Session 33

Changes were good, finally! Spike didn't even care about the procedure earlier this morning, at least it had been a local, no need to knock him out. The moment he could, he pumped his left fist in the air and celebrated being free of that damn feeding tube! There were still other rather critical attachments, after all he couldn't get out of bed yet. But that benchmark meant the time was swiftly approaching, if he'd have anything to do with it. They'd already started a few rudimentary stretches to begin moving his wasted muscles. It was going to be a bit, but once he was up he would start working on martial arts routines he knew would hasten rebuilding critical muscle tone.

Oh yeah. He was ready. More than ready.

Faye leaned against the door frame, a crooked grin on her face. "Well now, what's that smile about?"

"The nurse went to get my breakfast … damn this is the longest I have gone without eating. I can't wait to taste something!"

She lifted an eyebrow, running a nail in the fold of her jacket.

"I swear, I'm gonna eat so much I'll put weight back on in no time."

The nurse slipped past Faye with a covered tray in her hand. She set it down on the table and pushed it closer to him. Then swiftly made an exit.

Ehh, not that Spike cared. He didn't particularly want an audience. "What is it? A burger, pizza, stir fry, bell peppers and beef?" He yanked the lid off and instantly the smile dashed from his face. He stared at a tiny bowl of … digging the spoon in he lifted it and let the contents plop back in. "What the hell? Boiled grains?"

Faye tried not to laugh, but failed as she wandered over to the chair, blushing a bit. "Yeah … that's the reason I came today. I had a feeling you would be … disappointed."

"What is this? It's barely anything! This is like the stuff Jet uses to seal around pipes and duct work!Where's my food?"

Sitting down she leaned forward. "It's hard to believe, but you're going to be lucky if you can finish that much. You have to start slow."

"The hell I do!" He grumbled. "I never start slow! Never started slow in my life! I want my damn burger, now!"

"Give it time. That would make you sick."

"Bullshit!" He held up the bowl and eyed it, squinting his shiner at it. "Ein's food bowl is bigger. The volume of a can of dog food is greater."

Somehow Faye kept a soft smile plastered on her face. "I thought you were excited about eating."

"If I actually got real food. How do they expect me to rebuild muscle without protein?"

"Spike."

"What!"

"Your porridge is getting cold." She started to giggle into her hands.

He scowled at her. "It's not funny."

"I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you."

He stabbed the slop with the spoon and muttered, "I ain't laughing." Ramming it into his mouth he mushed it around before swallowing. He stared into the bowl and sighed. "Not even much of a flavor." But still, another mouthful went in. Hunger was the most powerful spice after all.

Sitting back, Faye grinned as he made a fresh complaint after every mouthful. He didn't trust the expression on her face. She was waiting for something. And he didn't like that prospect one bit. Nor the fact that he wasn't certain what that even was.

"Least they could have done was put some fruit in it … or … phew … " Spike took a deep breath, blinking as he noted several spoonfuls still remained in the bowl, but something was wrong. He felt strange … he felt … no, couldn't be.

Full?

Faye reached out and took the bowl from him, setting it aside she moved the table away and sat on the edge of his bed taking his hand in hers. "I thought you wouldn't have remembered my first days after the tube was removed. The stomach shrinks. It can't take as much, and everything needs to start bland. Yes, this phase sucks. But you have to be patient."

He met her gaze and it surprised him. There was no mockery, no sass, no reaping the joy of his situation. She was sincere.

She reached out and ran her hand along Spike's jawline. "You're gonna be ok, big guy. You just need to let this run its course. Soon you'll have to get to work on walking again."

He shuddered a bit at that thought. Every muscle ached from the earlier physical therapy. He had several of those delightful torture sessions. It didn't matter that he knew what he was in for, in fact, that likely made it worse. He knew how atrophied he had become.

With a laugh through her nose, Faye lifted a shoulder. "It's embarrassing: needing help, being supported by straps and stuff so you don't fall. But it gets easier. The strength and balance comes back."

He knew … but he didn't interrupt her. He just stared as she bared the experience. Shit … she'd been through it. Spike had watched her, egged her on. He felt the shiver passed through her as she placed a hand on her knee. Was she still struggling to appear steady? Was she still rebuilding her own strength?

Heat rose to Spike's cheeks as he turned to look out the window to the bright shimmering bay beyond. He didn't want to talk about recovery. Something else, anything else! "Faye … is the Bebop visible from here?"

Without hesitation she nodded and stood, wandering over to the window. She pointed to a break between two tall buildings. Floating on the water was a familiar bow, just the point of it. No wonder Spike had missed her in the cluttered docks.

Clearing her throat, Faye remained in silhouette. "Jet and Ed are going to come up later today."

He nodded, suddenly this whole thing was awkward. Maybe it was because what little he had managed to get in him wasn't sitting well. He shut his eyes silently cursing how once again, Faye had been right. Of course she had. She'd been through this shit recently. His hand resting against the thick edge of his bandages reminded him that this time his recovery was anything but normal. Another part of him was no longer … original.

Slowly, she drifted back across the room, toward the door.

"Hey … " It left him before he could stop it. Darting a brief glance up at her he sought refuge in the window. The words hard to force out. "Would you … stay here for a bit?"

The edge of his bed shifted down as Faye sat on it. Her hand covered the back of his, fingers threading between his. "Sure."

He heaved a sigh of relief. Countless obnoxious remarks wandered through his mind—he dismissed every one of them as unworthy of this strong, brave woman. That simple contact, her hand against his—he needed it more than he had the words to express why. So, they sat in silence, watching Alba city moving about the day.


Jet's shadow fell into the room. A scowl marked his face as he reached for the light switch. The moment it turned on his monumental task became apparent.

The Bebop's resident bachelor had left quite the mess. It's not like there were dirty dishes or hoarded food packets. It wasn't filthy, more like … cluttered. This room wasn't one Spike'd spent much time in, and so over the course of the years he had more or less dumped stuff here. Alcohol stashes, cigarettes, ammunition, guns, bomb building supplies. He had some spare clothing flung about.

He heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his neck. When Spike returned to the ship he was going to need a quiet place to finish his recovery, and they were going to need the room to be able to tend to him, after all the incision would still be healing. Spike would be mobile, but not incredibly so. For the most part he had to be careful not to irritate things.

Hands on his hips he whistled with purpose.

In a scampering six pairs of metallic feet raced toward him joined by a pair of bare feet and a set of paws. Soon Jet found himself flanked by the Six Pack on one side and Ed with Ein on the other—she was armed with a bucket and a mop … the bucket on her head.

"Alright. We have to get this place cleaned out. First things first, I want everything out of the room, bring it into the hallway. Be careful!"

He swore the compys saluted him. Odd little things. He turned to Ed, "Ok, you're in charge until I get back with some crates."

"Crate wait, squeaky gate. Trespass, green grass, clean your—"

"Ed." Jet eyed her.

She held up an empty beer bottle. "Glass."

He shook his head and clomped away. Would he ever understand her? Still, she brought so much amusement to the ship. He hadn't noticed until that span of time she'd been missing, run off to be left on Earth. Somehow, when he'd returned to hunt her down her she was sitting on the roof of a crumbling building waiting for him as if she had known.

Well of course she had known. This was Ed! She'd probably been tracking the ship the whole time. For some reason she was happy here. This place was home for her. As much her home as it was his.

Back in storage he emptied a couple of crates and stacked them. These would have to do for now, and he hoped Spike would understand and not get too pissed that they had messed with his stuff. It didn't matter, hurt feelings or not, this had to be done. Missing just one thing in this clean out could prove tragic.

Carting the crates back through the corridors he entered the quarters hall and almost dropped them. Out in the hall, neatly stacked and organized was everything! Absolutely everything! The shelf, the books, the weapons, even the mattress and the pallet had been removed. Two compys exited the room carrying one of the metal wall panels.

"Whoa whoa whoa! I said everything in the room—not the room itself! Put the panel back!" Luckily that was a simple solid metal one and not one with controls attached to it. "Ed, why did you let them … ?"

When he came to the door he stared in to find Ed swishing the mop around on the floor that hadn't been cleared and cleaned in years. Surprisingly it wasn't that bad. Then again, Spike had rarely been in here so it was mainly just dust. Ed sung into the mop like a microphone. "Clean and sweep! Clean and Sweep! Tidy as a home! Bebop ship, Bebop ship, carry me into the stars! Weeeee!"

From inside the storage space beneath the removed bed pallet, Ein planted his paws on the edge and peered out, smiling at him. Jet shook his head and left Ed as she started to mop the walls down. He had to sort this mess out.

Qi stepped forward and placed his claws on a full bottle sticking out of a case of sake, his eyed flicking down to it and back up to Jet.

"Yeah. You know the drill. You and your crew, gather all the bottles up and take them to the hanger for me."

They chirruped and dug into the stack, hauling them away.

Good, one less thing for him to have to directly deal with. In a way he felt guilty. He had ordered the Six Pack to this task for one primary reason. Spike could focus his anger in them when it came down to it. Jet figured it was easier to repair a robot than a broken neck.

He picked up the easy decisions off the floor and tucked them into the crate. Any weapons from blades to guns, ammo to C-4, all of it went mercilessly into the crate. Just for now. This he wasn't disposing of, just removing it from arms reach. Spike could be rather foul tempered while healing.

His hand closed around the grip of a gun, pulling up the weight of it. Slowly he held it and his throat tightened. Spike's old trusty Jericho. This gun has seen action and bore the scars to prove it. Groves and scratches from deflecting bullets and blades itself. This gun had been his choice for most runs. And Jet could feel why. It had a heft to it. He pulled the unloaded mag and checked out the diameter. He should have known the caliber, but for some reason he'd never really paid attention.

No. He slammed the mag back home. This gun wouldn't go into storage. Carefully, Jet tucked it in his pocket for safekeeping. By the time he finished picking up all the gear he realized Spike must have been hoarding several sizable blocks of C-4 under his bed pallet.

What kind of a guy slept over plastic explosives?

He rolled his eyes. "Spike would."

Bottles dealt with. Weapons packed away. Now the rest of it.

First Jet evicted Ein from the room before he reinstalled the bed pallet over the now empty compartment. Replacing the mattress he left the sheets and blanket out in the hall for a good laundering. The last Spike had used them was a rare moment of seeking solitude during his recovery after Pluto, so they weren't bad, just dusty.

"Now for the rest of his stuff." He glanced out in the hall. A pile of books, his cloths, cases of cigarettes, and the ornately carved little box that Ein snuffled around and sneezed.

Ed came up beside him and pointed. "Ooo lala, Ein says it smelly, like flowers. What was that?" She met the dog's eyes for a moment." Ohhh … gotcha, like ickly prickly roses."

Kneeling down, Jet picked the box up and sniffed. His eyes widened. It did smell like roses! Rose perfume. He didn't open it again, knowing the photos inside. But still, he had missed the scent earlier when looking for the chip.

"Uhhh, hey, Ed? Why don't you put his books back up on the shelf, ok?"

She grabbed a couple of them and giggled. "Faye-Faye says Spike can't read. But she's wrong. Spike reads a lot when she's not looking. Books with big words. Faye-Faye got schooled a bit ago, though."

Distantly Jet listened to her prattling on as he sorted Spike's cloths, folding the clean ones and tossing the others into a pile for the laundry. He would need comfortable, soft clothes back on the ship at first. Clean would be better.

"Yup, Spike dropped a big ol' thick book in Faye-Faye's lap and told her he had mesmerized it. Something about war and painting stuff."

Jet stiffened, hands frozen in mid sort. "The Art of War. Ed, do you know where his edition is?"

"Course." She pointed down the hall. "In Faye-Faye's quarters. Spike-person let her steal it. She hasn't given it back. But she reads it, sometimes late at night when everyone else is sleeping."

That just about blew his mind. "How long ago was this?"

Ed giggled. "Long time ago. Faye-Faye is only half way done, but that's cause she's hiding it. She thinks Spike-person doesn't know she has it. But he does. He's so sneaky he tricked her into taking it."

"Well, I'll be damned."

"Damn damn damn!" She burst into song.

Rolling his eyes, Jet gathered up the rest of the laundry. "Ok, this place looks good for now. Come on out, close the door behind you."

"Come on, Ein. Time to do the laundry!"

"Oh no. You're not doing the laundry."

She raced along. "Why not?"

"Because the last time you did everything came out orange." Jet eyed her. "Considering that nothing in that load had been orange in the first place there is no way I am letting you run the machine again."

"Eeehhhhheeeee!" She did a cartwheel. "Spike-person was right. Best way to no longer be asked to do something."

"What is?" He asked wearily.

"Screw it up. It's why Spike burns all the food."

Jet burst into laughter. "That's what he told you? No, Spike actually can't cook. Trust me—I watched him legitimately try. He's a total bachelor."

"What's a bachelor?"

"A single guy." Jet put the bedding into the washer first.

"That's weird … who would want a pair of Spikes?"

"Tck!" Just about to push the start button, Jet froze from her unexpected interpretation, before palming his face and moaning.


See You Space Cowboy