Chapter 3
Author: oy, did I actually attempt a cliffhanger on the last chapter? O.o eh… that was unintended. It felt like things would get too long if I finished it up like I wanted to… tired… needed sleep…school night… zzzzzzzzzzzzz….
Just a small note of apology on the format of chapter 2 which is just a tad, uh., screwed.
The computer went bust and we had to reinstall everything, and we ended up "upgrading" our Microsoft word. And of course by upgrade I mean slaughtering, because apparently being new and improved REALLY means being a bigger pain in the—
Buuuuut this fanfic isn't my personal soap box so I'll just start ^^;;;
~~~
Chapter 3
The small crowd around battered Red Tail wouldn't let him though. Spike took out his gun and shot a few blanks into the air, which scared most of them away and compelled those remaining to give him space.
Prying the hatch open the rest of the way, he climbed into the cockpit. Faye was there, just like the kid said. She lay sprawled back over the seat, partially tangled in the restraints and very still. Spike felt a surprisingly strong rush of relief to see that she was breathing, and doing so normally which was a good sign.
Scratches covered her arms and legs, all of them recent but only a few looked fresh. Ed had crawled out of the wreck unharmed, which probably meant it hadn't been so bad a landing, but then again Ed had been electrocuted without injury so her durability was a factor.
"Ed," he called back to the girl looking over his shoulder. "Did you see if she hit her head?" he asked, reaching out and tapping Faye's cheek with no reaction. Her skin was dry and off color, except for a slight flush on her cheeks. He slipped his fingers to the side of her neck and found her pulse steady but uncomfortably weak.
Edward vigorously shook her head. "No, Faye-Faye fell asleep in the Gate."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "She fell asleep," he reiterated. "Leaving you to fly the ship?"
Ed nodded.
"And she didn't wake up when you were crashing?"
"Faye-Faye was tired," Ed explained as if defending Faye. "Slept for three days on earth," she pointed proudly to herself with one hand and to the dog with the other. "Ed and Ein took good care of Faye-Faye."
He stared at the odd pair for a moment, letting that sink in. Ed the nurse, Ed the pilot, good thing the dog had been there to keep Faye alive. He tried to take the sleeping explanation and figure out what that meant to Ed. Looking at Faye's bruised condition, Spike could only assume that Ed meant Faye'd been unconscious even before hitting the ground. Perhaps she'd gotten injured escaping the Bebop.
"H-Hey, you shouldn't move her," the voice of a nervous sounding man warned him. Spike turned around to see one of the rubbernecker spectators, voicing concern and acting like he cared. How could a stranger really care? Strangers never knew better. "If she hit her head—"
"I don't think she has," Spike cut him off, slipping his hand behind Faye's head; he checked for a bump but found none.
The man behind him still looked over his shoulder. "You should wait for the ambulance, it'll get here soon, and—" This time Ed cut him off. She hopped off the ship's bent wing with a "roar" and landed on all fours in front of the guy, growling and bearing her teeth. Sufficiently confused, he retreated back to the small audience which had backed away quite a few more feet.
The sound of Faye's breathing had changed and she made a noise, nearly at the surface of consciousness. The debris that covered the inside of the pilot's seat kept Spike from sitting her up all the way, but he did his best to give her head support and once again tapped her on the cheek. Her face scrunched up and she looked more like she did before her morning coffee than an accident victim.
"Faye, wake up," Spike demanded in a low voice, leaning over and poking her face a third time. "Stubborn woman, you don't know what's good for you," he muttered to himself, but she seemed to have heard the comment for he was nearly positive he heard her murmur "idiot" before a final groan and her eyes fluttering open.
Spike gave her his usual grin. "Finally woke up, did you? So lazy."
Eyes only half open, Faye stared at him for a moment with a look he'd seen before. But then she made an attempt at a short laugh and a small smirk. "So the Lunkhead finally shows his face?" she scoffed. Her voice was hoarse. "Just like a man to be late."
"Just like a woman to show up unannounced," Spike countered quickly.
Faye laughed, or tried to once again. It seemed to tire her so she settled for her usual smile. "That was terrible," she said with the old ring in her weak voice. "If you're going to try and pick a fight, at least insult me like you mean it." She closed her eyes and for a moment Spike thought she'd fallen asleep again but she continued. "Witty enough I suppose, but your heart wasn't in it. If I didn't know better I'd think you're glad to see me."
Before he could respond, the sirens of the ambulance began to cut through the street sounds; Faye's eyes flashed open with the agitated look she tended to get when nervous. "Is that for me? I gotta get out of—uggh," she tried to stand but didn't even make it to sitting up straight before slipping back down.
"What, don't tell me you're thinking about hospital bills!" Spike couldn't believe this woman! She wasn't seriously hurt, but she obviously had a concussion and those—when left untreated—could cause brain damage. A broken bone he could handle himself but he was no neurosurgeon. She continued her struggle to rise, but he set his hands firmly on her shoulders and tried to hold her still.
"No!" she protested, shaking her head too quickly for the dizziness already setting in. "You don't understand," she tried to get up again but didn't even make it further than the first try before slumping back in the seat, out of breath. "I can't be put on the hospital register—he'll find me."
Spike frowned, skeptical about her motives. Faye didn't usually run away from things, but then again she wasn't one to pull a Spiegel and try to fight while injured. "Who?"
Faye shook her head again, slower and more carefully this time. "I don't know, some guy—in this blue ship." She paused for breath. "He's trying to kill me. I don't remember getting to the Gate but he may have followed us in."
Glaring at her for a second, he wondered how she could try such a risk. He'd have said something if he didn't know she'd throw all his reckless endeavors in his face. Sighing, Spike finally conceded. He almost took his hands off her arms but it seemed that she now needed the support to keep herself up. The ambulance was getting closer—heeded only somewhat by the pedestrian traffic that didn't want to move. There really wasn't time for an argument if she was telling the truth.
"Fine, it's your body." Spike slung his arms under her knees and torso and pulled her out of the pilot's chair as best he could. He then set her down on the nose of the Red Tail and turned his back toward her. "Here, piggyback," he ordered.
Faye mumbled something like 'what are we, ten?' but climbed on anyway, wrapping her arms around Spike's shoulders. Her body slumped completely as she blacked out, making things pretty difficult but he managed. As soon as he had her balanced, he set off back down the street heading for the edge of town.
Edward and Einstein trotted behind them, the former demanding a horsey ride 'if Faye-Faye gets one'. Those people who'd been looking at the accident watched them go, such a strange procession. Nobody seemed to have anything to say about the matter when the paramedics arrived, but they continued to stare for a moment more, then the crowd dissipated and they returned to their business.
~~
It took Jet a half an hour just to break the locking mechanism on the 'monitor' around Margaret's neck. Scratching the part of his head with a little hair left, he squinted at the machine wondering what to do next. "Look, kid, I don't know what this thing is," he told her. She didn't look surprised. "But from what I can see it's attached to the nerve bundle at the top of your spine. I can't remove this without damaging your brain, you'd be better off with a professional."
Her back facing Jet so he could see the monitor better, but he could almost feel her frown penetrate the pollen-scented air. "I suppose that doesn't matter anyway," she replied after a moment. "Just disconnect the locator."
"The locater?"
She rolled her eyes and turned back to face him, thankfully with those rose tinted glasses back on. "Well I don't know the real name for it," she snapped. "It's that thing on the back—the port that juts out a little. There's some kind of field around this building that interacts with the collar. If I go through it, the locater activates and I go into seizure."
Jet couldn't help but stare at her in surprise. So this girl was some sort of hostage? He frankly would have preferred the usual hostage situation where you get the person away from the guy with the gun and there was really no thinking and tool belts involved. But as he considered just leaving—for of course the kid couldn't follow—that part of Jet's mind which had attached itself to Edward awoke and told him 'this kid might come in handy'.
"What's the locater look like?" he asked, feeling defeated by his own parental sense of responsibility.
"I dunno, it's on the back of my neck so I haven't exactly seen it." Margaret trotted over to the counter and leaned over the edge, rising back up with a laptop computer in her hands. She turned it on and took a small cable, not unlike those used in video game consoles, and plugged one end to the computer—the other end into the monitor, at a port on the right side of her neck. "Let's find out."
Almost instantly, a display of the collar's schematics appeared on the screen. Sufficient data must have been unavailable, for the diagram showed only the outer frame and nothing about the inner computer that had attached itself to her brain.
But the information on the 'locater' was there, and Jet had it off in generally no time at all.
Soon enough, Jet could hear her footsteps moving all over the back room as she got her things together. While she packed, Jet picked up the paper and turned it to the infamous article showing a picture of the moon.
The first thing Jet observed about the article was that the paper it was printed in—The Martian Chronicle—was an infamous supermarket tabloid known for its trash. The second thing he observed was the complete outrageousness of the article.
According to the Chronicle, the moon—THE moon—had reappeared next to earth. It went on to say that the "moon" hadn't just been to earth, in fact, the earth was its latest stop in what seemed to be a random tour of the solar system from Venus to Saturn to who knew next. The "reporter" claimed it to be a sign from aliens wanting humans to stop using the Gates.
It was crap. Pure, utter crap—and not just the part about aliens--Jet was sure. Granted, he hadn't paid much attention to the news since Spike's departure, but he was positive he would have heard about something like the return of the moon.
How could that Margaret girl believe such idiocy? It seemed to Jet her reason for wanting passage to earth, whatever that reason was, had been inspired by the article. But then again, she didn't seem to have read the segment, but looked at the picture.
But even the photo looked pretty cut-and-paste to him. For one thing, the angle was all wrong. The moon would be shadowed from the camera's position but it glowed all the way, and far too brightly.
"Ready to go?" Margaret interrupted his thoughts. She closed and locked the storage room door behind her and, toting a bulky shoulder bag, walked to the counter to the cash register.
"I've been waiting for you." Jet turned away from the newspaper and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.
She pushed her sunglasses securely to the bridge of her nose as she pocketed the rest of the woolongs from the inventory. The register closed with an old-fashioned 'ting' and she seemed ready to leave.
"Shame," Margaret muttered when they'd left the flower shop. "With nobody to water them, those flowers'll die." Jet, thinking about his unattended bonsai, nodded and led the way to the Bebop at a quick-paced walk.
~~~
A soft breeze came in from somewhere to her left. She was on the ground, apparently, or a very hard mattress. There was a draft, not a bad one really, it seemed to cool the place down.
Faye, not daring to open her eyes, lay in silence for many long seconds taking in the room with her other senses. The air was scented, like something sweeter than tobacco (although she could smell that too). Moving her fingers she felt the rough fabric of her blanket, and realized that she must have been really tired to feel so comfortable—especially with that rock digging into her back. Where was this place anyway?
~~"Where are you taking me?"~~
~~"Would you believe me if I said a medicine man?"~~
Some part inside her laughed. Faye had thought it was just part of a dream but when she opened her eyes--sure enough, there above her was the pointed top of a tepee and its cloth walls.
She turned her head to the side to look around. The tent was small, and crowded with all sorts of things from ancient relics to video games. A young, bronzed skinned man sat by a darker fold in the tarp. He appeared to be dozing. A small, old Indian sat near the back where the air from outside came in on him. He didn't seem to be awake, but his eyes were so infolded in wrinkles she couldn't tell. He might've been watching the sand pile in his hand steadily grow smaller as the grains trickled through his fingers.
"You must keep your eyes open from now on, Sleeping Wolf."
She looked back to the napping man, but he didn't seem to have noticed. It took Faye a moment to realize the old chief was talking to her. "Sleeping Wolf?" she repeated, sitting up slowly. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt too much. She still felt sore, but very well rested and the dizziness was all but gone replaced by an annoying but tolerable headache.
She kneeled, sitting on her heels and facing the old man. He still didn't look up. "If you cannot see your shadow it will cover you," he said.
Faye felt her eyebrow jerk and she tried to smile at the obviously senile old man. "R-right." There was a long silence, and she wondered if she was allowed to leave. Still, she couldn't help but be curious… "Um…sorry, but did you call me Sleeping…Wolf, was it?"
No reply. The sand kept trickling from the wrinkly fingers like it could go on forever.
Man this felt awkward. Silence was a virtue as long as it's not from people with ominous auroras. "I just can't see myself as a wolf, you know?" Faye didn't know why she was rambling like this.
The chief just made her nervous, sitting there like he could see right through her without looking. She'd always thought Spike could do that, but the difference was he didn't seem to care what he saw inside her if he saw anything at all. No matter what, he'd just sit there and mind his own affairs until a bounty came up or an opportunity to crack a joke presented itself.
Faye didn't want to take in any more of the thick air. She stood up, and gladly discovered her balance had returned. He might not be much of a conversationalist but this guy could certainly patch people up. "Well, thanks for whatever you did," she said, bending down to go through the flap in the tent.
His voice caught her before she'd made it out. "The wolf can survive by itself," he said. "But it needs the rest of its pack to achieve full potential. Survival may not be enough."
Faye didn't know how to respond to that, so she just gave a quiet "Really..." and walked out into the cool evening air.
Martian nights came early, even in summer. The horizon still glowed red with the last traces of sunset, but the rest of the sky went from dark blue to black space and stars. Nice night, even if the harbor smelled bad.
She walked out towards the edge of the waterfront, maneuvering around the garbage and ship debris which coated the ground as a symbol that she was in the wharf's "cheap-seat" dock. The Bebop had parked here many times. There was no disorientation about where she was, Faye knew this area of town pretty well—although she'd never noticed the tepee before.
So she'd really made it to Mars... Faye had to admit, part of her had been convinced it was a dream or hallucination, but she was here. She was here and that meant all those other things could really have happened; the moon, the blue ship, the crash, and—
"Awake are you?"
Faye stopped short; the voice came from behind, had she passed him without seeing? It seemed they were always passing each other. She wanted to ask him where he'd been. She wanted to ask him what happened. She wanted to know if he'd figured it out—was he alive or not? She wanted him to tell her why he'd stayed away, to give her an explanation… and yet she knew he probably had nothing to say that she'd understand let alone want to hear, so she set her jaw, raised her hands to rest behind her head, and sauntered over to where he sat.
"Not a bad place," she commented on the tepee as she sat down. "I doubt a hospital would've done better."
Spike had been smoking, but he took the cigarette out of his mouth when she sat down next to him. She stretched out her legs, making herself comfortable; they both tended to do that often—always finding a spot to recline in when the time came to just stop and smell the pollution.
"Laughing Bull does a good job," he replied. "You should thank him for helping you; he's not Jet you know."
"I did."
A brief trace of surprise crossed Spike's face for an instant before he slipped back down into his silent smoking. Faye's sudden recollection of manners seemed to bother him, and she began to feel out of place in the quiet.
Quickly, she tried to undo the damage. "I'm not a complete shrew you know," she threw extra drama into her insulted tone and Spike gave his old, short laugh.
"That remains to be seen," he reminded her with the usual smile, and they settled back into silence as they watched the boats in the harbor. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered another nail in her coffin which she gratefully accepted.
For that moment, it was like old times. It was the same feeling; that "Bebop" feeling that described so much of their time together as bounty hunters. She felt like she was sitting in the living area with Spike again, on that ugly yellow couch, watching the television instead of the harbor in comfortable silence like they'd done so many times. A silence--not the bad kind--often broken by their trade of insults before returning to what it had been. Those times had felt natural.
Faye knew things couldn't bee the same as they were before, not all the time, but right now she just felt so worn out, more in the mind than in the body. She didn't want to deal with her anger and sadness and everything else she blamed him for. Now just wasn't the time for that. Now, she planned on sitting there and enjoying her cigarette and his company.
~~
The Bebop would exit the Gate in just under an hour, and then they would be at Earth. Jet sat back in the pilot's chair, watching the gold, blurred starlines through the window and letting his mind wander.
A beeping from the communicator interrupted his thoughts, and Jet once again found Detective Asmerik's nose taking up space on the screen.
"Thought you should know they've increased the reward for Yolan Davis," said his friend. Jet heard the door open and Margaret's soft steps on the cabin floor. She came up behind him, watching the screen over his shoulder but not at an angle for the detective to see her. "He's worth three million now."
Jet raised an eyebrow. "Oh? People actually buying the opium?"
Asmerik chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Actually he's become a suspect in a serial murder case," he replied, voice a bit distorted from the cigar between his lips. "The forensics team just discovered that the bodies from ten unsolved cases have poppy spores on their skin."
"Three million seems pretty small for ten murders," Jet commented, irritated at his bad luck. "Is the ISSP getting cheap or were the families of the victims too poor for a decent price?"
"Some of the families were very rich, actually."
Jet nodded. Margaret's footsteps could be heard again, and soon the sound of the door as she left the room.
"But it's not as if we've named him the murder, Jet," the detective reminded him, getting a little defensive. "He's just as suspect after all. If it turns out he is the murderer than the price will go up…"
**
Margaret started running as soon as the door closed behind her. She rushed into the living area where her bag was and dug out her communicator, then began a frantic search for a place to make a call without Jet barging in or overhearing.
After trying out a few rooms that seemed insufficient, she came upon a dark room with a bad smell. The scent came from cigarette smoke, packed into a tight space. Aside from the smoke smell, there was also that stuffy, thick air which meant the room had been closed up and unlived in for a while. It would do.
She locked the door behind her, switched on the light, sat down on an unmade bed and dialed the number. "It's me," she greeted the man as soon as his face appeared on the small screen.
He looked about to have a heart attack. "Marg!" he exclaimed, then looked left and right, worried about attracting attention. "How did you get a connection through the field?" he whisper-shouted.
"I'm not on Venus anymore, Yolan," she told him, then kept talking before he could rebuke her with some panic-inspired remark. "Quick, now tell me where you are."
Yolan Davis was shaking his head, looking awful in mental conflict. "No, no, no… why did you leave the shop?" he asked, obviously worried. "He said he wouldn't hurt you if you stayed where you were supposed to—you have to go back!"
She shook her head vigorously and opened her mouth but he kept going before she got a word in.
"I'm almost finished, it's almost over," she'd obviously made things worse by checking in with him. "Please go back to Venus—I'll be back in no time and—"
"I can't go back, Yolan!" she interrupted. "I found out about the murders!"
Davis looked surprised and ashamed.
"You said he wanted you to help him find some people," Margaret hissed. "You didn't tell me he was going to kill them!"
He began to shake his head again, sick-looking and distraught. "He's an assassin, Marg! If I didn't do what he told me—"
"I can't let him use us like this!" she glared at him and he stared back with a dumb and miserable expression. "I'm going to stop this here and now—tell me who the next target is."
"I can't. You'll get hurt, and I won't let you. Ben would—"
"My brother wouldn't want me involved in anyone's murder, you know that. Now please help me stop this and tell me who the target is. I know he's on earth—I saw the moon in the paper—but I need a name. Please."
Yolan kept shaking his head as if he didn't know how to do anything else. But suddenly he stopped and his expression quickly changed again as something occurred to him. "How did you get off Venus?"
"This guy is giving me a ride. I'm on his ship now, we're still in the Gate," Margaret explained, but she decided to leave out the fact that Jet was a Cowboy.
"Just some guy? How do you know you can trust him—wait I don't want to hear about it, you used that…you did it again didn't you?"
She secured the sunglasses over her eyes and didn't respond.
"You have to stop doing that! That—it's a--it will get stronger the more you use it."
"I'm being careful."
Pause. "What ship are you on?"
"It's called the Bebop."
And she'd thought he couldn't have gotten any paler. "The BEBOP!?" he repeated as if he couldn't believe his ears. "GET OUT OF THERE! GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW!"
Margaret jumped back and held the comm. away from her face. "What's your problem!?"
"The next target!" Yolan was shaking. "A woman named Faye Valentine, she lives on a ship called Bebop—he'll be coming after her, you have to get out!"
Margaret pursed her lips. "Faye Valentine," she repeated, making a note of the name. She then smiled sweetly, trying to put Yolan at ease. "Don't worry, she's not on the ship right now."
"Please…" he sure did sound desperate. "Get out before she comes back."
Margaret's thoughts drifted back to the photo of the Earth with the moon hanging over it. "I intend to." She sent him another smile. "Don't worry, everything will be fine. Now where are you?"
"Mars. I'll be finished soon and my next stop is Ganymede."
"Be careful. I have to go now, we're here."
**
Jet flew the Bebop out of the Gate and into view of the planet Earth. It looked perfectly normal—ring around the edges, and no moon in the sky.
"We're here," he announced as Margaret reentered. "What port are you headed for?"
She walked over to the window searching the area of space around the planet and—upon not seeing the moon---looked severely disappointed and a tad angry. "Missed her," she grumbled.
They flew low over an oceanside desert near the coast of what was once California, where Jet figured he'd find Faye. As the Bebop got low enough to see the ground clearly, he spotted a funny little ship parked out in the dunes. It looked like an expensive monocraft, although he didn't recognize the model. It was black—or maybe dark blue—with stubby bat-like wing extensions.
"Here is fine," Margaret suddenly said, pointing to the ground near the ship.
"Here?" Jet echoed. "It's at least three miles to the nearest town, though desert you know."
"I'll be fine."
Jet gave an exasperated sigh. "Suit yourself." He started the landing procedures. "Now that we're here you can tell me about Yolan Davis."
He felt her watching him through the red lenses. "You have to bring him in alive right?" she asked slowly. "You have to keep him alive, right?"
"If he's dead I don't get the money."
Margaret exhaled loudly. "Fine then," she said. "I suppose you can take better care of him than he can of himself. He's heading off to Ganymede, I don't know exactly where." There was a pause, then, "Tell him you met me, when you find him. It might make him cooperate more."
Jet gave a cynical laugh. Turncoat—so it was with the X chromosome. "Are you selling out a friend?"
"For his own good."
He shook his head. "You're going to grow up to be a familiar type of woman," he warned her.
The Bebop landed in the sand, and Margaret turned to leave. She paused halfway down the hall and retrieved something from her pocket. "Here," she said, handing it to him. It was a dried, pressed yellow Opium Poppy blossom. "That one's free. It might come in handy."
~~~
"So what did you do this time?" Spike asked. His face wore the usual, causal smile. "Must've been bad for a person to skip placing a bounty and go right for the kill."
Faye shrugged, then stretched her arms out in front of her, cracking her knuckles. "I dunno… he mentioned he's getting paid, the one time I talked to him," she replied nonchalantly. "Must be an assassin. Don't know who hired him though."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Someone paying for your head?" he sounded amused and unsurprised. "That's expensive. You finally ticked off the wrong rich guy."
She smiled. "Bound to happen sooner or later."
"Heh, that's true," he admitted. "You really haven't changed."
"Neither have you."
The last comments left them both quiet. They'd said that without thinking, but the meaning behind the words began to creep in and dampen their casual mood.
Spike glanced at Faye for a moment; she was leaning back and staring at the ground. He turned his now solemn gaze back on the water but didn't watch the boats. He couldn't think of a thing to say.
He didn't know why things were like this. He didn't know why, from the moment they'd met up again, they'd both tired their hardest to rip thought from their discourse. They were both, he knew, trying to avoid those drastic emotions which had come forward the last time they'd spoken.
He remembered the sound of her gun when he walked away. It had been louder than any of the guns he'd faced later on that day.
They had changed. They both knew it.
She'd regained her memories, whatever those might be, and he'd gone off faced his own past. Spike had felt no reaction when she'd told him she remembered, but now he wondered if she was lucky to have gone back and found nothing, lucky to not have anything chasing her till it killed her.
But then again, judging from that tape, the past that would never chase her wasn't so bad.
Many times since he'd woken he'd wondered what she would have said to him if they met up again. He would expect her to yell and him about how he couldn't just show up like nothing happened—but she'd throw a tantrum, because Faye was Faye, and when it was over it really would be as if he'd never left.
He remembered, after receiving that bad piece of news, that he'd felt disappointed. He'd thought he'd never get to hear her shout at him again, and somehow it was a distressful thought. The room he'd woken up in was too quiet, and nobody had scolded him for his injuries. It didn't feel…correct.
But now she was here. She was here and all either of them could do was have an idle conversation. Chitchat. He wished she'd yell. If she did, he could yell back, they could fight, and he'd have an excuse to focus his attention on her. He needed to do that, to see only her for just a moment so he could deal with his relief of finding her alive.
"Spike…" Faye said slowly, seriously, and quietly. From the tone in her voice, it seemed like he would get the confrontation he'd wished for. He lifted his head a little to watch her, and found her looking right at him. She was like that—not afraid to look someone in the face—but after his comments about his vision before he left, he doubted she'd look him in the eye any time soon, at least not close enough to really see.
"Why didn't you come back?" she asked. Her eyes were narrowed and focused on him; she looked angry and possibly hurt. "You didn't have to—I know you went back to wherever it was you were really living—but why didn't you at least call when it was over?"
Spike stared at her for a moment, taking that last part in. Where he'd really been living… perhaps some part of her actually understood.
"I woke up too late."
"What are you talking about?"
"Some man pulled me off the steps," he began. "He patched me up without my consent, and when I woke up he said he had to leave the planet soon and asked me who he should send for me. I told him to call the Bebop."
Faye held her previous expression. "Nobody called."
"I know. He told me about the Bebop being destroyed, so—"
"WHAT?!" Faye interrupted, standing up quickly. Her eyes were wide with surprise. "D-Destroyed?"
Well she'd certainly caught him off guard. "You didn't know?" he'd assumed she'd known—just how soon after him did she leave the ship?
Faye looked like something in her brain had stopped. "When did this happen?" she asked in a worn out voice, falling back down in her spot with a painful sounding clatter.
Spike stood up and stepped in front of her. "Not sure exactly…" he said. Vaguely he wondered if she was more concerned about Jet or about the last 'home' she had. "I was knocked out for about four days, and apparently it happened in that time…" he trailed off when he saw her sending him a terrible look.
He felt a sting in his left shin as she quickly kicked him in the leg. "Don't do that to me!" she shouted, leaping up once more but this time propelled by fury. "I left the Bebop three days ago—what you're talking about was weeks before!" she took a swing at his face which he barely dodged.
As quickly as she'd started, Faye calmed down almost all the way. She exhaled a loud, frustrated breath. "You were misinformed, obviously," she finally said, voice fuming still. "Who on Mars told you the Bebop was destroyed!?"
A bit at a loss for words, Spike managed to get out a description. "Ah, um this red haired guy—had a barcode on the neck…what?" That look again. Her eye was twitching.
"Don't tell me…" she began to dig into her jacket pocket. Her voice sounded like it might either laugh or scream. That crazed smile—actually more of a twitch of the lips—she got when all her bad luck combined appeared on her face. "This guy?"
She held up a mugshot for him to see. Spike took it and gave it a once over. "Yolan Davis, the newest bounty?" her face had yet to settle, a fit was obviously on its way. "Well you're right, that's him."
Meanwhile, Yolan Davis himself walked unsteadily through the backstreets and darker alleyways. His hands were shaking, his eyes were unfocused, and he was sweating like a pig.
There was so much on his half-present mind he felt like he'd welcome a stroke. He wanted his worries out of his head for just a moment; just a moment so he could focus on what he had to do and not the consequences.
Finally, he came across a welcome face he'd never seen before under a dimming streetlamp. "Something troubling you, buddy?" asked the man.
"I-I just need to calm down." Sorry Ben. So so sorry.
"Tranquility's just a thousand, special price for new friends."
Sorry sorry sorry
He handed over the money and took the envelope offered to him.
So so sorry
Fifteen minutes later his hands were still, he could see again, and his skin was cool. He was sorrier now more than ever, but that would have to wait. He still had a job to do.
Shifting the heavy bag on his shoulder, he turned back on to the main road and headed west. Senses dulled, Yolan didn't notice he was being followed. A small, sporadic figure hopped and crawled and marched along the path behind him, and behind her trotted a stubby legged dog.
She turned to her animal companion and, with a finger over her lips, reminded it, "If we see a stranger, follow him!"
To be continued.
Oh my freaking goodness that was difficult. I like to believe that anyone who's ever written a bebop fic has come across the problem of Spike. He is, in my opinion, one of the most difficult characters to write and to the writers of those few fics I've read that seemed to do him perfectly, how the [insert word-of-choice here] do you do that?!
Gah! This chapter was a lot harder to write than I would have preferred, so I hope you all liked it.
Oh and I feel that since I mention drugs in this I have a responsibility to tell all the kiddies out there to be cool and stay in school and just say no and yadda yadda yadda—drugs suck, okay? There, my morality is satisfied.
And on another note, yes this fic has secondary characters that are important to the plot, but don't worry I promise they won't take up unnecessary chapters with their little problems when we all really want to read about is the Bebop crew. It's just hard for the characters to be angsty and keep the plot moving at once, ya know? So I've got a few more people running around keeping things moving while the real characters sit back and over think themselves into emotional epiphanies.
Yeah, like that made sense.
At any rate, please review because I'll love you forever and ever and it's just no fun to write without feedback.
Author: oy, did I actually attempt a cliffhanger on the last chapter? O.o eh… that was unintended. It felt like things would get too long if I finished it up like I wanted to… tired… needed sleep…school night… zzzzzzzzzzzzz….
Just a small note of apology on the format of chapter 2 which is just a tad, uh., screwed.
The computer went bust and we had to reinstall everything, and we ended up "upgrading" our Microsoft word. And of course by upgrade I mean slaughtering, because apparently being new and improved REALLY means being a bigger pain in the—
Buuuuut this fanfic isn't my personal soap box so I'll just start ^^;;;
~~~
Chapter 3
The small crowd around battered Red Tail wouldn't let him though. Spike took out his gun and shot a few blanks into the air, which scared most of them away and compelled those remaining to give him space.
Prying the hatch open the rest of the way, he climbed into the cockpit. Faye was there, just like the kid said. She lay sprawled back over the seat, partially tangled in the restraints and very still. Spike felt a surprisingly strong rush of relief to see that she was breathing, and doing so normally which was a good sign.
Scratches covered her arms and legs, all of them recent but only a few looked fresh. Ed had crawled out of the wreck unharmed, which probably meant it hadn't been so bad a landing, but then again Ed had been electrocuted without injury so her durability was a factor.
"Ed," he called back to the girl looking over his shoulder. "Did you see if she hit her head?" he asked, reaching out and tapping Faye's cheek with no reaction. Her skin was dry and off color, except for a slight flush on her cheeks. He slipped his fingers to the side of her neck and found her pulse steady but uncomfortably weak.
Edward vigorously shook her head. "No, Faye-Faye fell asleep in the Gate."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "She fell asleep," he reiterated. "Leaving you to fly the ship?"
Ed nodded.
"And she didn't wake up when you were crashing?"
"Faye-Faye was tired," Ed explained as if defending Faye. "Slept for three days on earth," she pointed proudly to herself with one hand and to the dog with the other. "Ed and Ein took good care of Faye-Faye."
He stared at the odd pair for a moment, letting that sink in. Ed the nurse, Ed the pilot, good thing the dog had been there to keep Faye alive. He tried to take the sleeping explanation and figure out what that meant to Ed. Looking at Faye's bruised condition, Spike could only assume that Ed meant Faye'd been unconscious even before hitting the ground. Perhaps she'd gotten injured escaping the Bebop.
"H-Hey, you shouldn't move her," the voice of a nervous sounding man warned him. Spike turned around to see one of the rubbernecker spectators, voicing concern and acting like he cared. How could a stranger really care? Strangers never knew better. "If she hit her head—"
"I don't think she has," Spike cut him off, slipping his hand behind Faye's head; he checked for a bump but found none.
The man behind him still looked over his shoulder. "You should wait for the ambulance, it'll get here soon, and—" This time Ed cut him off. She hopped off the ship's bent wing with a "roar" and landed on all fours in front of the guy, growling and bearing her teeth. Sufficiently confused, he retreated back to the small audience which had backed away quite a few more feet.
The sound of Faye's breathing had changed and she made a noise, nearly at the surface of consciousness. The debris that covered the inside of the pilot's seat kept Spike from sitting her up all the way, but he did his best to give her head support and once again tapped her on the cheek. Her face scrunched up and she looked more like she did before her morning coffee than an accident victim.
"Faye, wake up," Spike demanded in a low voice, leaning over and poking her face a third time. "Stubborn woman, you don't know what's good for you," he muttered to himself, but she seemed to have heard the comment for he was nearly positive he heard her murmur "idiot" before a final groan and her eyes fluttering open.
Spike gave her his usual grin. "Finally woke up, did you? So lazy."
Eyes only half open, Faye stared at him for a moment with a look he'd seen before. But then she made an attempt at a short laugh and a small smirk. "So the Lunkhead finally shows his face?" she scoffed. Her voice was hoarse. "Just like a man to be late."
"Just like a woman to show up unannounced," Spike countered quickly.
Faye laughed, or tried to once again. It seemed to tire her so she settled for her usual smile. "That was terrible," she said with the old ring in her weak voice. "If you're going to try and pick a fight, at least insult me like you mean it." She closed her eyes and for a moment Spike thought she'd fallen asleep again but she continued. "Witty enough I suppose, but your heart wasn't in it. If I didn't know better I'd think you're glad to see me."
Before he could respond, the sirens of the ambulance began to cut through the street sounds; Faye's eyes flashed open with the agitated look she tended to get when nervous. "Is that for me? I gotta get out of—uggh," she tried to stand but didn't even make it to sitting up straight before slipping back down.
"What, don't tell me you're thinking about hospital bills!" Spike couldn't believe this woman! She wasn't seriously hurt, but she obviously had a concussion and those—when left untreated—could cause brain damage. A broken bone he could handle himself but he was no neurosurgeon. She continued her struggle to rise, but he set his hands firmly on her shoulders and tried to hold her still.
"No!" she protested, shaking her head too quickly for the dizziness already setting in. "You don't understand," she tried to get up again but didn't even make it further than the first try before slumping back in the seat, out of breath. "I can't be put on the hospital register—he'll find me."
Spike frowned, skeptical about her motives. Faye didn't usually run away from things, but then again she wasn't one to pull a Spiegel and try to fight while injured. "Who?"
Faye shook her head again, slower and more carefully this time. "I don't know, some guy—in this blue ship." She paused for breath. "He's trying to kill me. I don't remember getting to the Gate but he may have followed us in."
Glaring at her for a second, he wondered how she could try such a risk. He'd have said something if he didn't know she'd throw all his reckless endeavors in his face. Sighing, Spike finally conceded. He almost took his hands off her arms but it seemed that she now needed the support to keep herself up. The ambulance was getting closer—heeded only somewhat by the pedestrian traffic that didn't want to move. There really wasn't time for an argument if she was telling the truth.
"Fine, it's your body." Spike slung his arms under her knees and torso and pulled her out of the pilot's chair as best he could. He then set her down on the nose of the Red Tail and turned his back toward her. "Here, piggyback," he ordered.
Faye mumbled something like 'what are we, ten?' but climbed on anyway, wrapping her arms around Spike's shoulders. Her body slumped completely as she blacked out, making things pretty difficult but he managed. As soon as he had her balanced, he set off back down the street heading for the edge of town.
Edward and Einstein trotted behind them, the former demanding a horsey ride 'if Faye-Faye gets one'. Those people who'd been looking at the accident watched them go, such a strange procession. Nobody seemed to have anything to say about the matter when the paramedics arrived, but they continued to stare for a moment more, then the crowd dissipated and they returned to their business.
~~
It took Jet a half an hour just to break the locking mechanism on the 'monitor' around Margaret's neck. Scratching the part of his head with a little hair left, he squinted at the machine wondering what to do next. "Look, kid, I don't know what this thing is," he told her. She didn't look surprised. "But from what I can see it's attached to the nerve bundle at the top of your spine. I can't remove this without damaging your brain, you'd be better off with a professional."
Her back facing Jet so he could see the monitor better, but he could almost feel her frown penetrate the pollen-scented air. "I suppose that doesn't matter anyway," she replied after a moment. "Just disconnect the locator."
"The locater?"
She rolled her eyes and turned back to face him, thankfully with those rose tinted glasses back on. "Well I don't know the real name for it," she snapped. "It's that thing on the back—the port that juts out a little. There's some kind of field around this building that interacts with the collar. If I go through it, the locater activates and I go into seizure."
Jet couldn't help but stare at her in surprise. So this girl was some sort of hostage? He frankly would have preferred the usual hostage situation where you get the person away from the guy with the gun and there was really no thinking and tool belts involved. But as he considered just leaving—for of course the kid couldn't follow—that part of Jet's mind which had attached itself to Edward awoke and told him 'this kid might come in handy'.
"What's the locater look like?" he asked, feeling defeated by his own parental sense of responsibility.
"I dunno, it's on the back of my neck so I haven't exactly seen it." Margaret trotted over to the counter and leaned over the edge, rising back up with a laptop computer in her hands. She turned it on and took a small cable, not unlike those used in video game consoles, and plugged one end to the computer—the other end into the monitor, at a port on the right side of her neck. "Let's find out."
Almost instantly, a display of the collar's schematics appeared on the screen. Sufficient data must have been unavailable, for the diagram showed only the outer frame and nothing about the inner computer that had attached itself to her brain.
But the information on the 'locater' was there, and Jet had it off in generally no time at all.
Soon enough, Jet could hear her footsteps moving all over the back room as she got her things together. While she packed, Jet picked up the paper and turned it to the infamous article showing a picture of the moon.
The first thing Jet observed about the article was that the paper it was printed in—The Martian Chronicle—was an infamous supermarket tabloid known for its trash. The second thing he observed was the complete outrageousness of the article.
According to the Chronicle, the moon—THE moon—had reappeared next to earth. It went on to say that the "moon" hadn't just been to earth, in fact, the earth was its latest stop in what seemed to be a random tour of the solar system from Venus to Saturn to who knew next. The "reporter" claimed it to be a sign from aliens wanting humans to stop using the Gates.
It was crap. Pure, utter crap—and not just the part about aliens--Jet was sure. Granted, he hadn't paid much attention to the news since Spike's departure, but he was positive he would have heard about something like the return of the moon.
How could that Margaret girl believe such idiocy? It seemed to Jet her reason for wanting passage to earth, whatever that reason was, had been inspired by the article. But then again, she didn't seem to have read the segment, but looked at the picture.
But even the photo looked pretty cut-and-paste to him. For one thing, the angle was all wrong. The moon would be shadowed from the camera's position but it glowed all the way, and far too brightly.
"Ready to go?" Margaret interrupted his thoughts. She closed and locked the storage room door behind her and, toting a bulky shoulder bag, walked to the counter to the cash register.
"I've been waiting for you." Jet turned away from the newspaper and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.
She pushed her sunglasses securely to the bridge of her nose as she pocketed the rest of the woolongs from the inventory. The register closed with an old-fashioned 'ting' and she seemed ready to leave.
"Shame," Margaret muttered when they'd left the flower shop. "With nobody to water them, those flowers'll die." Jet, thinking about his unattended bonsai, nodded and led the way to the Bebop at a quick-paced walk.
~~~
A soft breeze came in from somewhere to her left. She was on the ground, apparently, or a very hard mattress. There was a draft, not a bad one really, it seemed to cool the place down.
Faye, not daring to open her eyes, lay in silence for many long seconds taking in the room with her other senses. The air was scented, like something sweeter than tobacco (although she could smell that too). Moving her fingers she felt the rough fabric of her blanket, and realized that she must have been really tired to feel so comfortable—especially with that rock digging into her back. Where was this place anyway?
~~"Where are you taking me?"~~
~~"Would you believe me if I said a medicine man?"~~
Some part inside her laughed. Faye had thought it was just part of a dream but when she opened her eyes--sure enough, there above her was the pointed top of a tepee and its cloth walls.
She turned her head to the side to look around. The tent was small, and crowded with all sorts of things from ancient relics to video games. A young, bronzed skinned man sat by a darker fold in the tarp. He appeared to be dozing. A small, old Indian sat near the back where the air from outside came in on him. He didn't seem to be awake, but his eyes were so infolded in wrinkles she couldn't tell. He might've been watching the sand pile in his hand steadily grow smaller as the grains trickled through his fingers.
"You must keep your eyes open from now on, Sleeping Wolf."
She looked back to the napping man, but he didn't seem to have noticed. It took Faye a moment to realize the old chief was talking to her. "Sleeping Wolf?" she repeated, sitting up slowly. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt too much. She still felt sore, but very well rested and the dizziness was all but gone replaced by an annoying but tolerable headache.
She kneeled, sitting on her heels and facing the old man. He still didn't look up. "If you cannot see your shadow it will cover you," he said.
Faye felt her eyebrow jerk and she tried to smile at the obviously senile old man. "R-right." There was a long silence, and she wondered if she was allowed to leave. Still, she couldn't help but be curious… "Um…sorry, but did you call me Sleeping…Wolf, was it?"
No reply. The sand kept trickling from the wrinkly fingers like it could go on forever.
Man this felt awkward. Silence was a virtue as long as it's not from people with ominous auroras. "I just can't see myself as a wolf, you know?" Faye didn't know why she was rambling like this.
The chief just made her nervous, sitting there like he could see right through her without looking. She'd always thought Spike could do that, but the difference was he didn't seem to care what he saw inside her if he saw anything at all. No matter what, he'd just sit there and mind his own affairs until a bounty came up or an opportunity to crack a joke presented itself.
Faye didn't want to take in any more of the thick air. She stood up, and gladly discovered her balance had returned. He might not be much of a conversationalist but this guy could certainly patch people up. "Well, thanks for whatever you did," she said, bending down to go through the flap in the tent.
His voice caught her before she'd made it out. "The wolf can survive by itself," he said. "But it needs the rest of its pack to achieve full potential. Survival may not be enough."
Faye didn't know how to respond to that, so she just gave a quiet "Really..." and walked out into the cool evening air.
Martian nights came early, even in summer. The horizon still glowed red with the last traces of sunset, but the rest of the sky went from dark blue to black space and stars. Nice night, even if the harbor smelled bad.
She walked out towards the edge of the waterfront, maneuvering around the garbage and ship debris which coated the ground as a symbol that she was in the wharf's "cheap-seat" dock. The Bebop had parked here many times. There was no disorientation about where she was, Faye knew this area of town pretty well—although she'd never noticed the tepee before.
So she'd really made it to Mars... Faye had to admit, part of her had been convinced it was a dream or hallucination, but she was here. She was here and that meant all those other things could really have happened; the moon, the blue ship, the crash, and—
"Awake are you?"
Faye stopped short; the voice came from behind, had she passed him without seeing? It seemed they were always passing each other. She wanted to ask him where he'd been. She wanted to ask him what happened. She wanted to know if he'd figured it out—was he alive or not? She wanted him to tell her why he'd stayed away, to give her an explanation… and yet she knew he probably had nothing to say that she'd understand let alone want to hear, so she set her jaw, raised her hands to rest behind her head, and sauntered over to where he sat.
"Not a bad place," she commented on the tepee as she sat down. "I doubt a hospital would've done better."
Spike had been smoking, but he took the cigarette out of his mouth when she sat down next to him. She stretched out her legs, making herself comfortable; they both tended to do that often—always finding a spot to recline in when the time came to just stop and smell the pollution.
"Laughing Bull does a good job," he replied. "You should thank him for helping you; he's not Jet you know."
"I did."
A brief trace of surprise crossed Spike's face for an instant before he slipped back down into his silent smoking. Faye's sudden recollection of manners seemed to bother him, and she began to feel out of place in the quiet.
Quickly, she tried to undo the damage. "I'm not a complete shrew you know," she threw extra drama into her insulted tone and Spike gave his old, short laugh.
"That remains to be seen," he reminded her with the usual smile, and they settled back into silence as they watched the boats in the harbor. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered another nail in her coffin which she gratefully accepted.
For that moment, it was like old times. It was the same feeling; that "Bebop" feeling that described so much of their time together as bounty hunters. She felt like she was sitting in the living area with Spike again, on that ugly yellow couch, watching the television instead of the harbor in comfortable silence like they'd done so many times. A silence--not the bad kind--often broken by their trade of insults before returning to what it had been. Those times had felt natural.
Faye knew things couldn't bee the same as they were before, not all the time, but right now she just felt so worn out, more in the mind than in the body. She didn't want to deal with her anger and sadness and everything else she blamed him for. Now just wasn't the time for that. Now, she planned on sitting there and enjoying her cigarette and his company.
~~
The Bebop would exit the Gate in just under an hour, and then they would be at Earth. Jet sat back in the pilot's chair, watching the gold, blurred starlines through the window and letting his mind wander.
A beeping from the communicator interrupted his thoughts, and Jet once again found Detective Asmerik's nose taking up space on the screen.
"Thought you should know they've increased the reward for Yolan Davis," said his friend. Jet heard the door open and Margaret's soft steps on the cabin floor. She came up behind him, watching the screen over his shoulder but not at an angle for the detective to see her. "He's worth three million now."
Jet raised an eyebrow. "Oh? People actually buying the opium?"
Asmerik chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Actually he's become a suspect in a serial murder case," he replied, voice a bit distorted from the cigar between his lips. "The forensics team just discovered that the bodies from ten unsolved cases have poppy spores on their skin."
"Three million seems pretty small for ten murders," Jet commented, irritated at his bad luck. "Is the ISSP getting cheap or were the families of the victims too poor for a decent price?"
"Some of the families were very rich, actually."
Jet nodded. Margaret's footsteps could be heard again, and soon the sound of the door as she left the room.
"But it's not as if we've named him the murder, Jet," the detective reminded him, getting a little defensive. "He's just as suspect after all. If it turns out he is the murderer than the price will go up…"
**
Margaret started running as soon as the door closed behind her. She rushed into the living area where her bag was and dug out her communicator, then began a frantic search for a place to make a call without Jet barging in or overhearing.
After trying out a few rooms that seemed insufficient, she came upon a dark room with a bad smell. The scent came from cigarette smoke, packed into a tight space. Aside from the smoke smell, there was also that stuffy, thick air which meant the room had been closed up and unlived in for a while. It would do.
She locked the door behind her, switched on the light, sat down on an unmade bed and dialed the number. "It's me," she greeted the man as soon as his face appeared on the small screen.
He looked about to have a heart attack. "Marg!" he exclaimed, then looked left and right, worried about attracting attention. "How did you get a connection through the field?" he whisper-shouted.
"I'm not on Venus anymore, Yolan," she told him, then kept talking before he could rebuke her with some panic-inspired remark. "Quick, now tell me where you are."
Yolan Davis was shaking his head, looking awful in mental conflict. "No, no, no… why did you leave the shop?" he asked, obviously worried. "He said he wouldn't hurt you if you stayed where you were supposed to—you have to go back!"
She shook her head vigorously and opened her mouth but he kept going before she got a word in.
"I'm almost finished, it's almost over," she'd obviously made things worse by checking in with him. "Please go back to Venus—I'll be back in no time and—"
"I can't go back, Yolan!" she interrupted. "I found out about the murders!"
Davis looked surprised and ashamed.
"You said he wanted you to help him find some people," Margaret hissed. "You didn't tell me he was going to kill them!"
He began to shake his head again, sick-looking and distraught. "He's an assassin, Marg! If I didn't do what he told me—"
"I can't let him use us like this!" she glared at him and he stared back with a dumb and miserable expression. "I'm going to stop this here and now—tell me who the next target is."
"I can't. You'll get hurt, and I won't let you. Ben would—"
"My brother wouldn't want me involved in anyone's murder, you know that. Now please help me stop this and tell me who the target is. I know he's on earth—I saw the moon in the paper—but I need a name. Please."
Yolan kept shaking his head as if he didn't know how to do anything else. But suddenly he stopped and his expression quickly changed again as something occurred to him. "How did you get off Venus?"
"This guy is giving me a ride. I'm on his ship now, we're still in the Gate," Margaret explained, but she decided to leave out the fact that Jet was a Cowboy.
"Just some guy? How do you know you can trust him—wait I don't want to hear about it, you used that…you did it again didn't you?"
She secured the sunglasses over her eyes and didn't respond.
"You have to stop doing that! That—it's a--it will get stronger the more you use it."
"I'm being careful."
Pause. "What ship are you on?"
"It's called the Bebop."
And she'd thought he couldn't have gotten any paler. "The BEBOP!?" he repeated as if he couldn't believe his ears. "GET OUT OF THERE! GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW!"
Margaret jumped back and held the comm. away from her face. "What's your problem!?"
"The next target!" Yolan was shaking. "A woman named Faye Valentine, she lives on a ship called Bebop—he'll be coming after her, you have to get out!"
Margaret pursed her lips. "Faye Valentine," she repeated, making a note of the name. She then smiled sweetly, trying to put Yolan at ease. "Don't worry, she's not on the ship right now."
"Please…" he sure did sound desperate. "Get out before she comes back."
Margaret's thoughts drifted back to the photo of the Earth with the moon hanging over it. "I intend to." She sent him another smile. "Don't worry, everything will be fine. Now where are you?"
"Mars. I'll be finished soon and my next stop is Ganymede."
"Be careful. I have to go now, we're here."
**
Jet flew the Bebop out of the Gate and into view of the planet Earth. It looked perfectly normal—ring around the edges, and no moon in the sky.
"We're here," he announced as Margaret reentered. "What port are you headed for?"
She walked over to the window searching the area of space around the planet and—upon not seeing the moon---looked severely disappointed and a tad angry. "Missed her," she grumbled.
They flew low over an oceanside desert near the coast of what was once California, where Jet figured he'd find Faye. As the Bebop got low enough to see the ground clearly, he spotted a funny little ship parked out in the dunes. It looked like an expensive monocraft, although he didn't recognize the model. It was black—or maybe dark blue—with stubby bat-like wing extensions.
"Here is fine," Margaret suddenly said, pointing to the ground near the ship.
"Here?" Jet echoed. "It's at least three miles to the nearest town, though desert you know."
"I'll be fine."
Jet gave an exasperated sigh. "Suit yourself." He started the landing procedures. "Now that we're here you can tell me about Yolan Davis."
He felt her watching him through the red lenses. "You have to bring him in alive right?" she asked slowly. "You have to keep him alive, right?"
"If he's dead I don't get the money."
Margaret exhaled loudly. "Fine then," she said. "I suppose you can take better care of him than he can of himself. He's heading off to Ganymede, I don't know exactly where." There was a pause, then, "Tell him you met me, when you find him. It might make him cooperate more."
Jet gave a cynical laugh. Turncoat—so it was with the X chromosome. "Are you selling out a friend?"
"For his own good."
He shook his head. "You're going to grow up to be a familiar type of woman," he warned her.
The Bebop landed in the sand, and Margaret turned to leave. She paused halfway down the hall and retrieved something from her pocket. "Here," she said, handing it to him. It was a dried, pressed yellow Opium Poppy blossom. "That one's free. It might come in handy."
~~~
"So what did you do this time?" Spike asked. His face wore the usual, causal smile. "Must've been bad for a person to skip placing a bounty and go right for the kill."
Faye shrugged, then stretched her arms out in front of her, cracking her knuckles. "I dunno… he mentioned he's getting paid, the one time I talked to him," she replied nonchalantly. "Must be an assassin. Don't know who hired him though."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Someone paying for your head?" he sounded amused and unsurprised. "That's expensive. You finally ticked off the wrong rich guy."
She smiled. "Bound to happen sooner or later."
"Heh, that's true," he admitted. "You really haven't changed."
"Neither have you."
The last comments left them both quiet. They'd said that without thinking, but the meaning behind the words began to creep in and dampen their casual mood.
Spike glanced at Faye for a moment; she was leaning back and staring at the ground. He turned his now solemn gaze back on the water but didn't watch the boats. He couldn't think of a thing to say.
He didn't know why things were like this. He didn't know why, from the moment they'd met up again, they'd both tired their hardest to rip thought from their discourse. They were both, he knew, trying to avoid those drastic emotions which had come forward the last time they'd spoken.
He remembered the sound of her gun when he walked away. It had been louder than any of the guns he'd faced later on that day.
They had changed. They both knew it.
She'd regained her memories, whatever those might be, and he'd gone off faced his own past. Spike had felt no reaction when she'd told him she remembered, but now he wondered if she was lucky to have gone back and found nothing, lucky to not have anything chasing her till it killed her.
But then again, judging from that tape, the past that would never chase her wasn't so bad.
Many times since he'd woken he'd wondered what she would have said to him if they met up again. He would expect her to yell and him about how he couldn't just show up like nothing happened—but she'd throw a tantrum, because Faye was Faye, and when it was over it really would be as if he'd never left.
He remembered, after receiving that bad piece of news, that he'd felt disappointed. He'd thought he'd never get to hear her shout at him again, and somehow it was a distressful thought. The room he'd woken up in was too quiet, and nobody had scolded him for his injuries. It didn't feel…correct.
But now she was here. She was here and all either of them could do was have an idle conversation. Chitchat. He wished she'd yell. If she did, he could yell back, they could fight, and he'd have an excuse to focus his attention on her. He needed to do that, to see only her for just a moment so he could deal with his relief of finding her alive.
"Spike…" Faye said slowly, seriously, and quietly. From the tone in her voice, it seemed like he would get the confrontation he'd wished for. He lifted his head a little to watch her, and found her looking right at him. She was like that—not afraid to look someone in the face—but after his comments about his vision before he left, he doubted she'd look him in the eye any time soon, at least not close enough to really see.
"Why didn't you come back?" she asked. Her eyes were narrowed and focused on him; she looked angry and possibly hurt. "You didn't have to—I know you went back to wherever it was you were really living—but why didn't you at least call when it was over?"
Spike stared at her for a moment, taking that last part in. Where he'd really been living… perhaps some part of her actually understood.
"I woke up too late."
"What are you talking about?"
"Some man pulled me off the steps," he began. "He patched me up without my consent, and when I woke up he said he had to leave the planet soon and asked me who he should send for me. I told him to call the Bebop."
Faye held her previous expression. "Nobody called."
"I know. He told me about the Bebop being destroyed, so—"
"WHAT?!" Faye interrupted, standing up quickly. Her eyes were wide with surprise. "D-Destroyed?"
Well she'd certainly caught him off guard. "You didn't know?" he'd assumed she'd known—just how soon after him did she leave the ship?
Faye looked like something in her brain had stopped. "When did this happen?" she asked in a worn out voice, falling back down in her spot with a painful sounding clatter.
Spike stood up and stepped in front of her. "Not sure exactly…" he said. Vaguely he wondered if she was more concerned about Jet or about the last 'home' she had. "I was knocked out for about four days, and apparently it happened in that time…" he trailed off when he saw her sending him a terrible look.
He felt a sting in his left shin as she quickly kicked him in the leg. "Don't do that to me!" she shouted, leaping up once more but this time propelled by fury. "I left the Bebop three days ago—what you're talking about was weeks before!" she took a swing at his face which he barely dodged.
As quickly as she'd started, Faye calmed down almost all the way. She exhaled a loud, frustrated breath. "You were misinformed, obviously," she finally said, voice fuming still. "Who on Mars told you the Bebop was destroyed!?"
A bit at a loss for words, Spike managed to get out a description. "Ah, um this red haired guy—had a barcode on the neck…what?" That look again. Her eye was twitching.
"Don't tell me…" she began to dig into her jacket pocket. Her voice sounded like it might either laugh or scream. That crazed smile—actually more of a twitch of the lips—she got when all her bad luck combined appeared on her face. "This guy?"
She held up a mugshot for him to see. Spike took it and gave it a once over. "Yolan Davis, the newest bounty?" her face had yet to settle, a fit was obviously on its way. "Well you're right, that's him."
Meanwhile, Yolan Davis himself walked unsteadily through the backstreets and darker alleyways. His hands were shaking, his eyes were unfocused, and he was sweating like a pig.
There was so much on his half-present mind he felt like he'd welcome a stroke. He wanted his worries out of his head for just a moment; just a moment so he could focus on what he had to do and not the consequences.
Finally, he came across a welcome face he'd never seen before under a dimming streetlamp. "Something troubling you, buddy?" asked the man.
"I-I just need to calm down." Sorry Ben. So so sorry.
"Tranquility's just a thousand, special price for new friends."
Sorry sorry sorry
He handed over the money and took the envelope offered to him.
So so sorry
Fifteen minutes later his hands were still, he could see again, and his skin was cool. He was sorrier now more than ever, but that would have to wait. He still had a job to do.
Shifting the heavy bag on his shoulder, he turned back on to the main road and headed west. Senses dulled, Yolan didn't notice he was being followed. A small, sporadic figure hopped and crawled and marched along the path behind him, and behind her trotted a stubby legged dog.
She turned to her animal companion and, with a finger over her lips, reminded it, "If we see a stranger, follow him!"
To be continued.
Oh my freaking goodness that was difficult. I like to believe that anyone who's ever written a bebop fic has come across the problem of Spike. He is, in my opinion, one of the most difficult characters to write and to the writers of those few fics I've read that seemed to do him perfectly, how the [insert word-of-choice here] do you do that?!
Gah! This chapter was a lot harder to write than I would have preferred, so I hope you all liked it.
Oh and I feel that since I mention drugs in this I have a responsibility to tell all the kiddies out there to be cool and stay in school and just say no and yadda yadda yadda—drugs suck, okay? There, my morality is satisfied.
And on another note, yes this fic has secondary characters that are important to the plot, but don't worry I promise they won't take up unnecessary chapters with their little problems when we all really want to read about is the Bebop crew. It's just hard for the characters to be angsty and keep the plot moving at once, ya know? So I've got a few more people running around keeping things moving while the real characters sit back and over think themselves into emotional epiphanies.
Yeah, like that made sense.
At any rate, please review because I'll love you forever and ever and it's just no fun to write without feedback.