SESSION 10

"Spike?"

"Mmmm?" He sat smoking at her kitchen table with the Jericho broken down before him. A bottle of oil and a smudged cloth within easy reach.

"You've been here two months now." She leaned over the back of the chair on the opposite side of the table trying to coax him to look up. "Can we ever sleep alone?"

Spike fought back a laugh unsuccessfully. He cooed to the grip of the disassembled gun. "Aww, will you listen to that? Julia is jealous of us."

"Spike! I'm being serious." She placed a hand on her hip. "What if you pulled the trigger and shot yourself?"

He held up the gun and pointed. "That's what the safety lock is for."

With a sigh, she slid down into the chair. "Please."

His head bowed over his working fingers, Spike glanced up at her. "That's not something I can just stop doing."

"Why not?"

"I'll give you the best reason, because of what I do for a living." His voice bore little emotion, the chased topic having pressed him out of the previous easy-going mindset he'd happily burrowed into the past weeks.

Julia watched him. Something deeper was wrong, it had nothing to do with her request. Spike usually performed maintenance on his gun in no time at all. Today he senselessly repeated steps, clearly preoccupied. She reached out and touched the back of his hand. He paused, but didn't look up as she asked, "What is it?"

He closed his eyes and set the piece down. "Nothing." But she squeezed his hand. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Studying him, she waited.

The tension built before he slouched forward raising one hand to catch his head. "It's Vicious. I can't make sense of it. Most of the time he's quiet, looking like he's back to following orders. And then, out of the blue he darts into some strange event with no rhyme or reason. I can't work it out. I arrive to stop him and he just … moves off like it was his business."

"How much longer do you have to do this?"

Spike flipped his free hand. "I have no idea, and Mao doesn't dare ask a third time. I just have to ride this out. If I don't go crazy in the process."

She grasped his hand. "What happened between you two? Years ago you were practically attached at the hip."

His eyes grew distant, he shook his head. "I honestly don't completely know. After the Van gave Mao orders to split us up and promote us to seniors with teams of own to command, I was so busy running my orders I barely saw Vicious anymore. Frankly, Mao was thrilled over the arrangement. It was a testament to his leadership that he was allowed two more officers without the loss of even one. Anyway, the few times I glimpsed Vicious in passing he refused to even look at me. But I swore … he looked … bored. I couldn't imagine being bored! After all I was constantly in motion. When I asked Mao if he knew, that was when I discovered that for some reason the challenge of the prestigious hits were all funneling to my team—and it wasn't Mao's doing. He had his own orders from above. Well, you know Vicious."

"He would have hated that." She nodded slowly.

"I had no idea that was happening. Figured we were both getting our metal tested. Turns out I was wrong. Not that I wanted that. I would gladly have handed off some of the wet work for a chance to breathe." He hung his head. "Julia, I don't even want to consider taking over for Mao. I'm not ready for him to die for that. Growing up in that pool hall all I ever wanted was to feel like I had a purpose, a sense of loyalty. I have that where I am. I don't need anything more. But if Vicious keeps playing his game he's going to get us both killed, possibly Mao too. It doesn't make sense. He's not surrendering. I know that's not what it is, so what is he doing?"

Julia leaned forward in the chair. "How do you know for sure?"

Spike heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Cause he's never surrendered in his life, Julia. I've seen him tested, just as he saw me. I've known Vicious since living at Mao's. I wasn't his only protege. Vicious had been there for many years under Leonard's tutelage. He made Vicious and I sparring partners as I was the only other student of his able to counter his attacks. Hours on end we sparred. It wasn't enough. Leonard let me leave the training room while Vicious remained to keep refining. Well, one day Leonard locked us alone in the room together on the promise that the door only opened when one of us surrendered to the other."

She waited in the long silence before gently prodding. "Who won?"

"It was a stalemate." Spike's heavy gaze stared at the table. "Hours after it began, Leonard opened the door and dragged us out. Dehydrated, battered, and barely standing—neither of us had yielded. You know that saying about objects? Apparently I'm the immovable object, he's the unstoppable force. It didn't matter how many times he repeated the test. The results were always the same. Though we fought with different techniques, Vicious and I were too evenly matched, too unwilling to surrender. That simple bond gave us an edge on the street. We knew that no matter how bad things got, neither of us would ever surrender to an opponent. That's why Mao utilized us as a team. I don't think it mattered to Vicious that he was sharing the glory with a no-body — until after the split."

"He's not any better than you are, Spike."

Spike huffed a breath. "I don't pretend to be something I'm not, Julia. If there's even a drop of legit syndicate blood running in my veins, even that is dilute. That's not the case with Vicious."

"What?" She sat up a little straighter.

Spike's eyes widened. "He didn't tell you?" When she shook her head, he cupped his head. "Shit. I thought you knew. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm not supposed to know." He sighed. "I should have been in the training room instead of eavesdropping when Mao had a visit from his mother wondering how things were going. They were friends, Mao and Vicious's mother. Turns out she left him in Mao's care after his own father refused to acknowledge his bastard. She wanted a future for him, and Mao had the resources to provide one. The only condition was that Vicious couldn't live under his own father's name."

"Why? If he didn't care … Who is he?"

"I know, but I won't tell you that much." Spike's eyes met hers, his voice leaden. "His father is a syndicate capo. If he finds out Vicious is his and in the ranks, he'll probably rip his son to shreds to bury the evidence of an illegitimate son. As much as Vicious is stirring up trouble, Mao still holds the sacred bond of the pledge. The same pledge he made for me."

She stood up and came around behind Spike, rubbing his shoulders around the folded up shirt collar. "It doesn't matter what he has in his blood. Blood is blood."

Spike shook his head. "I don't care. I learned the worth of blood when I dealt with the shock of my life standing in the rubble of my house in that shithole of a crater of I was born in. Things like that happened every other day there, so I wasn't even unprepared for that fate. Growing up without your parents was common place enough in those slums … well, it's not the same as being rejected by one out of blood."

"The Van is recognizing your talent. There are subordinates begging to run on your team. That says a lot. Coming from a syndicate line doesn't mean a damn thing."

He was knotted up, tense and unyielding beneath her fingers. "I wish Vicious would see it that way. But I doubt he will ever find the ability to overlook the decision that has always been beyond his control." His head lowered. "And that's the part that troubles me. Vicious doesn't allow anything to exist beyond his control for long. This has already carried on for months."

A few days later, Spike walked through the door and pealed off his sodden jacket. "Gotten to like this one. Hope the washer is empty or this stain might set. Hey Honey, what do you usually use for blood stains?"

There wasn't a reply.

He peered around the corner of the laundry room to see Julia bending over the coffee table drowned in books and papers. Leaning over from behind the couch he narrowed his eyes at the legalese lingo. "Hardcopies? People still look at that? How does that stuff not give you a headache?"

"Not now, Spike." She muttered, flipping through a tome.

"What's the—"

"Spike, shut up! I'm in the middle of something."

"Ok, ok." He held up his hands. "I got it. Leave you to your searching. I'll just go and get cleaned up before dinner, aright?"

She flopped her head forward. "I forgot. I can't believe I forgot to start something."

He swung around and knelt before her, running a hand through her curls and letting them spring. "Easy there, Tigerlily. It's no big deal. After a quick shower I can go get something. I'd offer to cook, but I think you want your apartment building still standing, right? If it's this important … "

She returned the gesture, running a hand through his hair. A cloud of dust rose up from it. "Elliot got snagged. The division that has him isn't on our payroll. We have to actually work the case this time Spike, or he gets shipped to Pluto's prison colony."

"Elliot?" He squinted. "Oh wait a minute, Hackjob Elliot the guy who pulled off that spectacular extortion from the Mar's government?"

"That's the one. We have to get him back." Her eyelids shut. "It looks like it will take a few weeks at the least. Spike, I'm sorry."

"I could probably spring him with a bit of C-4." When she frowned at him, he pecked her on the lips and grinned. "Not every bomb I make actually brings the house down. But, if anyone can do it, you will. Show your uncle the worth of that degree, Honey. I'll be in the shower shedding the evidence of my last job so you guys don't have to bury it."

See you, Space Cowboy!