After all these years, I'm still a child. I guess that's what happens when
fate's thrown you nothing but shit. Yeah, so I'm complaining. It's one
thing I know I'm good at.
He never complained. Even after all this time I still remember. He was always so cool, he was elegant in a way I would never be. His flaws made him absolutely perfect. There was no way you couldn't be drawn in like a moth to a flame. He was like a mangy stray cat that you couldn't help but grow attached to.
Not like I liked him or anything. Sure, we flirted (if you call annoying the hell out of each other flirting), but I don't think it ever went deeper than that. He was so far away I couldn't even touch him. His heart had always been chained to that damn memory anyways.
She was his angel. She was perfect, graceful, beautiful, mysterious, sexy, ordinary in a way that you couldn't leave alone. I had never been jealous of blondes. until now. They were made for each other, those two. I couldn't fit in that slot. Only she.
It was her that led him to his death. He went willingly. He was drawn to the siren's song.
I remember our last words, it wasn't an amiable parting, let me tell you. He looked so distant, as if a part of him had died. With her. He wasn't the same; he was ragged and world-weary, looking as if nothing mattered anymore. Not even us. He was such a dramatic bastard.
I admit: I didn't want him to go. The crew of the Bebop had been the closes thing I had to having someone care for me, and someone to care about. We were almost a family, a dysfunctional family, but a family. Something I had never imagined. But he didn't want it anymore. He just wanted her.
We could never replace her.
He was tense even with Jet before he left, and I think they both knew. Knew what would happen when he departed. I listened when they talked, not that I cared what they said, or anything.
"There once was a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths and was reborn a million times and was owned by various people who he didn't care for. The cat wasn't afraid to die. One day, the cat was a free cat, a stray cat. He met a white female cat, and the two spent their days happily together." Spike's voice was monotone, and I could hear the frown in his voice. "Well, years passed, and the white cat died of old age. And the tiger-striped cat cried a million times. Then he died too. Only this time, he didn't come back."
There was a pause before Jet spoke, his voice gruff and unsure. "That was a good story, Spike."
"No it wasn't," he told Jet bluntly. "I hate cats. You know that."
There was tentative chuckling, and then finally both men gave in and laughed, good and loud. I sat on the other side of the wall, not understanding. But that was Spike. He was a mystery. He always had been.
"Spike," Jet starts, his laughter subsiding somberly. "Can I ask you one thing?"
I heard his footsteps pause. "What?"
"Is it for the woman?" My heart stopped as I pressed my ear closer to the wall, straining for an answer.
"There's nothing I can do for a dead woman."
He came out and rounded the corner to meet the barrel of my gun. I held it unwaveringly, I was angry. He was leaving us. And somewhere in the furthest recesses of my mind, I knew he wasn't coming back.
"Where are you going?" I asked calmly. "Why are you going?"
He stared down the muzzle of my gun emotionlessly. His indifference struck something in me. He didn't care. He would leave us all without a second thought. That bastard. He was willing to die for her. He would fall avenging her, what a martyr. What a stupid martyr. Angry tears formed behind my eyes and threatened to fall, but I wouldn't let them, not just yet.
"You told me once. that the past didn't matter." my voice quivered as I spat out my words, and I furrowed my brows in anger. "You're the one tied to their past!"
His expression never changed. He leaned in close, so close that I could feel his breath on my lips. He had never been this close before, and despite my mind's protesting my heart thumped wildly against my ribcage. The bastard had caught me completely by surprise, and I was at a loss for words.
"Look at my eyes," he said flatly. Nervously, my eyes met his. They were beautiful. I don't know why I never noticed before. Not like I was checking him out, or anything. But they were peculiar, a dark brown with flecks of russet. "One of them is a fake, because I lost it in an accident. Since then, I've been seeing the past in one eye."
My own eyes focused on those eyes, one of them was a tint lighter than the other. I looked at my frightened refection in each. ". and the present in the other. I believed that what I saw was not all of reality."
"Don't tell me things like that," I choked back a sob. He was driving me crazy. I didn't understand, and his coldness was sending painful pangs through my heart. "You never told me anything about yourself! Don't tell me stuff like that now!"
It was true. We had never really talked about our pasts. Which is strange, really. We should have been best friends; we were alike in so many ways. Both had dark pasts that loomed over our heads like ominous clouds that shadowed us everywhere. We had both lost those we were close to; we felt a similar pain. But we were never good at expressing feelings, now, were we?
"I thought I was watching a dream that I would never awaken from. Before I knew it, the dream was all over," to my relief, he leaned back, letting the shadows obscure his features. He turned his back to me and began a slow procession towards the hanger.
I couldn't let him go. He would never come back, and we both knew it. He would leave us all behind and we'd never see him again.
"My. memory came back," I whispered, staring miserably at the floor. He stopped, and I continued. "But nothing good came of it."
I clenched my hands into fists, my finger tightening around the trigger of my gun. I remember the distinct feeling of a lone tear coursing down my cheek. I gritted out my words through clenched teeth, my throat constricting painfully. I wished he'd say something, but he never did.
"There was no place for me to return to. This was the only place I could go back to! But now." How could I make him understand when I didn't understand, myself? I felt like a child, lost and lonely, completely confused at the cruelty around me, only aware that the man in front of me was walking out of my life forever. Gone without a trace. "Why are you going?! Why do you have to go?! Are you telling me you're going to just throw your life away?!"
He surprised me again. He smiled grimly over his shoulder, not bothering to meet my tear-filled eyes. "I'm not going there to die. I'm going there to see if I'm really alive."
His riddles made me angry. He began walking away again, his footsteps slow and lonely in the silence. I was upset because he was never coming back. I wanted to kill him. Kill him so that she couldn't. Stop him before he could abandon us. Abandon me. I had tried so damn hard become part of his world, just a piece of his life, but I never did. He never let me. I was there, but not really important enough to dwell on in his thoughts. I would never measure up to her memory. I pointed my gun, but couldn't pull the damn trigger.
I aimed towards the ceiling and fired my rounds, finally allowing myself to cry. The gun shook as the shots echoed through the corridors, and I remember every noise. The sound of the bullets as they pierced the metal piping above my head, the sound of my sobs in between each round, the fading sound of his footsteps.
And just like that, that son-of-a-bitch walked out of my life forever. I remember crying a bit after that. It didn't last long. Life pulls us along, whether we're willingly walking through it or being dragged by our heels. I'd be damned if I didn't admit I still miss him. The stupid lunkhead made a mark on my life, even though I never managed to make one on his.
He had been right. I felt like I was living in a dream. And before I knew it, the dream was over. And I was alone. Jet, Ed, and Ein had all gone their separate ways, dealing with the loss by themselves rather than together. He broke up our family. It was over. All things must come to an end, I guess, right?
He was gone. The tiger-striped cat had finally passed on. It was what he wanted, I guess. He left us and was happy, probably laughing at us as I speak. Jerk.
There's never a day that goes by when I don't feel his absence.
But sometimes, when the air is thick with rain, I can almost smell him. Not like I want to or anything, but I remember his scent. Blood, smoke, rain, and a musk all his own. He was unforgettable, the damn lucky bastard. He finally got what he wanted. His sly smile still haunts me sometimes.
And sometimes, on days like those, I find myself lost in a memory.
His memory.
Spike.
He never complained. Even after all this time I still remember. He was always so cool, he was elegant in a way I would never be. His flaws made him absolutely perfect. There was no way you couldn't be drawn in like a moth to a flame. He was like a mangy stray cat that you couldn't help but grow attached to.
Not like I liked him or anything. Sure, we flirted (if you call annoying the hell out of each other flirting), but I don't think it ever went deeper than that. He was so far away I couldn't even touch him. His heart had always been chained to that damn memory anyways.
She was his angel. She was perfect, graceful, beautiful, mysterious, sexy, ordinary in a way that you couldn't leave alone. I had never been jealous of blondes. until now. They were made for each other, those two. I couldn't fit in that slot. Only she.
It was her that led him to his death. He went willingly. He was drawn to the siren's song.
I remember our last words, it wasn't an amiable parting, let me tell you. He looked so distant, as if a part of him had died. With her. He wasn't the same; he was ragged and world-weary, looking as if nothing mattered anymore. Not even us. He was such a dramatic bastard.
I admit: I didn't want him to go. The crew of the Bebop had been the closes thing I had to having someone care for me, and someone to care about. We were almost a family, a dysfunctional family, but a family. Something I had never imagined. But he didn't want it anymore. He just wanted her.
We could never replace her.
He was tense even with Jet before he left, and I think they both knew. Knew what would happen when he departed. I listened when they talked, not that I cared what they said, or anything.
"There once was a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths and was reborn a million times and was owned by various people who he didn't care for. The cat wasn't afraid to die. One day, the cat was a free cat, a stray cat. He met a white female cat, and the two spent their days happily together." Spike's voice was monotone, and I could hear the frown in his voice. "Well, years passed, and the white cat died of old age. And the tiger-striped cat cried a million times. Then he died too. Only this time, he didn't come back."
There was a pause before Jet spoke, his voice gruff and unsure. "That was a good story, Spike."
"No it wasn't," he told Jet bluntly. "I hate cats. You know that."
There was tentative chuckling, and then finally both men gave in and laughed, good and loud. I sat on the other side of the wall, not understanding. But that was Spike. He was a mystery. He always had been.
"Spike," Jet starts, his laughter subsiding somberly. "Can I ask you one thing?"
I heard his footsteps pause. "What?"
"Is it for the woman?" My heart stopped as I pressed my ear closer to the wall, straining for an answer.
"There's nothing I can do for a dead woman."
He came out and rounded the corner to meet the barrel of my gun. I held it unwaveringly, I was angry. He was leaving us. And somewhere in the furthest recesses of my mind, I knew he wasn't coming back.
"Where are you going?" I asked calmly. "Why are you going?"
He stared down the muzzle of my gun emotionlessly. His indifference struck something in me. He didn't care. He would leave us all without a second thought. That bastard. He was willing to die for her. He would fall avenging her, what a martyr. What a stupid martyr. Angry tears formed behind my eyes and threatened to fall, but I wouldn't let them, not just yet.
"You told me once. that the past didn't matter." my voice quivered as I spat out my words, and I furrowed my brows in anger. "You're the one tied to their past!"
His expression never changed. He leaned in close, so close that I could feel his breath on my lips. He had never been this close before, and despite my mind's protesting my heart thumped wildly against my ribcage. The bastard had caught me completely by surprise, and I was at a loss for words.
"Look at my eyes," he said flatly. Nervously, my eyes met his. They were beautiful. I don't know why I never noticed before. Not like I was checking him out, or anything. But they were peculiar, a dark brown with flecks of russet. "One of them is a fake, because I lost it in an accident. Since then, I've been seeing the past in one eye."
My own eyes focused on those eyes, one of them was a tint lighter than the other. I looked at my frightened refection in each. ". and the present in the other. I believed that what I saw was not all of reality."
"Don't tell me things like that," I choked back a sob. He was driving me crazy. I didn't understand, and his coldness was sending painful pangs through my heart. "You never told me anything about yourself! Don't tell me stuff like that now!"
It was true. We had never really talked about our pasts. Which is strange, really. We should have been best friends; we were alike in so many ways. Both had dark pasts that loomed over our heads like ominous clouds that shadowed us everywhere. We had both lost those we were close to; we felt a similar pain. But we were never good at expressing feelings, now, were we?
"I thought I was watching a dream that I would never awaken from. Before I knew it, the dream was all over," to my relief, he leaned back, letting the shadows obscure his features. He turned his back to me and began a slow procession towards the hanger.
I couldn't let him go. He would never come back, and we both knew it. He would leave us all behind and we'd never see him again.
"My. memory came back," I whispered, staring miserably at the floor. He stopped, and I continued. "But nothing good came of it."
I clenched my hands into fists, my finger tightening around the trigger of my gun. I remember the distinct feeling of a lone tear coursing down my cheek. I gritted out my words through clenched teeth, my throat constricting painfully. I wished he'd say something, but he never did.
"There was no place for me to return to. This was the only place I could go back to! But now." How could I make him understand when I didn't understand, myself? I felt like a child, lost and lonely, completely confused at the cruelty around me, only aware that the man in front of me was walking out of my life forever. Gone without a trace. "Why are you going?! Why do you have to go?! Are you telling me you're going to just throw your life away?!"
He surprised me again. He smiled grimly over his shoulder, not bothering to meet my tear-filled eyes. "I'm not going there to die. I'm going there to see if I'm really alive."
His riddles made me angry. He began walking away again, his footsteps slow and lonely in the silence. I was upset because he was never coming back. I wanted to kill him. Kill him so that she couldn't. Stop him before he could abandon us. Abandon me. I had tried so damn hard become part of his world, just a piece of his life, but I never did. He never let me. I was there, but not really important enough to dwell on in his thoughts. I would never measure up to her memory. I pointed my gun, but couldn't pull the damn trigger.
I aimed towards the ceiling and fired my rounds, finally allowing myself to cry. The gun shook as the shots echoed through the corridors, and I remember every noise. The sound of the bullets as they pierced the metal piping above my head, the sound of my sobs in between each round, the fading sound of his footsteps.
And just like that, that son-of-a-bitch walked out of my life forever. I remember crying a bit after that. It didn't last long. Life pulls us along, whether we're willingly walking through it or being dragged by our heels. I'd be damned if I didn't admit I still miss him. The stupid lunkhead made a mark on my life, even though I never managed to make one on his.
He had been right. I felt like I was living in a dream. And before I knew it, the dream was over. And I was alone. Jet, Ed, and Ein had all gone their separate ways, dealing with the loss by themselves rather than together. He broke up our family. It was over. All things must come to an end, I guess, right?
He was gone. The tiger-striped cat had finally passed on. It was what he wanted, I guess. He left us and was happy, probably laughing at us as I speak. Jerk.
There's never a day that goes by when I don't feel his absence.
But sometimes, when the air is thick with rain, I can almost smell him. Not like I want to or anything, but I remember his scent. Blood, smoke, rain, and a musk all his own. He was unforgettable, the damn lucky bastard. He finally got what he wanted. His sly smile still haunts me sometimes.
And sometimes, on days like those, I find myself lost in a memory.
His memory.
Spike.