Disclaimer- Cowboy Bebop isn't mine. "She's Your Cocaine" by Tori Amos does not belong
to me. Nor does any of the dialogue from Jupiter Jazz, Part II. Also, I confess this is
inspired to some degree by "The Symphony Hall" by RadishFace. Thanks! Not mine.
This has a distinctly different tone from the first chapter. It's intended. Warning- a bit
more implied sex, more language. Also, possible OOC, implied yaoi, perhaps. If the first
part could be called Ballad of Fallen Angels, this is definitely Jupiter Jazz.
Falling Rain
by Starbrigid
*And is it true
That devils end up like you?
Something safe for the picture frame?
And is it true
That devils end up like YOU
Too tied up
To know how she CAME-
She's your cocaine...*
"Neh, Vicious?"
They were once again strewn out after a battle, the first really hard one they'd had for a few weeks. They hadn't been the aggressors this time, though. A bunch of rival gang members had jumped them at the end of some narrow alley, high as a kite on a bloody eye and without fear. It had been a tough battle. Spike had just maybe thought for a second he was finally gonna die.
It had been such a rush.
The aftermath of something like was meant to be shared with a comrade, especially one who had saved your life countless times that day. Whose life you had also saved. The aftermath definitely shouldn't be spent, Spike felt firmly, alone, watching said cold-blooded comrade slink away from you like a snake.
Spike got to his feet slowly, straightening his black coat around him. "Where are you going?" he called after Vicious.
"Home." Vicious' step didn't slow, and he didn't look back.
Spike caught up with him easily. "Why?" he asked. He suddenly had a nicotine craving. He reached into his coat pocket, fumbled, finally found a beaten-up cheap cigarette stashed in one of the pockets. Next in his search was a lighter.
Vicious stopped walking, turned, then did something that made Spike swallow his
cigarette out of surprise. He laughed, not scornfully, but truly amused.
"Shit," Spike swore, mournful over the loss of his beloved cigarette, then started when Vicious spoke, continuing his thought.
"I have a woman to see."
"A woman? You?"
Vicious' face was unreadable. "So hard to believe?"
"Nah," Spike shook his head, yawned, stretched easily as he walked with Vicious. "I- ooh,
lucky!" He pulled out another whole pack of cigs from somewhere in his clothes Vicious really didn't want to know about. "Want one?"
"No."
They arrived at Vicious' place then- the battle site wasn't that far away from it, and
Vicious had been walking fast. Vicious watched Spike with an unreadable expression as
his partner strode into his apartment as if he owned the place, hands shoved into his
pockets, puffing lazily on his cheap-ass cigarette.
"I have to get ready. I don't think she'd like it if I showed up with blood all over my
hands, do you?" Vicious called to Spike, tone once again amused in his usual deadly, sadistic way.
"Your hands got hurt? Didn't notice," Spike called back. "Don't mind me, really. Go make
yourself pretty, Romeo. You got any beer in the fridge?"
"Nothing in my fridge is for you, it isn't my blood, and I'm no Romeo."
"I know."
Vicious went to the bedroom, carefully placed his gun down on the bed, and went into the bathroom to the side to wash his hands. When he came back, Spike was lounging on the bed, a beer from Vicious' fridge in hand. With his fluid grace, he made the motions of smoking and drinking look as if they were meant to be done together.
Spike took a long swig out of his can. "There's blood all over your coat. From that guy
you used as a shield against a shot."
Vicious grunted, pulled his coat off, a sour expression at the loss of it growing on his face. "Here," Spike grinned. "You can wear mine." He pulled his own coat off with a flourish and
presented it to Vicious. "Only the best for your lady love."
The coat slid on Vicious without a sound. The color was slightly lighter than his usual
duster, and it looked strange on him. And in Vicious' eyes, cool, effortless Spike looked
almost awkward for a second in his unfamiliar attire of blue suit and yellow shirt, the
return of the scrawny, puffy-haired kid who didn't talk much and didn't know anything,
but moved like water and fought like a force of nature. But really, the suit looked better
on Spike than the somber black shroud did anyway.
"Hey," Spike commented, "What's that?" Something strangely-shaped was sticking out of a pocket of Vicious' discarded coat. He reached into it and found a tiny black music box. It shimmered in the dim reddish lamplight, out of place among the dingy surroundings and discarded guns.
"It's a music box. Julia gave it to me."
"Who's Julia?" Spike frowned. "Oh, she's the woman, then." Vicious' jaw tightened at the sight of the music box in Spike's hands.
"Yeah," Vicious purred. "Give that back." His hand darted out and snatched the music box.
The sudden motion jarred the music box, and it pushed out its first few notes.
It was a pretty tune, if a bit ill-put together. "It would make a nice jazz number, maybe for sax," Spike commented. "Girl's got an okay ear for music. She like jazz?"
"It's not anything like that. She gave this tune to me because it's named after her."
"Julia, huh..." Spike sighed, lay back against the bed, something a bit like reluctant fear suddenly evident in his movements. He tried to sound nonchalant as he spoke up. "It wasn't easy back there. We really could have died. If you hadn't been there... I would have died. It's you that..."
"That's right," Vicious stopped. For a long moment it seemed as if he was done, but then
he turned to Spike and caught the other man's two mismatched eyes. "I saved you, as always. I'm the only one that can keep you alive... and I'm the only one that can kill you..."
Spike snorted. "Get real. I can take your sorry ass on any day."
The words fell away, inadequate. Stupid.
"But during that fight today- the way their eyes looked with the blood eye- it was kinda like a dream-"
A snort. "Spike... their eyes just looked like yours. They're the exact same color, red. That's the only thing I like about you. Your mismatched beast eyes."
"A dream," Spike repeated.
"A BEAST," Vicious hissed, gaze boring into Spike's left eye.
"I'm only watching a dream that I never awakened from."
"Julia says things like that sometimes. But she's really not that similar to you."
"Julia, huh?" Spike asked. "What's she like, anyway? Must be something special, to have
cracked your shell."
Even as he said it, he knew that whoever she was, SHE hadn't.
Vicious looked down darkly. "Be careful when you're with that woman."
"If you don't like her, why are you dating her?"
"I never said I didn't like her. I don't like or dislike her. There's something beautiful, something otherworldly about her. She's just dangerous in her own way. And she herself said women are all liars."
Spike shrugged. "Of course they are. But would you say everyone's a liar? Isn't that the way this violent messed-up world is?"
"But you've never lied to me, Spike. Have you?" Vicious' gaze on him was suddenly
uncomfortably intense.
"Maybe I WILL, though," Spike laughed.
Silence.
"So when did you meet Julia?"
"After a fight a few weeks ago."
Spike never really knew what to do or say around Vicious, except for when they were
fighting together. So he decided to go for clueless and pointless.
"How far you gotten with her?"
"You already know that."
Of course, Spike thought, Julia would have wanted to have his partner in her bed. Vicious
was like one of those marble saints, flawless and dark, a personality-less apparition, but a
beautiful one. Touching him would feel like touching the hand of God. Or perhaps
someone a bit lower. Like reaching heaven and rolling in the dirt at the same time.
Anyone would want that. Anyone...
"What was it like?" Spike watched Vicious with half-closed eyes. Julia, huh? He wondered
who exactly this Julia was.
A snake always strikes without warning.
In the blink of an eye, Vicious had pushed Spike over and had him pinned down. He pushed Spike's wrists above his head. "It was a bit like this, Spike," Vicious whispered. "Like I wanted to kill her."
"When I held her down, she didn't protest. The same as you. I drunk her blood, ruined her dirtied her. Just... like... this." Vicious' words were barely audible, whispered downwards, only a hair's breath from Spike's chest. His breath was smoke frozen, cold flame.
"It was like this?" Spike breathed, staring into Vicious' silver eyes. For once, there was feeling there. Excitement, and something much darker and forbidden housed in those fathomless, strange eyes. Death.
"Exactly... like this..." A long pale hand traced its way down Spike's neck. Spike closed his eyes.
"Bang, right? That's what you say?" Vicious asked.
"Yeah, that's it..." Spike breathed. "Bang..."
Vicious' mouth trailed down to the hollow of Spike's neck, breathed a ice hot breath onto it which lingered. Teeth traced at the soft flesh there, invisible fangs threatening to draw blood. Spike shuddered. (Never afraid of anything...) He made such a picture, beneath Vicious, hair tousled, perfect composure completely lost.
Bang.
"You know what that was missing?" Spike grinned suddenly, eyes lighting up. Vicious
pulled back in astonishment. "Too reverent, too dark and all. It needs some... jazz."
Vicious watched, unsure. Spike was the one who liked jazz, not him. His partner had
dragged him to dozens of concerts, tried to explain to him the coolness of it, the feeling,
the sorrow, the pathos behind it, but all Vicious had heard was bare, simple notes placed
together, like the ones from Julia's music box.
Would Spike ever have another chance to reach his partner, open him up like
he seemingly had that moment? Voice the things he had been thinking of for so long... Because he was TIRED of conventional, fixed style jazz. He wanted... a new kind.
"Vicious, I've been thinking about something for a while, and you do have Julia now, in this place, but-" Spike took a deep breath. "When this is over, I'm getting out of all this. And then... will you come with me?"
"No."
No explanation. Just a one word refusal. "I'll probably go anyway," Spike muttered.
Vicious' eyes narrowed. "ARE you just going to leave? Are you going to betray me? Betray the syndicate? Is that what you're saying?"
"Maybe," Spike snapped, feeling hurt. Did he mean nothing to his partner? Weren't they...
comrades? "Why won't you go with me?"
"Because there are some things I just can't be." Vicious reached out and took the cigarette ash from between Spike's lips, placed them in his mouth and tasted the ashes with a bitter smile.
They heard footsteps, the clack of high heels on old wood, and then Julia arrived. And so it ended.
"Who's this, Vicious?"
"He's my partner, Spike," the said partner heard Vicious say. Spike kept his gaze fixed down. For some reason, he was reluctant to finally see this Julia. "And no, I didn't forget."
The woman leaned down. "I'm Julia." She smiled, a bit fragile. "Has Vicious mentioned me?" she asked, offering a long-fingered hand in front of his face.
"Yeah," Spike said absently, absently reaching for a cigarette in the pocket of a coat he no
longer wore. "He has." Then he looked up into a pair of blue eyes.
They belonged to a woman clad entirely in black leather- Julia, whose very name seemed an invocation. She looked like everything Vicious had described her to be. She was beautiful like he had said, blonde, petite, innocent-looking despite her leather outfit. There was something otherworldly about her, too, something untainted and perfect, like the music box had been, a jewel in the mud. And the look in those fathomless eyes-
Spike took her hand.
And so that night, Spike met a woman named Julia.
Because maybe if Vicious wouldn't leave with him, he could find someone else to.
*Yeah, she's your cocaine
your Exodus Laughing.*
*You know you wanna be me.*