Disclaimer:  I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Bandai/Sunrise does.  This is just for fun, and I REALLY am  poor…

Author's note:  I know that some of you think that Vicious isn't 'vicious' enough yet, but you have to remember that he wasn't always the Vicious that we know and love. (I hope that makes sense.)  It takes some time to grow that hard and bitter.  Have patience with me.

Namaste is a greeting in Eastern India and means "the light within me bows to the light within you"

I read somewhere that in every good story, the writer makes a bad situation for the protagonist worse…

OTHER CHOICES (PART FOUR)

"CODE RED, EMERGENCY ROOM SIX, STAT."  Spike awoke with a gasp; he hadn't meant to fall asleep.  He had been having that old nightmare again: the one where his fake eye watched the operation to install it.  There also was a fish involved somehow.  He hadn't had that dream in a long time.  It must have been the strong antiseptic smell of the hospital, the one that never really covered the smell of blood and sickness and death that made him dream about that. 

He sighed as he sat up on the cot that he had been curled upon.  Julia, her golden hair streaked with forest green, lay balled up at the other end.  Ansari sat in a chair across the room, knees hugged to her chest, sobbing softly; her tears made streaks through the lavender dye on her face.  Lin, his face dyed red and saffron, was draped across a chair in a position guaranteed to leave him with a crick in his neck when he awoke.  Roshi was vainly trying to get comfortable on his own couch, but he kept forgetting his shoulder wound.  Zumiko, Spinoza and Dylan were dead.  The STAT code had probably been for either Vicious or Ryokan.  Spike looked sadly at the tattered remains of his cohort, and angrily wondered how the hell this had happened.  He had meant for their last night together to be a happy one.

***

Spike returned to a lobby that was quieter than it had been when he went up.  Since there was to be no war, most of the Black Coats were gone.  His cohort was a study in feigned nonchalance as they watched the moving stairs bringing him back down to earth.  Even Julia was there, sitting across from Vicious and giving him covert evil eyes when she thought that no one was looking at them.  Lin, always impulsive, hopped up to meet him, but the grim look on Spike's face must have stopped him from asking whatever question was on his mind.  "I have good news and bad news," Spike said quietly, "which do you want to hear first?"  They all  looked at one another before Vicious spoke up.

"Bad news, first," he said in an equally quiet voice.  Spike acknowledged him with a nod.

"Our cohort is to be disbanded as of tomorrow," Spike said waiting for the inevitable explosion.  It came right on cue.  Variations of the phrases "What the hell?" "How could they?" "You're joking," tore from nine throats.  He watched their consternation, keeping his face mask-like.

"You did say that there was good news, right?" Dylan asked as the others quieted down.  Spike nodded to him.  Nine pairs of hopeful eyes looked at him.

"You are all promoted, as of tomorrow.  Congratulations," Spike said with a big fake smile.  Even Vicious, who rarely showed what he was feeling, looked stunned.  "Oh come on, it's not that bad.  Every one of you is the best 'something' in the Clan.  All of this talent pooled in one place was bound to attract the attention of the elders eventually.  Most of you will be leading your own cohorts, some will move to the business side of things."

"And what about you?" Lin finally got to ask one of the questions that must have been eating away at him all afternoon.  "Are you in trouble for this afternoon?  What the hell happened, anyway?"  Spike watched as Julia and Vicious eyed each other warily.

"I'll learn my fate when you learn your new assignments; and Mao has asked me not to say anything about what happened today." 

"You can't even tell us?" Zumiko asked indignantly in her piping voice.  Spike quelled her with a raised eyebrow.

"What part of 'Mao has asked me not to say anything,' did you miss, Zumi?" Spike asked facetiously.  Zumi had the grace to blush; her two black pigtails drooped as she hid her face.  "Now since this is to be the last time we all see each other for a while…"

"Wait a minute, what does that mean?" Julia asked forcefully.  Vicious smirked at her.

"Hmmm…I forgot that part…we are being scattered as well as disbanded.  From what I understand, you will all be going to various cities and moons and satellites where the Clan has business."  A combined "What" arose from the group.  Julia looked stricken.  "This is politics.  I'm sure the elders want to see how well you do on your own."  The lie came easy:  Spike had practiced it all the way down on the elevator.  Spike watched as most of his cohort did the proverbial "gnashing of teeth".  The really ambitious members, Vicious, Ansari and Spinoza, seemed pleased at this turn of events.  "As I was saying, since this is our last night together, I thought we should, I don't know, do something silly, fun.  We haven't had the opportunity in a long time to go out as a group and just get totally shit-faced drunk.  I know that no one really feels like celebrating, but a promotion is a promotion."

"Well, today is Holi, in the Hindustan quarter" Ansari spoke up.  "I was on my way there when we were called here.  It's the Indian Festival of Colors."  Roshi frowned.

"The last time Ansari picked a festival for us, we ended up getting purified four times."

"Get bent, Roshi…you need all of the purification you can get.  Anyway, this festival is not like that at all.  There are bonfires on every corner, and dancing in the streets and food everywhere,"  Ansari smiled wistfully.

"Food, huh?  That means Spike's there for sure," Ryokan broke in, smiling.

"Yeah, he's a stomach on legs!" Spinoza added.  Everyone laughed for what seemed to be the first time today.

"If you are going to stand there and make jokes at my expense, I'm leaving you home," Spike said with mock severity.  Spinoza held his hands up in mock surrender.  "Besides, when you grow up hungry, you never want to miss an opportunity to eat."

"Ooh, and then there's the bhang," Ansari continued, smiling.  "You haven't been drunk until you've experienced bhang…worst hangover of my life."

"Then the prairie oysters will be on me," Spike announced.  That got a collective 'ewwwwww'  from the group.

"You get near me with one of those things," Zumi said threateningly, "and it really will be on you." 

"I don't want to hear any bitching about how your head hurts tomorrow, Zumi," Spike smirked.  "Well, this sounds like a promising beginning.  One last thing; this is a casual outing.  Everyone lose the suits and coats.  We don't want to scare the civilians."

"Well that leaves Vicious out," Julia said cattily.  "I don't think he owns anything casual."  Vicious gave her an icy smile.

"Bite me bitch," he said coldly.

"Is that an invitation, Vicious?  Been there, done that," Julia said serenely.  

"Enough, you two!" Spike yelled before they got completely out of hand and said something best left unsaid.  "You will not ruin tonight for the rest of us.  After tomorrow, you won't have to deal with one another.  We are all having a good time tonight, is that clear?" Both nodded sullenly.  Spike sighed.  "Good.  Vicious can wear something of mine.  We'll all meet back here in thirty minutes, all right?"

The group soon found out what Ansari had conveniently forgotten to mention about The Festival of Colors.  The streets were indeed full of riotously colorfully dressed drunk people laughing and dancing to a great band.  Gorgeous food smells permeated the air, and bonfires did indeed dot almost every corner.  Ansari hung back as the group went up to the first merchant on the street.  "Namaste," the old man said, handing Spike a balloon full of water.  Spike looked at this gift dubiously.  The old man smiled, "You are tourists here for Holi, no?"

"Yes…"  The old man yelled something in Hindi, and people in the crowd near them began pelting them with the water balloons full of cold colored water, dusting them with colored powders and shooting them with water guns, all the while shouting 'Namaste!' and laughing.  Within seconds they were all drenched and as brightly colored as everyone else in the crowd.  Ansari, completely dry, laughed at the look on their faces. 

"You did say 'silly,' Spike, remember?" she asked innocently.

Spike watched Vicious, his hair dyed a brilliant peacock blue, his eye twitching, take up a balloon, and with the deadly quickness that he was famous for, hit her squarely in the face. "Let's get her!" he growled.  The balloons, water guns and powders were freely available at any stand on the street, and soon they were all running, and dancing through the crowd, laughing and screaming "Namaste" and pelting and being pelted by anything that moved.  The bon fires dried them off, and the bhang, which, without a doubt, packed the punch that Ansari promised, warmed them up.  They partied throughout the night, and only left when the brief Martian sunrise sent the last of the revelers indoors.  

They made their way drunkenly across town to an all night dive called Mufassa's Chicken and Waffle Shack, a few blocks from the Dragon headquarters.  Drunk and happy, they pushed tables together, while the staff, who knew exactly who they were dealing with, despite the dyes, went about the business of filling their orders by heart.  And that's when the shooting started…

***


"CODE BLUE, EMERGENCY ROOM EIGHT, STAT."  Spike felt himself shiver.  A "Code Blue" meant that the patient had stopped breathing, while "Code Red" had something to do with the blood.  He had just stood to ask the nurse if there was any news, when the doors swung open and Mao and Annie appeared and motioned him over.  Spike moved slowly, in order to keep the room from spinning too fast.  Mao pulled him from the waiting room as Annie stayed behind to check on the others.  "I am so sorry, Spike, I had no idea that they would move this fast against you.  You have to leave now."  Spike watched Mao's mouth move, but his brain wasn't quite connecting the dots yet.

"You think this has something to do with your negotiations?"  Spike murmured fuzzily.  Mao nodded.

"Almost certainly."

"Then that means someone in the Clan ordered a hit on my cohort?  Where is the honor in that?"  Mao tsked him.

"Everything is packed and ready:  you are leaving now."  The words finally penetrated Spike's brain.  He shook his head.

"I can't leave now, we have to find out who did this; somebody has to pay…"

"Spike, remember that this attack wasn't aimed at you, but at me.  Thus, the revenge will be mine to mete out.  I assure you that nothing will stop me from having that revenge, but for now, I want you out of the way."

"But…"

"Don't make me have you carried out of here like a sack of dirty laundry, Spike.  Just come along quietly."  Mao herded him out of the hospital and into a private car.  Spike watched the hospital retreat into the cityscape as Mao's car drove him to the spaceport.

"I didn't even say goodbye," he murmured, pressing his pounding head unto the cool glass.  "Julia and Vicious, Ansari and Lin and Roshi, what will they think of me?"  Mao had no answer for him.