DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Sunrise Inc. does. I do, however,
own this original story.
Beyond Beautiful
By The Lady Razorsharp
Part 5: Broken Toys
It was just one hour ago
It was all so different
Nothing has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
--Peter Gabriel
Julia sat at her window, watching the streetlights come on one by one. As the light faded from the sky, so it faded from her soul. Both the men she cared about would be dead before the night was over, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
She tipped her head forward against the cool glass, staring at her reflection. When had the three of them become like a runaway train, everything threatening to crack itself apart on impact? Had it been her fault? She shook her head; she couldn't make herself love Vicious, no matter how hard she tried. He was just too cold. Nothing except violence penetrated that stone heart of his. Spike was warm; she'd known that the moment she met him at the billiard hall. She'd looked into his garnet eyes and saw fire banked deep inside of him. She'd felt his touch against her skin, felt it warm her down to the soul as they lay together, breathing together.
She gripped her elbows and clutched her arms tightly to her, trying to hold on to the memory of that warmth. Just that morning he'd lain beside her, pouring that heat into her again and again. ~Spike, where are you?~ she cried silently, tears blurring the streetlights into shapeless blobs of molten gold.
There was a movement out of the corner of her eye, and she glanced down to the street. Someone was walking down the yellow-hued sidewalk, stumbling from lamppost to mailbox to parked car. ~Just some poor old drunk bum,~ she thought, wiping her tears away. When her vision cleared, however, she was able to see the torn, bloodied trenchcoat, the long, shaking legs, the matted puff of hair.
~SPIKE!~
Tipping over the chair in her haste, Julia ran across the room and tore open the door, then clattered down the stairs and hit the outside door running. Spike was just standing there, bleeding all over the sidewalk, his ragged breaths echoing against the concrete. Then he tipped his head back and tried to fix her with a smile. She could just hear him: ~Did you get the license plate of that truck?~ His mouth worked soundlessly, and Julia let out a tiny gasp of horror as the streetlight shone wetly on the blood streaming down the right side of his face.
She took a step toward him, and he tried to walk forward into her arms. His legs gave out from underneath him, and Spike toppled to the ground in a bloody heap. He hit the cement like a ton of bricks; she felt the vibration from where she was standing.
Numb, she knelt beside him. His hands were like already like ice. She pressed his slack fingers between her own, trying to will her warmth into him. It wasn't working; his cold flesh was stealing her heat, sapping it away until she was numb in body as well as soul.
A screech of tires made her look up, but everything looked so far away, like in a dream. A long black limousine was parked at the curb, its running lights looking like rubies and topazes in the night. Mao Yenrai burst from the back door of the car, his face a mask of horror as he surveyed the scene. Julia saw his hands reach for her, felt him shake her roughly.
"Julia! Listen to me! We've got to get Spike out of here!"
She blinked, everything coming back to normal speed. "Y-yenrai-san?" she ventured, her voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.
"Let him go, child!" She looked up again as two of Mao's personal guards picked Spike up as if he weighed nothing. Spike's hand slipped out of hers and dangled limply over the arm of one of the guards. Then Mao was pulling her to her feet and hurrying her into the back seat of the limousine. "Go!" he shouted at the driver as the door clumped shut.
They settled Spike gently on the bench in front of them, drops of his blood spotting the carpet and the leather upholstery. Suddenly, he began to spasm violently, and Julia screamed.
Mao turned pale. "Floor it, Krensky!" he barked into the driver's compartment.
"Yes, sir!"
Everything lurched as the car picked up speed. Julia climbed up onto the seat and pulled Spike's head into her lap, heedless of the blood. Immediately, Spike's spasms calmed, and he opened his left eye. His pupil was a mere black dot in a field of reddish brown.
"Julia…"
She kissed him on the forehead, her golden hair making a curtain around them. "I'm right here," she said softly, smoothing the viridian hair back from his face.
"It hurts," he rasped. "Eye feels like s'on fire." He tried to open his right eye, but winced as a fresh stream of blood seeped from under the lids, like scarlet tears. "Can't see."
"Don't think about it right now," Julia whispered back, kissing his cheeks, his forehead with quick little flutters of her lips. "I love you, Spike, I love you." Her tears splashed against his face, washing away some of the blood.
He smiled, then his limbs began twitching again. "NO, nono, Spike, don't!" Julia pleaded, trying to keep his head still. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay, don't! Nono don't, not again! SPIKE!" She raised her eyes to Mao, whose own stare was fixed on the twitching young man. "He's dying!" she whispered.
"Hold on, Spike," Mao breathed, his jaw clenched. "Just hold on."
* * *
Mao decided that Spike would be safer recuperating at her apartment. The hospital was too open; anyone posing as a visitor could come and finish the job. Julia was just glad Spike was alive. She hadn't let death have him. She'd be damned if she let anyone else have a chance.
After the surgeons had stabilized Spike, they had gone to work on repairing the damage to his body. For ten hours they had worked to stitch his organs and muscles back together, and had pronounced the surgery a success. Though such news had brought a warm flood of relief, Julia remembered the chill wave of fear that had swept over her as the ophthalmic surgeon told her and Mao that Spike's eye was beyond help.
"His cornea is severely damaged," he had said gently, his magnifying goggles perched on his head like an alien set of eyes. "And his retina is torn. We could replace his cornea with that of a donor, and repair the retina, but there would be too much scar tissue. Spike would never be able to see, and there might be other complications as well." He studied her and Mao, genuine pity in his face. "I think it's best if we just fit him for a prosthetic."
"He is…an expert marksman," Mao said slowly. "Do you think he will be able to compensate?"
The doctor nodded. "I'm sure he will. His right eye is perfectly normal. He may have some issues with navigation, but he'll learn how to get around that."
"Very well," Mao had said. "Do what's best for Spike. That's all I ask."
The next time Julia saw Spike, he looked like a mummy, wrapped nearly from head to toe in bandages. The nurses would instruct her on how to change the bandages daily, and Julia walked into Spike's room with halting steps.
"Come on in, dearie," said an older nurse as her younger subordinates bustled around the room. "He won't bite."
The young ones giggled, and Julia gave them a sour frown. "Is he all right?" she asked, running her fingers down his bruised face.
"As right as he CAN be, at the moment." The nurse chuckled. "Don't you worry, dearie. The morphine will make sure he doesn't feel a thing."
For the next hour, Julia did as she was told, reducing herself to the motion of her hands as she carefully unwound the bloodied wrappings from Spike's abused body. A twin set of bullet wounds on his right side was still oozing blood, and she pressed a soft pad against his skin until the flow began to clot. As she worked, she hummed quietly, watching as his body began to relax.
Finally, it was done, and the head nurse nodded in approval. "A very good job, dearie. You're a strong one, I'll give you that. No screaming or fainting."
Julia lightly traced the outline of his mouth with a fingertip. "I love him," she said simply.
The nurse smiled. "I know." She packed away the supplies and rose to leave. "Doctors can repair broken bodies, stitch them back together--but love is what does the real healing." She stopped in the doorway. "Take good care of him."
Julia sank to the chair beside the bed, twining her fingers in Spike's. "I will."
* * *
Spike was moved to Julia's new apartment while his funeral was taking place.
The whole affair was pure torture for Julia, watching Vicious as he stood silently next to the pall-draped coffin. The wood and metal box was filled with sandbags to approximate Spike's weight, so everything would look official to those clustered around the coffin. Lin and Shin were two of the pallbearers, and Julia's heart ached for them as they stared at the coffin, tears streaming down their faces despite their stony expressions. Annie, God help her, sobbed as if her heart would break. She'd practically raised Spike, and she sat with Mao's hand on her shoulder, weeping into her handkerchief.
Julia wanted to whisper in Annie's ear that Spike was alive. She wanted to tell the twins the same, and make them swear never to tell. Mao could do that, couldn't he? Julia looked to him in desperation. He was the most powerful man in the Syndicate, the man who answered to the Elders alone. He would make things right.
Mao caught Julia's gaze, dark brown to blue. He shook his head slightly.
Julia's heart dropped to her knees. Annie, Lin and Shin, everyone who had loved Spike--they would never know the truth--that Spike was alive, not three miles from the graveyard.
After the funeral, Julia went home and took off her black dress. She changed into a pink blouse and a long denim skirt, then put on her brand- new white apron and went into the kitchen. Maybe the smell of food would bring Spike around, she mused; he'd been asleep for nearly three days.
An hour later, the bread was in the oven and baking nicely. Nothing to do but sit and wait for it to be done, so she grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and dragged a chair next to the pull-out bed. Spike's side wound was still oozing blood ever so slightly, and Julia frowned. She'd have to mention that to Mao; maybe the stitches weren't placed correctly. She flipped through the magazine, singing one of Spike's favorite songs under her breath.
~I saw her today at the reception/A glass of wine in her hand/I knew she was gonna meet her connection /At her feet was her footloose man…You can't always get what you want…~
"Please…"
Startled, Julia looked up from her magazine. Spike's right eye was open, his face turned slightly towards hers.
"Please…sing for me. Just like that," he whispered.
She smiled.
Beyond Beautiful
By The Lady Razorsharp
Part 5: Broken Toys
It was just one hour ago
It was all so different
Nothing has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
--Peter Gabriel
Julia sat at her window, watching the streetlights come on one by one. As the light faded from the sky, so it faded from her soul. Both the men she cared about would be dead before the night was over, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
She tipped her head forward against the cool glass, staring at her reflection. When had the three of them become like a runaway train, everything threatening to crack itself apart on impact? Had it been her fault? She shook her head; she couldn't make herself love Vicious, no matter how hard she tried. He was just too cold. Nothing except violence penetrated that stone heart of his. Spike was warm; she'd known that the moment she met him at the billiard hall. She'd looked into his garnet eyes and saw fire banked deep inside of him. She'd felt his touch against her skin, felt it warm her down to the soul as they lay together, breathing together.
She gripped her elbows and clutched her arms tightly to her, trying to hold on to the memory of that warmth. Just that morning he'd lain beside her, pouring that heat into her again and again. ~Spike, where are you?~ she cried silently, tears blurring the streetlights into shapeless blobs of molten gold.
There was a movement out of the corner of her eye, and she glanced down to the street. Someone was walking down the yellow-hued sidewalk, stumbling from lamppost to mailbox to parked car. ~Just some poor old drunk bum,~ she thought, wiping her tears away. When her vision cleared, however, she was able to see the torn, bloodied trenchcoat, the long, shaking legs, the matted puff of hair.
~SPIKE!~
Tipping over the chair in her haste, Julia ran across the room and tore open the door, then clattered down the stairs and hit the outside door running. Spike was just standing there, bleeding all over the sidewalk, his ragged breaths echoing against the concrete. Then he tipped his head back and tried to fix her with a smile. She could just hear him: ~Did you get the license plate of that truck?~ His mouth worked soundlessly, and Julia let out a tiny gasp of horror as the streetlight shone wetly on the blood streaming down the right side of his face.
She took a step toward him, and he tried to walk forward into her arms. His legs gave out from underneath him, and Spike toppled to the ground in a bloody heap. He hit the cement like a ton of bricks; she felt the vibration from where she was standing.
Numb, she knelt beside him. His hands were like already like ice. She pressed his slack fingers between her own, trying to will her warmth into him. It wasn't working; his cold flesh was stealing her heat, sapping it away until she was numb in body as well as soul.
A screech of tires made her look up, but everything looked so far away, like in a dream. A long black limousine was parked at the curb, its running lights looking like rubies and topazes in the night. Mao Yenrai burst from the back door of the car, his face a mask of horror as he surveyed the scene. Julia saw his hands reach for her, felt him shake her roughly.
"Julia! Listen to me! We've got to get Spike out of here!"
She blinked, everything coming back to normal speed. "Y-yenrai-san?" she ventured, her voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.
"Let him go, child!" She looked up again as two of Mao's personal guards picked Spike up as if he weighed nothing. Spike's hand slipped out of hers and dangled limply over the arm of one of the guards. Then Mao was pulling her to her feet and hurrying her into the back seat of the limousine. "Go!" he shouted at the driver as the door clumped shut.
They settled Spike gently on the bench in front of them, drops of his blood spotting the carpet and the leather upholstery. Suddenly, he began to spasm violently, and Julia screamed.
Mao turned pale. "Floor it, Krensky!" he barked into the driver's compartment.
"Yes, sir!"
Everything lurched as the car picked up speed. Julia climbed up onto the seat and pulled Spike's head into her lap, heedless of the blood. Immediately, Spike's spasms calmed, and he opened his left eye. His pupil was a mere black dot in a field of reddish brown.
"Julia…"
She kissed him on the forehead, her golden hair making a curtain around them. "I'm right here," she said softly, smoothing the viridian hair back from his face.
"It hurts," he rasped. "Eye feels like s'on fire." He tried to open his right eye, but winced as a fresh stream of blood seeped from under the lids, like scarlet tears. "Can't see."
"Don't think about it right now," Julia whispered back, kissing his cheeks, his forehead with quick little flutters of her lips. "I love you, Spike, I love you." Her tears splashed against his face, washing away some of the blood.
He smiled, then his limbs began twitching again. "NO, nono, Spike, don't!" Julia pleaded, trying to keep his head still. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay, don't! Nono don't, not again! SPIKE!" She raised her eyes to Mao, whose own stare was fixed on the twitching young man. "He's dying!" she whispered.
"Hold on, Spike," Mao breathed, his jaw clenched. "Just hold on."
* * *
Mao decided that Spike would be safer recuperating at her apartment. The hospital was too open; anyone posing as a visitor could come and finish the job. Julia was just glad Spike was alive. She hadn't let death have him. She'd be damned if she let anyone else have a chance.
After the surgeons had stabilized Spike, they had gone to work on repairing the damage to his body. For ten hours they had worked to stitch his organs and muscles back together, and had pronounced the surgery a success. Though such news had brought a warm flood of relief, Julia remembered the chill wave of fear that had swept over her as the ophthalmic surgeon told her and Mao that Spike's eye was beyond help.
"His cornea is severely damaged," he had said gently, his magnifying goggles perched on his head like an alien set of eyes. "And his retina is torn. We could replace his cornea with that of a donor, and repair the retina, but there would be too much scar tissue. Spike would never be able to see, and there might be other complications as well." He studied her and Mao, genuine pity in his face. "I think it's best if we just fit him for a prosthetic."
"He is…an expert marksman," Mao said slowly. "Do you think he will be able to compensate?"
The doctor nodded. "I'm sure he will. His right eye is perfectly normal. He may have some issues with navigation, but he'll learn how to get around that."
"Very well," Mao had said. "Do what's best for Spike. That's all I ask."
The next time Julia saw Spike, he looked like a mummy, wrapped nearly from head to toe in bandages. The nurses would instruct her on how to change the bandages daily, and Julia walked into Spike's room with halting steps.
"Come on in, dearie," said an older nurse as her younger subordinates bustled around the room. "He won't bite."
The young ones giggled, and Julia gave them a sour frown. "Is he all right?" she asked, running her fingers down his bruised face.
"As right as he CAN be, at the moment." The nurse chuckled. "Don't you worry, dearie. The morphine will make sure he doesn't feel a thing."
For the next hour, Julia did as she was told, reducing herself to the motion of her hands as she carefully unwound the bloodied wrappings from Spike's abused body. A twin set of bullet wounds on his right side was still oozing blood, and she pressed a soft pad against his skin until the flow began to clot. As she worked, she hummed quietly, watching as his body began to relax.
Finally, it was done, and the head nurse nodded in approval. "A very good job, dearie. You're a strong one, I'll give you that. No screaming or fainting."
Julia lightly traced the outline of his mouth with a fingertip. "I love him," she said simply.
The nurse smiled. "I know." She packed away the supplies and rose to leave. "Doctors can repair broken bodies, stitch them back together--but love is what does the real healing." She stopped in the doorway. "Take good care of him."
Julia sank to the chair beside the bed, twining her fingers in Spike's. "I will."
* * *
Spike was moved to Julia's new apartment while his funeral was taking place.
The whole affair was pure torture for Julia, watching Vicious as he stood silently next to the pall-draped coffin. The wood and metal box was filled with sandbags to approximate Spike's weight, so everything would look official to those clustered around the coffin. Lin and Shin were two of the pallbearers, and Julia's heart ached for them as they stared at the coffin, tears streaming down their faces despite their stony expressions. Annie, God help her, sobbed as if her heart would break. She'd practically raised Spike, and she sat with Mao's hand on her shoulder, weeping into her handkerchief.
Julia wanted to whisper in Annie's ear that Spike was alive. She wanted to tell the twins the same, and make them swear never to tell. Mao could do that, couldn't he? Julia looked to him in desperation. He was the most powerful man in the Syndicate, the man who answered to the Elders alone. He would make things right.
Mao caught Julia's gaze, dark brown to blue. He shook his head slightly.
Julia's heart dropped to her knees. Annie, Lin and Shin, everyone who had loved Spike--they would never know the truth--that Spike was alive, not three miles from the graveyard.
After the funeral, Julia went home and took off her black dress. She changed into a pink blouse and a long denim skirt, then put on her brand- new white apron and went into the kitchen. Maybe the smell of food would bring Spike around, she mused; he'd been asleep for nearly three days.
An hour later, the bread was in the oven and baking nicely. Nothing to do but sit and wait for it to be done, so she grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and dragged a chair next to the pull-out bed. Spike's side wound was still oozing blood ever so slightly, and Julia frowned. She'd have to mention that to Mao; maybe the stitches weren't placed correctly. She flipped through the magazine, singing one of Spike's favorite songs under her breath.
~I saw her today at the reception/A glass of wine in her hand/I knew she was gonna meet her connection /At her feet was her footloose man…You can't always get what you want…~
"Please…"
Startled, Julia looked up from her magazine. Spike's right eye was open, his face turned slightly towards hers.
"Please…sing for me. Just like that," he whispered.
She smiled.