AN: After watching Wild Horses again, I wondered why there weren't any Doohan stories. I think he's a really interesting character, and personally he was a lot of fun to write. Maybe I like him because he reminds me of some of the important figures in my life: my grandfather and my uncle were both mechanics, the same uncle raced for quite a while, and my own father raced for a short time. Don't get me wrong, I know next to nothing about being a mechanic (I hope you'll forgive this short coming) but I think it's a respectable trade that requires commitment and a lot of hard work.

But enough about my Ode to the Mechanic. Here's the fic. I hope you enjoy. Just note, the majority takes place before the events on Cowboy Bebop, but it does shift to the "present" towards the end. Here goes!

The Mechanic's Assistant.

By Sweet Garbonzo.

The sun blazed across the desert, sending streaks of hot air across the horizon. He winced at the burning light splashing across his face. Using his blue jacket as shade, he jutted his thumb to the sky hoping to find a ride somewhere, anywhere, away from where he was now.

Spike Spiegel didn't know how he had gotten this far; he never let the past drag him down too much (or at least he liked to tell himself that). All he knew at this point was that he needed shelter and something to drink, and he wasn't going to get it in the middle of nowhere. He had never been to Earth before, and so far, it wasn't a pleasant experience.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and across his nose as he began walking in a vague direction. A man could go crazy with nothing but his own thoughts in a place like this, he thought vaguely. He gritted his teeth and assured himself he would not think of anything that might drive crazy. It was a difficult task.

Just a year ago Spike had disappeared from the Syndicate. Since then he had been wandering aimlessly through the Sol System with no real destination. A passerby had mentioned the anonymity of being a citizen of Earth, and Spike felt that it would be the perfect place to crash.

He gave a low growl at the thought of ever enjoying life on Earth. It was dusty, dry, and extremely hot. How anyone survived here was beyond him. Still, he kept trudging on, hoping to find some break from the hot desert air. The hot streaks across the horizon kept dancing in front of him, teasing him relentlessly. Spike really needed to hit something right about then; a chin, a wall, anything that would give him the satisfying crack of bone or plaster.

Suddenly, a loud honking sounded from behind him. He slowly turned around, slightly wary and yet relieved at the aspect of someone coming to join him. Crawling along was a large green tow truck, which appeared to be hauling a starship behind it. Spike shielded his eyes from the sun to get a good look at it. The green truck pulled up next to the lanky hitchhiker and a large passenger door creaked open.

Spike looked up into the cab to get a look at the driver. Weathered and tan, he couldn't have been more than 45. Giving Spike a gruff look of impatience, he grunted "Well, get in. I'm not waiting all day just for a stupid hitchhiker in the desert. I've got important things to do."

Spike grinned and gave a silent chuckle, then jumped up into the cab. The impatient old man grinded the gears and got the truck going. They're ride was a silent one, neither one acknowledging the presence of the other. After what seemed like an eternal drive to nowhere, the truck approached a group of garages surrounded by scattered truck and ship parts littering the ground. The old man backed the truck up to one of the garages, turned the truck off, and hopped out.

Spike sat there for a moment, blinking in slight confusion. What was the old man doing? What was Spike supposed to do in a place like this? He doubted the place even had a phone he could use. But then again, Spike had no one in particular he could call.

"Well, let's get going," a voice called from inside the garage. "Don't just sit around in the truck, we've got work." Spike slowly got out of the cab and walked to the garage. It was huge; Spike craned his head up just to look around. It could hold a large cargo vessel if needed. For now, it was filled with dozens of ships in varying states of completion. Currently, the old man was unloading the starship from the back of the truck.

"Don't just stand there; help me with this thing," the old man barked. Spike gave a look of deep annoyance. He tossed his jacket to the floor, rolled up his sleeves, and shuffled over to the bed of the truck. "Now, you stand there at the back, and I'll push. You better be ready or she'll crush you without thinking twice." Spike stood at the ready, looking up at the starship in mild interest. The color was a distinct pink, with the number 4 painted on the side. Its wings were folded in so it could fit easily on the back of the truck.

A collapsible ramp suddenly dropped dangerously close to Spikes head. "Hey!" he shouted angrily.

"Watch it," the old man replied. "Here we go." Spike scowled but anticipated the ship as it was lowered down the ramp. Spike knew that he was obviously too small to catch the thing, so he simply grabbed it by one of the wings and helped push it down. Once the ship was safely on the floor of the garage, the old man jumped from the bed of the truck to stand next to the ship. He smiled in deep admiration and patted the ship affectionately.

"There she is," the old man said gruffly. "My old mono racer, the Swordfish II. She's seen better days, but she's never let me down." Spike raised his eyebrow questionably. This guy kept rambling on as if Spike was an old acquaintance, and yet they had only met earlier in the afternoon.

"Well, son, what's your name?" The old man finally asked. Spike stared back. "Come on now, say something. I know you're not a mute cause I heard you groaning back there."

"Spike."

"That's your name? What kind of mother did you have, if you don't mind my asking?"

"A fine mother." Spike was quickly becoming impatient. What was the old man getting at?

"All right, I'm just curious about that name. How old are you exactly?"

"23."

"A little young, but you'll do."

"Excuse me -"

"I'm Doohan. While you're here, you'll work for me 10 hours a day. Food and Board's provided, I can't cook all that well but it'll fill you up when you're hungry."

"Whoa, hold on." Spike was a little taken aback. "'While you're here?' Look, all I needed was a ride. I didn't come here looking for a job."

"Well, Spike, when I saw you stranded in the desert like that, I figured you had no where to go. Am I right?" Spike only gave a disgruntled noise. "Right. So," Doohan walked toward an office near the front of the garage, "I'll brew up some coffee and then we'll get to work on the Swordfish. I'll let you take it easy since it's your first day, but don't expect an easy load. I'm working you for all you're worth."

He swaggered through the office door and shut it behind him. Spike took a deep breath as his eyebrow gave a twitch. This Doohan character.... he bossed Spike around like no one had ever dared in the Syndicate. Even Vicious treated him... Spike sighed. Vicious. That name almost haunted Spike. He shook his head defiantly; Vicious was millions of miles away, festering away on Mars with the bloody Syndicate that Spike had left behind.

Doohan reemerged from the office with two cups of coffee in his hands. "I hope you like black, because that's the only way you'll be getting it around here." He shoved one of the mugs into Spike's hand and began drinking from his own. He smiled admirably at the Swordfish again.

"She's beautiful all right." Spike glanced away from Doohan and looked intently at the ship.

"Sure. If you like pink." Doohan growled.

"It's not pink! It's a strong shade of red!" Doohan continued growling to himself for a moment while Spike only stared. "You've got to learn to love your ships, Spike my boy, if you're ever learn to operate one properly." Both drank their coffees in silence, Doohan gazing at the ship earnestly, Spike curiously watching Doohan.

"Let's get going then," Doohan finally said when both had finished their coffees. "I've got to recalibrate the system, she played pretty rough this time." He looked to Spike and squinted, thinking for a moment. "You have any experience in mechanics?"

"Eh...not really?" Doohan sighed.

"Great, that's just great." He smiled hopefully. "Well, no better place to start than a mechanic's garage, right? Hop into the cab and start her up, we'll listen for any problems."

"Listen for problems?" Spike ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp.

"That's right! The best way to find is a problem is go to the source: listen my boy! Use your ears, they're right close to your brain for a reason!"

"Tch," Spike replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Whatever." He climbed into the cab and sat in the cockpit. The upholstery was worn and ragged, but surprisingly comfortable. Spike looked around at the controls, confused on where to start.

"Uh... Doohan-"

"Just flip the black switches and push the gray button to the left."

"Gotcha." Spike flipped and pushed the appropriate switches and buttons. Starting with a low grumble, the starship's engine came to life with a loud roar, causing Spike's seat to vibrate uncontrollably.

"This supposed to happen?" Doohan gave no response, so Spike didn't push it any further. He searched his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter. After lighting a rather crumpled cig, he inhaled deeply and sighed with a smile. Nothing topped a good cigarette, not even a great woman. There was just something about that dose of nicotine that did it for Spike.

"Shut it off!" Doohan suddenly yelled. Spike fumbled around the buttons until the Swordfish creaked to a stop. As soon as he jumped from the cockpit, Doohan snatched the cigarette from Spike's mouth. He threw it to the ground and smashed it under his shoe.

"Hey!" Spike yelped. All his nicotine seemed to be dwindling. "I needed that."

"Don't smoke in my ship. Or anywhere near the garage. You'll blow the place up and I know you don't have the money to pay me back. You can smoke on your lunch break."

Spike closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His hands were clenched tightly in anger. He was about to crack. "I need to smoke."

"It's not healthy for you. Best to quit while you're ahead." Snap.

"Alright old man! I've had enough," Spike yelled. "I don't even know who you are and here you are, bossing me around like I'm your slave." He jutted his finger in Doohan's face. "Well, you don't own me! I'm my own person. So start treating me with respect."

Doohan stared at Spike in silence. Then, he burst into a bout of laughter.

"You young ones these days! All right, I'll treat you with respect. Just work hard and earn that respect." Spike stood there reticent, his anger simmering. He just couldn't figure out this guy; he was different than anyone he had ever met.

Mao Yenrai had been the only "father figure" in Spike's life, and the term was used rather loosely. Of course, Mao had taken care of Spike, but that only meant food, a home, and protection; no discipline, support, or caring was necessary inside the Syndicate. But to Spike, Doohan had a paternal side to him. Spike wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

"So, Spike my boy, did you hear the Swordfish purr?" Doohan kneeled to the floor next to a tool box and opened it, revealing an array of tools, bolts, and nuts.

"Uh...yeah."

"So, tell me what you heard?"

"Uh..." Spike rubbed the back of his head. "I heard the engine."

"No, you've got to listen. Listen to the problem, and you'll know where to start. You felt how jumpy the seat was, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Spike replied, "it was vibrating like crazy."

"Now see," Doohan answered, "that's a problem. The accelerator pump is shotty. It always gives a little after a tough day. I've just got to replace it."

"You can tell that all by listening?"

"I'll go in for a closer look just to make sure, but I'm positive it's the accelerator pump. You know Spike my boy, you'd be amazed at what you can learn simply by listening."

It took Spike a few months to feel comfortable in his new surroundings, but soon he was getting the hang of things. It didn't take long for Spike to learn his way around mechanic work; it seemed to be his long lost calling in life. He made minimal pay but it was more than nothing, and Doohan was quite the fellow to work for. Demanding and tough, he often pushed Spike into overload until the next cigarette and/or whisky break could settle him down.

He was leaning against the exterior wall of the garage on one such cigarette break when Doohan approached him. Doohan wasn't a smoker, so Spike usually never saw him on break. He seemed to have something important to say.

"Spike my boy, you did a good job with Ikerd's overhaul today. That was a tough ship to work out and you showed your worth."

"That miserable old coot? He's too old for flying."

Doohan laughed. "You're never too old for flying. Just look at me and old Swordfish. Still take her out everyday, though I haven't raced in quite a while."

Spike smiled. He had learned to appreciate the Swordfish almost as much as Doohan himself. He had even been allowed to take her out for a ride a few times, and the way the ship handled and turned on a dime really suited Spike style.

"Well I didn't come here to talk ships with you," Doohan finally said. He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to Spike. "This postcard came for you today, with no return address."

Spike looked the postcard over in his hands. On the front was a picture of a building with Chinese architecture. He flipped it over to read the message:

"Are you alive, dead boy? We're waiting for you Spike."

Spike didn't need to know who it was from. The important thing was that someone knew. His "death" had been convincing for some, but it obviously hadn't been for someone, and even if they weren't terribly important, the fact that they knew he was alive was enough for Spike.

"I think it's about time I leave."

"It's a shame to see you leave Spike. It's tough finding a good assistant that'll come out here to work." Spike stood inside Doohan's office. He had never really gotten a chance to come in here before; it was a place Doohan came to relax and to think, and Spike knew you don't come between a man and his personal space. The wall had a large bulletin board plastered with pictures from Doohan's past; various ships and planes, a few people scattered about. An old picture of the Swordfish stood out.

Doohan poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Spike before pouring his own. Spike sipped from the mug before having a seat in an old leather chair. "I can't really stay much longer."

"Spike, I don't care what you used to do before you came to me. What I know is that sitting right in front of me is one hell of a mechanic, and not a bad flyer I might add. You're all kinds of special, and I hate to lose such a fine man as my assistant.

"You flatter me too much." Spike leaned back in the chair and stared at the wall. Doohan cleared his throat.

"I've been thinking. You're a young man and I'm...well I'm not so young as I used to be. You could make better use of the Swordfish instead of me flying it around an hour everyday. Maybe...maybe you should take her with you."

Spike straightened his chair and took a good look at Doohan. Sometimes he couldn't tell whether he was joking or not, but at this point he seemed pretty serious.

"I don't know what I'd do with the Swordfish if I had it."

"You'll find some use for it," Doohan replied. "She won't let you down. Just take care of her, and know that you can come back anytime."

"Where's Spike?" Faye asked lazily. She was in her usual attire of bathrobe, terry cloth towel wrapped around her head, and mud plastered on her face. "I thought he was supposed to get our groceries after catching that bounty."

"Needed to overhaul the Swordfish," Jet replied. He was sitting on the couch and petting Ein. "Got into a real mess this time."

"How often does he overhaul that thing?" Faye asked. "That Doohan is probably sending his kids to college just from the profit he makes from Spike."

"You know, I'm not sure he goes there just for the overhaul, Faye," Jet answered.

"Why else would he go there?"

"Doohan is sort of a father to Spike. Sometimes Spike just needs to sit down and have a cup of coffee with the guy."

Faye contemplated, but only for a moment. "What is it with you men?"

"Hmm?"

"You can't just let things go. Always holding on to the past. Spike told me the past doesn't matter," Faye pondered aloud, "but I know he's lying."

Jet chuckled and smiled. "He's a tough cookie to crack. But you know, he's not bad to have around."

"Yeah," Faye answered tartly. "If you like lunkheads."

Jet watched Faye for a moment and smiled. "You wouldn't have it any other way, and you know it, Faye."

Faye filed her nails in silence. Then, with a quiet "Stupid men..." she left the room. Jet watched as she left and gave Ein a good scratching behind the ears.

"Yep," he mused, "wouldn't have it any other way."

You'd be amazed at what you can learn simply by listening.

AN: There she blows. This was a fun fic to write; it was rather relaxing. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Next time you get a tune up, give your mechanic a nice tip.

Also: Real sorry about the state I'm in about Forever Broke. I've picked back up where I left off on my work for Chapter Two, I could have something in a day or two, here hoping! (Don't hurt me!)