[Just for reference, the sake of my well being, and the sake of the wallet, I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of the characters held within. Cowboy Bebop and the characters are owned by Sunrise.]
Author's Note: Thanks for taking the time to read my story. This is my first Cowboy Bebop story so please review so I know that I didn't completely defile the best anime series I have ever seen.
Fallen Seraphim is rated PG-13 for realistic violence and language.
Timeline: Occurs after episode 24: Hard Luck Woman but before The Real Folk Blues. Oh, and I know Big Shot was cancelled in the show, just let me have that one bit of writer's prerogative.
~Cowboy Bebop~
~Fallen Seraphim~
~Take Down~
"I hate opera," Faye muttered shifting uneasily in her seat. "Especially this song, what's it called again?" She turned to the man sitting next to her.
"Ave Maria," Spike answered. He wished she wasn't so fidgety; she was drawing attention to herself. He had already tried to quiet her down numerous times, but she wouldn't shut up. It was as if something inside her kept her mouth moving even though she had repeated every sentence at least five times in the last ten minutes. "Will you try and calm down. We're starting to get some weird looks. Bounties are usually easier to catch if they don't know you're here."
"I've just had bad luck with opera, that's all," she replied, trying to pass off her nervousness.
"You are bad luck if you haven't noticed," Spike fired back. Earning him a disapproving look from Faye as well as a few shushes from people near them.
"Now who's drawing a crowd?" Faye asked amused. Spike turned to glare at her, shrugged, then decided it'd be best to keep an eye out for the bounty.
His eyes went out across the audience, but he was fairly sure that their man wouldn't be in the ground level seats. Turning his attention to the balconies, he casually took in the details of how extravagant people could actually be. There was probably someone up there who's dress alone put the ten million woolong reward on this bounty to shame. Hell, the tickets to this thing alone had taken a hefty sum out of the possible ten million reward; not to mention the tux and the dress.
All the more reason to nail this guy. Spike grinned slightly at the thought, and the fact that his eyes just found something worth ten million. He lightly nudged Faye and she glanced up in the direction he was looking. She nodded in agreement once spotting him.
"Let's grab him now, I can't stand this anymore," Faye snapped; what patience she had was obviously running thin.
Spike quickly weighed his options. If they waited, there was the possibility this guy might skip out. But waiting to grab him allowed Spike to get the full enjoyment of the opera experience, whatever the hell that was. Plus it included tormenting Faye. Then there was also the possibility that Faye might go ballistic and start shooting random people, lose the bounty, and get stuck with a hospital bill. Grabbing him now seemed like a good idea.
"Alright, let's go," Spike whispered to her. The two began to make their way towards the end of the aisle, much to the chagrin of the other opera goers. It appeared that many of the audience members were more than a little annoyed at the "green-haired punk" and his "date."
- - - - -
The pair made their way down one of the many ornate hallways of the concert hall. Spike reached into his jacket and removed his Jericho from its holster. For some reason, even though he was adept at hand-to-hand combat, there was something about a gun that just reassured him. The cool feeling of the metal on your hand. The fact that merely holding a weapon gave you controlled power. Not just the power to end a life, but the power to harness an explosion.
He glanced over at Faye, keeping in step with him, her Glock held firmly in her right hand...Where the hell does she keep that thing? Especially with what she's wearing. Spike eyed the skimpy black dress. Low-cut, spaghetti strap, back less that hung down to just below her thigh, with a slit up the right. Where'd she hide the gun? The purse! Well, after all the makeup he saw her cram into that little thing he wasn't quite sure there would be room.
"Faye?" Spike asked cautiously, not sure if asking this would violate some sacred, unwritten rule of questions you never ask a woman. He wasn't too sure, but he guessed it probably ranked right up there with how much do you weigh? and is it that time of month?
"Yeah?"
"Uhh…right here," he stuttered, trying to change the subject. She shot a curious look his way, then just decided to let it drop. She wouldn't normally drop it, it was fun to see him squirm, but she had a reason. Ten million of them.
"So," Faye began, keeping her voice low as to not disturb those beyond the door. "You wanna kick down the door and go guns blazing? Or the more subtle approach?"
Spike pondered the question for a moment. "Which one worked last time?"
"Last time we kicked down the door and went guns blazing. Then we ended up with a dead bounty head, a repair bill, and a hospital bill on a civilian."
Spike shrugged, "So I guess it's the subtle way." His hand reached for the handle of the door, but stopped short when he heard Faye's voice.
"The last time we did that, it backfired and it ended up guns blazing and no bounty," Faye said, her voice still soft, but obviously wondering at the chance of success at this point.
"Well, what worked the last time we got a bounty?" Spike asked become annoyed at the line of questions.
"Well, we-" she was cut off when they heard the distinct click! of a door handle being turned. Both Spike and Faye tensed, their pistols going to where the individual's head would be. The door slid inward and a dark haired, thirty year-old man came through the door…then stopped when he saw the guns leveled at his head.
"Don't move!" Faye barked, her trigger finger visibly tightening on the piece of metal that kept this man from death.
"What's the meaning of this?" the man asked with a slight English accent, his voice conveying a nervous tinge. Spike pulled out a piece of paper from his pants pocket. He glanced at the face on the paper, then at the man before him. Faye looked over at him quizzically. Spike shrugged, nodded, shoved the paper back into his pocket, then roughly grabbed the man's shoulder. Quickly forcing the man to the ground, he pulled his arms behind his back and handcuffed him.
"Haron Kalth, you're a very lucky man," Spike said, his voice low.
"And why is that? I walk through a door, have guns pointed to my head, and am thrown on the ground and handcuffed in less than five minutes! How the hell does that make me lucky?" He screamed, nearly on the verge of hysterics.
"Because you're worth enough to keep me from shooting you," Spike then decided to add for his own amusement. "But if you keep bitching, I might decide that your silence is worth more." Haron's eyes widened at this remark. Needless to say, he was quiet until they reached the police station. Where upon he immediately began proclaiming his innocence and stated for all to hear that he was mistreated by these "low-life bounty hunters."
The police, of course, didn't really care. To them, he was just one more perp they didn't have to chase down; and it wasn't like the money was coming out of their pockets. They quickly drug Haron down to lockup and paid Spike for "services rendered." He received a few dirty looks from a few of the low lives currently residing in the building, but paid them no mind. He was ten million woolongs richer and they were probably being sent to trial for petty crimes. Maybe there is justice in the world?
Spike casually walked out the front doors of the building, his hunched gait easily recognizable to the purple-haired female waiting for him. She stepped in stride with the green-haired bounty hunter and the two soon became engrossed in an argument as to the best way to catch a bounty: guns blazing or the subtle approach.
- - - - -
Spike dropped, unceremoniously, onto the well-used yellow sofa residing in the Bebop's living area. Tilting his head back, his eyes remained unfocused as his gaze shifted towards…nothingness. His hands found their way to his pockets and removed his pack of cigarettes. Removing one of the 'death sticks', as he so fondly thought of them, he placed it on his lips and quickly lit up. Inhaling slowly, he let the sweet scent of tobacco fill his lungs. He allowed the smoke to trickle out the corner of his mouth, his eyes focused on the swirling gray mass as it floated upwards.
The long chain of smoke gently rose towards the fan, where the blades neatly sliced through the column…just like a sword…Vicious.
Spike's brow furrowed slightly. There had been rumors of a possible coup against the Van. Rumors that most likely held truth. Vicious had always been ambitious, too much for his own good. Spike certainly didn't put it past Vicious to try something like that. He wanted power and he wasn't about to let anyone get in his way.
Spike grimaced slightly, almost imperceptibly. If Vicious tries a coup and fails, I become a target. Not that it mattered anyway, but he wasn't concerned about his own safety. Julia becomes a target too. The thought had occurred to him before, but it never actually felt real. It felt like part of his previous life, the part that was real. This isn't real, is it? No, it can't be…just a dream.
The soft sound of footsteps pulled Spike back from his thoughts and into his dream world…reality had left him long ago. Spike glanced in the direction of the sound. Then turned his eyes back to the rising smoke from his cigarette.
"So I take that it went well," Jet said more than asked. The older man made his way to the matching, equally well-used yellow chair across from Spike. Jet's gaze was fixed on Spike, waiting for an answer. Spike continued to stare at the floating smoke. "You gonna answer me?"
Spike reached into his jacket and withdrew a small card. He flicked it onto the table, the card skidding to a halt just before falling off. "6.6 million."
"So the shrew already took her share," Jet mumbled looking to Spike for confirmation. Spike merely nodded. Jet stared at Spike for a few moments, shrugged, and turned on the TV. When Spike was in one of his moods, there's nothing you can really do.
The familiar sound of a banjo caused Spike to turn his eyes away from the smoke and to the screen. The forms of a cowboy and cowgirl greeted his eyes. Pulling the cigarette from his mouth, he leaned forward to get a better view.
"What have we got today Punch?" Judy asked innocently, turning towards her co-host.
"Well, let's see," Punch replied in a seemingly painful southern drawl. "We've got a really nasty fella! Name's John Tindera. He's wanted for assault, battery, armed robbery, grand theft auto-"
"Round up time sugar," Judy piped in, cutting him off.
"Well, he's worth three million woolongs!" Punch nearly shouted, holding up three fingers to accent the point. "He was last seen on Earth-" the screen flickered and died.
"Spike, now why'd you do that?" Jet asked his partner.
"A wise man once said… 'Nothing good comes from Earth'," Spike replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
"So I'm wise?" Jet missed the sarcasm, a slight smirk appearing on his face.
"With age comes wisdom, right?" Spike answered, his trademark grin appearing.
"I'm only 36!" Jet yelled back, becoming defensive. Spike's smirk only grew larger at Jet's outburst. "Do you really not want to go after this guy that much?"
Spike leaned back against the sofa, tilting his head back to once again stare at the fan blades…just like the blade of a sword… "It doesn't matter to me." The sound of footsteps slowly fading into silence, once again Spike was left alone. Alone except for his thoughts…although not for long.
The screen flickered back to life. It's always her… "Hey Faye, lose all your money already?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm up a few hundred thousand," she stated confidently.
"Then maybe you should keep it that way and get back here," he shifted so he was looking at the screen. "We're headed for Earth."
"Earth? Why are we going there?" she asked, obviously annoyed at the fact that she would be giving up her current streak of good luck.
"Pocket change."