~Fallen Seraphim~
~Excuses and Explanations~
The low, distant hum of the engines rumbled throughout the ship. The soft, barely noticeable vibrations traveled through every crack, crevice, and dent that filled the hull of the rusted fishing ship. The sound ultimately fell upon the deaf ears of the bandaged and unconscious Faye Valentine. She rested peacefully…amazingly enough…sprawled across the dilapidated yellow couch. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, her slightly labored breathing caused by the layers of bandages wrapped tightly around her left shoulder.
She stirred slightly from her comatose state, her eyelids gradually sliding open. Her eyes struggled to focus on the single, most recognizable object on the ship: the ceiling fan. She furrowed her brow, obviously trying to comprehend the seemingly sudden location change. I wonder if I always look like that after I get shot up?
With a soft grunt, she pushed herself onto her elbows. Taking a deep breath, she held the position for a few seconds, gritting her teeth slightly. Deciding it was now or never, she continued to push herself up until she quickly stopped. She winced slightly, then made a motion to lie back down. She stopped abruptly, as if all of a sudden realizing that she was not alone in the room. With a new resurgence of strength and determination; she forced herself, painfully, to sit up.
"I always knew I was a motivational force in your life," Spike was hardly able to conceal the grin that usually adorned his face.
Faye's eyes narrowed, her glare turning deathly. "Lunkhead."
"That's Mister Lunkhead to you. I saved your ass, twice."
"And how many times have I come to your rescue?" Faye retorted sharply. Spike looked away, a feigned look of concentration on his face; he even started counting on his fingers. After a few moments, he looked back at her and merely shrugged.
"Come to my rescue, or actually succeeded?" Faye groaned and tried to lean back against the couch and instantly regretted it. Instead, she quickly returned to the position she had recently occupied. Spike smirked slightly at Faye's predicament, not particularly sadistic, more like revenge for all the times he was the 'mummy' on the ship.
"How long have I been out?" her voice was timid, unusual for the woman across from him, but he decided to humor her.
"About a day…we left that dust ball of a planet about thirteen hours ago, we oughta be on Mars in about three or four," Spike answered reaching into his jacket and removed a box of cigarettes from his breast pocket. Faye's eyes noticed the movement and her gaze quickly fastened itself on the small box. With a quick flick of his wrist, Spike sent one cigarette shooting through the small opening. Removing his lighter, he quickly lit up, his eyes turning from the flame to the person across from him. Following the direction her eyes were aimed, he quickly came upon the pack of smokes.
Glancing back at Faye, he noticed how she had shifted her gaze to the blank screen sitting on the table. I must be going soft. Leaning forward, he offered her a cigarette. She either didn't notice or just ignored him. Clearing his throat, she turned her head toward him, slightly annoyed. Then she saw what he was doing. "I don't need your hospitality."
"I'm offering a cigarette to a gimp, I'm not saying I'm gonna wait on you hand and foot."
She seemed to consider this argument for a second, then took the cigarette. She lit up, placing the lighter back on the table. Spike took a moment to consider this tentative truce that he had created and decided it would probably be the best…and easiest…time to fill her in. Reaching into his jacket, he removed a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it and placing it on the table, he spun it around for Faye to read.
"Michael Rollins, a.k.a. Jonathan Simmons, a.k.a. well, you get the picture. The only thing confirmed about him is that picture and his code name: Seraph," Spike jabbed his right index finger down on the image to emphasize the point.
"The highest order of angels," Faye murmured, her eyes drawn to the picture.
"This guy's no angel. He's wanted for practically everything they have a law against. Plus multiple counts on all the really nasty ones," Spike leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. "He's a freelancer, a contract-killer. He'll do anything to anybody for the right price." Faye's eyes had yet to leave the image. She merely stared, her eyes locked on the image yet vacant at the same time. She's in her own world. "Faye…why did you believe that he's your brother?"
"Because…because I remember him," her words came out tentatively, almost as if she didn't believe them herself.
"Faye…are you sure, that it was him? Are you sure that he is the person you remember?" Spike didn't really want to ask the question…I've already screwed this up too much…but I've gotta make sure she can take this.
"I'm…sure…I just…I don't know damn it!" she slammed her right hand down on the table with such tenacity it made Spike shudder.
"Faye-"
"I do! I remember…someone…I think it was him…" Her words came out softly, trailing into nothingness. It was almost if she was forcing herself to believe her own words. She doesn't know…what the hell did he show her?
"Faye, what did he show you?" Spike asked tentatively, although his words didn't show it. He spoke in a calm and collected manner, hoping to keep from sparking another outburst.
"He showed me…a picture of my family…me and my parents…standing outside the…terminal…he was in the picture with us."
Spike's eyes were focused intently on her; studying and trying to read her reactions. But his search was futile. She just continued to sit, her body rigid and unwavering; her face completely clear of any emotion. Her eyes were slightly glazed; they remained locked on the image resting on the table. Her shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, causing her to wince briefly, but that was all the emotion shown.
Giving up on trying to understand her or, much less help her, Spike turned his attention to the screen on the table. He flipped the small switch on the corner and the screen flickered to life. The image of a blond woman sitting behind a desk appeared on the monitor.
"Good evening, this is CBC News at ten o'clock and I'm Sheryl Williams," she began in an overly cheery voice. It always seems odd that no matter how much crap there is in the world, news casters are always happy. Spike swung a leg up and propped it atop the table.
"Tonight on our top stories. First off we have had reports of a shootout between rival members of the Red Dragon Syndicate. We are unsure of the severity of these actions, but there have been unconfirmed reports of there being more than twenty fatalities. The ISSP are looking into the situation but there are no answers as of this time. We'll return to this story once more information becomes available."
- - - - -
"Do you have the girl?"
"The situation became complicated," Seraph's voice wavered slightly. He glanced out down the deserted street once again. His eyes trying to cope with the stark contrasts between the street lights and the shadows. The lights seemed to run on for an eternity, continuing down the never-ending stretch of pavement until they both met the horizon. The street was barren of activity, not a soul dared to venture out. Reports of the shootout had spread across every news cast on Mars. Anyone within a twenty mile radius of a Red Dragon building didn't dare to venture outside; or if they did, it was to get farther away.
"What kind of complications?" the icy voice asked.
"Spiegel showed up. He blew my cover," Seraph's voice lowered a tone. He was still unsure of exactly how the bounty hunter knew who he was. He must have connections within ISSP…He must have a very extensive range of contacts. Much broader than I would have expected.
"I'm not paying you for excuses."
"And I'm not making them. I'm telling you what happened because you asked," annoyance flashed through his voice, but quickly disappeared. The man may be annoying, but he pays pretty damn well.
"So you failed."
"I haven't failed yet. She was wounded, she'll be easier to get to," this line of questioning was becoming very tiresome. He glanced down at his watch: 11:27.
"Spike will be more alert now that she's injured."
"For the amount of money I'm getting paid to bring in one little girl, there should be some type of risk involved," Seraph grinned slightly at the audacity of the statement. Then a realization dawned on him. "Oh…just a thought, nice job of putting the bounty on my head."
"What makes you think I did it?" the voice mocked.
"Look, there are only two types of people that I deal with: those who pay me, and the others had a cheap funeral with a closed casket. You're the only one with the balls to put a bounty on me and think that you'll live."
"Fine, I did it. You were moving too slow."
"I almost had her!" he practically screamed. For something like this, it takes more than merely a few days… "No bounty hunter in their right mind passes up fifty million woolongs without a glance! What are you, fucking insane?"
"For the amount I'm paying you, it should be done in an expedient manner," the voice on the other end of the line dropped a few tones lower, causing Seraph to instantly regret his outburst.
"Maybe so, but now it's going to take longer," he answered, trying to get control of his anger. I may be the best in the business…but you don't screw with this guy…
"You have four days, max. Any longer and bounty hunters won't be the only ones looking for you." The statement sent a slight shiver down his spine. Despite the fact that the man was threatening him every other minute, somewhere deep in his mind, Seraph knew he was serious.
"She'll be there in three," Seraph's lip turned up slightly. "By the way, it's nice to know you think so highly of me."
"Just remember, you are expendable."
"The best are not expendable."
"You give yourself too much credit, just get the girl." The line clicked, then silence. The soft, continuous hum of dial tone replaced the sinister voice.
Seraph placed the receiver back into the cradle. Stepping out into the crisp night air, a strong wind swept across the street; his dark coat flowed out, swaying gently in the breeze. Turning towards the wind, he slowly made his way down the desolate street, his body merging with the shadows, almost as if he ceased to exist…