He took out all of his frustrations on her. In his minds eye, he didn't see the slim, small body that was before him, or the thick dark curls. He saw a taller, more curvaceous body; he saw straight, sort hair, in an A-Line cut. He saw green eyes, not brown.
"Next time I see you, will be the last time..."
The nerve of her! He hated her; he wanted to teach her a lesson.
Dimitri held her head in an iron grip, his nails digging into her scalp until she could feel the blood beginning to flow, ignoring her whimpers and yelps. It was all about domination and humiliation with him. It didn't matter that the anger he felt was meant for another woman than the one he abused now. It didn't matter that it was another woman he wanted to humiliate. He was a true sadist, and she complied, accepting his rough treatment with as little complaint as humanly possible, but tomorrow her thighs would be sore and bruised from his angry penetration.
He felt no remorse; this was what Irma was made for.
Corbin stretched himself out on the bed, staring at the tar stained ceiling. This room used to belong to a chain smoker. He reached his hand to his lips, pressing his own cigarette into his mouth, and pulling thick, acrid smoke into his hungry lungs.
He could have asked Jet who used to stay here, but he already knew. It was as familiar to him as the Swordfish II had been, and in the same strange way, like déjà vu. Less than a memory, more than an impression. He hadn't thought so yesterday, when he'd come here to sleep. It's amazing how one feeling can awaken another... the simple act of sitting in that ship's cockpit had changed the way he saw this ship, and everyone around him. He felt like he was seeing through old eyes, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
He exhaled sharply, and propped himself up with one elbow, the other bending to an arm that lead to a hand that brought a red filter to his thin lips for a second drag. Slowly, thoughtfully, he exhaled, letting the smoke roll over his tongue. Suddenly, he didn't want to stay in this room a second longer, crowded with feelings... suddenly, he had a burning desire to see what Jet had been up to since their botched search and rescue. Suddenly he had a burning desire to do anything that got him away from here.
He heaved himself off the bed, and ran a lazy hand through his unruly tuft of green-tinged hair, stretching his tense muscles. He turned his door handle and stepped out into the hall.
Jet sat anxiously at the helm of his ship, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, as he watched the screen, waiting for the beep that would indicate an incoming message.
Corbin leaned against the doorway, watching the big man. He'd known him for a grand total of two days, but already he'd grown to like him. Jet was honest, and trustworthy. A truly loyal friend... wouldn't it be good if he could call him a friend? If he could call anyone a friend?
Corbin wondered what this 'Spike' had been like, this man who'd lived here, on this ship, befriended Jet, and the woman, and... whoever it was that Jet kept talking to over his computer. He wondered how many hours he'd spent, staring at the ceiling in his smoke-stained room, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, thinking of everything, and nothing. He wondered if he knew how good this life was... and he wondered if, maybe, there was a place for himself here.
Without warning, Jet's head swung to the doorway. "Corbin, finished sulking?"
Corbin answered that with a smile, "I hate this, you know." He left the doorway and came to sit in a chair adjacent to Jet's.
"So, how long do we wait?"
Jet chuckled a bit, in spite of himself. "If it was her, she'll contact us right away, and if it wasn't... well, we probably won't make another pass until tomorrow."
"Hnn..."
As if on cue, a beep began to issue from the communication console. Jet turned in his seat, and hit the receive button. Even though he'd been waiting for just this moment since Ed first told him that someone had activated Faye's ship, he was still shocked to see her face in front of him.
"God Faye, are you okay, where are you, so I can come pick you up?"
She bit her lip, "Jet, I need to talk to you, there's been a slight change."
"Change?"
"I'm sending you my coordinates, come get me."
The Shadow Wolf was too large to fit through the Bebop's hangar doors, so they brought the ship alongside, aligned the airlocks and anchored the two together.
Faye opened her airlock, waving Jet into her ship. She had to tell him what had happened, and she felt like she needed to be on her own turf, and while the Bebop still felt like home, it had always been Jet's ship, Jet's sanctuary.
She watched with a heavy heart as Jet walked the length of the metal tube that bridged the distance between the two ships. How could she tell him? Would he understand why she'd agreed to help Dimitri... or would he be disappointed in her? Jet wouldn't have given in... he would have found a way around it, a way to save John and the double, but now, their only link to Spike was lost.
Everything was lost.
And then she saw him.
He leaned casually against the airlock of the Bebop, watching, as well, as Jet entered her ship. She watched as the orange-red glow of his cigarette traced a beautiful pattern in the air as the hand it was attached to was raised from his thigh to his mouth, bringing the filter to rest against his lips. Familiar lips, bent in a crooked smile.
Her eyes jumped to his, and she saw in them a look of surprise and recognition that she was sure must echo her own, and briefly, ever so briefly, she forgot about John waiting back on Mars for her to come to his rescue, she forgot about the proposal, and the fear, she forgot about Vicious and the showdown and the three years of pain that night had caused her, and she forgot about Dimitri, and his deal... and that there was a man named Corbin who was a dead ringer for Spike. For one brief, and shining moment, it was only her and him.
For one moment... and the next, she was in his arms, her head buried in his chest, crying a flood of tears.
And he held her, because some piece of him told him that this was the right and true way. A part of himself had longed for her to be in his arms without him ever knowing.
"Shhh... It's all right, everything's all right," he whispered. He had never seen this woman before, but something told him that this was what he needed to do.
This impression was shattered by one word.
Faye raised her tear-stained eyes to his, and whispered a name. His name.
"Spike."
Irma cradled the dark head in her lap, stroking his silken hair, and humming softly.
She was very careful not to cry, not to let any of the emotion she felt show in her face. It wouldn't do for him to awaken and see her crying, for him to know that he'd caused her pain. He'd only laugh at her, and call her a foolish woman, and remind her of the one reason why she was there.
He didn't care about her, not really.
And then she couldn't help but let a single tear run down her face. Tonight he'd broken her heart. So she let another tear follow the first, and another.
He'd been distant lately, as if he wasn't really with her when he was with her. And of course she knew where he really was, who he was really touching in his mind. She knew what face he saw; she was only fooling herself.
Tonight he'd called out her name: Faye.
And suddenly Irma was angry. Her anger wasn't for the other woman, how could she ever hold anything in her heart but awe and admiration for the first woman she'd seen stand up to Dimitri. Yes, in a way Irma looked up to the woman as a role model. She knew it was a sort of hero-worship, but she felt that Faye Valentine held the strength she lacked.
Nor could she be angry with her lover, he'd never claimed to have any true affection for her. In fact he usually pointed out her flaws... funny since she was supposed to be perfect.
No, she was angry with herself, for allowing herself to be used so vilely, yet suddenly aware of herself like she'd never been before. She had developed self-respect, and now she was putting her foot down.
She place the dark head back onto the pillow, and stood.
There wasn't much she could do for Faye in here, but she could do one thing. She exited the room and made her way down the hall, to where the hostage was detained.
She could make sure nothing happened to Faye's fiancé.
Corbin knew what he was.
He was lying in his room again; examining the ceiling for any detail he may have missed initially... that and running this evening's scene back and forth in his mind. He had been caught up in the moment; he had been taken in by a feeling, an emotion that belonged to another, and allowed himself to believe that they were his own. He had been wrong.
She had called him "Spike." It had happened before, he had gotten used to Jet's slips, which were becoming less and less... so he didn't know why it killed him to hear that name on her lips.
No, that was a lie. He knew... he knew what he was.
It hurt because he knew she didn't.
"Who's there?" came John's shaky voice, as he heard the door to his room creep open, and shut again.
He strained his eyes in the darkness, but to no avail, he couldn't see who belonged to the footsteps that rebounded off the walls.
"What do you want?"
"To help," came the soft reply. Then the room was flooded with light. She smiled at the fair-haired man while John blinked, willing his eyes to focus.
"To help?" he asked.
"Yes," John could see her now, her dark hair surrounding an angelic face. He thought that face looked supremely innocent. "I'm a, um, friend of Faye's. I know there isn't much I can do now, but I thought you should know you have allies."
"Oh," John gave her a disbelieving look. She looked like she was the one who needed allies, the one who needed protection. He'd almost forgotten there were women like that.
"Jet, I can't believe I fell apart like that... I just didn't know what to do."
Jet sat across the table from Faye, staring into her face with a solemn expression. "I know that Faye, but he's-"
"I know he's not Spike, Jet," she cut him off, "of course I do. It's just... I was under a lot of strain."
Jet nodded in understanding, "I know..."
But Faye shook her head in response. "No, you don't."
"He's kidnapped John, and he told me that if I didn't turn the double into him, John would be dead by the end of the week."
"Oh..." was all Jet could manage as a reply.
Faye smiled bitterly, "tell me about it. This was our only lead to finding..." her voice grew hushed, "to finding Spike's body. Not only that, but the two of you are obviously getting to be pretty good friends." She couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of her voice.
"You're one to talk," he returned, snappishly.
The memory of her earlier embarrassment leapt to her mind, and she struggled to shove it down. She had allowed herself the illusion that he was Spike. She had been distraught, that was her excuse. She had just been released by her kidnapper with a promise that if she didn't complete his job, her fiancé would be killed; she wasn't thinking clearly, and was looking for comfort. That's what she told herself.
Faye sighed, "I didn't mean... oh never mind. I just don't know what I'm going to-" She broke off, blushing as Corbin entered the dining room.
"Oh, hi." She managed, then "no, we weren't having a private conversation, by all means, come and interrupt us," Faye said, the bitterness creeping back into her voice.
He raised one eyebrow at her, "such a cool greeting?" he mocked, "I thought we were beyond that."
It stung her. Maybe if she hadn't been so fragile already she would have been able to ignore it. Maybe if she hadn't been pushed past her emotional limitations, maybe if she hadn't been so shocked to see that face so close to hers, maybe then the tears wouldn't be threatening to fall from her eyes.
He regretted it almost instantly, as the color ran from her blushing cheeks. He almost took it back when he saw that her eyes were dampening. Almost.
He didn't know why he had responded so, except that a part of him had told him that was the way he should respond to this woman, and a sneaking suspicion told him it was the same thing that had tugged at his sleeves when he sat behind the controls of the Swordfish II, and whispered in his ear as he stared at his ceiling; it was the same thing that had told him to return her embrace when she'd thrown herself in his arms. It was the reason he'd sought them out.
He felt they deserved the truth.
"Next time I see you, will be the last time..."
The nerve of her! He hated her; he wanted to teach her a lesson.
Dimitri held her head in an iron grip, his nails digging into her scalp until she could feel the blood beginning to flow, ignoring her whimpers and yelps. It was all about domination and humiliation with him. It didn't matter that the anger he felt was meant for another woman than the one he abused now. It didn't matter that it was another woman he wanted to humiliate. He was a true sadist, and she complied, accepting his rough treatment with as little complaint as humanly possible, but tomorrow her thighs would be sore and bruised from his angry penetration.
He felt no remorse; this was what Irma was made for.
Corbin stretched himself out on the bed, staring at the tar stained ceiling. This room used to belong to a chain smoker. He reached his hand to his lips, pressing his own cigarette into his mouth, and pulling thick, acrid smoke into his hungry lungs.
He could have asked Jet who used to stay here, but he already knew. It was as familiar to him as the Swordfish II had been, and in the same strange way, like déjà vu. Less than a memory, more than an impression. He hadn't thought so yesterday, when he'd come here to sleep. It's amazing how one feeling can awaken another... the simple act of sitting in that ship's cockpit had changed the way he saw this ship, and everyone around him. He felt like he was seeing through old eyes, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
He exhaled sharply, and propped himself up with one elbow, the other bending to an arm that lead to a hand that brought a red filter to his thin lips for a second drag. Slowly, thoughtfully, he exhaled, letting the smoke roll over his tongue. Suddenly, he didn't want to stay in this room a second longer, crowded with feelings... suddenly, he had a burning desire to see what Jet had been up to since their botched search and rescue. Suddenly he had a burning desire to do anything that got him away from here.
He heaved himself off the bed, and ran a lazy hand through his unruly tuft of green-tinged hair, stretching his tense muscles. He turned his door handle and stepped out into the hall.
Jet sat anxiously at the helm of his ship, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, as he watched the screen, waiting for the beep that would indicate an incoming message.
Corbin leaned against the doorway, watching the big man. He'd known him for a grand total of two days, but already he'd grown to like him. Jet was honest, and trustworthy. A truly loyal friend... wouldn't it be good if he could call him a friend? If he could call anyone a friend?
Corbin wondered what this 'Spike' had been like, this man who'd lived here, on this ship, befriended Jet, and the woman, and... whoever it was that Jet kept talking to over his computer. He wondered how many hours he'd spent, staring at the ceiling in his smoke-stained room, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, thinking of everything, and nothing. He wondered if he knew how good this life was... and he wondered if, maybe, there was a place for himself here.
Without warning, Jet's head swung to the doorway. "Corbin, finished sulking?"
Corbin answered that with a smile, "I hate this, you know." He left the doorway and came to sit in a chair adjacent to Jet's.
"So, how long do we wait?"
Jet chuckled a bit, in spite of himself. "If it was her, she'll contact us right away, and if it wasn't... well, we probably won't make another pass until tomorrow."
"Hnn..."
As if on cue, a beep began to issue from the communication console. Jet turned in his seat, and hit the receive button. Even though he'd been waiting for just this moment since Ed first told him that someone had activated Faye's ship, he was still shocked to see her face in front of him.
"God Faye, are you okay, where are you, so I can come pick you up?"
She bit her lip, "Jet, I need to talk to you, there's been a slight change."
"Change?"
"I'm sending you my coordinates, come get me."
The Shadow Wolf was too large to fit through the Bebop's hangar doors, so they brought the ship alongside, aligned the airlocks and anchored the two together.
Faye opened her airlock, waving Jet into her ship. She had to tell him what had happened, and she felt like she needed to be on her own turf, and while the Bebop still felt like home, it had always been Jet's ship, Jet's sanctuary.
She watched with a heavy heart as Jet walked the length of the metal tube that bridged the distance between the two ships. How could she tell him? Would he understand why she'd agreed to help Dimitri... or would he be disappointed in her? Jet wouldn't have given in... he would have found a way around it, a way to save John and the double, but now, their only link to Spike was lost.
Everything was lost.
And then she saw him.
He leaned casually against the airlock of the Bebop, watching, as well, as Jet entered her ship. She watched as the orange-red glow of his cigarette traced a beautiful pattern in the air as the hand it was attached to was raised from his thigh to his mouth, bringing the filter to rest against his lips. Familiar lips, bent in a crooked smile.
Her eyes jumped to his, and she saw in them a look of surprise and recognition that she was sure must echo her own, and briefly, ever so briefly, she forgot about John waiting back on Mars for her to come to his rescue, she forgot about the proposal, and the fear, she forgot about Vicious and the showdown and the three years of pain that night had caused her, and she forgot about Dimitri, and his deal... and that there was a man named Corbin who was a dead ringer for Spike. For one brief, and shining moment, it was only her and him.
For one moment... and the next, she was in his arms, her head buried in his chest, crying a flood of tears.
And he held her, because some piece of him told him that this was the right and true way. A part of himself had longed for her to be in his arms without him ever knowing.
"Shhh... It's all right, everything's all right," he whispered. He had never seen this woman before, but something told him that this was what he needed to do.
This impression was shattered by one word.
Faye raised her tear-stained eyes to his, and whispered a name. His name.
"Spike."
Irma cradled the dark head in her lap, stroking his silken hair, and humming softly.
She was very careful not to cry, not to let any of the emotion she felt show in her face. It wouldn't do for him to awaken and see her crying, for him to know that he'd caused her pain. He'd only laugh at her, and call her a foolish woman, and remind her of the one reason why she was there.
He didn't care about her, not really.
And then she couldn't help but let a single tear run down her face. Tonight he'd broken her heart. So she let another tear follow the first, and another.
He'd been distant lately, as if he wasn't really with her when he was with her. And of course she knew where he really was, who he was really touching in his mind. She knew what face he saw; she was only fooling herself.
Tonight he'd called out her name: Faye.
And suddenly Irma was angry. Her anger wasn't for the other woman, how could she ever hold anything in her heart but awe and admiration for the first woman she'd seen stand up to Dimitri. Yes, in a way Irma looked up to the woman as a role model. She knew it was a sort of hero-worship, but she felt that Faye Valentine held the strength she lacked.
Nor could she be angry with her lover, he'd never claimed to have any true affection for her. In fact he usually pointed out her flaws... funny since she was supposed to be perfect.
No, she was angry with herself, for allowing herself to be used so vilely, yet suddenly aware of herself like she'd never been before. She had developed self-respect, and now she was putting her foot down.
She place the dark head back onto the pillow, and stood.
There wasn't much she could do for Faye in here, but she could do one thing. She exited the room and made her way down the hall, to where the hostage was detained.
She could make sure nothing happened to Faye's fiancé.
Corbin knew what he was.
He was lying in his room again; examining the ceiling for any detail he may have missed initially... that and running this evening's scene back and forth in his mind. He had been caught up in the moment; he had been taken in by a feeling, an emotion that belonged to another, and allowed himself to believe that they were his own. He had been wrong.
She had called him "Spike." It had happened before, he had gotten used to Jet's slips, which were becoming less and less... so he didn't know why it killed him to hear that name on her lips.
No, that was a lie. He knew... he knew what he was.
It hurt because he knew she didn't.
"Who's there?" came John's shaky voice, as he heard the door to his room creep open, and shut again.
He strained his eyes in the darkness, but to no avail, he couldn't see who belonged to the footsteps that rebounded off the walls.
"What do you want?"
"To help," came the soft reply. Then the room was flooded with light. She smiled at the fair-haired man while John blinked, willing his eyes to focus.
"To help?" he asked.
"Yes," John could see her now, her dark hair surrounding an angelic face. He thought that face looked supremely innocent. "I'm a, um, friend of Faye's. I know there isn't much I can do now, but I thought you should know you have allies."
"Oh," John gave her a disbelieving look. She looked like she was the one who needed allies, the one who needed protection. He'd almost forgotten there were women like that.
"Jet, I can't believe I fell apart like that... I just didn't know what to do."
Jet sat across the table from Faye, staring into her face with a solemn expression. "I know that Faye, but he's-"
"I know he's not Spike, Jet," she cut him off, "of course I do. It's just... I was under a lot of strain."
Jet nodded in understanding, "I know..."
But Faye shook her head in response. "No, you don't."
"He's kidnapped John, and he told me that if I didn't turn the double into him, John would be dead by the end of the week."
"Oh..." was all Jet could manage as a reply.
Faye smiled bitterly, "tell me about it. This was our only lead to finding..." her voice grew hushed, "to finding Spike's body. Not only that, but the two of you are obviously getting to be pretty good friends." She couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of her voice.
"You're one to talk," he returned, snappishly.
The memory of her earlier embarrassment leapt to her mind, and she struggled to shove it down. She had allowed herself the illusion that he was Spike. She had been distraught, that was her excuse. She had just been released by her kidnapper with a promise that if she didn't complete his job, her fiancé would be killed; she wasn't thinking clearly, and was looking for comfort. That's what she told herself.
Faye sighed, "I didn't mean... oh never mind. I just don't know what I'm going to-" She broke off, blushing as Corbin entered the dining room.
"Oh, hi." She managed, then "no, we weren't having a private conversation, by all means, come and interrupt us," Faye said, the bitterness creeping back into her voice.
He raised one eyebrow at her, "such a cool greeting?" he mocked, "I thought we were beyond that."
It stung her. Maybe if she hadn't been so fragile already she would have been able to ignore it. Maybe if she hadn't been pushed past her emotional limitations, maybe if she hadn't been so shocked to see that face so close to hers, maybe then the tears wouldn't be threatening to fall from her eyes.
He regretted it almost instantly, as the color ran from her blushing cheeks. He almost took it back when he saw that her eyes were dampening. Almost.
He didn't know why he had responded so, except that a part of him had told him that was the way he should respond to this woman, and a sneaking suspicion told him it was the same thing that had tugged at his sleeves when he sat behind the controls of the Swordfish II, and whispered in his ear as he stared at his ceiling; it was the same thing that had told him to return her embrace when she'd thrown herself in his arms. It was the reason he'd sought them out.
He felt they deserved the truth.