Turning Blues to Black
by Now With More Fiber
Chapter 3: Dreams of Immortality
Note: Now we jump ahead to the end of the last episode. I really should have
made this a separate fic, but it's part of the same storyline, so...
*****
---TWO WEEKS LATER---
The funeral service consisted of
a few hushed words that fell with the Martian rain. The grave itself was sparsely
attended, but the perimeter of the cemetery was heavily guarded by low-ranking
members of the Red Dragon mafia, each armed with considerably sized handguns.
More than one of them seemed more mindful of the ceremony than his duty.
The ashen-faced priest closed his holy book, bowed his head, turned, and began
to shuffle away from the grave. Three men in long dark cloaks, high-collared
and piped with gold, turned and left with him. Three more lingered a moment.
One bent and hesitantly touched the headstone with his palm, then rose.
The Red Dragons filed out in silence, the soft rain muffling the sound of their
footsteps.
In an condemned, empty room above
a nearby street, Bob lowered his binoculars, sighed, and rubbed his temples.
*
Dammit Jet, do you find trouble or does trouble come to you?
He ran his hand down his face, wiping away the dampness left by the rain, straightening
his thick moustache.
God, you always managed to get tangled up in crazy shit. And somehow you
kept your head on straight and worked through it while the rest of the world
went nuts. He opened up his handheld communicator. Hell, I at least owe
you this.
"Jet," he spoke softly into the mic, "they're leaving now."
There was a pause on the other end, then a deep baritone voice sounded through
crackling static. "Thanks."
*****
Faye awoke to a soft rumble and hiss.
The ship creaked once, then was quiet again.
"Jet?" she mumbled, rising from the yellow couch, rubbing her eyes.
Her face felt hot and puffy. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but realized
it must have been late afternoon.
Stepping up into the bridge, she looked through the wide bank of circular windows
and saw a small blue air taxicraft rise through the rain and fire its boosters,
soaring away towards Tharsis City.
She clenched her teeth.
"DAMMIT! How could you -- why didn't you wake me?!" she shouted at
the departing craft. It came out as more of a plea than a demand.
Frustration and anger prickled at the edges of her eyes. Her lower lip trembled,
and she bit it, frowning. She smeared away a tear that had begun working a path
down her left cheek.
"Dammit," she whispered again, rushing back into the livingroom in
search of Jet's communicator.
*****
The cab driver could tell that his
customer was in no mood for small talk. Jet appreciated his observance.
He sat with his chin on his palm, gazing out the small window over the dull
rust-colored landscape. Heavy clouds swept over the taxi in rushes of grey and
white, until at last the small craft dipped below the cloudline and passed into
the outskirts of the large city.
Small drops of rain patted the windshield and windows, forming random patterns
and weaving their way downwards.
"Excuse me, sir," the cabbie began timidly, "but did you want
to go to the central yard, or...?"
"All I know is, it's on a hillside on the edge of town," Jet responded
without looking up.
"Ah." The driver shifted in his seat. "Then..." without
finishing his sentence, he banked left and began flying a low route over a side
street. Less than a minute later, the craft's reverse and landing thrusters
fired, and it began its gentle descent towards an open patch of street in front
of an abandoned apartment building. The doors sighed as they opened, releasing
pressurized air.
"Did you want me to wait here, sir, or...?"
"I don't know how long this'll be. Here. Keep the change." Jet reached
into the pocket of his long coat, pulled out a 200 uron note, and placed it
on the passenger seat. The driver gave him a wordless half-salute and lowered
the taxi doors.
The instant he stepped out of the
taxi, the rain seeped into him like sickness, the dampness penetrating his trenchcoat
and suit. Tiny droplets gathered on the brim of his beige fedora and fell past
his face to scatter on the sidewalk. The deep gunshot wound in his leg screamed
in protest as he stood, even after he shifted his weight onto his cane.
He drew the trenchcoat closer around his chest and pressed through the low iron
gate at the edge of the graveyard. The hinges creaked and moaned; the sound
made him wince.
Stepping through shallow puddles down a narrow cobbled path, he began searching
for something he never wanted to find. But there it was, almost immediately,
defying him. And he drew closer, his feet leaden and seeming heavier with each
step, the tip of his cane clicking against the stone, until at last he stood
before a soft patch of earth.
The rain pitted the dirt soundlessly. It smelled like spring.
The headstone was a simple marble
slab, solid and straight and unmarked save for the Red Dragon crest. Jet clenched
his jaw in a a brief moment of disgust, then swallowed.
"Well, that was part of you too, I suppose," he said aloud.
The rain's soft whisper was the only answer, pattering on his shoulders and
the brim of his hat.
The white marble sat before him, flat and defiant.
Jet put his hands in his coat pockets.
He noticed how the top curve of the headstone framed the dragon crest.
The dragon's carved eye glared out
from the stone balefully.
That thing doesn't suit him at all, he thought, frowning and rubbing the
back of his neck with his cybernetic hand. But hell, what do I know.
He smiled softly.
"You always were a bit of a mystery anyhow."
He took a long, deep breath, and sighed.
"Well." He coughed.
" It sure was one hell of a wild ride, wasn't it, cowboy... we... we made
a good team. You always grabbed the bull by the horns when I hesitated, you
always rushed in when I waited... you ... you taught me a few things about taking
chances, Spike. I wish I'd learned them earlier." He sighed again.
"But you're you, and I'm... I'm an old man on an old ship... aww, listen
to me, I'm just rambling...but..." He closed his eyes briefly.
"...But there were so many things about you I never learned. Partners for
three years, and I never felt I really knew you. Not completely. Were you hiding
something, or hiding from something, or was it just part of who you were? I
guess I'll never know." Something in his chest became tight and cold.
"And if you'll pardon me for saying so, that's a goddamn shame."
His hands balled into fists inside his pockets. "You never could really
let the past stay buried, could you? Always had to trace back along your old
scars, reopen old wounds... and now... now you're there... and I'm here. A crazy,
lonely old man talking to himself in the rain.
An old man in a big old heap of a ship, who's going to go home and wonder was
there anything I could have done, and always come up with the same answers.
And then he's going to wonder what the hell do I do now, and he's going
to look to you and wonder what you would do..."
Jet suddenly stopped, and broke into a broad, sad smile.
"...and then he'll do the exact opposite, I bet."
He knelt awkwardly and slowly, leaning on the cane for balance. Reaching out
his right hand, he pressed his fingertips against the cold, wet marble.
"Well, whatever this old man does, he won't forget you. None of us will.
Me or Faye or Edward, or any of those people who met you. We..."
He fell silent as he heard footsteps behind him.
*****
Faye had spotted him from the air,
standing alone on the edge of the graveyard. The taxicraft had brought her as
near as it could without disturbing him.
And now, a few paces away, she cursed herself for being so dense, for daring
to rush in and break the sanctity of a private moment. God, I'm so self-centered,
I didn't even think...
Despite her misgivings, she found herself drawn towards the broad-shouldered
figure; to absorb and share in the sadness that weighed so visibly on his frame.
As she stepped nearer, she heard the warm, deep tones of his voice, unintelligible
murmurs mostly drowned by the rain. No. She was too close. She was interrupting.
Jet was Spike's closest friend; she had no right to intrude.
She had just turned away when his words fell dead in the air.
*****
Jet slowly and painfully stood,
turning to look down the path leading through the cemetery. There stood Faye,
a large purple umbrella in one hand, a single white rose in the other. Her eyes
widened, and her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, then shut as if
she were afraid.
It was an effort to raise his voice over the rain.
"You don't have to wait. I'm about done anyhow."
*****
She took one step forward, hesitated,
then began to walk towards Jet, towards the grave. Towards Spike's grave. Her
heels clicked on the cobblestones. Jet's eyes followed her feet up the rough
path. Rain slithered in rivulets down the fabric of the umbrella. Her throat
felt tight and thick.
She stopped at Jet's side.
"I... I brought this," she mumbled weakly, proffering the white rose.
Jet nodded.
Faye leaned forward and gently placed the rose atop the headstone.
Her fingers brushed the cool, slick marble - and suddenly, it was too real.
Not here not here not here. Don't cry here. Not now. Not now. She shut
her eyes as tightly as she could.
Jet's voice finally cut through the darkness. "Faye... let's go."
Her eyes opened slowly. She sniffled once, and swallowed. "Where to?"
"Just... anywhere but this godforsaken planet."
Faye nodded silently. Jet turned in front of her and began to make his way back
out of the graveyard. Step. Cane. Step. She watched him for a moment, then turned
back to the white stone, regarding it with a strange sense of familiarity.
"Goodbye," she whispered softly.
She caught up with Jet halfway down the path, and raised the umbrella above his head as he swung open the short iron gate.
To be continued in Chapter 4
*Bob
is Jet's ISSP pal and informant. He shows up in a few episodes.
OK, I know this chapter was really sad, but I promise it's uphill from here,
OK? Really! We just had to work through this part to get to the good stuff.
:-)
