nine chapters and a prologue in, i realize that i've forgotten the standard fanfic disclaimer: i do not own cowboy bebop. man, i'm real sorry to the guys who do own it, considering that i haven't given them credit thus far. but i'm givin' it now, so better late then never, right? now that that's out there, on with the story!

9. Emptiness and Apologies

May 28, 2072

I'm out. I'm out. I am completely out. I…I don't know why I let myself get out. I had half a gram left. I was greedy. I pushed it all. It was good but now I'm out. And I'm broke. I have no money. Not one penny. And I need it. I need it so much. I, I feel sick. Christ, my fucking stomach hurts like a bitch! Fuck and my arm! I don't know if it hurts because of my need or because it's messed up. Maybe I should have gotten it checked. But that doesn't matter. I need a hit! I fucking need a hit! I need to sell something. Anything. I don't care what it is; I just need to sell something. Fuck. Seven hours. How did I go seven hours! Shit! Okay, okay; I just need to calm down. Okay, what can I sell? What don't I need? My clothes? Ugh, I don't have a lot of those. Fuck, it hurts! Fine. My gun. I don't need it! I don't hunt as it is and I'll just sell it. No, I can't! That gun's done me a lot of good. But this is still good. I…I just need to sell something. Fine. Yes, I'll sell it. God, I just need that fucking hit so God damn bad!

Fine…

I'll admit it….

I'm an addict. Congratu-fucking-lations.

Spike pushed from his desk and barely kept himself upright. He felt like absolute shit and he just needed his precious drug more than anyone could understand. He shuffled over to his dresser and pulled open the top drawer. He grabbed his gun, his precious Jericho, and decided that it was about to do him the greatest service. Shoving the deadly steel into his waistband, Spike rushed out of the Bebop.

He scrambled down the darkened streets and wondered briefly why he only ever saw the night. Then he remembered that he slept all day. Well, he didn't really 'sleep' anymore, more like rolling around in his bed, trying to stave of his next intense craving. And when he finally ventured from his bed, it was for a hit, then food. By then it was dark, but Spike was sure that there was nothing exciting about the day anyway.

Instead of heading right to his dealer, Spike made a quick detour to the seedy pawn shop on Eighth Street. Quickly running inside, glad that the place stayed open till ten, Spike stopped at the counter and waited for assistance.

"Whaddaya want?" Called a gruff voice from the back.

"I'm low on dough and I wanna pawn something."

The shop worker came from back to greet Spike. He was a stocky man in his mid-forties with slicked back, greasy hair, a brown and scruffy goatee, and a scar on his left cheek. He was wearing dark blue jeans, a black shirt, and black leather vest. He was about to say something when Spike cut him off.

"It's an Israeli Jericho 941. It's seven years old, never been broken and has had a lot of use. The guy who gave it to me paid 25.000 woolongs for it so I expect nothing less than 3.000."

The owner looked at Spike funny, not sure why the he was in such a hurry. He took the gun from him and examined it. It was an excellent make and model. And for regular use, the gun was in amazing condition.

"I agree; it's an excellent gun. I'll give you what you asked for. Just fill out these forms and that'll be it. It you want you gun back you can buy it back for the same price in 90 days or less. After that, if you want it, you gotta pay what I ask."

Spike absently nodded as he scribbled down his information quickly. Almost tossing the papers back to the man, Spike held out a hand for his money. As the shop keep counted out his take, Spike felt an emotional tug as it dawned on him that he had just sold his partner in crime. There was a lot of history behind that gun, but when the money was all in his hand, Spike's ability to care disappeared. He crammed the cash into his pocket, muttered a "thank you" to the worker and ran out of the shop.

Arriving at Fifth Street, Spike hung a right and headed about 600 feet before he made a sharp right into a dirty alley. At the far end stood a man in black khakis and a dark brown sweatshirt. The handle of a knife could be seen sticking out of his pants. The dealer now came armed to his spot every night.

After he got the shit kicked out of him by his best customer, this dealer made sure to never go unarmed again. As he leaned against the wall, he casually smoked a cigarette, flicking the ashes as he exhaled. Spike was suddenly struck with the realization that he hadn't had a cigarette in over two months. Whoa, he really was addicted to this shit.

The man pushed his self off of the wall, a small smile on his face. Speaking of the devil, his best customer had returned. He always did.

"Hello blue, what can I do ya for?"

"I'm out and I need it real bad man."

To anyone who used to know Spike, his voice would be unrecognizable. It was rough and grating, no longer the soothing baritone that once made women swoon. He licked his cracking lips and dug into his pocket. He pulled out the some crumpled bills and offered them to his dealer.

"Well, looks like someone has some good pocket change tonight, eh?" The dealer chuckled.

It never ceased to amaze the dealer, how hooked these idiots got. They'd keep coming to him until they were tossed in rehab or died. Either way, he'd always have a steady flow of cash. He knew he would never actually take the stuff he sold, though. He'd seen enough people get so fucked up on heroin and he never wanted to turn in to that.

"I'm can spare 400 tonight. How much will that get me?"

"Only 400? Come now, I bet you have a lot more than that," he mocked in a sing song voice.

"I gotta save for next time."

"Ah. Smart man. Four, you say? I think I can spare about five g's for you."

"Good. Here. Now gimme."

"Of course, my friend."

Spike greedily took the bag offered to him. He sat on the dirty ground and pulled out his spoon. He poured a grams' worth of powder into the spoon's depression and brought out his lighter. Flicking the flame to life, Spike put it under the spoon, willing the chemical reaction to go faster. Finally the powder dissolved to liquid and Spike carefully pulled out his syringe. He was starting to shake badly and he prayed that he didn't spill.

Barely able to fill the syringe, Spike quickly tossed the spoon to the ground and pulled up his sleeve. Not having a rubber band with him Spike quickly untied his shoelace and tied it tightly around his upper arm. Seeing his veins begin to bulge despite the fact his arm was still discolored, Spike gave them a tap and winced slightly at how easy the pain came. Pushing that aside, Spike brought the needle to his arm and slowly slid it into his skin. The thought flashed in his mind that he didn't clean the needle or his arm, but the thought went as soon as it came and Spike pushed the plunger and sighed as the sting of the rush hit him.

He smiled a lazy, satisfied smile as he leaned back against the alley wall. Slowly drawing the needle out of his arm, Spike just sat for a while and let the euphoria spread through him. He was certain that he could almost see heaven at that moment; he was that enraptured. But when he heard an "ahem" coming from his left, he opened his eyes and began to stand up.

"I'm glad that I could help you, man, but I do have other customers. So, if you could move it along, I'd greatly appreciate it."

"Huh? Oh, yeah; sure." Spike answered. He re-threaded his shoelace, strolled out of the alley, and headed off. He patted his pockets to make sure he still had his money and his stuff and once he felt the comforting bulges, he continued on his way.

He decided to amble around town for a couple of hours. He looked out over the pier, counted the cracks in the sidewalk from Fourth Street to the Docks, and sat on a bench and started at the stars.

Spike arrived back to his makeshift home a little after midnight and sighed before ascending up the ramp to the door. Hopefully no one had seen him leave, and even if they did, hopefully they would leave him alone. He pushed the door open and went in. He was almost to his bedroom and almost home free, when the irritating voice of the resident shrew caught his ear.

"I'm sorry about locking you in the bathroom. I know it was a couple of weeks ago and I'm sure you've forgotten about it; but I'm sorry. That wasn't the best way to help you."

Becoming pissed, and getting angry at the fact that he was getting pissed; Spike summoned all of his patience and barely ground out an answer for Faye.

"It's okay. Think nothing of it." Spike was proud with his self; he got that out with less anger than he thought.

"I just didn't know what to do, you know," she said as she laced and re-laced herslender fingers togehter. "You're killing yourself Spike and I just want to stop you from doing this before it's too late. It's stupid to say, I guess; but I'm just not ready to lose you yet."

Spike could hear the tears in her voice and for some reason it absolutely disgusted him tonight. Fed up, he whirled to face her. Faye immediately knew she was in deep shit.

"You're such a selfish bitch, Faye,"Spike began in a low, menacing tone. "All you do is cry and whine and I'm getting sick of it. You don't care about me. The only person you care about is yourself. You just said it, "I'm just not ready to lose you yet." Well guess what, Faye? I was never yours to being with."

He had backed her up to the wall and now had both arms on the wall on either side of her shaking form. His eyes where cold and calculating, searching for the things that would break the woman down.

"I have no idea what kind of illusions are running through that freeze dried brain of yours but I.Don't.Care.About.You. I never have and I never will. I only deal with you because Jet's so attached to you. Hell, for all I care, you could die tomorrow and it wouldn't phase me one bit.

"You're nothing to me, Faye. You're lucky I ever dealt with you in the first place. After your little stunt the other day, all I know is that if Jet hadn't been there, I would have killed you. I hate you Faye. So much it hurts. I don't want your sympathy or your pity or your anything. You make me sick and if I ever get the chance, I'll take you down with me.

"Now I suggest you leave me alone, Faye, and realize that I don't want to have anything to do with you. I'm sure it will be good for your health. Now run along, you fucking bitch, and leave me alone. Have I made myself clear?"

Faye slowly nodded, not sure if she trusted her own response. Seeing the fear in her eyes, Spike gave her a sinister smirk and backed away from her. Daring to take a step away from the wall in order to get away from him, Faye was rewarded with a vicious backhand.

"I didn't say you could move. You can leave after me and not a moment sooner."

Once again Faye nodded and returned to the wall. She watched him recede into the shadows and when she was sure he was gone, she slid to the cold, callous floor. The tears that threaten to fall earlier were now flowing freely from her green eyes. She nervously brought her had up to her right cheek and felt it swelling up already. Now she'd have bruised under both eyes, but that didn't matter at the moment.

This drug was really changing Spike and it absolutely terrified her. She was used to Spike making idle threats towards her, but never once did she believe he'd actually be capable of truly hurting her. Now she was sure; he had given her physical proof of such. And his words tonight left no real doubts in her mind that he was just fucked up enough to kill her.

She cried silently to herself as she cradled her legs to her chest. He was beyond help now, she was almost positive of that, and who knows what he was going to do; what he was capable of. She felt herself curling into a fetal position and crying even harder. She knew that this wouldn't help anything, but it was all that she could do.

this was one of the sadness parts for me to write. once again, i hate the thought of spike being violent towards faye, but i'm under the impression that spike's mind is so hazy that he doesn't really know what he's doing, and i'm sure he's quite resentful towards faye, since she's trying to help him. but oh well, such is the progression of the fic. that's all until the next chapter, so thanks for stopping by.

-phoenix