance with the White Tigers, or something or other...Spike tuned him out as he lined up his next shot, squinting down the barrel of his cue. He glanced around, wondering if the pretty blonde he'd noticed at the bar last night would return.

"Spike, are you listening to me?" Vicious hissed, shaking his silver hair out of his eyes, a tic that manifested itself during times of stress. "This is of the utmost importance. Frankly, this is no time for games! We have the opportunity to create a new era of Syndicate history - "

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening," Spike told him, exasperated. "Loosen up a little, will ya?" He made his shot, the cue ball cracking against the six and sending it into the corner pocket with a gratifying clunk. Straightening up again, he saw a golden head bobbing near the doorway, and patted his own hair self-consciously as the woman crossed the room.

Vicious followed his gaze, relief washing over his face and softening his severe features. He strode over to the blonde woman and kissed her on the cheek.

"Spike, have you met my Julia yet?" Vicious asked, wrapping a tipsy arm around the woman's slender waist. She was dressed in a black leather jumpsuit, the top unzipped a few inches to reveal a glimpse of freckled skin. Spike gulped around the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I didn't realize you two knew each other," Spike said offhandedly. Julia gave him a blinding smile and held out a small hand. Spike shook it and tried to hoist a convincing grin onto his face in return.

"So you're the famous Spike," Julia said, winking. Spike felt his knees go weak. "I've heard so much about you from Vicious," she continued. "You boys sure get into a lot of trouble together." Her eyes were a clear crystal blue and twinkled with good humor.

Spike chuckled weakly. "Eh, don't trust a word he says. I'm not all that. Vicious tends to exaggerate when he's been drinking."

Julia tossed back her curls and laughed, a beautiful bell-like sound. "Yeah, I'm aware. He can be such a drama queen, huh?" Vicious blushed and pulled her closer to his side.

"Tomorrow we need to speak, all right, Spike?" Vicious told him sternly as he turned to leave with Julia. Spike rolled his eyes and waved the two of them off.

"Yeah, Mom, I know. Get out of here already, lovebirds," he called as they left, trying hard to give off his coolest Clint Eastwood swagger. A sour knot of jealousy stewed in his stomach as he watched them go, and he tossed his pool cue into the rack with unnecessary savagery.

Julia lay sleeping in his arms, her warm breath tickling Spike's chest. His muscles ached with fatigue, but he couldn't turn his brain off. This was the third night in a row that they had made love, and while it thrilled him, his insides twisted with guilt, picturing Vicious alone and unaware at his apartment only a few miles away. As though sensing his thoughts, Julia stirred and awoke, gazing up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Can't sleep?"

He stroked her yellow hair and kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry about me. Go back to sleep."

She rolled out of his embrace and sat up, pulling the sheets around her chest. "Are you thinking about Faye again?"

Spike frowned in the darkness. "How do you know about Faye?"

"I can read your mind, Spike," she whispered. "I know you're dreaming about her. What will Jet think?"

"But I haven't even met her yet," Spike told her, confused. Her face blurred as though underwater, and she began to dissipate into a million tiny dots of color, pixelating like a screen losing reception. A strangled yell escaped from his mouth and he reached out to grab her, grasping desperately at fistfuls of air.

"Julia! Wait!"

He awoke with a shuddering gasp, tangled in his blankets and drenched in clammy sweat. It took him a good five minutes to calm his heart, using his Jeet Kune Do breathing techniques to regain control over his rebellious body.

Well, you didn't need Freud to figure that one out, he thought bitterly. The sun was high overhead and his room had grown hot and airless. He lit a cigarette and grabbed his alarm clock. Two in the afternoon. Just enough time to clean himself up and calm down before Faye returned. He took a cold shower, leaning his forehead against the tiled wall and letting the water pound his neck. If only he could rinse out his brain in the same way.

Spike pulled on his suit and headed downstairs, thinking that he would stop at Lulu's shop to get something to share with Faye for lunch. Maybe some flowers too. He wasn't sure if Faye was a flower type of girl, but who knew? After the surprises of the past twenty-four hours, anything seemed possible. He turned his face to the strong Martian sun, trying to shake the aftertaste of the nightmare.

Faye woke up with a splitting headache. That wasn't anything new, considering her recent drinking habits, but something seemed different. Medicinal, somehow. Peering through swollen eyelids, she gradually realized that her wrists and legs were bound with zip ties, their sharp plastic edges cutting harshly into her skin. Panic rose like bile in her throat and she thrashed fruitlessly for a moment, trying to free her limbs.

She looked around and saw that she lay in the corner of a dirty closet. The only things around her were jugs of cleaning supplies and a few brooms and vacuums. She gazed around, hoping to find a pair of scissors that she could potentially shake down from the metal shelves, but spotted nothing useful.

Dimly, the memory of walking into the motel room and being jumped returned. She hadn't seen the attacker, and only remembered that his hands were exceptionally rough and calloused.

Glumly, she told herself that this was probably her debts catching up with her at last. Jet was right to have worried. Someone must have lost patience with her diversions and tracked her down. And how had she picked this day of all days to forget her gun. What kind of idiot was she? She shook her head in disbelief.

And Spike. Her heart skipped a beat. He would think that she was standing him up again. Her eyes filled with tears as she pictured him waiting eagerly for her back at the cafe. Would he lose hope and disappear again? No. She shook herself mentally. Buck up, Faye, she scolded herself. She had made it out of tougher scrapes then this before.

The closet door burst open and a small man covered in Venusian tattoos darted inside, looking visibly shaken.

"Shit, you're awake. They said that would have knocked you out for longer," he muttered, checking the zip ties at her arms and legs. "All right, you can't get far like that, can you?" He looked unhinged, smiling at her with gritted teeth. His jerky movements reminded Faye of the homeless men she had seen skulking around the harbor, and she guessed that this guy was a junkie, loaded to the gills on something strong.

His breath reeked of whiskey as he puttered around close to her face. Faye hacked up a good mouthful of spit and deposited it onto his ruddy face. Screeching, the man threw a messy punch. His fist made contact with her eye and she bit back a cry.

"Who the fuck are you?" she hissed. "What's going on here? I don't have any money. You and your cronies can give up if that's the plan." Her eye throbbed with pain but she kept her expression tough, jutting out her sharp chin.

The man blinked. "I don't want any money from you. I'm just waiting for your boyfriend to show up. He's the one with money," he said, looking distractedly over his shoulder at the closet door. "They were gonna kill me," he said, suddenly whipping around to stare at her, eyes bulging, "I didn't wanna do it but they said they were gonna kill me if I didn't buy it back!" He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he spat.

Faye sat for a moment, perplexed. "Who are you...are you talking about Spike?" she asked hesitantly. "Are you a Red Dragon?"

"Who the fuck is Spike?" he asked, looking even more deranged as he stared at her with reddened eyes, nervously rubbing his hands together. "I'm waiting for Bruce to show up. Tall, skinny, crazy head of hair?"

Faye narrowed her eyes. "How do you know him?"

The man opened his mouth to answer and then froze and cocked his head; the sound of several sets of footsteps approached. Faye's heart leapt to her throat.

"Help! Help me! I'm in the clo-" she began screaming, and he clocked her in the head, hard, with a bottle of bleach. She collapsed like a rag doll and the world went black once more.

Spike found himself actually whistling as he walked into Lulu's shop. As usual, her weathered face broke into a wide smile when she saw him.

"Bruce! My favorite customer. Honey, did the message make it to your friend okay?"

Spike smiled. "More or less. I'm actually about to see her again right now. I want to get her something. Do you have flowers?"

Lulu looked like she might faint with excitement. Fluttering her hands in front of her face, she came out from behind the counter and gestured wordlessly for Spike to follow her. She opened the store's back door and revealed a tiny but perfectly tended patch of garden in the corner of the alleyway. Sunflowers stretched cheerfully to the rooftops, flanked by delicate magenta roses and some feathery periwinkle flowers Spike couldn't name.

"Which ones would she like, Bruce?" Lulu asked, smiling proudly.

Spike pursed his lips and considered for a moment.

"Well, the roses are gorgeous," he started, Lulu flushing as pink as the flowers and giggling, "but...I think sunflowers might be more her style. She likes yellow."

Lulu nodded. "Definitely. Very bold. I'll tie these up for you nicely too." She pulled a pair of clippers out from some hiding place in her bulky sweater and cast a critical eye over the sunflowers, selecting five of the heartiest contenders. Spike followed her as she went back into the store and wrapped them in newspaper, tying a purple ribbon around the stems.

"Beautiful. Thanks a million, Lulu," Spike told her, patting her wrinkled hand. "And how much do I owe you?"

He held out his money card and she swatted his hand away fiercely.

"Absolutely not, Bruce. My treat," she told him firmly.

"You're an angel," Spike replied, putting the bouquet under one arm. Lulu sighed wistfully.

"Oh, to be young and in love! Go give these to her already. I'd love to meet her sometime, too."

"You bet. You'll get along great. She's a real card shark. Thanks again," he told her happily as he left.

He walked home, clutching the sunflowers by their bristly, fuzzy stems. When he got to the cafe, he experimented with placing the bouquet in several different locations on the counter, deciding where it would be the most noticeable when Faye walked in. He spotted her gun lying on the counter, left behind from earlier that morning. Smirking to himself, he placed the bouquet and the Glock side by side. There. Perfect. He poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee and waited.

Around 2:45, he padded back upstairs to change into a t-shirt, feeling too warm for his suit jacket and dress shirt. Reaching his bedroom door, he noticed a piece of paper wedged in between the door and the frame. He raised his eyebrows and wiggled it out. Maybe Chuck was kicking him out at last. The note was folded into a small square and he opened it curiously. It was written just like the old movies: cut and pasted mismatched letters from magazines and newsprint. He scowled. Pretty damn corny.

I HVE THE GIRL

MT ME AT THE GLDEn WoOLNG 2MRRW at 7pm IF U WANT TO C HER ALVE AGAIN

PLAY A GME OF ROULEtte AND WAIT FOR the SIGN

BRING ME 2 MILlion oR SHe DIES

Spike's first reaction was that this was a bad prank. But who would be pulling a prank on him? He didn't even think that this could be about Faye for a moment. With trepidation, he glanced at his alarm clock on the bedroom floor. It was already 3:01. If Faye didn't show up, then...

His hands trembled. No. He hadn't even been with her for one full day and she was already in danger? This had to be a joke.

He stood rooted in place. 3:15. 3:35. 4 pm. He shook with rage. Someone must have seen him with Faye and put two and two together.

"God DAMMIT!" he yelled, kicking the doorframe with every ounce of his strength.

Okay. He breathed heavily through his nose. He needed a plan. First of all, he certainly didn't have two million Woolongs. There was only one person he trusted to help him.

Bolting downstairs, he tore apart the kitchen looking for the spare comm. he'd noticed Chuck leave lying around one day. He found it in a drawer, buried underneath a jumble of disposable chopsticks and soy sauce packets. Snatching it with jittery hands, he pummeled the power button and waited for it to boot up, painfully slow. It was a clunky model he hadn't seen since the 2050s, but eventually it sputtered into life. He wracked his brain for the right number, and then his fingers took over and punched it in purely out of muscle memory. It rang several times. Spike cursed under his breath.

"C'mon, you piece of shit, connect already, c'mon," he muttered. After eleven stuttering rings, it connected and the screen snapped open.

Jet's face filled the video display, his expression changing from bemused to shocked in the moment it took him to register who was on the other end. Spike glimpsed the interior of the Bebop's control room behind Jet and was flooded with a wave of homesickness.

"Good lord. Is it...really you?" Jet choked. He ran his mechanical hand over his bald head. "So Faye wasn't going nuts after all."

Spike didn't have time for anything sentimental at the moment.

"Jet, I need your help. I'm in Tharsis City. Somebody kidnapped Faye. I'm supposed to bring two million Woolongs to a casino tomorrow. How soon can you be here?"

Jet stared at him, stunned. "That explains why she hasn't been returning my calls." He paused, looking grim. "I'm on the way to Pluto for a bounty. Even if I fire on all cylinders, I can't be there for at least another 48 hours."

Spike swore under his breath. "Okay. Get here when you get here. But do you have any money?"

"Typical," Jet grumbled.

"Jet! We don't have time for this," Spike shouted at the screen.

"Right, right, sorry," Jet said, nodding. "Yeah, I can call some of my buddies at the ISSP. The accountant still owes me one." He paused, staring out the cockpit window while he thought for a moment. "Let's see...I'll have them set up a fake transfer that will cancel after 24 hours. Do you have an bank number I can wire it to?"

Spike gave him the correct numbers. He thanked his lucky stars that Jet had always been good in a crisis.

"Okay. I'm changing course now," Jet said, hurriedly dialing in new coordinates. "Spike, you have a whole lot of explaining to do when I get there. For fuck's sake."

Spike winced. "I know. We gotta get Faye first."

Jet nodded curtly and cut the connection. Spike held the blank screen in his hand for another moment and pocketed it, running his hands through his hair and pacing back and forth. He fired off a few experimental kicks and punches against invisible enemies in the kitchen. His moves were rusty, but he had a feeling that he would be getting a refresher course tomorrow. Fear threatened to envelop him, and he pushed it down and tried to stay calm and purposeful. This kidnapper was clearly an amateur, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. He thought of Faye, alone and terrified somewhere. He pictured her lying cold and broken, green eyes glassy and still, and stifled a cry with his fist.

This time it would end differently, he told himself over and over, smoking and pacing and cursing the gods he didn't believe in for the way his life had turned out.