~Fallen Seraphim~
~Questions~
Twelve…thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…the now filled magazine was placed haphazardly on the table; a pile of six similar black columns alongside it. Spike picked up one of the three pistols lying on the table. Gripping the Browning HP with both hands, he lined the sights against the wall. Slowly, he applied pressure on the trigger until the hammer slammed down and the firing pin shot into the empty chamber. The soft click resounded through the empty room, the sound of death knocking. Twisting the pistol, he pulled back the slide; it locked into place, fully open, waiting for a magazine and a bullet.
Loading the pistol, his eyes focused intently on the weapon in his hand. This is it…there is no turning back. I've run from this long enough.
"When I was still on the force, I…well," Spike turned his gaze from the pistol to the man at the doorway. Jet was leaning against the wall, still wearing that stupid apron. "Just…tell me you know what you're doing."
Spike remained silent for a few moments, a slight grin spreading across his lips. "Once there was a tiger stripped cat. Now the tiger striped cat lived a million lives and had been owned by various people, but he never really cared for any of them.
"Then, one time, he became a stray cat. That meant he could go and do anything he wanted. Well one day, he met a white cat. They spent all of their days together and the tiger striped cat couldn't have been happier.
"Now, as time went on, the white cat grew old and died. The tiger striped cat cried a million times and he died as well, but he didn't come back." The silence after his words hung in the air. Jet snubbed out his waning cigarette before looking back at Spike; who was, once again, leaning back on the couch and staring at the ceiling fan.
"It's a good story," Jet finally answered the long silent, unasked question. Spike broke his staring match with the fan and turned towards him.
"I hate that story."
"Huh…what?"
"I've always hated cats, you know that," Spike smirked as Jet broke into laughter. Spike soon followed suit. The sound of their laughter echoed through the halls and gradually receded as the two regained their composure. They sat in silence, the slow steady rhythm of the ceiling fan filling the room. Spike reached for his Jericho and placed it within his jacket, followed by three grenades and countless magazines. Pulling his trench coat from the back of the couch, he slowly stood, putting the jacket over the faded blue suit. "Jet…do you ever…regret losing your arm?"
Jet snapped out of his silent reverie and turned towards Spike, considering the question and wondering if he heard him right. "Well…yeah…when it first happened," he paused, deep in thought. "But after I left the force, I realized I was living in the past-" Spike's eyes snapped towards him with that statement. "-and it became part of me…and life goes on." Jet cast a contemplative look down at his arm, then turned back to Spike. The green-haired man had a far off look in his mismatched eyes. Abruptly, he shook his head, clearing his thoughts, forcing himself back along his decided course.
"Spike," the trench coated warrior turned to the ex-cop, "If you make it through this thing…well, just make it through."
Spike grinned slightly at the remark and continued through the doorway. The sound of his footsteps filled the halls; the slow, methodical rhythm, almost as if a bell swaying to and fro, high atop the cathedral. Each footstep ringing clear as day, in its foreboding nature; for it was painfully obvious for whom the bell tolled.
Click! "Where are you going?" Spike stopped walking, body relaxed. "Why are you going?" There was a slight tremor in her voice, hardly noticeable, but Spike heard it. He had heard it before, before in the hanger. He glanced casually to the side, the only thing he knew to expect was the barrel of a gun, but besides that, his mind was blank. And there she was, arm outstretched, pistol gripped tightly, a single movement would send a spiraling piece of metal directly into his forehead. It was that image, yet again; the image of Faye's barrel aimed, unwaveringly, at his head. But it didn't bother him…no, it didn't bother him. Heading off to face your mortal enemy and best friend does that for a person.
Her grim, determined face was rather interesting, it displayed features that he had never seen before, but it quickly faltered. Her entire body lost its rigid stance, her arm falling to her side; pistol clutched in hand, yet no longer a threat. "You told me once to forget the past…because it doesn't matter," I knew those words would come back to haunt me. Her voice had lost its edge, it became softer, almost withdrawn. "But you're the one still tied to the past Spike!"
Spike shifted slowly, turning his entire body to face her. Quickly leaning forward, she drew back slightly and he stopped a few inches from her face. "Look at my eyes Faye. One of them is a fake because I lost I it in an accident," his voice dropped a few degrees, but her eyes remained locked on his. "Since then, I've been seeing the past in one eye; and the present in the other…so I thought I could only see patches of reality, never the whole picture…"
"Don't tell me things like that," her voice was quivering and rushed, a slightly frightened tone held within. "You've never told me anything about yourself…so don't tell me now!"
"I felt like I was watching a dream, a dream I would never wake up from," the words came out slow, even, detached; there was no emotion whatsoever held within them. The sense of fear in her eyes was obvious, whether it was for his well being or merely her own fear of abandonment, Spike didn't know…he didn't really care. Her breathing was shallow, almost ragged, as if she was forcing herself to do it. "Hmm…and before I knew it, the dream was all over." He quickly pulled away from her, distancing himself form the person before him. Making a move to pass her, he slowly walked down the hall, his steps ringing in the air.
"My memories…finally came back," her words filled with a sound of…rejection?…no, defeat. "But nothing good came of it," she sounded almost on the verge of tears. "There was no place for me to return to," her hand hung quivering at her side. "That's why I came back Spike…this was the only place I could go, this is…you asked me why in the hanger…I knew then but I didn't believe it. This is my home. With Jet and Ed and Ein and…and you." Her voice was building, the anger beginning to mount. "And now you're leaving, just like that!" Her voice shook the ground, filled with contempt but immediately softening, "Why do you have to go? Where are you going? What are you going to do?" she sounded as if she were a lost child…but that's really what she is…she may not be a child, but she's lost everything. "You're just going to throw you're life away like it was nothing! You're just going to go there to die?"
"Every man dies, but not every man lives…I'm not going there to die, I'm going to find out if I'm really alive." He slowly took a step forward, then another, then another. There was a soft sob, but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of a gunshot…fired harmlessly into the air. The brief silence that followed was filled by another…then another…each drowning out the muffled sobs that were fading into the distance…
The sound of metal hitting metal, the clatter of her pistol falling from her hand and striking the ground hung in the air. Still, she didn't notice it. The sound echoed through the empty hallways, the vacuous realm that existed around her…that always had. It doesn't matter anymore…does it? You saw this coming…you knew it would happen…why did you expect any different? The questions remained unanswered, floating in the void within and around her. I've never trusted anyone before…what made me trust him? Why did I actually think that lunkhead would actually stay in my life? Still…he's gone…he picked death over life…death over us. Her body slumped against the nearby wall; her lower lip trembled slightly, but was quickly ceased as her teeth bit down against it. A small wave a pain joined the feeling of abandonment that filled her body, but it was shed quickly through the tears that were coming to her eyes.
The sound of a voice filled the air, but the words never reached her ears. Her body remained in its position, her back against the wall as the world passed her by. Then the words were there again, still unintelligible, but closer. Faye slowly brought her head towards the source, not knowing what to expect. The image was not clear by any means, but even through the tears, she knew the man before her and it sent a chill through her spine. And that was before she realized what was happening; he was holding a gun.
"Kick the gun over here," his voice was low and hard-edged, the danger was inherent in that type of voice. Still, Faye did not comply; she only lowered her head once again to stare blindly at the metal floor, her pistol still resting by her feet. "I won't miss like you did, now kick it over."
Comply…or not to comply, that is the question…well not really a question. It doesn't really matter anymore, does it? That is the question. Spike's a dead man. His little spiel about finding out whether he's alive or not is bullshit. Pure, unadulterated bullshit. He knows he's a dead man but he left anyway. Gee…that situation sounds familiar…go with Seraph, I'm dead…fight, I'm probably dead anyway…so what does it matter? What does it fucking matter!
Faye pulled her foot back to kick the pistol forward, but whipped it forward with a vengeance. Her foot quickly covered the distance between the ground and his hand and the force of her kick sent the weapon careening down the hallway. Stunned by the sudden movement, Seraph turned back towards Faye just in time to see her foot coming towards his head. Her foot collided with his skull and sent him reeling into the wall. Balancing himself, he glared at the woman before him. Faye turned her head slightly to face him, the rest of he body perpendicular to the wall.
She suddenly lashed out, the back of her left fist smashing into his head, followed by a right uppercut to his jaw. Spinning to her left, she used the momentum to send her right leg crashing into his side, resulting in a highly satisfying crunch! Recovering quickly though, his left arm suddenly wrapped itself around her leg, holding it in position. Finding herself off balance, she bobbled slightly to remain standing.
Seraph took advantage of the situation and dropped to his knees, sweeping his right foot out and across the floor. It caught Faye's remaining leg and she fell to the floor. The sudden exertion rapidly caught up to her body as a sharp, burning sensation shot through her shoulder. Seraph struggled to his feet, his left hand rubbing his right shoulder gingerly while his head was still spinning from Faye's sudden and vicious actions. He slowly picked her weapon up from the ground and pointed it at the crumpled form before him.
"We could have done this the easy way, but no, you just had to be a bitch," his voice was venomous, the words cold and harsh. He lifted his arm and quickly brought the pistol downward, the butt of the handle striking the back of her head. She slumped to the ground, her face slamming into the metal floor. "Damn it, how come no one ever takes a threat seriously?"
Stooping down, he gently brought the back of his hand across her cheek. "Sorry sis, but business is business." With that, he lifted the unconscious Faye over his shoulder and slowly made his way from the hallway, passing a man with a metal arm and an apron who was slumped against a wall, out cold.