Spike put his face in his hands, trying to hide the sudden tears that overwhelmed him. He hadn't cried in ages, and it was a beyond bizarre thing to happen now, with Jet, of all people. He figured it was just all those tamped-down emotions finally catching up to him; an onslaught of feelings that got choked up in his throat and had no choice but to escape through his eyes.

He cleared his throat, trying to gather himself. He hadn't felt anything for so long, and he didn't want to start now. Not when he was finally back on track with the Dragon, Vicious, and Faye. Jet, well, he would take a while to come around, but he would just have to make peace with the fact that everyone in his close circle of friends was a piece of shit and had been for a while now.

It was exhausting, honestly, being held to Jet's high standards. It was something Spike had never wanted or asked for, and now Jet was disappointed because he refused to prove himself. Well, hopefully this little talk had set him straight.

Spike and Jet, similar on the surface, were wildly different at the core. It was insane, how perfectly inverted their relationship was compared to him and Vicious, who were different to the naked eye but fundamentally bonded by deep cynicism and a debilitating problem with communication that resulted in them resorting to violence at every turn.

That's why Vicious was currently passed out on Spike's bed, dead to the world for probably the fourth time that day. Spike had been talking with him almost every night, planning on how to best execute their plan to take out the Red Eye supplier. It really was their plan at this point, considering how much Vicious had helped with the process—a lot more than Spike's lieutenants had, anyway.

Speaking of, Spike was relieved the trip with Shin went okay. Vicious was still in one piece, at least. Shin hadn't said much during the drop off, clearly unhappy with the situation but following orders, loyal as ever. Spike resisted the urge to remind him his own men were the ones who kept Vicious alive in the first place and left the decision up to Spike.

Vicious hadn't said anything about Lin's death, but Spike was willing to bet there was more to the story. That guy, Gren, before he flew off to Titan, had really set Spike's mind whirling. With what he said about Julia, of course, but also with what he didn't say. Things about Vicious, and the War on Titan, something Vicious had never talked to Spike about. Granted, he caught Spike and Julia not long after he'd come home, so it was fair to say he probably wasn't keen to confide in the guy who'd just stabbed him in the back. He wasn't big on sharing to begin with.

Still, Spike had brought him aboard the Bebop with the childish hope this mission would open him up again. The two of them had discussed it for weeks, how only a small team should take the Red Eye plant—anything larger and the suppliers would know exactly what they were up to. That's why he needed the Bebop as well; it was a good cover and had never been involved with Dragon business. Hopefully, the suppliers would think they were just some junkies looking to score directly from the source.

True, he could've commissioned any old ship, but, despite what most people thought, Spike Spiegel had a sentimental streak. Besides, he had to try and fix things with Jet, and this was the only place he knew where to start. Although bringing Vicious along might have set them even further back than they were before.

Spike didn't regret it though; bringing Vicious was necessary. Practically, Spike wanted someone watching his back that could read his movements as well as he could read theirs. He would be going into this raid without backup, and he couldn't risk someone like Jet letting him catch a bullet out of spite. Shin too, though trustworthy, hadn't fought alongside Spike before, and a mission this dangerous was hardly the time to start.

Vicious was the only logical choice. Even though he was still recovering, Spike had let him practice with his katana a few times (under strict supervision, of course), and he was just as capable as ever to cut down more than a few bodies. Not to mention his aim with a gun, though not as good as Spike's, was still deadly accurate.

The standing up for a while, yeah, that was an issue, but one Spike hoped to work out before they got to Earth. Spike knew Vicious was just as eager as he was for him to get back to normal, and when Vicious put his mind to something, it almost always happened. So, he wasn't really worried, just impatient.

Which is why he didn't totally understand why he was crying right now. Everything had been going smoothly; Jet's flare ups had ceased to faze Spike a long, long time ago, so it wasn't that. Even telling him the truth about Julia wasn't sad, because he'd made peace with that a long, long time ago as well.

The part about not being a good man, well, he'd known that practically since birth.

Yet the tears fell, maddingly, bewilderingly, and unceasingly. He took a deep breath; if he wasn't careful, he thought he might start hyperventilating. What the fuck is happening to me?

Jet half rose out of his seat and stretched a tentative hand towards Spike. "You okay, kid?"

Well, that just made him cry harder, his half-sobs embarrassingly loud in the silence of the control room. He pressed a hand over his face, wishing Jet would come closer but also wishing he would leave right this second. Jet opted for the former, crouching down beside him. Spike knew he was freaking him out. Hell, he was freaking himself out. This was practically a psychotic break and all he could think about was how this chair made his back hurt. Because you're getting fucking old. He really was hyperventilating at this point, hands sliding upwards to get tangled in his hair. I must look insane right now.

"Spike…" Jet's voice floated through the haze, loud and worried. "Spike, you have to breathe. Can you hear me? Gotta breathe."

Spike nodded, breath scrabbling out of his chest as he willed himself to calm down. But it wasn't working; the tears were still streaming, and the panicky feeling was still there. Most of his brain though, the parts that weren't panicking, observed the situation with bemused rationale. There was no logical reason this was happening, and no logical reason he couldn't stop.

That old apathy switch must have flipped off, and it was terrifying.

Jet was still talking in a low murmur, no doubt trying to calm him down, but Spike's ears were starting to ring and anything he said got lost in transit.

Suddenly, something cut through the noise and the fog. Another voice, loud, impatient, and furious.

"Tried to leave without me, huh? Think again, lunkhead!"

What the shit?

And then Faye was there, in the doorframe, all rage and no regret. How did she even get here?

"Shin told me where you were," she said, in response to his silent question. "And honestly, it's fine if you want to fuck off to wherever; I don't own you. But what really got me was that Shin said you had a nice little crew going with you."

Spike closed his eyes. Seems Shin had gotten his little revenge after all. He should've known there would be a catch. Faye stepped fully into the room, practically vibrating. He'd seen her like this many times before, all that anger rolling off in waves; her body unable to contain it.

"This one-" she said and jabbed a finger at Jet, who held his hands up defensively.

"Hey, I've been locked up for the past month. And I got tricked into this."

Faye snorted. "Yeah, well, it wouldn't be the first time. I guess you knew about his other little secret though." Jet cocked his head.

"Fucking Vicious! The psycho that kidnapped me and held me hostage! Not to mention he also killed Spike, sort of, and I assume Julia, and betrayed Gren, and- honestly, need I go on?" She stood still, chest heaving in time with Spike's own.

"Well?" she yelled, hands on her hips. "Care to explain?"

No, he didn't. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't, because when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Only hitching breaths and stuttered, unintelligible sounds. It was then that Faye finally noticed he was smack in the middle of a breakdown.

"Hey, uh, are you okay?" She walked over towards him and Jet cautiously. "What's- what's happening?" Spike cringed at the discomfort in her voice. Having Jet see him like this was bad enough, but adding Faye to the mix was just downright cruel.

Jet saved him from trying to explain. "We're not really sure, are we, bud? But we're working on taking some deep breaths, yeah?" Jet was talking to him like he was a five-year-old, and it was just making everything worse.

He tried again to speak, because he could tell Jet was about to go off the deep end, worrying like he always did. Well, maybe he should be concerned, because Spike didn't feel like he was going to calm down anytime soon.

Faye hovered near him, unsure of what to do. Spike attempted to form words, but all that came out was a strangled whine. He turned bright red and curled his legs up so he could bury his face in his knees.

This was mortifying.

Maybe if he just stayed in this little dark hole they would go away and let him figure this shit out in peace. He kept his head down and tried to focus on breathing. In, out, in, out. It worked, marginally, the tears still flowing but his chest rising and falling in some semblance of normalcy. He could feel Jet and Faye exchanging glances over his head, no doubt absolutely baffled over what was happening. Hell, he was just as confused as they were.

Jet cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, Spike-o, uh, we'll give you some space. I'll be down in the hold, okay? If you wanna talk about it. Or even if you don't. Uh, yeah, so, I'll just…"

Spike made another noise, trying to respond, but this one was even worse than the last. He flushed to the roots of his hair and pressed his eyeballs into his knees, half-hoping they would burst and then he'd never have to see Jet, Faye, or anyone else ever again. How could he, after this?

He heard brief whispering, then shuffled footsteps receding out of the room. He heaved a sigh, glad to be alone.

How long he stayed balled up in that chair, he couldn't say, but finally, finally, the tears dried, the panic dissipated, and he exhaled. He unfolded himself and raised his head to find Faye staring at him.

"Jesus!" He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away all remnants of his emotional upheaval. "Why are you still in here?"

"You never answered my question about Vicious."

He bit back a groan. After all of that, and she was still on his case. God, she was a stubborn woman. But there was a tiny part of Spike that respected that.

Liked it, even.

She glanced away. "And I wanted to make sure you'd be okay."

"Oh." He stood up slowly, feeling drained. "Yeah, I'm okay. Really, I don't know what happened. I was fine one minute and then the next…" He shrugged. "But now I'm fine again, so."

Faye scoffed. "Clearly, you're not. But if you want to pretend you are, that's your choice. Look, probably the best thing for you to do is get some sleep. Just know that I see through your bullshit, Spiegel. And you're still not off the hook about this Vicious thing."

Spike felt a little tingle of warmth in his chest. She only calls me Spiegel when she's secretly worried. The last time had been at his place, when she ran her hands over his scar. It was a move that he hadn't expected, and one that he could tell was motivated by equal parts pride and worry. Pride because he'd basically dared her to, and worry because she'd looked right through him, and saw that he was just really, really fucking lonely.

So her calling him that now made him feel just a little bit better. Because even though she was worried, it also meant she cared. Cared about him. And damn, that was a nice thing to know.

She was looking at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked.

"Go to bed!" She was tapping her foot angrily, hand on her hip, and Spike would be lying if he said it wasn't one of the cutest things he'd ever seen. Jesus, this thing for her is getting out of control. He'd brushed it off at first; figured it was just leftover feelings from Julia and the fact that Faye had been a part of probably the best years of his life.

"I, ah, well, I would, but Vicious is kind of using mine right now."

Faye gaped at him for a second, as if marveling at his sheer stupidity, before rolling her eyes. She strode forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him out the door before he could protest. "Come on, you're sleeping in my room then. Assuming Jet hasn't converted it into an office or something."

He let himself be dragged down the hallway, smiling to himself.

She was holding his hand again.

They came to a halt in front of her old room. Faye opened the door and pointed inside. "Sleep. Now. I'm going to help Jet with takeoff." He was just a little disappointed she wouldn't be joining him.

Spike nodded mutely. She let go of his hand (now he was doubly disappointed) and marched back down the hall. He watched her go, reflecting that she could be a real force to be reckoned with; you just had to give her a sense of purpose. Maybe that's why she'd done so well with Fantaisie, and had been working subtle miracles on his personal life. Seriously, going to see her that one night with the jazz band was the best decision he'd made in the past two years.

He sighed and flopped down on the bed, shucking the blankets over his head and waiting for sleep. But none came—not when the ship started rumbling, not when he felt them exit the atmosphere, and not when they had been hurtling through space for some time. He tossed and turned, envying Vicious, who no doubt had been asleep since he came on board and would be for much longer still.

Spike tensed when he heard the doorknob turn. He feigned sleep, and then felt like a complete idiot for doing so. But it was too late to go back now, so he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even.

Something that proved almost impossible to do when he felt the mattress dip, and Faye lie down beside him. At least, he assumed it was Faye. He figured Jet wouldn't have fit on the bed, narrow as it was.

He heard her breathing softly, trying not to wake him. He felt something hovering over his face for a moment, as if hesitating.

Then, so light he almost missed it, her lips brushed against his forehead, in a display of tenderness unlike anything Spike had experienced in a very long time.

There were two parts of him that reacted to this, and each conflicted drastically with the other. On the one hand, Spike really, really, wanted to open his eyes and scare the shit out of her, because that would absolutely priceless. On the other hand, he wanted to open his eyes and kiss the shit out of her. That would be priceless too.

But in the end, he just kept his eyes closed. He still hadn't been able to get a read on her. Sometimes she seemed into him, and other times she hated his guts, per usual. Their relationship was already so fucking complicated anyway. So he just stayed where he was, listening to her breathing slow, then even out, as she fell asleep next to him.

He opened his eyes then, and looked at her. She looked younger when she was asleep, though Spike found that to be true with most people. He reached out silently and touched a lock of her hair, splayed across the pillowcase. Yeah, he definitely liked it better this way. He was glad he told her the other night, when they were dancing. It seemed to make her happy. And he wanted her to be happy, after that really weird visit to his place the time before. They'd been doing okay at the start, but then it went off the rails at some point, somewhere between the scotch and the picture frame, before the blood. But now, it seemed like they were getting back on track, maybe even moving towards…something, he guessed. But fuck if I know what that something is. He squeezed his eyes shut. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sle-

He froze.

Faye had just shifted, muttering something in her sleep. She rolled over, squishing right against his side, one leg thrown over his. Now he really tried to keep his breathing even, in case she woke up. But she didn't, just slept on, unaware she was making his heart beat so fast he thought he might need to go to a hospital.

Well, there was no way he was going to fall asleep now. So he just stared up at the ceiling and tried to think of anything under the sun that wasn't the way Faye's body was pressed against his, because then he was going to have a whole other issue on his hands.

For the second time that night, he lost track of time. All he knew was that sometime later on, Faye stirred again, and rolled back over to her side of the bed.

He let out an audible sigh, both relieved and disappointed. Then, quietly as he could, he sat up. Spike knew himself, and he was positive he'd be getting no sleep tonight. Faye had been wrong—he didn't need a nap, he needed to clear his head. And there was really only one way he did that. He shifted slowly on the mattress, climbing over Faye and wincing when the springs creaked noisily.

Her eyes blinked open, and she looked up at him drowsily. "Where are you going?" Then she looked down, and he wanted to die. "What are you doing?" She really had woken up at the worst possible moment. He was halfway over, basically straddling her, hands planted on either side of her face and his hips only inches away from hers.

She smirked at him. "You know, you could have just asked." She stretched suggestively beneath him, her arms crossing above her head. He knew she was joking, but (Jesus Christ) the way she was looking at him, and posing like that…

Oh.

Fuck.

Get off her. Now.

He scrambled off the bed, barely landing on his feet with a hard thud. She just smirked at him again before waving lazily. "Night, lunkhead." Then she rolled over, asleep again in seconds.

He practically sprinted out of the room, embarrassed beyond words yet again. He made his way to the observation deck and vowed to put the incident out of his mind. Vowed to put everything out of his mind, really, because now was the time to truly clear his head.

He stripped off his shirt and stretched, loosening his muscles and warming up. He'd done this routine a million times, and at least a thousand in this very room. It was effortless, the poses flowing smoothly and his breath coming slow and easy. He stayed there for the rest of the night, in the dark, moving like water and looking out at the stars.

Home again.