Session 34

The container was still warm in Jet's hand as he approached the room. He'd gotten permission from the doctor this morning as a special treat for how hard Spike had been working of late. A little incentive. Over the last days they had removed most of the tubes from him and spent multiple sessions each day working his wasted muscles. Each day inched closer to breaking out of this joint. He was eating again, and had gotten past the bland stages.

It was time for some serious protein. It was time for something special. It was time for something more substantial.

Jet grinned down at the container. Spike would be thrilled to see this. At his side, Ed rubbed her hands together in anticipation. This would make Spike's day and they'd see a true smile for once in a long while.

Pushing open the door, Jet held out the container, "Guess what Spi—" Immediately his voice faltered, his hands still presenting.

Faye sat on the edge of the bed, she held a finger to her lips. Slowly she slid her gaze down to Spike. He lay with the side of face smashed against the pillow, a drop of drool from his open mouth. His position a bit awkward, as if someone had dropped him like a rag doll. He was clearly out cold.

Padding closer, Ed cocked her head as she studied him. She kept her voice down, "Sleepy-Spike is leaking."

She offered Ed a soft smile, it was then that Jet realized Faye's hand was preoccupied with massaging Spike's left shoulder. "He's ok, he's just really worn out. He worked very hard today."

Dancing on the balls of her feet Ed pointed at the floor. "Did he get up?"

Somberly, she shook her head. "Not yet. But he tried." She locked eyes with Jet. "Against the therapist's wishes he sure as hell tried to stand up. But even with help he didn't quite make it. He has a number of more sessions before he'll have the strength for that."

"Nyyoooooo."

On a counter across the room Jet noted the pile of support straps had grown from before. They'd had to be careful how they rigged things to avoid his incision and work around the broken arm. But they couldn't risk him falling. Just getting him into a seated position on the side of the bed had been quite the process.

Entering the room, Jet came closer watching Spike's panted breaths marking his sheer exhaustion. Even his brow was furrowed. The gesture felt awkward now as he stared down at the container. "I brought the bell peppers and beef for him. Freshly cooked. It's even still warm."

Faye didn't stop massaging through the thin fabric of the shirt. "I'm sure they can reheat it when he wakes up. But don't expect that to be anytime soon. He really overdid it. They even canceled the rest of his sessions for today. There were supposed to be two more short ones but lunkhead decided to push it and blew everything he had in one shot. They think he pulled a muscle or two. I have to agree, there's a lot of heat here." She glanced at where she was rubbing.

He set the container down on the wheeled table and flomped into the chair. Spike didn't so much as twitch. There was no doubt he'd passed out, and recently too. Somehow it didn't surprise him. This was rather like Spike. "Faye, what was he doing?"

"Trying to get home." Still moving her fingers in slow circles, she glanced at Jet. "All they wanted was to have him sit up on the edge and stay there for a bit, giving his core a decent workout. And do you think Spike would settle for that?" She shook her head. "Nope. While the therapist watched and pleaded with him to stop he tried to stand up, pulling on the aid with this arm. I'm pretty sure I can tell you the moment he yanked something. His eyes snapped shut with a hiss, but still he kept trying. He didn't get far before his was spent. I don't think he was even awake when they undid the straps. The fact is there just isn't enough muscle tone at the moment but that didn't stop him from giving the therapist a stroke."

For the first time she stopped massaging and reached back, lifting the edge of the covers to expose Spike's legs. The pajama bottoms outlined what little was there. He'd been bed-ridden too long. The damage was undeniable.

Rudely Ed stared and was about to poke at one of the fabric folds when Faye guided her hand away and pulled the covers back down. "No, honey. He's really sore. Just let him rest. I promise, he's getting better. This is just going to take time and far more patience than he possesses."

Inside Jet's stomach churned until he had to look away.

"But this is Spike." Faye continued, "You know him, the moment he can he'll be doing drills non-stop, getting back to his top form. Right Jet?"

Slowly, he looked over at her. "Yeah." It was all he could get out. He couldn't force a smile like Faye was as she reached out and tenderly cupped Ed's chin.

The girls locked eyes as Faye assured her, "Then we'll all be out there chasing bounties again."

That was a problem … not the chasing bounties part, but the money. The bills were really adding up. But at the moment, his heart wasn't in the case. He hated to ask Faye. As it was …

"Faye, you uhh … you still talking to Damian?"

She reached up and retucked her hair behind her headband, a nervous tick that Jet had noticed. "We had a session yesterday. I'm doing ok." A twitch of a smile. "I uhhh … " she flicked her eyes at Ed, "tell you later, kay?"

He nodded.

"You?"

His fingers wove together in an idle pattern. He hadn't expected her to ask. "Yeah. This morning." After a session with his bonsai trees hadn't had the meditative effect he had hoped for. "Damian says he thinks it's cause we're used to being more mobile. We've had years of flitting about the system, chasing bounties. We're not used to being tethered to one place for any length of time. And since we can't take off until … " he pointed at Spike and sighed, "I guess I got the blues."

Leaning forward Faye tapped a finger to her chin. "You know, that gives me an idea. Maybe that's what we need."

"What?"

"A trip to a club. You and me, we got the blues. How about we exorcise our souls with a little music?"

Jet rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know … I mean … "

"Oh come on, you big wet blanket. Let's get off the ship and enjoy an evening of entertainment. Spike isn't going to know. He needs to rest anyway." She leaned in closer and whispered into his ear, "We can even imbibe."

His eyes rolled involuntarily. Yes, he craved that. He had practically quit cold turkey and that bird was pecking at him with a vengeance!

Her smile intensified in that way he couldn't resist. "You know you want to."

"Fine, fine. Yeah. We can go. But after a bit. In case he wakes up."

Who was he kidding. Spike wasn't shifting in the scent of food, clearly he was down for the count.

Framed by the old brick and mortar wall, up an the stage an old man in a vintage style suit bowed his head over the keys of the piano. Pure mood poured forth, a balm for the soul as he was accompanied by a small band.

Blues, the melody of the wounded heart. And tonight, the Cobalt Cat Bar was packed elbow to elbow with many in search of solace.

At a tall circular table lit by a jar candle Jet nursed a whiskey on the rocks, rattling the dwindling cubes in the glass as he rested his forehead in his prosthetic hand. Leaning back in the chair, with one arm over the back of it, Faye held a half drunk martini largely ignoring it as she tapped her foot to the rhythm of the music. Secretly she stole glances at Jet. Never in all her time on the Bebop had it taken so much effort to get Jet to hang at a bar. In the space between he had changed his mind no less than five times.

It was clear the poor guy needed it. If she was honest with herself, Faye needed it too. She had spent the better part of this day deciding on where. A regular bar wasn't the right tactic. Jet didn't need to open up to a bar keeper, he needed a place to just let things go. Regular concerts weren't his thing—though Faye could sit through an opera and retain her sanity, she figured that the last thing he would need now was having to dress up in a tux. Even though she had to admit he cut a stunning image in one. A jazz hall had been an option, but it was too much energy. Spike may have been the one struggling to rebuild his strength, but the whole crew was worn down by the recent events. Blues … the moment that idea hit her she knew it was the right fit. They needed to just sink down into the empathetic music of a live band with a comforting drink and let the magic cast its spell.

There was something about the familiar haze of the smokey bar where every patron was wandering through their own memories aided by the skilled fingers on the piano, guitars, sax, and drums. This was a perfect place to willfully get lost in.

She closed her eyes and drifted on the music letting it mix with the slow burn of the martini in her veins and the puff of smoke from her cigarette. It'd been a hard couple of days lately with a lot of pent up frustration. Not only her own. There it was, the knot in her shoulder building. She was carrying some of Spike's with her. In an exhale of smoke she willed it away. After all, there was only a limited effect she could have on his outcome—the actual steps of his journey were his own.

The table vibrated as Jet set his glass down a bit hard. His hand splayed in the middle of his bald head. He looked like a drunk, but one whiskey was hardly enough to belt that man, especially on the rocks. She'd been drinking with him enough to know that.

"What's the music saying to you?"

Ever so slightly he peered up at her and grumbled, "Welcome to rock bottom."

Taking a sip of her martini she smiled. "You know what they say about that."

He shook his head.

"There's only one way things can look from there." The moment Jet lifted his head out of his hand, she pointed up. "Take it easy, big guy. We're almost out of the woods."

He chuckled wryly. "You have been talking to Damian so much lately you sound like him."

"You're right on one thing." She tapped the ash off her cigarette. "I've been talking. But he's been worried."

"Well, you had a lot going on." Twisting the glass in the air, the blunted edges of the ice cubes rattled as they mixed with the slight tint of whiskey.

"Not about me."

Out of the corner of her eyes she caught his fingers nearly slipping on the glass. He set it down with extreme care before pointing at himself.

She nodded. "Relax, he didn't tell me anything specific. But he said you'd been fussing about something."

Rolling his eyes he lit a fresh cigarette. "So, that's why we're here on an adults only trip."

"You caught me. Also figured that like me you could use a little nip." Faye held up her glass. "You know, we can live a little. Just cause Spike has to lay off the sauce doesn't mean we need too."

He stared at the floor, one hand forming a fist. "You know the guy. If there's even one drop … "

"He'll find it. Yeah, you got a point. But still, that's not it," she looked at him sideways, "is it."

The skin around his eye plate creased.

Faye touched his hand, it was clammy. "You're not a horse, Jet. So, why the long face?"

Not even the hint of a smile, but he at least lifted his eyes and stared at the stage's spot lights competing with the neon glow of the blue cat sign. "How did we get here, Faye? I was just a retired detective coasting about the solar system in an old ship chasing the next score. No plans, no scheme, no … anything. Never once did I consider that I'd find a damn thing. I was just gonna drift until I died, lost in life because let's face it, all the pieces of my world walked out the door. I had nothing waiting for me. And then, out of the damn blue … "

" … you stumbled upon Spike."

He sighed and downed the last gulp, more water than whiskey made apparent by the face he pulled. "Yeah." He pushed the glass to the edge of the table. "A bloodshot-eyed drift bum laid out on a dive bar … he was more lost than I was. But somehow he wouldn't admit it. That day though … everything changed. He was my constant partner, albeit sometimes a pain the ass. Everything I did meant more with someone else there. Sure, he took risks, yet he always came back. And slowly, the rest of you came." Staring at their hands he flipped his over and grasped hers. "Ed's right—we've become a family. I don't know how, I don't know precisely when … but the ship isn't right if even one of us is gone."

"He'll be back on the ship soon. You'll see. That's the thing. He's pushing himself to get the clearance to return. I know he slept through the day, but no one was surprised by that. Think about it, he spent most of his time napping on the couch. How was that out of the ordinary?" The fact was, she knew. Before it had been a choice. At the moment he was struggling—hard.

Jet took a long drag off the cigarette and held his breath before releasing the smoke. He watched it rise. "Everything is different now … in Somnus, what Morpheus did … " his fist tightened, "a family with Alisa. For a moment I held that dream, I lived it. I never realized how much I truly desired … not to be alone."

Unable to subdue the shiver, Faye forced a somber smile. "No one wants to be alone. But the fact is, we aren't now. We don't have to be." A pit threatened to reopen in her gut, she swallowed down the growing panic. This is what Damian told her she needed to do. Taking a deep breath she stubbed out her cigarette and folded her hands, staring into them. "What that asshole dragged us through … he opened a Pandora's box none of us wanted to acknowledge we were carrying. We've all got regrets … some of us had choices," she gripped her arm and bowed her head, "some of us didn't. But we can't go back. We can't change it. Alisa is gone … my parents and the world that I grew up in are a thing of the unreachable past."

When she looked up Jet was watching her. "Or is it? … Truth is … are we really over it?"

She lowered her eyes. "Will we ever be?"

A waitress paused at the table and picked up Jet's glass, holding it up with a raised eyebrow.

He nodded and held up two fingers.

Releasing her breath as he signaled for a double, Faye polished off her martini and handed the glass over. "Hit me again, too, would you?" The moment they were alone she lit another cigarette. "Looks like we're in for a long night. Good thing we left the Red Tail and Hammerhead in the hanger."

Jet leaned back and gave a wry smile. "Or else we might be landing in the hospital. Hey … Faye … thanks, I uhhh, I think I needed this."

Leaning back in her chair she watched the tendrils drift up. "I think we might need to make this regular for a while. And the lunkhead doesn't need to know." They sank down into the night, drinking in the music and balm of alcohol. A common shoulder to lean against. A new routine of healing.

"You can do it, Spike!"

If he'd had the breath to spare he would have screamed at Faye to leave the damn room. But all of Spike's breath was tied up in keeping from passing out. Sweat matted his hair down as he stood, as he had been for days now, fighting toward the Goddamned pathetic goal! All he had to do was make it to the end of the long set of balance bars. It couldn't get too much more embarrassing. With his right arm confined to a sling, he only had one arm to use for balance. Straps had been rigged overhead to make certain when the inevitable failure of his weak-ass legs happened, he wouldn't hit the floor. That trick had taken a while to figure out, because they had to avoid his bandaged gut. Behind him, hanging onto the straps, was a burly aid that looked to Spike like a walking mountain. Well, at this point anything compared to Spike was substantial.

Still, it took everything he had just to lift his foot and stagger one step forward. Every scant fiber of his leg muscles burned, begging for him to stop. But he ignored their complaints and pushed on.

All I have to do it make it to the end of these rails and I can go … that's it.

The therapist prattled on beside him, in a slow lock step to his pathetic progress. "Take it easy. One at a time. Don't worry if you don't make it today."

I'm making it today. I've already been at this pathetic goal for days now. Screw staying any longer. Even babies can walk. I fucking can too!

His knee gave out. Spike white-knuckled the rail with a hiss of frustration as the strap system caught him before he could hit the floor. Walking was difficult to begin with. Getting back upright from here? He hadn't been able to do it. Hanging his head he cursed beneath the breath he couldn't waste.

"It's ok." She gestured to the mountain of a man behind him. "Let's call it for the day."

" … No … " Spike growled and glared up through the top of his eyes. "I'm … doing … this." He huffed out each word.

Just in his periphery Faye marched to the end of the bars and stood directly in front. He had over halfway to go yet, it seemed so impossibly far. "You're not alone, Spike. Come on, if I could beat this bullshit, you can too."

The therapist gawked. "Whoa, hold on! We … "

With a grunt Spike hauled himself in an awkward lift against the bar. He wished he had two functional hands, but his right arm was still healing. He'd attend to restrengthening that later once it was out of this damn cast. His gut ached, his legs shuddered beneath him. Full collapse felt imminent.

Fuck this shit. I ain't letting gravity win!

Inhaling a deep breath he had to shut his eyes tight against the pain, but with a jerky effort he fumbled one step forward. Then another. And another. He fought hard for each minute victory.

His lungs burned from the torture, his sweaty palm threatened to slip in the hold against the bar. The therapist was audibly shitting bricks, but Spike ignored her every word. He was done with being bedridden. Done with being a damn invalid. The only way to restrengthen atrophied muscles was to work them.

The horizon tilted in a blur as he opened his eyes. He wanted to cry out from the complaints in his betraying muscles. But he steeled himself, biting it back. The voice of his sensei lecturing in his mind.

Pain is a burden. It will try to cripple you. The drill today—stand still take the strikes, push through. In the heat of a battle, one hitch could cost you your next breath. You can't breathe if you die!

Walking only hurt—it couldn't kill him. Spike forced his next deep inhale and opened his eyes. Down the balance bars Faye stared at him. "You giving up? I can't believe you're gonna let my record stand over you."

He narrowed his glare and staggered forward. With each step his knees threatened to drop his weight. He forced the complaining joint to lock. Of course that was a bad strategy. But all he could think of was a longer stint here. All he wanted was to be back on the ship, lying on the couch, staring up at the cursed fan. Ein pestering him with a ball he wanted thrown for fetch. Ed sprawled on the back of the couch like a damn cat. Faye leaving fruit rinds on his half awake face. Jet calling out from the galley stating what was for dinner. He wanted to go back.

I'm …

Step.

… going …

Step.

… home.

Each shambling, shaking step drew him closer to that goal.

"Spike really," Faye planted a hand on her hip, "you're nothing but a loser!"

The therapist shrieked, "What are you doing?"

He glared at Faye, forcing the next steps. The sweat drenching his hospital clothes threatened to dehydrate him. Damn this felt like a marathon, but it wasn't that far. Just the width of a therapy room. Maybe a hundred feet at most?

Like some slug he inched his way in a half stagger, half drag. The straps took his weight more than once but he refused to stop. Refused to quit on the limbs that burned feverishly from the punishment.

His eyes clamped shut. He had no idea how close he was, he kept going even as his foot tried to roll.

Stumbling forward he lost his balance and the grip on the bar failed to hold him. His left shoulder halted the downward collapse as something caught in his underarm. The straps slackened slowly as they settled his heaving body down on the cool floor. Someone held a water bottle to his lips and he sucked it down greedily. A cool, damp cloth wiped over his face.

Everything hurt like hell. He was on the damn floor, his hand pumping into a fist.

After a few minutes of gasping for air he cracked his eyes open to find Faye grinning down at him. She slowly lifted her gaze above his head. When he followed it, he blinked. Was that the end of the bar?

She wrung out a cloth into a bowl and ran it over his forehead, sweet relief. "You did it, Spike. You made it."

He was passing out … but yeah … he'd done it. He wanted to smile, but there just wasn't enough left, something was more important. Exhaustion was dragging him down. But … he'd done it. "I … can … go … home … now … right?"

See You Space Cowboy