I don't own. You don't sue.
Forgive the grammar monster, your author has college applications to fill out and they are far more important than the correct spelling of…well…whatever…
At any rate, sorry for the delay, here ya go!
6 Age before Beauty, Calm before Storm
Faye was frowning as she stepped inside Spike's hotel room. He'd left the television on, junk food wrappers littered the ground in nearly as many places as empty cigarette packs and cans of beer or soda. She nearly winced when she saw the bed sheets, crumpled up in a chair next to a trench coat full of bullet holes, both covered in dry blood. Clearly, he hadn't let the maid come in for a while, if at all.
"Ugh, boys," she shook her head and made a beeline for the bathroom, hoping enough complimentary soaps had survived the Wrath of Spiegel so she could clean off.
"What?" Spike asked, looking around the room. "It's not that bad."
"It's a sty!" Faye shouted, voice a tad distorted by the bathroom door. "What did you do before Jet, lie around in your own shit?"
Flopping down on the bare mattress, Spike punched the remote extra hard and turned off whatever random sitcom had been playing. "Well forgive me if I had better things to do than clean the past few weeks," he called back. Better things such as recuperating, and catching enough bounties to stay fed plus the cash needed for the Swordfish II, and trying not to think too much—and of course the more he tried the more he failed.
"And you're not the cleanest woman yourself," he reminded her. Sure she was clean in body, when not covered in flower-whatsits, but he could recall plenty of long missions which had ended with the floor of the Red Tail absolutely littered in containers of dehydrated food packets, the recycled air heavy with newly discovered smells.
Faye didn't bother to retort, which probably meant she hadn't heard him in the first place. The shower was running, and through the wall Spike could hear a muddled, happy sound and then, "Hot water at last!" He grinned. He'd thought those exact words the first time he'd been able to get out of bed and clean himself without further injury.
~And the best part is, it's a hotel, so she can't use it all up.~
"Spike-person's room smells worse than Faye-Faye," laughed Ed as she entered. Margaret was right behind her, now without her sweater for Edward had stolen it to wrap up Ein (Now a squirming red bundle in her arms) so the hotel staff wouldn't notice.
"Come on," Ed called to her new friend. "Ed will teach Margie how to find a bounty-head." She unwrapped Ein and tossed him on the bed next to Spike. The dog whined and rose uncertainly on the saggy mattress, shaking the remaining water off his fur.
Spike immediately shoved the mutt to the floor. "Ed that smell isn't the room, it's wet dog!"
Ed took no notice of the angry bounty hunter. She and Margaret were already setting up Tomato and another computer Spike hadn't seen before. He assumed it was the new girl's, for it was a strange, antique looking thing that fit the odd appearance of the brown haired child who wore colored sunglasses indoors and a collar around her neck (that looked more like someone had stuck her head through a gear than an actual necklace).
"Now Margie must watch Edward closely," ordered Ed. She began to plug different chords connecting the two computers together. Making motions for Margaret to bring her the telephone cord so she could connect.
Spike raised an eyebrow and wondered if internet connection fell under the hotel's services. Oh well, what did it matter anyway? As far as he knew, the bill was still being fronted to Yolan Davis's account, so why not make good use of a free ride?
"So what are you doing, Ed?" he asked, leaning back down on the bed. He needed to shower too, but knowing Faye, she'd be a while.
The hacker beamed, managing to show most of the teeth in her mouth. "One Tomato, Two Tomato, Three Tomato, Four…" she chanted, giving the connecting wires some slack so that she could work on the floor without knocking the other laptop off the small table. "Two Tomatoes mean more more more bounties, faster faster faster Spikeies!"
His eyebrow gave an involuntary jerk. Spikeis? He sighed, knowing not to question, and hoping that the use of two computers would in fact speed things up. He couldn't wait to get out of this place.
"Just make sure you find a bounty that's nearby," he reminded Ed. The bouncing tousle of orange didn't acknowledge him, and the second child was of equal help.. "Remember, we need preferably enough to rescue my baby from the lot and still rent a ship."
Like hell he was leaving without the Swordfish II.
The girls seemed to be working hard. Ein had already fallen asleep, and Spike followed suit, letting the light clicks of the keyboards, the rhythm of the water against the shower doors, and Faye's faint humming lull him off.
~*~*~*~
Thank God Spike was a pig.
If he hadn't been one, he'd have actually taken a humane number of showers, and there wouldn't have been not only one but three clean towels and nearly all of the complimentary shampoo for Faye to exploit.
Gratefully, she peeled off her clothing. Her yellow flight-suit and red jacket were, like her skin, caked in dust, dried blood, poppy spores, and ash from the fire. Frowning as she held her shirt between her fingers at arms length, Faye knew there was no way she'd get back into those clothes until they were washed. The white boots would have to stay dirty, they would just take too long to dry if she washed them now, but everything else—vinyl two-piece, coat, leggings, panties, and even the suspenders—she threw onto the shower unit's tile floor to rinse off after she was done treating her skin.
Faye moaned in delight when the hot water spouted out from the showerhead right away, instead of the usual five minute warm-up wait she'd become accustomed to on the Bebop.
"Hot water at last!"
She rubbed the scented shampoo into her hair, then onto her clothes, ringing out the fabric while she basked in the joy of soft suds running down her body and taking all that grime with them on their trip to the drain. She began to hum, softly at first, but it got louder. She didn't care if Spike overheard and insulted her again. She'd put away singing for nearly a year for that Lunkhead just so there'd be one less thing to fight about, but let him sit there and cringe is she was so off key—what's wrong with a little harmless fun? Especially since most of her other types of fun weren't so harmless.
She draped her clothes over the side of the shower unit's glass doors, and dunked her head under the full blast of the spicket.
Time to wash it all away.
The past few weeks of hell, the waiting, wondering and finally mourning that turned out to be useless. Tip-toeing around Jet so she wouldn't get thrown off the ship as soon as his leg healed, only to have him blow up in her face anyway. The assassin, and a horrible ship malfunction for the second time above earth…seeing that replay of the moon getting too, too close…
Time to make it all go away. Bury it. Drown it. Down the pipes and into the sewers where she'd never have to deal with it.
She grabbed the tiny bottle of conditioner, poured a large amount into her hand and began to rub it in her dark hair roughly. Already the choking scent of the poppies was fading in favor for the lighter floral fragrances from the soaps and shampoo. Faye smiled, knowing she was killing it—killing her bad day.
But it shouldn't have been a bad day, right? Spike was alive after all. She should be grateful. In fact, she'd been choking on unshed tears for what seemed like hours as she discovered she was more grateful than she'd expected herself capable of. But it was going to be all right. It had to be, it was written in the cards—or at least Faye would be sure that she made the cards say that.
~~I'm Poker Alice, after all~~
It would be as if he'd never left…and eventually, she'd be able to forget that he left in the first place. That was her hope, at least. Faye didn't want to think about Spike right now, he had a habit of ruining what should have been a nice shower whether it was by pounding on the door and yelling or merely invading her thoughts.
Is he coming back? Is he going to stay? Is he ever going to talk about what happened?—well hell no, Faye, he won't even talk about what lead up to it all, what would make him start sharing now?
Focus. Wash it all away.
Her skin was red by now, almost as if a blush had crept up her entire body, but that couldn't be right. Water came from her eyes, but it was just the steam helping her sinuses—she'd been covered in pollen after all, wasn't it understandable? They weren't tears, they couldn't be.
No more feelings.
The water was just too hot.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike dreamed he was awake, however much sense that made.. His dream began before the showdown with Vicious, before he'd even known of Vicious in fact. There was no Bebop, there was no Julia, there was only Spike—all emotions present, in-tuned with reality Spike—and the drunk man next to him at the bar whose name he'd long forgotten.
"Isn't it gettin' late, boy?" asked the drunk man. He wore a business suit, the tie undone, but anyone could easily tell there was muscle underneath. Spike sat quietly on the stool wearing his leather jacket, a Bruce Lee t-shirt, and ordinary faded jeans. He felt the difference of stature through his clothes, knowing that he could kick the drunk man's ass, but that would only bring trouble.
"Ain't your fam'ly worried 'bout ya, boy?"
Spike shook his head. "None."
The man smirked and squinted. "All alone, eh?" he asked. "Too old an orphan to get some sympathy, eh? I've known it. I've known it."
"That so…" Spike fed the drunk the answer he'd wanted to hear, not really caring what the guy knew.
"It's so, it is…" the man trialed off in favor of looking thoughtful. "But I've got a fam'ly now, yasee… brothers. Nothing beats brothers that've got yer back, ya know."
Spike continued with his silence.
"That's the great thing 'bout the Dragons, see? No loner, no squatter, no men like us are worth anything unless we're worth something—see?" Drunk logic. "Working together for everyone….we all get a cut, that's what it's about, you know? Shelter, food, status, brothers—there really is something to say for brothers, in manners of respect and all….yes….that's it…. It's about when somebody messes with your friend you don't have to stand for it, you see boy? And everybody gets a cut—working towards something…
What are you working towards, boy?"
Spike shrugged.
"That's pathetic, boy, you're wasting space if you're not doing anything and—ah! There's the man!" The drunk man swiveled his stool and stood up, nearly falling back down but obviously making an effort to look suitable for the new person who'd just entered the little drinking den.
Ought of pure curiosity, Spike followed the drunk out of the corner of his eye and watched him stumble over to the entrance to meet his acquaintance, a tall, thin man with long silver-blonde hair and an expression both hostile and melancholy.
"Vicious, Sir!" the drunk managed to stand at a sort of attention. "The mission was succeshful, Sir. We were celebrating over a beer."
"The other's left a half hour ago," Vicious replied coolly. "I was sent to make sure you hadn't run off."
"Run? No, never, no…" the man laughed, feeling the suggestion to be the funniest thing in the world. "I was giving that boy some advice, you know. Kids today haven't learned how to be productive."
At the words 'that boy' Spike decided that if he was going the subject of conversation he didn't have to pretend any longer that he wasn't eavesdropping. He turned in his seat to find Vicious glancing up at him, but he turned right back to his plastered underling without acknowledging Spike.
And then someone said "he's one of the usual suspects", although Spike wasn't sure who or why, but with that phrase the dream changed. It moved quickly, in a blur, pausing in places just long enough for him to catch an image here and there.
Little things, some important and some not. Things like the mustache on the face of the man he'd had to spar with to prove he was Syndicate material; the chewed fingernails on the girl (a higher agent's nervous little sister, only sixteen) who carefully handed him the weapon he was to use, his Jericho; his first fight, when adrenaline overcame the panic and he found himself back to back with Vicious, realizing that the men he was working were indeed backing him up and he had found a fold….
Indeed, there was nothing like brothers.
Then the turning stopped, and it was months later. He and his team were shooting pool at the bar which he'd first been recruited at, and Spike was winning as usual. But then the door opened, and in stepped…
Nobody?
That didn't seem right. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt he was waiting for someone. Spike looked around and counted off the members of his team—all present, including Vicious—so if everyone was here, who had he been expecting? It was probably just the wind pushing the door open, but for some reason it bothered him like an itch he couldn't scratch.
Everything which had been so right a moment ago now seemed very out of place, and Spike found that he couldn't shake the feeling that something had been overlooked. Forgetting about the game, he pulled his trench coat over his other jacket and hurried out the door, which was still open as if an invisible hand had turned the handle.
He rushed down the street unsure of his direction, but knowing there was something—or someone, perhaps—that he needed to find. But slowly, unexplainably, it became harder and harder to walk. Spike wrapped an arm across his torso, finding gashes and bullet wounds bleeding freely and wincing at the pressure on what was probably a broken rib.
Spike couldn't remember where those injuries had come from, but somehow he knew that the reason they were there was because the other members of his team had failed to watch his back.
Every man for himself, after all.
Perhaps it was the newfound sensation of bitterness that forced a sudden wave of nausea and cold chills, but it might just as easily have been the blood loss. Either way, he could no longer force another step, or hold himself up for that matter. His eyes blurred and the world tilted.
He didn't know much at that point, only that he hit the ground outside of an apartment building with many lit windows. The door opened up, but the invisible hand must have been the cause once more, for there was nobody standing in the open square of light.
Spike's dream had turned to darkness, but although he saw nothing he could hear a voice coming through. Singing? Humming? A soft melody with no words forced him to open his eyes to a setting he didn't recognize and knew at once was completely wrong.
He lay on a funny-smelling couch, bandaged up like a mummy. One hand had fallen over the side and rested on the floor, through which he could feel the slight vibration on an engine, meaning he was on a ship.
"What…?" he managed, finding his voice next to nothing.
The singing stopped. "Hush up," someone ordered softly. It was a woman he'd never seen before with purple hair and little clothing. "You really took a beating; don't move."
Spike made to sit up but the woman's pale hands pushed him down again before one rested against his forehead.
"Got a fever too," she said. "You really need to rest."
He stared at her in confusion. His reason for lying on the couch was obvious: he was injured and she'd patched him up, but that didn't explain why the concern in her voice and the slight smile on her face seemed so completely wrong.
"I was supposed to meet someone…a woman…" he said, unsure of how he'd known that. "Was it you?"
"It wasn't me."
"Why didn't she show up? At the bar…at her apartment…where is she?"
The purple haired woman removed her hand from his forehead (for which he was a bit sorry, because it had felt cool and relieving) and looked thoughtful. "She said she'll be waiting for you at the place….she said you'd understand that," answered the woman rather gravely. "You're hurt pretty bad though, the trip might kill you."
But he knew that didn't matter.
"How do I get there?"
"You'll need to wake up first."
The dream changed again as soon as Spike's head fell back onto the couch cushion. Suddenly the couch wasn't a couch at all, but a bed in a sparsely decorated apartment that he recognized.
Julia, the graveyard…it was all coming back to him now.
Spike leapt from the bed. His wounds were no more but his trench coat was still a tattered mess. He left it on the chair next to the bed, knowing it no longer mattered if Vicious found traces of him in Julia's apartment. A moment later, he was out the door.
He didn't know what he expected to find at the old chapel. Would Julia be there, ready to run away with him? Or would she kill him like Vicious wanted her to? Perhaps she wouldn't be there at all, and it would be a Syndicate team ready to ambush him…
It turned out to be none of those. When he rounded the side of the church and found the graveyard path he saw a familiar face—two of the same face actually. Shin and his brother Lin stood next to an unfilled grave, hovering over a casket.
He couldn't help but look on in confusion as Lin, much to Shin's apparent distress and annoyance, began yelling at the coffin and banging on the top with the handle of his gun. Spike came forward just in time to catch "are you crazy, woman!?" before they saw him.
"Spike! Thank goodness," Shin called, causing Lin to look up. "We could really use a hand with this. You'll probably have more luck than us."
He stared at the polished mahogany box, a wreath of red roses resting on the lid. "What's all this?"
"It's Julia," Shin explained. "She wont come out."
Spike started. "Wont come…out?" he looked to the coffin once more. "Of there? What's she doing in there?"
"I'd sure as hell like to know," Lin growled.
Shin sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Could you give it a try, Spike? She listens to you. She's supposed to be meeting Vicious at the opera house in a couple hours and there's going to be trouble if she doesn't show." What Shin also knew, but didn't mention, was that instead of going to the opera, the plan had for her and Spike to meet at this spot so they could run away together…
"I'm not going!" came the muffled voice of Julia from inside the casket. She didn't specify going with Vicious or going with Spike.
"You're acting like a four year old!" snapped Lin with another whack to the lid. "How are we supposed to explain to Vicious that you'd rather lay there playing vampire than see him?"
"I'm not playing vampire, I'm resting," Julia retorted. "And you're supposed to let me rest in ~peace~, can't you read the tombstone?"
"She's not going to listen to you that way," Shin muttered, pushing his brother aside. He stepped forward, kneeled down, and talked into the coffin handle. "Julia please, I know you want out of the Syndicate, but this really isn't the right way to fake your own death."
"That's not why I'm in here."
"The why the hell ~are~ you doing this?" Spike demanded, striding forward until he was close enough to talk through the wood. He was nearly positive he could hear her sobbing inside despite the fact that her voice sounded strong. He knew he should be able to hold her and comfort her right now—she'd always turned to him for that whenever the sadness overtook her—so why was she blocking him off? Spike could understand her locking herself away to escape Vicious, but to escape him as well?
"I can't tell you, Spike…" she finally replied, and this time the tears were very evident.
"Why not?"
"Because I haven't figured it out yet."
There was silence for a long time, which was broken by Shin. "The gravediggers are here to fill up the hole, I'd better hold 'em off," he said, getting up and giving Lin's sleeve a tug as a signal to accompany him, leaving Spike and Julia alone.
Alone and in a strange position as Spike sat down with his back against the coffin, lighting a cigarette. She needed time to think, fine, but couldn't she think while they were on the road? He wasn't trying to be insensitive, but windows of opportunity were few. Normally Vicious and Julia would arrive at the opera together but business had forced them to meet up at the building leaving them with the two hours it took her to "get ready for the show" to use to escape. The clock was ticking, not to mention those gravediggers looked ready to get on with their work and go home
"Julia? Do you know how much more time you're going to need—or do you at least know how many hours or air you've got in there?"
There was scuffling sounds from inside the coffin. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you, what did you say?"
"I said, how much longer?"
"Be patient, Spike-person."
Spike started. "What?"
"Edward said to be patient, Spike-person. Ed is almost done locating the bounty-head." And with that Spike opened his eyes to find himself back at the hotel room. Ed and the other kid were still typing away and Ein was sound asleep uncomfortably close to his face—dog breath, yeesh.
"Did I hear you say you found a bounty?" asked Faye. Spike looked over as the bathroom door opened and the woman stepped out. The steam from within escaped into the main room, puffing into the air and fading as fast as the dream was from Spike's memory.
~*~*~
To Be Continued
Okay, author's notes ahoy! Short chapter, eh? Well, at least it's short considering that, well, it's me for crying out loud and am I really known for my short chapters? Didn't think so. But I see it this way: in the long run the story will be easier to read (and update) with shorter chapters…of course my version of a short chapter is roughly 10 word doc pages so "short" is all a matter of perception…blah blah blah…
Well hey, I'm sure all you out there have been in the situation where you waited months and months for an update and then got like two pages—wasn't that frustrating? I sure think it is, so be grateful for your ten pages!!
But if you greedy little earthlings are still hard up for more fic, especially since this was supposed to be updated, I dunno, MONTHS ago, rest assured that I am already in progress with the next chapter so that'll be up waaaay faster than it took this update.
Originally, this chapter was supposed to be twice as long, but I figured that it would be better broken into two parts and besides, you all waited long enough. But don't think that I've been slacking off all this time, no sir! I've written plenty for this fic, however apparently there's this thing where people want to read stuff in order…so even though I have the ending all nice and purty and typed out, you spoiled readers want to know what happens in the middle, bah!
Heheh, did you notice how my rants on chapter length are almost as long as the actual chapter? My bad.
So anywho, notes on this chappie:
Not many notes to speak of because like I said it was supposed to be twice as long. This half has all the angst, so the next chapter has the action…well I think I'm planning some angst for the beginning and end, but the middle part is action. I still have to get around to Jet angst and plot (notice how he wasn't in this chapter, that made me sad. I tried to write him in but it didn't come out right, so better no Jet this chapter than poorly written Jet I say!)
Okay you probably did notice that I added in a dream sequence—at least I hope you noticed, cause that was kinda a big hunk o text there. But rest assured this is not a Let's Play with Spike's Psyche sort of thing. I'm planning on one…maybe two more dreams in the course of this fic, however none of them will have anything to do with the other. The dreams will be for pure characterization, not plot points.
To end with, I'm kind of disappointed with this chapter. Basically because the plotline didn't move I suppose, but I suppose I can take the plot into a quantum leap with the next installment, still, although I liked the psychology in this chapter, I'm not sure how much I like it…
I would have preferred it as one big chapter, but I'm doing this breaking down thing for you! The readers! Ugh I'm such an attention whore… feed my addiction, leave me reviews…
Forgive the grammar monster, your author has college applications to fill out and they are far more important than the correct spelling of…well…whatever…
At any rate, sorry for the delay, here ya go!
6 Age before Beauty, Calm before Storm
Faye was frowning as she stepped inside Spike's hotel room. He'd left the television on, junk food wrappers littered the ground in nearly as many places as empty cigarette packs and cans of beer or soda. She nearly winced when she saw the bed sheets, crumpled up in a chair next to a trench coat full of bullet holes, both covered in dry blood. Clearly, he hadn't let the maid come in for a while, if at all.
"Ugh, boys," she shook her head and made a beeline for the bathroom, hoping enough complimentary soaps had survived the Wrath of Spiegel so she could clean off.
"What?" Spike asked, looking around the room. "It's not that bad."
"It's a sty!" Faye shouted, voice a tad distorted by the bathroom door. "What did you do before Jet, lie around in your own shit?"
Flopping down on the bare mattress, Spike punched the remote extra hard and turned off whatever random sitcom had been playing. "Well forgive me if I had better things to do than clean the past few weeks," he called back. Better things such as recuperating, and catching enough bounties to stay fed plus the cash needed for the Swordfish II, and trying not to think too much—and of course the more he tried the more he failed.
"And you're not the cleanest woman yourself," he reminded her. Sure she was clean in body, when not covered in flower-whatsits, but he could recall plenty of long missions which had ended with the floor of the Red Tail absolutely littered in containers of dehydrated food packets, the recycled air heavy with newly discovered smells.
Faye didn't bother to retort, which probably meant she hadn't heard him in the first place. The shower was running, and through the wall Spike could hear a muddled, happy sound and then, "Hot water at last!" He grinned. He'd thought those exact words the first time he'd been able to get out of bed and clean himself without further injury.
~And the best part is, it's a hotel, so she can't use it all up.~
"Spike-person's room smells worse than Faye-Faye," laughed Ed as she entered. Margaret was right behind her, now without her sweater for Edward had stolen it to wrap up Ein (Now a squirming red bundle in her arms) so the hotel staff wouldn't notice.
"Come on," Ed called to her new friend. "Ed will teach Margie how to find a bounty-head." She unwrapped Ein and tossed him on the bed next to Spike. The dog whined and rose uncertainly on the saggy mattress, shaking the remaining water off his fur.
Spike immediately shoved the mutt to the floor. "Ed that smell isn't the room, it's wet dog!"
Ed took no notice of the angry bounty hunter. She and Margaret were already setting up Tomato and another computer Spike hadn't seen before. He assumed it was the new girl's, for it was a strange, antique looking thing that fit the odd appearance of the brown haired child who wore colored sunglasses indoors and a collar around her neck (that looked more like someone had stuck her head through a gear than an actual necklace).
"Now Margie must watch Edward closely," ordered Ed. She began to plug different chords connecting the two computers together. Making motions for Margaret to bring her the telephone cord so she could connect.
Spike raised an eyebrow and wondered if internet connection fell under the hotel's services. Oh well, what did it matter anyway? As far as he knew, the bill was still being fronted to Yolan Davis's account, so why not make good use of a free ride?
"So what are you doing, Ed?" he asked, leaning back down on the bed. He needed to shower too, but knowing Faye, she'd be a while.
The hacker beamed, managing to show most of the teeth in her mouth. "One Tomato, Two Tomato, Three Tomato, Four…" she chanted, giving the connecting wires some slack so that she could work on the floor without knocking the other laptop off the small table. "Two Tomatoes mean more more more bounties, faster faster faster Spikeies!"
His eyebrow gave an involuntary jerk. Spikeis? He sighed, knowing not to question, and hoping that the use of two computers would in fact speed things up. He couldn't wait to get out of this place.
"Just make sure you find a bounty that's nearby," he reminded Ed. The bouncing tousle of orange didn't acknowledge him, and the second child was of equal help.. "Remember, we need preferably enough to rescue my baby from the lot and still rent a ship."
Like hell he was leaving without the Swordfish II.
The girls seemed to be working hard. Ein had already fallen asleep, and Spike followed suit, letting the light clicks of the keyboards, the rhythm of the water against the shower doors, and Faye's faint humming lull him off.
~*~*~*~
Thank God Spike was a pig.
If he hadn't been one, he'd have actually taken a humane number of showers, and there wouldn't have been not only one but three clean towels and nearly all of the complimentary shampoo for Faye to exploit.
Gratefully, she peeled off her clothing. Her yellow flight-suit and red jacket were, like her skin, caked in dust, dried blood, poppy spores, and ash from the fire. Frowning as she held her shirt between her fingers at arms length, Faye knew there was no way she'd get back into those clothes until they were washed. The white boots would have to stay dirty, they would just take too long to dry if she washed them now, but everything else—vinyl two-piece, coat, leggings, panties, and even the suspenders—she threw onto the shower unit's tile floor to rinse off after she was done treating her skin.
Faye moaned in delight when the hot water spouted out from the showerhead right away, instead of the usual five minute warm-up wait she'd become accustomed to on the Bebop.
"Hot water at last!"
She rubbed the scented shampoo into her hair, then onto her clothes, ringing out the fabric while she basked in the joy of soft suds running down her body and taking all that grime with them on their trip to the drain. She began to hum, softly at first, but it got louder. She didn't care if Spike overheard and insulted her again. She'd put away singing for nearly a year for that Lunkhead just so there'd be one less thing to fight about, but let him sit there and cringe is she was so off key—what's wrong with a little harmless fun? Especially since most of her other types of fun weren't so harmless.
She draped her clothes over the side of the shower unit's glass doors, and dunked her head under the full blast of the spicket.
Time to wash it all away.
The past few weeks of hell, the waiting, wondering and finally mourning that turned out to be useless. Tip-toeing around Jet so she wouldn't get thrown off the ship as soon as his leg healed, only to have him blow up in her face anyway. The assassin, and a horrible ship malfunction for the second time above earth…seeing that replay of the moon getting too, too close…
Time to make it all go away. Bury it. Drown it. Down the pipes and into the sewers where she'd never have to deal with it.
She grabbed the tiny bottle of conditioner, poured a large amount into her hand and began to rub it in her dark hair roughly. Already the choking scent of the poppies was fading in favor for the lighter floral fragrances from the soaps and shampoo. Faye smiled, knowing she was killing it—killing her bad day.
But it shouldn't have been a bad day, right? Spike was alive after all. She should be grateful. In fact, she'd been choking on unshed tears for what seemed like hours as she discovered she was more grateful than she'd expected herself capable of. But it was going to be all right. It had to be, it was written in the cards—or at least Faye would be sure that she made the cards say that.
~~I'm Poker Alice, after all~~
It would be as if he'd never left…and eventually, she'd be able to forget that he left in the first place. That was her hope, at least. Faye didn't want to think about Spike right now, he had a habit of ruining what should have been a nice shower whether it was by pounding on the door and yelling or merely invading her thoughts.
Is he coming back? Is he going to stay? Is he ever going to talk about what happened?—well hell no, Faye, he won't even talk about what lead up to it all, what would make him start sharing now?
Focus. Wash it all away.
Her skin was red by now, almost as if a blush had crept up her entire body, but that couldn't be right. Water came from her eyes, but it was just the steam helping her sinuses—she'd been covered in pollen after all, wasn't it understandable? They weren't tears, they couldn't be.
No more feelings.
The water was just too hot.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike dreamed he was awake, however much sense that made.. His dream began before the showdown with Vicious, before he'd even known of Vicious in fact. There was no Bebop, there was no Julia, there was only Spike—all emotions present, in-tuned with reality Spike—and the drunk man next to him at the bar whose name he'd long forgotten.
"Isn't it gettin' late, boy?" asked the drunk man. He wore a business suit, the tie undone, but anyone could easily tell there was muscle underneath. Spike sat quietly on the stool wearing his leather jacket, a Bruce Lee t-shirt, and ordinary faded jeans. He felt the difference of stature through his clothes, knowing that he could kick the drunk man's ass, but that would only bring trouble.
"Ain't your fam'ly worried 'bout ya, boy?"
Spike shook his head. "None."
The man smirked and squinted. "All alone, eh?" he asked. "Too old an orphan to get some sympathy, eh? I've known it. I've known it."
"That so…" Spike fed the drunk the answer he'd wanted to hear, not really caring what the guy knew.
"It's so, it is…" the man trialed off in favor of looking thoughtful. "But I've got a fam'ly now, yasee… brothers. Nothing beats brothers that've got yer back, ya know."
Spike continued with his silence.
"That's the great thing 'bout the Dragons, see? No loner, no squatter, no men like us are worth anything unless we're worth something—see?" Drunk logic. "Working together for everyone….we all get a cut, that's what it's about, you know? Shelter, food, status, brothers—there really is something to say for brothers, in manners of respect and all….yes….that's it…. It's about when somebody messes with your friend you don't have to stand for it, you see boy? And everybody gets a cut—working towards something…
What are you working towards, boy?"
Spike shrugged.
"That's pathetic, boy, you're wasting space if you're not doing anything and—ah! There's the man!" The drunk man swiveled his stool and stood up, nearly falling back down but obviously making an effort to look suitable for the new person who'd just entered the little drinking den.
Ought of pure curiosity, Spike followed the drunk out of the corner of his eye and watched him stumble over to the entrance to meet his acquaintance, a tall, thin man with long silver-blonde hair and an expression both hostile and melancholy.
"Vicious, Sir!" the drunk managed to stand at a sort of attention. "The mission was succeshful, Sir. We were celebrating over a beer."
"The other's left a half hour ago," Vicious replied coolly. "I was sent to make sure you hadn't run off."
"Run? No, never, no…" the man laughed, feeling the suggestion to be the funniest thing in the world. "I was giving that boy some advice, you know. Kids today haven't learned how to be productive."
At the words 'that boy' Spike decided that if he was going the subject of conversation he didn't have to pretend any longer that he wasn't eavesdropping. He turned in his seat to find Vicious glancing up at him, but he turned right back to his plastered underling without acknowledging Spike.
And then someone said "he's one of the usual suspects", although Spike wasn't sure who or why, but with that phrase the dream changed. It moved quickly, in a blur, pausing in places just long enough for him to catch an image here and there.
Little things, some important and some not. Things like the mustache on the face of the man he'd had to spar with to prove he was Syndicate material; the chewed fingernails on the girl (a higher agent's nervous little sister, only sixteen) who carefully handed him the weapon he was to use, his Jericho; his first fight, when adrenaline overcame the panic and he found himself back to back with Vicious, realizing that the men he was working were indeed backing him up and he had found a fold….
Indeed, there was nothing like brothers.
Then the turning stopped, and it was months later. He and his team were shooting pool at the bar which he'd first been recruited at, and Spike was winning as usual. But then the door opened, and in stepped…
Nobody?
That didn't seem right. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt he was waiting for someone. Spike looked around and counted off the members of his team—all present, including Vicious—so if everyone was here, who had he been expecting? It was probably just the wind pushing the door open, but for some reason it bothered him like an itch he couldn't scratch.
Everything which had been so right a moment ago now seemed very out of place, and Spike found that he couldn't shake the feeling that something had been overlooked. Forgetting about the game, he pulled his trench coat over his other jacket and hurried out the door, which was still open as if an invisible hand had turned the handle.
He rushed down the street unsure of his direction, but knowing there was something—or someone, perhaps—that he needed to find. But slowly, unexplainably, it became harder and harder to walk. Spike wrapped an arm across his torso, finding gashes and bullet wounds bleeding freely and wincing at the pressure on what was probably a broken rib.
Spike couldn't remember where those injuries had come from, but somehow he knew that the reason they were there was because the other members of his team had failed to watch his back.
Every man for himself, after all.
Perhaps it was the newfound sensation of bitterness that forced a sudden wave of nausea and cold chills, but it might just as easily have been the blood loss. Either way, he could no longer force another step, or hold himself up for that matter. His eyes blurred and the world tilted.
He didn't know much at that point, only that he hit the ground outside of an apartment building with many lit windows. The door opened up, but the invisible hand must have been the cause once more, for there was nobody standing in the open square of light.
Spike's dream had turned to darkness, but although he saw nothing he could hear a voice coming through. Singing? Humming? A soft melody with no words forced him to open his eyes to a setting he didn't recognize and knew at once was completely wrong.
He lay on a funny-smelling couch, bandaged up like a mummy. One hand had fallen over the side and rested on the floor, through which he could feel the slight vibration on an engine, meaning he was on a ship.
"What…?" he managed, finding his voice next to nothing.
The singing stopped. "Hush up," someone ordered softly. It was a woman he'd never seen before with purple hair and little clothing. "You really took a beating; don't move."
Spike made to sit up but the woman's pale hands pushed him down again before one rested against his forehead.
"Got a fever too," she said. "You really need to rest."
He stared at her in confusion. His reason for lying on the couch was obvious: he was injured and she'd patched him up, but that didn't explain why the concern in her voice and the slight smile on her face seemed so completely wrong.
"I was supposed to meet someone…a woman…" he said, unsure of how he'd known that. "Was it you?"
"It wasn't me."
"Why didn't she show up? At the bar…at her apartment…where is she?"
The purple haired woman removed her hand from his forehead (for which he was a bit sorry, because it had felt cool and relieving) and looked thoughtful. "She said she'll be waiting for you at the place….she said you'd understand that," answered the woman rather gravely. "You're hurt pretty bad though, the trip might kill you."
But he knew that didn't matter.
"How do I get there?"
"You'll need to wake up first."
The dream changed again as soon as Spike's head fell back onto the couch cushion. Suddenly the couch wasn't a couch at all, but a bed in a sparsely decorated apartment that he recognized.
Julia, the graveyard…it was all coming back to him now.
Spike leapt from the bed. His wounds were no more but his trench coat was still a tattered mess. He left it on the chair next to the bed, knowing it no longer mattered if Vicious found traces of him in Julia's apartment. A moment later, he was out the door.
He didn't know what he expected to find at the old chapel. Would Julia be there, ready to run away with him? Or would she kill him like Vicious wanted her to? Perhaps she wouldn't be there at all, and it would be a Syndicate team ready to ambush him…
It turned out to be none of those. When he rounded the side of the church and found the graveyard path he saw a familiar face—two of the same face actually. Shin and his brother Lin stood next to an unfilled grave, hovering over a casket.
He couldn't help but look on in confusion as Lin, much to Shin's apparent distress and annoyance, began yelling at the coffin and banging on the top with the handle of his gun. Spike came forward just in time to catch "are you crazy, woman!?" before they saw him.
"Spike! Thank goodness," Shin called, causing Lin to look up. "We could really use a hand with this. You'll probably have more luck than us."
He stared at the polished mahogany box, a wreath of red roses resting on the lid. "What's all this?"
"It's Julia," Shin explained. "She wont come out."
Spike started. "Wont come…out?" he looked to the coffin once more. "Of there? What's she doing in there?"
"I'd sure as hell like to know," Lin growled.
Shin sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Could you give it a try, Spike? She listens to you. She's supposed to be meeting Vicious at the opera house in a couple hours and there's going to be trouble if she doesn't show." What Shin also knew, but didn't mention, was that instead of going to the opera, the plan had for her and Spike to meet at this spot so they could run away together…
"I'm not going!" came the muffled voice of Julia from inside the casket. She didn't specify going with Vicious or going with Spike.
"You're acting like a four year old!" snapped Lin with another whack to the lid. "How are we supposed to explain to Vicious that you'd rather lay there playing vampire than see him?"
"I'm not playing vampire, I'm resting," Julia retorted. "And you're supposed to let me rest in ~peace~, can't you read the tombstone?"
"She's not going to listen to you that way," Shin muttered, pushing his brother aside. He stepped forward, kneeled down, and talked into the coffin handle. "Julia please, I know you want out of the Syndicate, but this really isn't the right way to fake your own death."
"That's not why I'm in here."
"The why the hell ~are~ you doing this?" Spike demanded, striding forward until he was close enough to talk through the wood. He was nearly positive he could hear her sobbing inside despite the fact that her voice sounded strong. He knew he should be able to hold her and comfort her right now—she'd always turned to him for that whenever the sadness overtook her—so why was she blocking him off? Spike could understand her locking herself away to escape Vicious, but to escape him as well?
"I can't tell you, Spike…" she finally replied, and this time the tears were very evident.
"Why not?"
"Because I haven't figured it out yet."
There was silence for a long time, which was broken by Shin. "The gravediggers are here to fill up the hole, I'd better hold 'em off," he said, getting up and giving Lin's sleeve a tug as a signal to accompany him, leaving Spike and Julia alone.
Alone and in a strange position as Spike sat down with his back against the coffin, lighting a cigarette. She needed time to think, fine, but couldn't she think while they were on the road? He wasn't trying to be insensitive, but windows of opportunity were few. Normally Vicious and Julia would arrive at the opera together but business had forced them to meet up at the building leaving them with the two hours it took her to "get ready for the show" to use to escape. The clock was ticking, not to mention those gravediggers looked ready to get on with their work and go home
"Julia? Do you know how much more time you're going to need—or do you at least know how many hours or air you've got in there?"
There was scuffling sounds from inside the coffin. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you, what did you say?"
"I said, how much longer?"
"Be patient, Spike-person."
Spike started. "What?"
"Edward said to be patient, Spike-person. Ed is almost done locating the bounty-head." And with that Spike opened his eyes to find himself back at the hotel room. Ed and the other kid were still typing away and Ein was sound asleep uncomfortably close to his face—dog breath, yeesh.
"Did I hear you say you found a bounty?" asked Faye. Spike looked over as the bathroom door opened and the woman stepped out. The steam from within escaped into the main room, puffing into the air and fading as fast as the dream was from Spike's memory.
~*~*~
To Be Continued
Okay, author's notes ahoy! Short chapter, eh? Well, at least it's short considering that, well, it's me for crying out loud and am I really known for my short chapters? Didn't think so. But I see it this way: in the long run the story will be easier to read (and update) with shorter chapters…of course my version of a short chapter is roughly 10 word doc pages so "short" is all a matter of perception…blah blah blah…
Well hey, I'm sure all you out there have been in the situation where you waited months and months for an update and then got like two pages—wasn't that frustrating? I sure think it is, so be grateful for your ten pages!!
But if you greedy little earthlings are still hard up for more fic, especially since this was supposed to be updated, I dunno, MONTHS ago, rest assured that I am already in progress with the next chapter so that'll be up waaaay faster than it took this update.
Originally, this chapter was supposed to be twice as long, but I figured that it would be better broken into two parts and besides, you all waited long enough. But don't think that I've been slacking off all this time, no sir! I've written plenty for this fic, however apparently there's this thing where people want to read stuff in order…so even though I have the ending all nice and purty and typed out, you spoiled readers want to know what happens in the middle, bah!
Heheh, did you notice how my rants on chapter length are almost as long as the actual chapter? My bad.
So anywho, notes on this chappie:
Not many notes to speak of because like I said it was supposed to be twice as long. This half has all the angst, so the next chapter has the action…well I think I'm planning some angst for the beginning and end, but the middle part is action. I still have to get around to Jet angst and plot (notice how he wasn't in this chapter, that made me sad. I tried to write him in but it didn't come out right, so better no Jet this chapter than poorly written Jet I say!)
Okay you probably did notice that I added in a dream sequence—at least I hope you noticed, cause that was kinda a big hunk o text there. But rest assured this is not a Let's Play with Spike's Psyche sort of thing. I'm planning on one…maybe two more dreams in the course of this fic, however none of them will have anything to do with the other. The dreams will be for pure characterization, not plot points.
To end with, I'm kind of disappointed with this chapter. Basically because the plotline didn't move I suppose, but I suppose I can take the plot into a quantum leap with the next installment, still, although I liked the psychology in this chapter, I'm not sure how much I like it…
I would have preferred it as one big chapter, but I'm doing this breaking down thing for you! The readers! Ugh I'm such an attention whore… feed my addiction, leave me reviews…