And..! Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing, it means so much to me. I'm really sorry about how short these updates are, and I've been trying so hard to keep them in character. This chapter was particularly hard to write because I wanted there to be a sort of warm moment without them being mushy- I hope I managed to portray them well. Keep reviewing! You make me smile! :D
-----------------------------
-----------------------------
The anger and frustration turned to apathy after he steadied his nerves. He sat on a bar stool near the hospital Faye was at, a half empty jack and coke at his side. In moderation, the alcohol helped with his thinking. He stirred it with the sword-shaped swizzle stick and watched the liquid swirl around. So he hadn't died. It just must not have been his time to- even someone stepping in front of a sword couldn't change a man's fate. If he was supposed to die, he would have, and what choice did he have? No use trying to change it. No doubt, he'd just drift on the way he always had; hollow and half alive, acting on impulse instead of reason.
But why did Julia have to die? They only had one morning together, after years of being apart. He had craved her touch so much it shook him, in the dark he sometimes thought he could feel her hair brushing against his cheek, or smell her perfume on his pillow. He wondered if that would ever go away- if he ever wanted it to go away. The worst part was knowing that he had touched her again, felt her hair, smelled her perfume, had her body pressed against his in a fleeting moment of happiness. It was as if she crumbled to dust in his arms and he was left with a pile of ashes blowing away in the wind. He could still see her face and the shadows cast on it, and it haunted him. Right now, he just wanted to block it out, flood his nightmares with light so he could finally get some sleep.
The rest of the drink went burning down his throat, and he ordered another.
He had no idea why he went to the hospital when he was finished. Maybe it was because it was close and convenient, a shelter from mild drunkenness. Maybe it was because he wanted familiarity, without being questioned, and Faye was there sleeping quietly. On some level, he knew he wanted her quiet presence to be with him, even if he didn't understand why. Maybe he just felt guilty.
He was almost nervous as he walked into her room; it was dark,
illuminated only by the medical instruments casting a soft green glow
on Faye's bed. He stood in the doorway for a minute, gazing across the
eerie scene, before stepping in.
Her eyelashes fluttered at the sound of footsteps on sterile linoleum.
They opened slightly, enough to see a familiar lean, tall figure
standing in the patch where the light from the hallway flooded the
small room. In the bright light, and her half conscious state of mind,
he looked angelic. She wondered if she was dying, and he was only a
figment of her imagination sent to take her spirit away. He walked
closer, clumsily, his pants swishing over his big feet, and she knew it
was better. It was the real thing.
She smiled, not speaking, watching him walk towards a chair on the other side of the room, near the window. The faint light of streetlights below cast shadows on his face as he opened the blinds a single crack. She was sure it looked like something from a movie screen. Everything- from the way he walked into the room bathed in harsh light like something evangelistic, to the way he walked with his back to the blinking green lights that signified mortality, to the way he sat peeking out the window, all sprawled out, with that tormented expression on his face cast in shadows. Spike was just a recluse hero, left to face the fact that the dream he'd been living in was actually reality. She couldn't imagine how that felt.
All she knew was that as he sat there, with his eyes cold and distant and his mouth pulled slightly to the side of his face as though he was trying to solve a riddle, she wanted to comfort him. She could sense his discomfort, his sadness, his emptiness. He looked so vulnerable, and she wasn't used to that. She looked at his distant face and wanted to reach out and touch it, wanted to give him something to hold on to.
But she knew, despite the sorrow she felt for him in her heart, he would push it away. He wouldn't understand why her palm cupped his jaw line; he'd never understand that she cared. She didn't even understand, really, but she was aware of the fact. That ignorant jackass… he'd never realize what was right in front of him. Still half conscious, she quietly called his name.
He looked up from the window. He could hardly make out the outline of Faye's face, but he was sure he'd heard her voice. "Yeah?" he whispered back, still mostly absorbed in his own thoughts and regrets that grew like vines, binding his arms and legs to the past. So she had woken up- that was a good thing. They could finally leave this place, where every glimmer of light reminded him of Julia.
"I was afraid you guys left me here. No one was around when I woke up."
She whispered through the darkness. Spike felt almost as if he was
talking to himself, he could hardly see the source of the whispers.
"No. Jet wouldn't let me." He instantly felt stupid. Sometimes he did
wish he thought about the words before they left his mouth. Faye had
just confessed a fear to him and all he did was ridicule it. Sure, most
of the time she was a useless whore, a bundle of trouble, a hot water
stealing bitch, a heartless shrew, but right now, she was okay. He
still felt guilty- after all, something caused her to risk her life to
save his hopeless mess of one.
"Thanks for caring." The room was silent again. He didn't know what to
say. He didn't want to ask her why she did it. He wasn't ready to know.
"Does it hurt?" She whispered, he could hear her shifting in the bed,
he heard the swishing of her legs against the sheets and the mattress
pucker under her weight. As she moved, a faint breeze of sterile
cotton, sweet sweat, soap, and fruity shampoo landed in his nose. He
swallowed hard.
"Shouldn't I be asking you?" He squinted, trying to make out her face
in the darkness.
"You know what I mean." This time it was barley audible, more like a
breath or a sigh than a sentence.
"Yeah," he responded in agreement and then again in answering. "Yeah."
"I'm sorry…" Her small voice echoed in sincerity as it bounced off the
walls of the small room, and it rang in Spike's ears. She heard her
breathing grow even and deep as she returned again to sleep. As soon as
she got back on the Bebop, he knew he would be back to hating her. But
he also knew that right now, he needed this. He propped his legs
up on the window sill and fell asleep to hear her breathing, wondering
why they'd never been so close to being friends before.
"Right," he thought to himself, "Because I'm an ignorant bastard and
she's a heartless shrew." He almost smiled, and drifted off to sleep.