A/N:
Thanks, thoughts and warnings are in order.
First, thanks to all of you who've given me such generous and positive feedback so far. I love these characters – and as much as I appreciate the way the Bebop series leaves it up to us to decide how we see them, it's a tremendous pleasure to put my own interpretations to the page. I am glad it's fun for others as well.
Second, my least favorite thing about Bebop was the cardboard presentation of Vicious in the show. Of course we knew he was more complex, just as we knew that Julia had to have more inspirational qualities than just her beauty. But that was relegated to a past we never saw. I believe the only way things could have turned out as they did in the series was if these characters all had difficult choices to make, and difficult personalities that made living in normal society nearly impossible. Those opinions very deeply inform this story, so you may want to keep them in mind.
Finally, a word of warning. I'm about to start earning my "R" rating. I don't believe in gratuitous sex in fan fiction; it just seems like a rude thing to do to characters who would never indulge themselves. (Don't be offended if you write it; I'm just talking about what I can write.) But sex, power and loyalty are all intertwined, and they're all about to come into play. Don't expect heart-shaped beds in honeymoon suites or florid prose. You've been warned. ;)
***
IV. Debt
"How long will you require to obtain more Red Eye?" Ping Long's thin voice drifted down from the mezzanine and he leaned forward into the light.
Vicious withheld a reply while he settled into the chair in the center of the massive auditorium. The Roman archaism of the Van's chamber made his blood boil; the three Long brothers seemed to take great pleasure in the insignificance bestowed on its visitors. He crossed his legs, adjusted the scabbard of his katana, and finally raised his eyes.
"I have a source on Ganymede."
"The price?" Now Sou Long came into view.
"Comparable, plus the gate fees."
"How soon can you arrange the exchange?" Ping Long repeated.
"I can go today and be back tomorrow morning."
"Does your contact manufacture the product?"
Vicious shook his head. "No, but I can find out who does."
"We are still anxious to secure a laboratory for production," Sou Long reminded him.
Rising to his feet, Vicious replied, "I will return with that information, and determine if the Ganymede producer would be a worthwhile acquisition."
"Return with the information. We will decide whether negotiations are appropriate." Ping Long sat back in the shadows again.
"Who will go with you?" The habit of Ping and Sou trading sentences made Vicious fight to control a twitch in his right eye.
"Julia will accompany me. She is best suited to obtain the information we seek." He turned to leave, but a voice from the mezzanine - he was not sure whose - stopped him.
"We understand that Julia is the reason for the delay."
Vicious nodded, though he did not turn back to the Van. "She is," he said clearly, "and she will be required to work hard to remedy her mistake."
He waited, but they apparently had nothing else to say. He gathered his coat around him and strode out through the heavy oak doors, without so much as a glance at the guards on either side.
He stalked the long corridor to the west elevators, teeth clenched. Spike's flippant attitude - and the fact that he had continually played Vicious' lie about Julia having too much information against him - had left him in a foul mood whose persistence irritated him even more. Spike had come dangerously close to the truth - that Vicious' anger at Julia stemmed from nothing more than pride - but fortunately, he seemed focused on the security excuse. Vicious hated the part of himself that could not let go of the woman. She was less competent than his partner, though certainly capable; he knew it was weakness that made him crave her body, and weakness that made him proud of his domination of her. She would pay for the embarrassment today, he decided, not at his hand, but at the hand of whoever knew what he sought to learn on Ganymede. If she did not agree to the task, he could be certain that her affections were dangerous, and it would give him the freedom to come to the Van seeking her exile with his own hands clean.
He spotted a blond head at the window table in the atrium, and in spite of his dark mood, felt something akin to joy. He pushed the thought of her body entwined with his from his mind, concentrating instead on the penance had had devised as he crossed the room to her.
She looked up, smiled slightly, and offered, "Coffee?"
He sat without returning the smile. "I am glad to see you here," he told her, though his tone was that of a superior.
She shrugged. "You underestimated me. Sending Spike around to check up on me was a surprise, though."
He looked into her eyes for a long moment, trying to read the real meaning behind the words. But she simply looked back, unconcerned, and refilled her cup. "What did you have in mind for him - a retrieval?"
He concentrated on keeping his voice low and even, though her use of the polite term for the elimination of a defector made him wonder what Spike had told her. "No, I thought he could help you if you had made up your mind to go."
She caught the double entendre loud and clear, but did not show it. "Well, he was kind enough to fix my shirt. But I could have done that myself. Just as I wouldn't have needed an escort off Mars, had that been my intention."
Satisfied, Vicious allowed a smile to play at the corners of his mouth. "Spike can sew?"
She laughed, that bell-like sound that Vicious heard too rarely and wished he could summon more often. "Not really, but he can administer stitches." She set the cup down and snaked a hand across the table to take his. "What's on the schedule for today?"
The smile left his face like it had been forgotten. "We need to go to Ganymede," he told her, "to fix what was broken last night."
"Just us?" she replied, and squeezed his fingers.
He withdrew his hand and stood. "Yes. And you have some information to obtain for the Van, to make your mistake right again."
She rolled her eyes. "Research? I don't need to be relegated to private eye status, Vicious. I'm here. Consider that your guarantee my mind's on business."
He took her arm as she stood. "No, not exactly. I require your more visible talents."
She walked with him in silence to the elevator, knowing what he meant but confused. He had exercised his authority on more than one occasion to prevent her from being assigned a task that might require putting a mark - and herself - in a compromising position. She was never sure whether jealousy or kindness motivated the decision, but it had been over a year since she'd had to lay a hand on another man. And she knew it would be a test that she could only pass with her own wits; Vicious offered nothing further by way of explanation.
As soon as the elevators doors closed behind them, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body against his. She caught a glimpse of his feral expression before he bent to kiss her, open-mouthed, forcing his tongue between her teeth. The hand on the small of her back clenched; he drove her up against the wall of the elevator car so that his fist dug into her kidney, and with the other he pulled the hem of her skirt up nearly to her waist. She felt the hilt of his sword and his own hardness pressed against her belly and fought back a wave of nausea, remembering the train in her dream and trying to recall what she had loved about him only the night before. She raised her arms to embrace him in return, knowing it was hardly the time to fuel his suspicions, and nearly collapsed with relief when the control panel dinged, signaling a stop. Vicious pulled back with a smile, gave her skirt a tug so that it fell into place, and dropped his arm over her shoulder to guide her out into the lobby.
"You're not really dressed for the mission," he told her with a wicked smile. "Go home and pack, and meet me here in an hour."
She smiled back with the smile she used to inspire trust and curiosity, and trailed a finger down his lapel before she crossed the street to her car.
***
Julia pounded the steering wheel with the palm of her hand as she drove, near tears with anger. She was out of practice, she was being weak, she was all of the things Vicious had said last night. Before she'd met him, she could beguile the most revolting target and get whatever she needed – money, information, food, a place to stay – but now she found herself in danger of failing to convince a man she'd willingly loved that she still found him attractive. She yanked hard on the wheel to turn into the alley next to her building and sat while the engine whined down into silence, breathing deep, focusing. A list – she needed a list of things to retrieve from her apartment, a task to complete. She ran through the items as she took the stairs two at a time – her throwing knives, something leather and indecent, knockout spray, the diamond brooch with the camera inside that Vicious had given her as his first gift.
With her hand on the door, the realization hit her: if she really wanted to run, this was the time to act. Vicious would be waiting for her at the Syndicate. She could board a transport and be away inside of 45 minutes; her money would last until she found a way to come up with more. She'd spent eight years doing it before she settled in Tharsis City. She could still smell Vicious, taste his tongue, feel the ache in her back where he'd no doubt bruised her. Overnight, he'd gone from her perfect match to a nightmare, one she knew now she wouldn't escape. There would be no breaking it off with him, and the more she thought, the more she understood that this assignment, whatever it really was, was just a way for him to exercise his control over her and quell his own insecurities. She saw the rest of her days stretch out in front of her, waking up beside him, second- guessing every word he spoke in her presence, wondering – as she did now, she realized – if each invitation to be alone with him was what they used to call "the call" in the old mafia movies.
She unlocked the door and pushed her way in. A cold sweat had crept up her neck while she stood in the hallway and she shivered as she took off her overcoat. She crossed to the couch and sat with her hands in her lap, staring around at the familiar angles, the shadows that told her it was not quite noon, the scant few objects she'd brought with her when she came to Tharsis, and the dozen or so that had gained significance since she arrived.
"Every minute I sit here is like another low card on a blackjack hand," she told the room. "But I can't decide if going bust means I'll be stuck here, or if I'll be riding that train forever."
The buzz of the comm. from her coat pocket startled her out of reverie. She rushed to get it, concocting a story in her head as she did about traffic and not being able to find something she needed, anything to buy more time. But the face on the comm. was not Vicious – it was Spike.
"Yo," he offered.
"Spike."
"You look... hey, are you all right?" he leaned in closer to the screen, his features distorting fish-eyed as he did so.
She couldn't come up with an answer. The relief she felt seeing Spike's friendly countenance surprised her, and she simply stared at the comm.
"Julia?" He knit his eyebrows. "Where are you?"
"At home," she managed. "Packing."
"What?" He looked around to see who might have been in earshot.
"No, packing for Ganymede. Vicious and I are going, I assume to pick up a shipment."
He frowned. "Hadn't heard about it. I know he has a friend there who sells, though."
She nodded in reply. "I was sitting here thinking I could leave while he was waiting for me. And then you called, and... I'll see you when I get back."
She pushed the off button before he could say anything more and rose to pack her bags.
Thanks, thoughts and warnings are in order.
First, thanks to all of you who've given me such generous and positive feedback so far. I love these characters – and as much as I appreciate the way the Bebop series leaves it up to us to decide how we see them, it's a tremendous pleasure to put my own interpretations to the page. I am glad it's fun for others as well.
Second, my least favorite thing about Bebop was the cardboard presentation of Vicious in the show. Of course we knew he was more complex, just as we knew that Julia had to have more inspirational qualities than just her beauty. But that was relegated to a past we never saw. I believe the only way things could have turned out as they did in the series was if these characters all had difficult choices to make, and difficult personalities that made living in normal society nearly impossible. Those opinions very deeply inform this story, so you may want to keep them in mind.
Finally, a word of warning. I'm about to start earning my "R" rating. I don't believe in gratuitous sex in fan fiction; it just seems like a rude thing to do to characters who would never indulge themselves. (Don't be offended if you write it; I'm just talking about what I can write.) But sex, power and loyalty are all intertwined, and they're all about to come into play. Don't expect heart-shaped beds in honeymoon suites or florid prose. You've been warned. ;)
***
IV. Debt
"How long will you require to obtain more Red Eye?" Ping Long's thin voice drifted down from the mezzanine and he leaned forward into the light.
Vicious withheld a reply while he settled into the chair in the center of the massive auditorium. The Roman archaism of the Van's chamber made his blood boil; the three Long brothers seemed to take great pleasure in the insignificance bestowed on its visitors. He crossed his legs, adjusted the scabbard of his katana, and finally raised his eyes.
"I have a source on Ganymede."
"The price?" Now Sou Long came into view.
"Comparable, plus the gate fees."
"How soon can you arrange the exchange?" Ping Long repeated.
"I can go today and be back tomorrow morning."
"Does your contact manufacture the product?"
Vicious shook his head. "No, but I can find out who does."
"We are still anxious to secure a laboratory for production," Sou Long reminded him.
Rising to his feet, Vicious replied, "I will return with that information, and determine if the Ganymede producer would be a worthwhile acquisition."
"Return with the information. We will decide whether negotiations are appropriate." Ping Long sat back in the shadows again.
"Who will go with you?" The habit of Ping and Sou trading sentences made Vicious fight to control a twitch in his right eye.
"Julia will accompany me. She is best suited to obtain the information we seek." He turned to leave, but a voice from the mezzanine - he was not sure whose - stopped him.
"We understand that Julia is the reason for the delay."
Vicious nodded, though he did not turn back to the Van. "She is," he said clearly, "and she will be required to work hard to remedy her mistake."
He waited, but they apparently had nothing else to say. He gathered his coat around him and strode out through the heavy oak doors, without so much as a glance at the guards on either side.
He stalked the long corridor to the west elevators, teeth clenched. Spike's flippant attitude - and the fact that he had continually played Vicious' lie about Julia having too much information against him - had left him in a foul mood whose persistence irritated him even more. Spike had come dangerously close to the truth - that Vicious' anger at Julia stemmed from nothing more than pride - but fortunately, he seemed focused on the security excuse. Vicious hated the part of himself that could not let go of the woman. She was less competent than his partner, though certainly capable; he knew it was weakness that made him crave her body, and weakness that made him proud of his domination of her. She would pay for the embarrassment today, he decided, not at his hand, but at the hand of whoever knew what he sought to learn on Ganymede. If she did not agree to the task, he could be certain that her affections were dangerous, and it would give him the freedom to come to the Van seeking her exile with his own hands clean.
He spotted a blond head at the window table in the atrium, and in spite of his dark mood, felt something akin to joy. He pushed the thought of her body entwined with his from his mind, concentrating instead on the penance had had devised as he crossed the room to her.
She looked up, smiled slightly, and offered, "Coffee?"
He sat without returning the smile. "I am glad to see you here," he told her, though his tone was that of a superior.
She shrugged. "You underestimated me. Sending Spike around to check up on me was a surprise, though."
He looked into her eyes for a long moment, trying to read the real meaning behind the words. But she simply looked back, unconcerned, and refilled her cup. "What did you have in mind for him - a retrieval?"
He concentrated on keeping his voice low and even, though her use of the polite term for the elimination of a defector made him wonder what Spike had told her. "No, I thought he could help you if you had made up your mind to go."
She caught the double entendre loud and clear, but did not show it. "Well, he was kind enough to fix my shirt. But I could have done that myself. Just as I wouldn't have needed an escort off Mars, had that been my intention."
Satisfied, Vicious allowed a smile to play at the corners of his mouth. "Spike can sew?"
She laughed, that bell-like sound that Vicious heard too rarely and wished he could summon more often. "Not really, but he can administer stitches." She set the cup down and snaked a hand across the table to take his. "What's on the schedule for today?"
The smile left his face like it had been forgotten. "We need to go to Ganymede," he told her, "to fix what was broken last night."
"Just us?" she replied, and squeezed his fingers.
He withdrew his hand and stood. "Yes. And you have some information to obtain for the Van, to make your mistake right again."
She rolled her eyes. "Research? I don't need to be relegated to private eye status, Vicious. I'm here. Consider that your guarantee my mind's on business."
He took her arm as she stood. "No, not exactly. I require your more visible talents."
She walked with him in silence to the elevator, knowing what he meant but confused. He had exercised his authority on more than one occasion to prevent her from being assigned a task that might require putting a mark - and herself - in a compromising position. She was never sure whether jealousy or kindness motivated the decision, but it had been over a year since she'd had to lay a hand on another man. And she knew it would be a test that she could only pass with her own wits; Vicious offered nothing further by way of explanation.
As soon as the elevators doors closed behind them, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body against his. She caught a glimpse of his feral expression before he bent to kiss her, open-mouthed, forcing his tongue between her teeth. The hand on the small of her back clenched; he drove her up against the wall of the elevator car so that his fist dug into her kidney, and with the other he pulled the hem of her skirt up nearly to her waist. She felt the hilt of his sword and his own hardness pressed against her belly and fought back a wave of nausea, remembering the train in her dream and trying to recall what she had loved about him only the night before. She raised her arms to embrace him in return, knowing it was hardly the time to fuel his suspicions, and nearly collapsed with relief when the control panel dinged, signaling a stop. Vicious pulled back with a smile, gave her skirt a tug so that it fell into place, and dropped his arm over her shoulder to guide her out into the lobby.
"You're not really dressed for the mission," he told her with a wicked smile. "Go home and pack, and meet me here in an hour."
She smiled back with the smile she used to inspire trust and curiosity, and trailed a finger down his lapel before she crossed the street to her car.
***
Julia pounded the steering wheel with the palm of her hand as she drove, near tears with anger. She was out of practice, she was being weak, she was all of the things Vicious had said last night. Before she'd met him, she could beguile the most revolting target and get whatever she needed – money, information, food, a place to stay – but now she found herself in danger of failing to convince a man she'd willingly loved that she still found him attractive. She yanked hard on the wheel to turn into the alley next to her building and sat while the engine whined down into silence, breathing deep, focusing. A list – she needed a list of things to retrieve from her apartment, a task to complete. She ran through the items as she took the stairs two at a time – her throwing knives, something leather and indecent, knockout spray, the diamond brooch with the camera inside that Vicious had given her as his first gift.
With her hand on the door, the realization hit her: if she really wanted to run, this was the time to act. Vicious would be waiting for her at the Syndicate. She could board a transport and be away inside of 45 minutes; her money would last until she found a way to come up with more. She'd spent eight years doing it before she settled in Tharsis City. She could still smell Vicious, taste his tongue, feel the ache in her back where he'd no doubt bruised her. Overnight, he'd gone from her perfect match to a nightmare, one she knew now she wouldn't escape. There would be no breaking it off with him, and the more she thought, the more she understood that this assignment, whatever it really was, was just a way for him to exercise his control over her and quell his own insecurities. She saw the rest of her days stretch out in front of her, waking up beside him, second- guessing every word he spoke in her presence, wondering – as she did now, she realized – if each invitation to be alone with him was what they used to call "the call" in the old mafia movies.
She unlocked the door and pushed her way in. A cold sweat had crept up her neck while she stood in the hallway and she shivered as she took off her overcoat. She crossed to the couch and sat with her hands in her lap, staring around at the familiar angles, the shadows that told her it was not quite noon, the scant few objects she'd brought with her when she came to Tharsis, and the dozen or so that had gained significance since she arrived.
"Every minute I sit here is like another low card on a blackjack hand," she told the room. "But I can't decide if going bust means I'll be stuck here, or if I'll be riding that train forever."
The buzz of the comm. from her coat pocket startled her out of reverie. She rushed to get it, concocting a story in her head as she did about traffic and not being able to find something she needed, anything to buy more time. But the face on the comm. was not Vicious – it was Spike.
"Yo," he offered.
"Spike."
"You look... hey, are you all right?" he leaned in closer to the screen, his features distorting fish-eyed as he did so.
She couldn't come up with an answer. The relief she felt seeing Spike's friendly countenance surprised her, and she simply stared at the comm.
"Julia?" He knit his eyebrows. "Where are you?"
"At home," she managed. "Packing."
"What?" He looked around to see who might have been in earshot.
"No, packing for Ganymede. Vicious and I are going, I assume to pick up a shipment."
He frowned. "Hadn't heard about it. I know he has a friend there who sells, though."
She nodded in reply. "I was sitting here thinking I could leave while he was waiting for me. And then you called, and... I'll see you when I get back."
She pushed the off button before he could say anything more and rose to pack her bags.