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New Deep

Chapter 3:

~@~@~@

I think I'll find another way
There's so much more to know
I guess I'll die another day
It's not my time to go

For every sin, I'll have to pay
I've come to work, I've come to play
I think I'll find another way
It's not my time to go

-Die another Day

~@~@~@

As if possessed by a will of its own, in a paralysis of horror, I could feel the muscles of my neck inevitably tensing, swinging around, chin, mouth, cheeks, eyes-

Eyes locked on eyes.

"Fuck," my mouth moved.

The third man of the Red Dragons blinked once and that was all it took before he was rushing for the door.

~@~@~@

My gun was out of its holster the instant I saw the man's twisted face, swinging out of the leather casing with a practiced move that only a certain type of people can manage.  The dangerous kind of people.  The people who don't mind shooting you as soon as meeting you.  I never aspired to be that kind of person, but Death always fell into my lap.  You can't just deal with death.  It's Him or you.  The odds are, sooner rather than later, it's always Him.

That's why I'm a gambler.

The man's hand appeared on the doorframe and I counted- one, two- and fired.  Just as the rest of the rat-faced man slithered around the door, the bullet was through the air and gore was everywhere- chunks of meaty human flesh, the usual rupture of blood.  In the confusion I watched him grip his shoulder and release a gut-churning scream, his eyes boring bleeding holes into mine as deep as the craters scarring the Moon. 

He raised his injured gun arm with a show of agony on his face and suddenly everything sped up.

I dropped my gun and watched it skid across the sterile hospital floor with an annoying squeal till it hit the opposite wall and rebounded.  By that time, I was already round the corner, wrapping my broken fingers around the handlebars of the wheelchair and swallowing my cry of pain in order to keep us moving forward.  Otherwise my legs would have given out beneath me the moment the bullet shattered the bones of my hand. 

"Get out of the fucking way!" I shouted, barreling down the hallway and sending patients and personnel scrabbling for distance.  I hated having my back to my enemy completely unarmed, but I didn't dare reach for the second gun I had strapped inside my shirt and leave the steering to my hurt and seriously bleeding one. 

"Fuck, this hurts!" I grit out, tears falling from my eyes despite how hard I tried to keep them back. 

Then I saw it, silver, waiting, like the gates of heaven.  Elevator.

Almost there… Almost there.

The gunshots began. 

To my horror, an elderly man without a foot spurted blood and collapsed as easily as a downed deer; on the other side, a young girl went sprawling as silent as the deaths in the movies, her mouth open but soundless.  The shooter seemed to get his aim back and a bullet ripped a glancing blow through my shoulder- quick in, quick out- as if to pay me back for the one I gave him. 

The other two gunshots weren't as easily forgotten as the rest. 

In front of the elevator, the group of people dispersed like a herd of startled buffalo, cursing, yelling, crying, asking why. 

The door opened with a ding.

I crashed into wall and fumbled for the bottom floor's button before looking up in time to see the Red Dragon half-way down the hall stop and take a final aim.

The doors closed slowly, shutting off the scene forever after I felt it burn on my memory.

Bang.

Gray doors stained red from my blood dented with the impact of the bullet and then….

And then I sunk to the floor feeling the life trail out of me and everything faded to black.

~@~@~@

…You really messed yourself up, this time, Faye Valentine.

…You're dead, aren't you.

…Dumb-fuck.  Nice.  Get yourself killed.  That was such a waste of life.

… Especially your last little escapade.  The fuck were you thinking?  Red Dragons- three that you saw at least.  Bullets in your hand, your stomach, your leg and a nice graze on your shoulder.  Not to mention Asshole.  He was pretty fucked up too. 

And you thought you'd make it out alive.  You didn't even see the exit, did you?

I didn't think so.

God.

I hate you.

"Faye.  Wake up."

Shut up.  Let me die in peace.  I deserve that at least.

"I can tell you're awake.  Stop playing at dramatics, woman!"

Fuck off, Jet.

Jet?

My eyes snapped open and immediately I regretted the decision as bright light hit my face like a wet slap and I curled back into myself.  I regretted that action instantly too because of the searing pain that exploded in my body from the movement.  "Holy shit," I breathed weakly, unable to articulate beyond a gasp.

His deep voice came smartly from beside me, "Well what did you expect, Faye?  You messed yourself up real nice, after all.  It's not about to be a rosy parade.  I told you not to go do this.  He could take care of himself, I said.  Did you listen? Of course not," Jet babbled on, but I tuned it out as his face appeared in my vision.  The epitome of concern, he had a role of linen in his mouth and unwound it with a neat flick of his wrist before cutting it off with a kitchen knife.  He saw me watching him, and gave a sheepish shrug, "The First Aid scissors are missing."

"Jet.  How the hell did I get here?" I lifted my head up, having discerned I was in my bed, the pillows cushy beneath my neck.  "And why am I in the living room?" I asked dryly, seeing the television sitting at the end of our familiar table, the kitchen only a few feet away.

The man blushed slightly.  "You were rather noisy and I had to keep a constant eye on both of you so I couldn't just-"

My wandering eyes flashed over to his face again.  "The both of us?"

Jet rolled his eyes.  "You didn't think I was about to leave him there, did you?  Especially after you nearly got killed getting him out."

"What are you talking about?" I said shakily, hardly daring to probe further.  But I had to be sure.  I had to be sure it wasn't all a dream.

He sighed forcefully, "You just can't ever take my word for something, can you?  Fine," he huffed.  "Relax."  I felt his hands move tenderly beneath my neck, lifting my head up and turning it slightly to see across the room.

"Uuuh," I exhaled sharply, my breath taken away by the view. 

Unconscious, and more sallow-skinned than I recalled him being in the hospital, laid Spike with fresh bandages covering his shirtless torso.  His green hair had a cleaner, fluffier look to it as though it had been washed.  None of the blood I remembered spilling everywhere as I inadvertently opened up barely healed wounds with our unforgiving escape was evident.  The threadbare hospital pants had been exchanged for a pair of his own baggy sweatpants- the ones he only lazed around in after karate exercises or a successful mission.

And the dressings covering his eyes were new.

I looked away and Jet felt it and set me back down. 

The room fermented in silence for a while. 

Finally, when Jet spoke, his words carried the all the immutable force of an iron hammer.  "You know," he said, "It's okay now."

I opened my mouth for a derisive comment, but found it strangely blocked.  I managed a, "You think?"  But somehow, it came out pleading, like a daughter begging her father for reassurance instead of the vaguely arrogant, terribly independent veneer I liked to flaunt.

"Yeah, actually," he said solidly, the rock I always knew he was, "I do think."

I regrouped, "Oh well, then if you think so-"

"Shut up, Faye."

"Mm," I grunted, not really agreeing or disagreeing.  "How did you get us out of there, Jet?"

The small grin flipping his mouth up confirmed my suspicions.  "You're so sure it was me that did it, huh?"

"Yeah, actually," I mocked him.  Laughter escaped my lips as I watched him hold back another eye roll and settle for a few choice mutters.

He lifted the wrapping to my line of vision. "I need to re-do your stomach.  Hold still and for god's sake, don't shout and I'll tell you." 

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I never make any noise.  It's the other one that's the baby."

Answering me with a grunt, he disappeared from my view and I was left with the ceiling.  Out of nowhere I suddenly felt his hands, much further down than I though they should be.  I let out a yelp and tried to jerk my body out of his grasp, but he just tightened his fingers and favored me with a dry, "Please, Faye.  You think I'd be seeing something new.  Anyway, the wound is here," -he poked my lower side and agony flared its ugly head- "but I can't get to it without pulling some of your clothes away."

Too embarrassed to argue in the face of his cool (and reasonable, if I admitted it to myself) logic, I clamped my mouth shut and stop struggling. 

"Now," he began, as if nothing had happened, "I was at the comm., nearly frantic with worry over the both of you.  The both of you; when the cop reports started flowing in.  Before Ed left she fixed up some of my old police frequencies and before I knew it, I was getting a minute-to-minute update of your tracks." I could feel his disapproving gaze as he continued, "Though everything became rather confusing after you downed the first couple of their ships.  Which I'm sure will come back to you-"

I rolled my eyes, "You and your stupid karma."

"-in this life or the next.  Anyway.  After you lost them, I was relatively certain you'd be okay, though the forensic reports had me reconsidering Spike's condition."  His voice dropped an octave, full of unspoken emotion.  "It sounded bad.  Really bad."

My eyelids dropped close, "It was bad… I don't want to talk about it."

"I understand," he said heavily, "you don't have to." 

He continued, tossing the old dressings away and wrapping the new ones, "Well.  Long story short, forty-eight hours later I haven't slept thanks to coffee, when I start to hear some interesting news coming in from a hospital.  They mentioned your names; I put two and two together and went down to drag your sorry ass out of trouble.

"It was a great thing to walk into, by the way," he said, tone souring into a deep bitterness.  "My two shipmates unconscious, most likely dead, their blood everywhere."  His fingers grazed the bare skin of my stomach and I felt their trembling.

I was quieted.

"I'm very sorry, Jet."

He ripped the roll off with his teeth.  "It's okay," he conceded.  "Just… try not to do it again."  Gently, he taped the loose end down, and daintily worked at putting my clothes back in order.  "I had pulled out my old cop outfit and badge, and I just flashed the officials my credentials and … well.  Took you both into custody.  Not without a few tight twists with the locals, but…"

"But now," I concluded with a smirk, "with a few planets between us…" I let it hang.

He guffawed. "Exactly."

We slipped back into companionable silence, until, naturally, someone decided to break it again.  "I, uh. I inspected his eyes, Faye."

No.  Don't say it.

"-and they're not gonna heal."

…No.

"There's no…" He drifted into a dead end, but he collected his thoughts for another stab.  "If there had been a way to fix it… they would have already done so, you know what I mean?" He inhaled deeply.  "So, I think… when he gets conscious, we need to tell him right off the bat."

The irony roused me from my stupor.  "You mean you don't think he'll notice he can't see shit anymore?" I said cynically.

"Don't take this out on me, Faye," he snapped.  "He decided to go there; he has to deal with the consequences."

"I'll give you fucking consequences-"

"Hey! What do you think you're doing!  I just finished with those dressings and I won't have you bleeding all over them just because of your damn temper!" He shouted, pushing me down, deliberately putting pressure on my injured shoulder.  I gave a small cry and fell back, inwardly furious.  "You'll stay there until you're healed damnit!  I don't care what you have to say about it!"  He seemed to be at the end of his rope with me.  He got up and tossed the remote in my lap, ignoring the wince as it bounce off my tender abdomen.  "You can watch this, but not too loud.  And no hysterics. Got me?"

"Hey Jet-chaaan, while you're up, why don't you grab me some ramen, eh?  Be a good boy for a friend in need, eh?"

I smiled, hearing his frustrated mutters as he stomped off into the kitchen.  "Now I get to be their goddamn slaves… should of just let 'em alone to die while I had the chance…"

As soon as he was out of the room, my head fell to the side, like a magnet. 

He was breathing.  I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, and didn't hear Jet come back in. 

By that time I was already lulled asleep by the steady, reassuring rhythm.