The first thing she noticed was the blood.

The second was Spike, barely conscious, head flopping as he sagged against Vicious. Her heart started racing.

The two had been gone most of the day, leaving after the Bebop had landed on Titan early in morning. Faye didn't know much about what they were going to do, only that it was dangerous and required stealth, so it was just the two of them.

She knew it had something to do with the Red Eye supplier that had gone rogue, deciding to cross the Dragon and start selling on their own. She'd heard whispers about it at Fantaisie, and speculation about how the Dragon would retaliate. She also knew that they were looking for the supplier's manufacturing plant, and Vicious had walked into a setup yesterday on Earth, while she and Spike were-

Don't think about that. Fuck him.

Honestly, Faye didn't understand why Spike didn't just order a squad of ships to blast the plant to hell, but, then again, she wasn't Head of the Dragon. Not that I even care about what he's doing. She'd missed them leaving anyway, not waking up until mid-afternoon when Jet poked his head into her room and called her name.

"What?" she'd snapped, angry at Jet for disturbing her wake-up routine, which usually involved twenty more minutes of lazing in bed before she actually got up for the day.

"Ed and I are going exploring. Do you want to come?"

She debated. She and Jet did have a good conversation the other night, and she had missed Ed, despite her annoyance at the little twerp crashing in her bed late last night. Plus, spending time with someone that wasn't Spike might be good for her. "Hmm, maybe," she said. "Give me a minute."

Jet had left then, and Faye got ready surprisingly quickly, taking only thirty minutes instead of her usual hour. When she walked out into the hold, Jet was tapping his foot impatiently, while Ed cartwheeled around the room, eager to get outside.

Faye had just shrugged at Jet's irritation and walked towards the ramp. "Well, don't keep me waiting."

Jet grumbled something that sounded a lot like "bitch," but she didn't comment. She was too busy looking out at the landscape.

Faye had forgotten that Titan was a dirty, not to mention cold, planet, and her desire to go out into the biting wind and stinging sand had dropped to zero. She turned on her heel and marched to the couch before flinging herself down on it. "Not going, no way. Have fun though."

Jet grumbled again; this time she definitely heard "bitch." But Ed had just waved goodbye and zipped down the ramp, so Jet had no choice but to run after her. Ein followed a moment later, barking, and Faye sighed happily. Peace and quiet.

She was blessedly alone for the next few hours. She spent the time taking a long shower, repainting her nails with some polish she found under her bed, and reading an old magazine she'd left on the table by the couch over two years ago. It was dusty and faded, but the pictures were still interesting, and she had nothing else to do. At least, not until Spike and Vicious made their grand entrance.

Both of them were covered in blood, but the way Spike was draped against Vicious made it clear he was the one who was hurt. From what Faye could see, he was bleeding from his left side, pretty badly. Vicious was holding Spike upright, but he too looked ready to collapse. Faye vaguely recalled the other night, and Jet telling her Vicious had been in a coma for the past two years.

His endurance is probably shit. She felt a stab of satisfaction at that. But then she felt guilty, because that was probably how Spike had gotten hurt in the first place. And she'd promised herself, the next time he was hurt, that she'd be kind.

So she shot up from the couch, trying to put all negative thoughts about Spike, and their terrible interaction yesterday, out of her mind. Now, she was only focused on the blood, and on Spike, tracking the rise and fall of his chest to make sure it didn't stop.

"What the fuck happened?!" she asked.

Vicious just grunted and tossed his head at Spike. Understanding, she dashed forward to help him, and together they dragged Spike the rest of the way to the couch. They lowered him down as gently as they could, but Spike still let out a dazed groan when Faye jostled his bad side.

"Sorry!" she yelped. "Are you okay? I mean, relatively speaking."

He just closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. Vicious turned to her.

"Medical supplies."

Faye blinked. "Uh, Jet has some, I think. I can try to find them." He nodded at her, before turning back to Spike. She raced out of the hold and down the hall to Jet's room. The kit she'd been thinking of was easy to find, just tucked out of sight under his bed, and she sighed with relief. She grabbed it and sprinted all the way back to the couch, where Vicious had managed to work Spike's shirt off him and start sopping up excess blood with it.

Faye handed him the kit, panting. "Do you know how to use all this stuff?"

"Better than you."

Fair point.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"He got shot. I have to get the bullet out."

Vicious dropped Spike's shirt, now soaked in red, and stepped back to examine the kit. He nodded in approval, satisfied with whatever he'd found inside. Beyond bandages and rubbing alcohol, Faye couldn't rightly identify anything in that box. Thank God for Vicious. That was something she'd never thought she'd ever think, but looking at Spike, grimacing in pain on the couch, she truly was glad to have Vicious here. Simply put, he seemed to know what he was doing, and she didn't.

He pulled a few things out of the kit and set them on the floor. Then, he studied Spike for a moment, frowning, before bending down and fumbling with Spike's belt buckle.

"Um," Faye said awkwardly, beyond confused. Now's not really the time for this. "What are you doing?"

Vicious pulled the belt free and folded it in half. "It's either this or he bites off his tongue." He fixed her with a look, practically rolling his eyes at her perceived stupidity. "Hold his hand."

"What?"

"Hold it. He needs something to squeeze."

Faye bit her lip, but complied, taking Spike's limp hand in her own. It was cold, and she felt sick. His hands are always warm.

"Spike. Spike." Vicious was snapping his fingers above Spike, trying to get him to focus. Spike's eyes just roamed over the ceiling, the blood loss finally kicking in. Vicious scowled, then hauled back and slapped Spike across the face.

Faye wrinkled her nose. "Was that really necessary?"

But Vicious wasn't listening to her; he was busy shoving the belt into Spike's open mouth. "Bite down," he ordered, and Spike, now marginally aware, sunk his teeth into it obediently. Vicious knelt beside him, holding a pointed, shiny instrument that made Faye's stomach flip just looking at it. God, I hope I never get shot.

"Okay, cowboy," Vicious muttered in Spike's ear. "Here we go."

Spike didn't even have time to draw in a breath before Vicious started digging around in his side. He screamed around the belt, the sound muffled but no less agonizing to hear. It made Faye's heart hurt, and she suddenly felt very bad about being angry with him.

He yelled again, struggling to get away from Vicious and his stabby clamp thing. Vicious growled low in his throat and pinned Spike down with a forearm, the other hand still poking around inside. Faye felt Spike squeeze her hand, hard, and she instinctively tried to pull away.

Spike's eyes met hers, and he looked so distraught that she froze immediately. He threw his head back, teeth grinding so hard into the belt that Faye swore she heard the leather creak. She spotted tears leaking from the corners of Spike's eyes, but Vicious showed no signs of letting up, his head buried in the bloody mess that was Spike's torso. Both wanting to help Spike and avoid any further eye contact with his, frankly, disgusting wound, Faye moved to sit on the floor, reaching out with her free hand to stroke his hair in what she hoped was a soothing manner. Vicious quirked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

She studied Vicious as he worked, throwing surreptitious glances at him now and again. She'd only been around him for two days, but she felt constantly on edge. It was impossible to forget their last meeting, when he'd held a blade to her throat and chained her to a wall. So, she really didn't have the best first impression of him, and he'd done little to change her mind thus far.

Suddenly, Spike's hand went slack. She whipped her head around to look at him, and he sagged against the couch, unconscious. Her anxiety went into overdrive.

"Vicious?" she panicked. "I think he passed out!"

Vicious didn't bother to look up, continuing with his makeshift operation. "That's fine. Probably better this way."

Faye bit her lip. "Are you sure?"

She knew she was pushing it, asking him questions he clearly had no interest in answering, but she was worried. Besides, he seemed willing to entertain her for the time being, just nodding in assurance that yes, it was okay that Spike's eyes weren't open any longer, and it was okay his breathing was very quiet, and it was okay she thought she could feel his heartbeat growing weaker, and it was okay if he died without knowing she was sorry about the other day, it was okay they hadn't even kissed once, and it was okay she still hadn't told him that she l-

Vicious grunted in triumph, snapping Faye out of her trance. She shook herself. Calm down. Spike is going to be fine. And it seemed that he really would be; Vicious had just found the bullet, finally, and pulled it free. He held it out to her, jagged at the edges and oozing blood.

"You want it?"

Faye's mouth dropped open. "Why would I want that?" Is this like the scar? Some guy thing I just don't understand?

Vicious shrugged and pocketed the bullet himself. Faye wondered dimly if he was going to give it to Spike later. She watched as he gathered more supplies from the kit, bringing out a needle and thread, along with several yards of gauze, to close up the wound. Faye figured Spike would get another scar out of this, though nothing like the one he already had, courtesy of the very man who was sewing him up now.

Vicious, for his part, had seemed indifferent to the scar, out open for all to see, shining like a beacon of his cruelty. Though, Faye reasoned that cruelty seemed to be the only thing Vicious appreciated, or at least understood. She reached out hesitantly, to trace the scar with her fingertips. It felt like it did before, strange and alien, but this time there was no warmth beneath it.

Spike lay perfectly still on the couch, and she wanted nothing more than for him to wake up. She exhaled softly, lifting her hand from his chest to smooth loose strands of hair away from his face.

Vicious spoke, startling her. "So, are you guys a thing."

Faye hated the way he spoke, phrasing his questions like statements, and so aggressively. It was impossible to tell when he was being threatening or actually attempting casual conversation.

She shrugged. "It's complicated."

He snorted. "Always is, with Spike."

Faye didn't reply. She was very conscious of the fact that Vicious had known Julia, and had probably seen Spike and Julia together, in love. She wondered if he ever felt as jealous back then as she did now. Probably. She was practically riddled with it, and Julia wasn't even alive.

She wanted to ask him about her—what she smelled like, what she wore, how she laughed, how she kissed. But then Faye remembered Spike's face, when she'd ruined their own kiss, and she bit her tongue.

Vicious tilted his head at her. "You know Shin." She nodded. "Call him. Tell him to get here, with backup."

"Why can't you just tell him yourself?" she asked, annoyed. She didn't want to leave Spike, not right now.

"He hates me."

Faye smirked at that. I always did like Shin. It was kind of funny, the school-boy politics of it all, Shin refusing to do anything Vicious said and Vicious being just as stubborn. She figured Spike must do a lot of mediating, trying to keep the bomb that was Vicious from exploding. She worried what would happen if it did. There would be collateral damage, certainly, and she questioned if she'd be some of it.

Because she and Spike, they were becoming something, there was no denying it. And Vicious excelled at hitting Spike right where it hurt. Hell, he must have known they'd cared about each other even before they did. He'd kidnapped her as a ploy to get to Spike. When it had happened, she hadn't read into it, assuming she was just an easy target. But now, she wouldn't put it past Vicious to have made a more calculated move. Spike had come to save her, after all.

And now, she'd be the one to save him, even in this small way. She could keep the peace until he woke up. So she got to her feet, releasing Spike's hand, and walked down the hall to her room.

She was only gone for a few minutes, getting in touch with Shin easily enough and relaying the message. She neglected to mention that it was an order from Vicious, and evaded the subject of Spike's current incapacitation. Feigning ignorance about the situation was easy, she didn't know much to begin with, and Shin seemed too harried to press her for details.

Lola made a brief appearance, her voice chiming in excitedly to reassure Faye that everything at Fantaisie was running smoothly. Faye ended the call quickly, anxious to get back to Spike, but she felt better after hearing their voices.

Returning to the hold, she sank down beside Spike, taking his hand once again. She was pleased to feel some of the warmth had returned, and Vicious seemed to be satisfied as well, finishing up Spike's stitches. Faye was quietly impressed at his skill; the small, neat line was a far cry from anything she'd be able to pull off.

"How'd he get shot?" she asked, more to make conversation than anything. Not that she necessarily wanted to talk with Vicious, but the silence was getting to her.

"Got sloppy."

Faye didn't know if Vicious meant Spike or himself. But she did know that they'd been walking around on Titan, and that had to have meant something, maybe enough for Vicious to let his guard down. Because Titan meant something to someone else they both knew, someone that was now long dead and very far gone.

Up to now, she and Vicious had both been ignoring the elephant in the room. The one that looked and sounded and played the saxophone exactly like Gren. Faye was willing to bet Vicious was thinking about him, and their time on Titan. How could he not? She was, and she hadn't even been there.

But looking at Vicious now, it was impossible to tell. He was just one big question mark, and Faye had never been a good guesser. She wanted to know what he thought about the past.

She often wondered that about people, even total strangers. How did other people see the past? For the longest time, she'd not been able to remember hers, and it had almost destroyed her. Could Vicious' past destroy him? He must feel something about it. Anger, sadness, joy.

Regret, maybe. That gave her pause.

To forget the past was one thing, but to regret it, well, that was something else entirely.

Vicious must have sensed her thoughts, because she could feel his eyes boring a hole into the side of her head. She turned to face him, swallowing back fear. Ask him. You want to know.

"It's not your fault." Not a question, Valentine. And not what you meant to ask.

Vicious raised an eyebrow, but she pressed on. "You fought here, on Titan, right?" He nodded, once. "It's just that, the war, it affected people. Someone I met told me about it. So if you were upset, coming back here, that's not your fault. And if Spike got shot over it, I'm sure he understands."

Faye didn't even know why she was saying this, trying to reassure Vicious, of all people, but it felt like the right thing to do. Maybe she was just trying to be better, like she'd promised. Maybe she was trying to make peace with the past. Spike's past, to be exact. And who better embodied his past than Vicious?

"You met him." Another question, said like a statement. Faye was surprised he'd even asked it. But maybe, he too, was trying to make peace with the past. Forget or regret?

Gren, because of course, Vicious was talking about Gren, swam to the forefront of her mind. She thought about everything he'd said in the gentle heat of his apartment. What he'd said about Vicious. And how he'd said it. Bitterly, reverently. Achingly.

Tenderly.

Gren hadn't told Faye much, but he'd told her enough. Enough to know that he'd been close, or as close as a person could be to someone like Vicious. She opened her mouth, not totally sure of what she was going to say. She was playing with fire, but she surged ahead. He'd asked after all.

"He, um, he told me things. About you and him. He seemed like he knew you. The real you."

He was staring straight ahead, his face now even more impossible to read. She debated what'd he'd just asked, if it really was a question. Casual conversation?

Or threat?

But it was too late to turn back now. She'd started down this path, for her, for Spike, and most of all, for Gren. Someone had to help him, beyond the grave, someone had to look Vicious right in the eye and make him feel something, anything, about what he'd done to Gren. About what Gren had done for him.

She reached out and gingerly put a hand on his thigh. He swiveled slowly to look at her, and she shivered at the unbridled rage in his eyes. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. Fuck, say something!

"Look, however you felt about Gren-"

Vicious was on her in a second, one hand grabbing her wrist and twisting it away from his leg as he stood, the other coming to clamp around her neck, squeezing, and squeezing hard. He towered over her, incensed, covered in blood, and she felt like she might actually shit her pants in fear.

"If you ever say that name again," he snarled, "I'll slit your fucking throat."

Faye sputtered at him, stunned. Despite what he'd said, she wasn't sure he wouldn't just kill her here and now. He certainly could, the way he was looking at her, practically throbbing with murderous intent.

But Vicious just growled and released her, point made. He stalked out of the hold, blending into the deep shadows that now stretched across the Bebop. Faye gasped and gulped at the air, trying to process what had just happened. Because it had terrified her, in a way that she hadn't been in years. And honestly, if it wasn't for Spike's hand in hers, she would've left the Bebop that instant and not looked back.

It's getting late, where the hell are Jet and Ed? Faye was vaguely concerned; the sun had set, and she doubted they were planning to spend the night elsewhere. Besides, she really wanted to have someone else on the ship with her now. Hell, she'd even take Ein, anyone that could act as a buffer between her and Vicious.

The way that he'd reacted, when she said Gren's name, he was like a lunatic. She'd often wondered, after those few hours with Gren, what had really happened between them. It seemed like she'd never get an answer now.

Gren had died, and she mourned him, in her own small way, thinking of him whenever she heard a saxophone. She hoped he'd found what he'd been seeking; that Vicious gave him the answers he'd been willing to die for. But somehow, seeing Vicious' face a moment ago, so full of hate and anger, she doubt he did.

She sighed and stood, taking in the bloody mess Vicious had left behind. Normally, it would gross her out, but this was Spike, and she'd sworn to be better this time.

She spent the next hour cleaning—throwing away discarded bandages and gauze, reorganizing Jet's kit, even wiping up the blood splashed along the floor. Satisfied that Spike was still passed out, she took the kit and walked it back to Jet's room, returning it to its place under his bed.

Faye looked down at her hands, covered in red, and spent the next ten minutes scrubbing them in the bathroom. She felt queasy at the sight of it, not because it was blood, but because it was Spike's blood. She'd been so angry with him just a few hours ago, but now, after everything, all she felt was regret at fighting with him in the first place, and relief that he was okay.

She dried her hands, finally clean, and stepped out of the bathroom. Walking back down the hall, she was seized by an impulse to check on Vicious. She needed to know where he was, and what he was doing. I let my guard down earlier; I need to keep an eye on him now.

She found him in Spike's room, asleep on the bed, still covered in blood. She frowned. He doesn't even sleep normally. He was curled in a tight ball, twisted and stiff, his mouth etched in a perpetual scowl. Faye wondered if he ever truly relaxed.

She noticed his hand, resting near the pillow, was covering something. A piece of paper, maybe, but it was hard to tell. She stepped into the room to get a closer look.

What the hell am I doing?

But Faye ignored the warning voice in her head, as she often did, and just crept towards the bed, until she was standing over him. She reached slowly, silently, for his hand, hoping to shift it so she could see what lay underneath. But just as she got close enough, Vicious grunted, limbs twitching as he curled tighter in on himself.

Faye didn't hesitate, moving as quickly and quietly as she could out of the room. She peeked back in through the doorway. Thankfully, he hadn't woken up, but Faye wasn't anxious to try again. Her curiosity had vanished in the face of another confrontation with Vicious. She'd thought, foolishly, that maybe he wanted to open up, to make, if not friends, at least not enemies. But she was obviously mistaken.

She walked back down the hall, thinking once again of Gren, what he'd said about Vicious.

He said he didn't need comrades.

But I'm attracted to that word. To the point of tears.

Reentering the hold, she sat in the chair across from the couch, leaning back and closing her eyes. Gren had been a friend to her, even if it was just for a short time, and one that had ended with him tying her up. He and Vicious were alike that way, she supposed, infinitely suspicious and willing to do whatever it took to get what they wanted. Even if it meant betraying a friend.

Especially if it meant betraying a friend.

Loyalty, in whatever quantity, had ceased to have any meaning the moment they left Titan.

Still, she had needed Gren in that moment, just as he had needed her. And there was always something to be said about being needed together. Faye found herself humming in the quiet of the hold, the song she'd first heard Gren play, in that smoky old bar. She'd never heard anything like it before, and hadn't since.

She opened her eyes to see Spike staring at her. She felt a shiver of happiness at how he looked at her. Like she was just what he wanted to see. And she knew that he was just what she wanted to see, too. Being needed together.

"You're finally up, huh?" she said gently.

He just smiled, and motioned for her to come close, She did, bending down so he could whisper softly in her ear.

"You sing offkey."