Author's Note: Okay, you all know that in the last update I mentioned a mailing list that I would put together for those of you that wish to have one. Well, if you're reading this, you've probably come to the conclusion that something went wrong. Well, you're right. For some odd reason, an error (or a mistake on my own behalf, yeah…probably that) occurred and I lost pretty much all my e-mail. I've gotten around the problem, and that option is still open.
I'd just like to apologize for the inconvenience of expecting one thing and getting an excuse.
Anyway, the story must go on! And I apologize in advance for the martini joke.
~Fallen Seraphim~
~Barroom Brawl~
The ship was silent. That was a rare fact in its own. But then there was the fact that she had the entire ship to herself. She could do anything she wanted to. Well, within the realm of reason, but there was still a lot that could be done with an entire ship to yourself. Yeah, I've got the entire ship to myself and I'm leaving it and heading out to meet someone who supposedly has a connection to my past whom I meet in a seedy bar …God I must be out of my mind.
Faye stepped into the hanger; her Redtail sat motionless in the enormous room. It's still my past…so few things actually are mine…but my past is one of them. Shaking the doubts from her mind, she hoisted the duffle bag over her shoulder and began walking towards her ship, with clear, confident steps.
- - - - -
"Hmm…. Loser Bar…speaks wonders of the place, don't it?" Spike muttered as he and Jet stepped across the wet pavement. "So this is your solution for doing something about it?"
"You won't be complaining about it, will ya?" Jet shot back, a small grin found its way onto his grizzled face.
"That depends on how strong the drink is," Spike replied as he shoved the door open. The smell of cigarettes and booze greeted him as the near suffocating air from inside tried to escape. "I see they don't call it the 'Loser Bar' for nothing," Spike grumbled as he surveyed the patrons; or rather, the places where the patrons would normally be. "Uhh, Jet. There's no one here."
Jet's eyes wandered around the room, and just as Spike had put so bluntly, there was no one there. The stools that lined the bar sat empty and unused. The booths and tables were all occupied by the stale air of the room. "I don't get it. There isn't another open bar within fifty miles…this place should be packed," Jet mumbled, rubbing his head with his metallic hand.
"You know, you keep rubbing your head with that claw of yours and it's a wonder you still have any hair at all," Spike smirked as Jet's head snapped around to glare at him. Ignoring the glare, Spike made his way over to the bar and grabbed a bottle of scotch. Popping the top, he took a quick gulp and winced slightly. "Whoa…that's some good stuff. Hey Jet! What do you want?"
"Well, if it's on the house…you wouldn't happen to know how to make a martini would you?" Spike let out a lopsided grin and hopped over the bar and began grabbing bottle after bottle of the shelf. "Uhh…Spike, you do know what you're doing, right?"
"Of course!" Spike exclaimed, his hand reappearing with a shaker in it. He quickly began pouring the contents of the bottles into it. Grabbing the top of the shaker, he glanced back at Jet who returned with a wide-eyed look. "Uhh, shaken, not stirred good for you?"
"Sure thing James," Jet replied sarcastically. Spike just stared back at him with a confused look on his face. "You know…Bond, James Bond. British super spy." Spike continued his blank stare. "Works for MI-6. Always gets the girl?" Nothing. "Been around for over a century and still looks the same." Spike just shrugs and begins shaking the shaker. "Oh man…he's never heard of James Bond," Jet continued, almost as if the he just heard that world was going to end. "When we get back to the Bebop, we're watching GoldenEye."
"Golden-what?" Spike asked, pouring the contents of the shaker into a glass and placing it in front of Jet.
"Never mind, it'll make sense when you see it." Picking up the glass Jet glanced curiously at Spike. "What, no olive?" Spike shot him a stare that would put a hole in Kevlar. Ignoring the stare, Jet took a drink, then winced slightly. "Too much vermouth."
"Then make it yourself next time," Spike replied, taking a drink from the shaker. He tried not to show it, but Jet noticed it. He winced. "Yeah, you make 'em next time."
The window across from the bar shattered, a hail of glass and bullets pouring into the room. Jet flung himself over the bar, nearly colliding with Spike in the process. Spike managed to avoid the falling body of his friend and quickly dropped to the ground; his pistol removed from under his jacket as well. Covering his head as glass from the glasses and bottles fell from the bar, Spike glanced towards Jet. He was crouched down, his back pushed against the bar and his pistol aimed up towards the ceiling.
"Got a plan?" Jet yelled, trying to be heard over the gunfire. Spike turned towards him, his eyes displaying that mischievous glint that Jet knew so well. Spike's hand reached inside his jacket and withdrew the spherical form of a grenade.
"Shoot first, ask questions never?" Jet nodded in agreement. "Head down to that end and wait for the grenade."
"I'm not an idiot," Jet mumbled as he made his way to the opposite end of the bar; trying his best to avoid the broken glass. Spike watched as Jet ducked down behind the counter and quickly moved to the end. He's such a cop…Spike observed as he watched Jet's cautious movements. When he finally reached the end, he turned back to Spike and quickly flashed a thumbs up. Spike pulled the pin on the grenade and silently counted to three. In one smooth motion, he threw the grenade over his head, his hand then returned to the grip of his gun.
The gunfire suddenly ceased, followed by a quick series of indistinguishable curses and yells. Which were then suddenly halted as the grenade detonated. The explosion rocked the bar. The cabinets blew out, their contents creating an assortment of liquor, utensils, and glass that coated the floor. The cabinet behind Spike flew out, the handle catching his shoulder blade. He grimaced slightly as a short burst of pain shot through his back, but he ignored it.
Jumping up from his crouched position, he took aim at the nearest target. Quickly double-tapping the trigger, his weapon recoiled and the two 9mm hollow points slammed into the target's chest. Spinning quickly to his left, he saw a man raising a machine pistol. Steyr TMP's…these guys are Red Dragons! Quickly depressing the trigger, the man fell from view and Spike dropped back behind the bar, his mind struggling to piece together the new revelation. The Syndicate…they're after me…but why? I'm dead to them unless…Vicious.
"Shit!" Spike cursed, then turned his attention to Jet who was crouched against the bar reloading his Walther. Spike quickly made his way down to the other edge of the bar, disregarding the broken glass and other objects strewn across the floor. The sudden movement caught Jet's eye and he looked up to see his partner coming towards him in a crouched run.
"They just keep coming," Jet muttered, flicking the lock and the slide clicked back into place.
"They're Syndicate."
"What?"
"We've gotta get outta here!" Spike yelled as the hail of gunfire continued. "Quick, back door!"
Spike picked up a glass from the ground; somewhat amazed it wasn't broken. Hell, I'm amazed we're still in one piece! He hurled the glass down towards the other end of the bar. It shattered across the counter, shards of glass scattered across the bar. Spike leaped to his feet, seizing the momentary distraction he had just created. He quickly unloaded six shells into two of the nearest Red Dragons. The others ducked back for cover as Spike continued firing, emptying the remainder of his clip into the bar. When his weapon clicked empty, he roughly shoved Jet through the doorway at the end of the bar. Jet stumbled through the door and managed to land in a pile of crates.
"Will you watch it!" Jet yelled as he turned to glare at Spike who quickly followed him through the door and in the process of trying to lock the door.
"Maybe you're just getting too old for this," Spike replied, as he managed to lock the door. Thumbing the release on his pistol, the emptied magazine fell from the handle and he quickly replaced it with a spare and racked the slide. He turned to look down the hallway and froze when he saw the man before him. Shin…
"Quick! This way!" he yelled, lowering his weapon. Shin turned sharply and began walking quickly away from the two bounty hunters.
Spike stood motionless for a moment, but came back to the world when he felt an explosion shake the building. Coming to his senses, he ran hurriedly to catch up to Shin. Jet managed to extract himself from the pile of crates and followed as well, all the while wondering who this kid was and how he knew Spike. Let alone how Spike trusted him so much.
"Shin, what the hell is going on?" Spike nearly yelled once he caught up to the younger man.
"Vicious tried to pull off the coup, but it backfired. The Van knew about it. They put him in the chamber, he's going to be executed." Shin's voice dropped lower on the last words, "Everyone's a target…including Julia."
Spike's eyes widened…Julia…but how?
- - - - -
This place…why'd he have to pick this place? The sound of water flowing through the broken remains of a fountain was the only sound heard in the desolate remains of a home. The structure itself no longer existed, merely the remains of its formation rising a few inches from the ground. The slight outline of a porch still resided near where the front door had once stood. The stick used to create it lay off to the side, forgotten. Just like my past should have stayed.
Without thinking, her feet carried her towards the remnants, the remnants of her memory. Her heels made slight indentations in the soft ground, nearly a mirror image of the tracks she had left before. Her hands drifted at her side, forgotten just as her steps were. Her mind blocked out everything save the lifeless remains before her. A small sigh escaped her lips, there's no one around for miles…it doesn't matter. Biting her lower lip, she felt as if she was going to drop to her knees; abandon all the self-respect she had…what little is left…and just let go.
That's when she heard the soft, steady…ominous sound that she knew oh so well. Footsteps.
Whirling around, facing the direction they were coming from, she watched quietly. Her eyes narrowed and aimed themselves in the direction of the sound. Her face displayed a grim determination, her mind unsure of whether she should stand and wait, run, or just shoot the person.
"Quite a lovely day, wouldn't you say, Ms. Valentine?" a deep voice asked.
Not just any voice, it was that voice…that voice from the bar. Her mind then came to a decision. Shoot him. But her curiosity took control before her trigger finger could. "Why did you bring me here?"
"It's your home, is it not?" came his reply, as he appeared walking up the hill. A smug grin placed on his face.
"It was my home," Faye replied with venom.
"Well, that all falls in what your definition of a home is," he answered in a calm, casual tone, completely dismissing Faye's irritation. "If to you, a home is a place that you live, then a cardboard box could be considered your home if you make it your residence. But if a home is a place where you not only live, but you feel welcome and have people who care about you, then a home is a hard thing to find." He continued walking past her, his footsteps bringing him into the ruins of her...her…my house.
"What is a home to you Faye?" he asked, leaning down to examine an area of the rubble. Lifting a piece of stone, he cast it aside and his gaze returned to what was beneath it. Again he reached into the rubble, but this time with both hands. Faye began walking towards him, wondering what exactly it was that he was doing. Then she saw it; there was a door.
The hinges groaned in protest as the wooden door was pulled upward. Dust and soot fell from it as it was hoisted up, revealing a stairway leading down into the ground. She looked back at him, the grin still shown on his face.
"What is a home to you?" he asked again, before stepping through the doorway and following the stairs down into the shadows.