Participant Observation
Fieldnotes 2: Pretending Life with Spike (2)
By Starzki
Lisbeth ran out of the ice cream parlor and stared at the dark stain on the sidewalk. She wasn't at all comforted by its small diameter. A carelessly tossed grocery bag could have concealed it, but the fact remained: it was there. Spike had been shot and was bleeding.
Lisbeth scanned the awe-stricken crowd for his lanky form, for his curly mop of hair, but only saw people vacillating between shocked abhorrence and ghoulish curiosity. The police were undoubtedly on their way.
Feelings of uncertainty and impotence plagued Lisbeth as she tried to decide her next move. She bit a hangnail and furrowed her brow in concentration, wishing for her comm. Her outfit was without deep enough pockets to carry one and she didn't own a purse. She felt that she had to leave quickly, find a way to get into contact with Jet or Faye, get help. But she also felt pulled in the other direction, that she needed to find Spike as quickly as possible and give him whatever aid she could. Fear and worry had plunged her into helpless indecision.
She took a hesitant step in one direction, then one in the other, then ran a couple of paces in the original direction before she stopped again. "Arrrg!" she grunted in frustration and kicked the stone wall of the ice cream shop with the inside of her foot, indulging in a small tantrum. Lisbeth tried to regain control over her emotions and actions by forcing herself to relax. She placed her hands flat against the wall and rested her forehead between them and took several steady calming breaths. Her anxiety waned somewhat and the knots in her stomach began to loosen. As her vision cleared, she realized that she was staring down at a fat drop of blood that was drying and turning brown in the evening sunlight. It was undoubtedly Spike's blood.
Spike was on the move.
Whether through his own volition or someone else's, he was moving. And he was leaving a trail of rust-colored breadcrumbs in his wake.
Looking down the block leading away from the creamery, Lisbeth spotted another droplet. Lacking other options, she followed it.
The trail was surprisingly hard to follow, especially when she came to intersections. Seeking dark splotches, Lisbeth would often mistake old wads of chewing gum and other grimy dirt markings on the pavement and concrete for Spike's blood. After 45 minutes and 15 blocks of tracking Spike, she worried that the trail was going cold, that he was getting too far ahead of her to catch up. The circuitous path was not leading back to the harbor where the Bebop was docked. Instead, it weaved down residential sidewalks and into and out of alleyways. In an odd mixture of intense frustration, anger, and concern, Lisbeth was having a hard time retaining her sense of direction. She felt more and more lost in the unfamiliar city that was growing dark and ominous with the setting of the sun.
In the next block, the droplets grew more numerous, appearing closer together. While it was fortunate that Lisbeth could find the drops easier in the failing light, the greater frequency of blood drops meant that Spike was either slowing down or bleeding more. Neither seemed good. The winding pathway also seemed to suggest that he didn't have a certain destination in mind and that he was probably alone.
Another ten minutes later, the streetlights sprang to life, chasing away some shadows while creating others. The "whatifs" began to spring up in her mind. What if Spike was hurt badly? What if he was dead? What if she couldn't find him? What if she was left here, alone in the city? Her hands began to shake as she followed a line of drying blood into a blind alleyway, full of nooks and shadows.
Lisbeth said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever possessed her to insist on wearing silent sneakers. In the tricky, inconsistent sodium lights, she tiptoed on the edge of shadow and light, silent and ready. The streets she had just left had still been sparsely populated, but the alley was completely deserted and no one had followed her in. Sipping in air, holding her breath, she concentrated on listening. She could hear nothing out of the ordinary, only the rustling of scattered litter and the scurrying sounds of city vermin.
It wasn't her ears that led her to Spike, nor was it her eyes. She smelled him before she saw him in the sodium shadow. Spike was still standing, but hunched, leaning against a building in between dumpsters. His eyes were heavy-lidded and unfocused from blood loss. He had managed to staunch most of the flow from the wound just below his left clavicle with his jacket as the makeshift bandage.
The fool was smoking a cigarette.
Lisbeth walked quietly up to him in the shadow and whispered to get his attention. "Heya, Stinky. You know, those things will kill you."
Spike roused somewhat and grimaced, taking in Lisbeth's silhouette. He crossed his eyes and looked at the butt from his mouth and cocked his head in a kind of resignation.
"I meant the bullet, Jackass," Lisbeth said.
"What took you so long?" Spike asked, pain making deep lines in his face.
"Well, you didn't exactly wait up for me," Lisbeth whispered fiercely, still shaking with anger and fright. "What was with that?"
"You're a smart girl. I knew you'd find me sooner or later."
"Give me your comm. I'll call Jet to come get us."
"Already called him." Spike spoke in a staccato rhythm through the pain. "Told him to leave. Shy knows me, knows the Bebop. He'll be after me, now. Were you followed?"
"No."
"Good. We're not safe."
"From an embezzler?" asked Lisbeth incredulously.
Spike gave a few harsh coughs. "No. Not safe. Syndicate embezzler. He's connected."
Lisbeth was instantly angry again. "You know, Spike, this would have been great information for me to have before we left."
"You would have still done it?"
"No! And you wouldn't be all shot to shit, either!" she hissed.
Lisbeth saw color drain from his face, making it a terrible orange-gray color in the tricky alley lights. She realized her anger was mostly worry. Spike did not look good at all. She took an unconscious step back, frowning, furrowing her brows together, and wringing her hands. The situation was spinning out of control and Lisbeth knew she wasn't equipped to deal with any more bad luck. "We need to get you to a hospital."
"No. No hospital," gasped Spike.
"Yes hospital. Give me your comm. I'll call an ambulance," Lisbeth responded, grasping Spike's uninjured shoulder, trying to move him out toward the street.
"Shy'll be looking there. We'll be in danger. He'll figure out that you're involved and come after you, too," Spike grunted out.
A tinge of white fear singed Lisbeth's nerves, but was replaced with stubborn anger. She never let anyone dictate what she did and wasn't about to start. "You need medical attention," she said firmly.
"Jet'll be back tomorrow."
"You need help now. From a trained medical professional."
"No hospital."
Lisbeth squared off, crossing her arms, emitting stubborn resilience, and gave Spike a hard, piercing look. "Do you want to make this a battle of wills? 'Cause I guarantee you that I will win. Now give me your comm. I'll figure something out."
Spike looked into her dark eyes and knew it would be hopeless to argue with her. Even if he was in top form, he didn't think he could budge her. She looked like she would be as tenacious as Jet when she got her mind set on something, completely unbendable. He handed over his comm.
Lisbeth looked at it thoughtfully, biting a fingernail. After a few moments, an expression that looked like relief spread across her face. She sighed and started punching numbers, shaking her head. She murmured, "Stupid-me. Of course!"
She held up the comm and said to the person who answered, "Hi, Jess. It's Beth. I have a huge favor to ask you."
Lisbeth half-supported, half-carried Spike through the doorway of Jess's second floor walk-up apartment. In their first stroke of good luck that night, the apartment had only been about a mile from where Spike had ended up. He had managed to walk much of the way, but became fatigued and needed Lisbeth as a crutch for the last two blocks.
Jess and Lisbeth exchanged weak but genuine smiles as Jess took in her new patient. Jessmynda Boehm was a second year resident in emergency medicine at the University of Tierra Roja Hospital. As Jess turned to gather up her first aid kit, Lisbeth went to lay Spike down on the couch.
"Betha! No! Not on the couch!" exclaimed Jess, pointing to the wooden kitchen chair she had pulled into the room. Lisbeth and Spike both groaned from the strain as she jerked him away from the couch and poured him onto the strait-backed chair.
Jess smiled at Lisbeth again, stating, "Same rules apply: no bodily fluids on the couch. Especially ones that stain and leave DNA trails." She took a closer look at Lisbeth, mock horror spreading across her face. "What the hell are you wearing? Is that glitter on your face? What are you, 12?"
Lisbeth smiled back at her friend and pulled her aside to explain what had happened. Uncomfortable in the unpadded chair but too tired and hurt to do much else, Spike squirmed and looked at the two women who were deep in conversation. At first, he thought he was seeing double. But then saw the height difference. Jess was a few inches taller than Beth. Lightheaded, he mumbled, "You two twins?"
Jessmynda turned around and squinted at Spike. "Did he hit his head? Is there something wrong with his eyes?" She knelt next to the chair and shined a pen-sized flashlight in his eyes. When he wasn't being blinded, he noticed that the two girls weren't so similar after all. Sure, they had been cut from the same cloth: they had the same muscular build, the same dark coloring, dark eyes, and same long, dark, wavy hair. However, Jess was ordinary in every way that Beth was beautiful. Her mouth was a little less wide and more crooked; her cheekbones were a little lower. She had no freckles and her nose wasn't so pixie-ish.
Spike was annoyed at Jessmynda's attention and tried to pull his head away, but felt woozy as soon as he strained himself to move too much.
Lisbeth made the introductions. "Spike, this is Jess. Jess, Spike. She's a doctor and she's brilliant. Do what she tells you."
"Is that eye giving you any problems?" asked Jess.
"No," Spike said defensively. "Beth said you're still in school. Not a real doctor, yet?"
"I'm close enough. And I'm all you're going to get at this time at night who's not going to report you to the police. So can it, ok?"
Spike closed his eyes and almost laughed. Jess noticed the amount of blood on the jacket and grew more serious. After pulling on plastic gloves, she gingerly removed Spike's makeshift compress and helped him take off his shirt. Lisbeth gasped at the sight of the gory, bloody, wound, then recovered quickly, donning gloves of her own and taking the soiled clothes and shoving them into the plastic garbage bags provided by Jess.
Using cotton sponges, Jess carefully cleaned the wound that was approximately an inch under Spike's left collarbone. She pulled him forward and looked for an exit wound in his back. Leaning him back in the chair, she looked him in the eyes and said softly, "Spike, the bullet is still inside of you. I can see exactly where it's lodged under your skin on your back. Now, I don't have the proper tools here to take out the bullet. You really need to go to a hospital to get this taken care of. The longer the bullet is in you, the more likely you are to get an infection."
Lisbeth touched her friend on the shoulder. "Jessa, we can't go to a hospital. There'll be trouble if we do. That's why we're here. I need you."
"Betha, I don't really feel comfortable…"
"Don't worry," Spike interrupted. "I know a guy. Beth can take me there. It's ok." He made a move to get up.
Jess leveled him with an intense stare that seemed to drive the strength out of Spike's muscles and he sat back down with a grunt. "Is it the same guy that did this?" she asked, pointing to an ugly scar on his abdomen, to the right of his belly button. "And this?" she asked, pointing to another rough scar on his right shoulder. "And the others? Is he even a doctor?"
Spike let out his breath, too tired to argue, and said, "Not really…"
"Jessa, come on. Please," said Lisbeth, a touch of desperation in her voice.
Jess gave her a serious look, then relented, saying softly, "I really don't like this, Beth. Just know that I wouldn't do this for anyone but you, ok?"
"What do you need me to do?" asked Lisbeth by way of thanks.
"First, Spike, you need to turn around and face the other way. Hold on to the back of the chair so I can get a clear look at the bullet." Jess and Lisbeth helped Spike to his feet and turned him around.
"Beth, you hold the sponges and make sure Spike doesn't bleed onto my floor."
Jess left the living room for the kitchen where she prepared her sharpest knife for makeshift surgery. She had some sanitizing agents and the most basic of surgical tools. Lisbeth was sure that the past five years of medical school had prepared Jess to deal with Spike's wounds without complications.
Jess came around and looked Spike in the eye and touched his hand. "This will hurt. I don't have any painkillers other than ibuprofen. I also have tequila. I'll give you some tablets afterwards. Do you want a drink before I start?"
Spike had gone gray with the effort of staying conscious with the pain. "No tequila. We don't get along."
"Okay," said Jess, brandishing the small, sharp, kitchen knife she'd chosen for the job. Spike noticed the intense worried look on Lisbeth's face as Jess made her preliminary preparations. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and bit the insides of his cheeks as a new pain stung his back, just inside of his shoulder blade.
Jessmynda expertly cut into Spike's flesh, estimating the depth of the bullet. Luckily, emergency room medicine in a metropolitan city on Mars had adequately prepared her for the job. Once the derma was peeled back to expose the lead, it was an easy job to take a hemostat to extract the small caliber bullet.
Jess handed the bullet, hemostat, and knife to Lisbeth who immediately returned them to the kitchen sink for a wash in hot, soapy water. Jess applied a dermal glue/sealant to her incision and said, "You managed to get Beth to do some dishes. That's impressive."
Spike managed a forced "Mmmm."
After using the dermal glue and sterile strips to close the entrance wound, Jess applied some antibiotic cream and a patch of gauze to both the entrance and exit wounds. She anchored them with adhesive tape purloined from the hospital where she worked.
Spike regarded the bandage and said, "Not more?"
"Not more what?" asked Jessmynda.
"You're not going to use more bandages?"
"What?" asked Jess again, confused.
"My partner and I have a saying, 'When in doubt, use more bandages.'"
"Oh," said Jess, considering her work, sitting back on her heels, relaxing. "I'm not in doubt."
Lisbeth returned to the living room/surgery room wringing her hands again. "Is he ok?" she asked her friend.
Spike answered, trying to smile, "I'm good. Actual doctor to take care of me."
Lisbeth looked at Jess who confirmed, "He'll be fine. Actually, he'll probably be terrific tomorrow, once he's got his strength back."
Lisbeth allowed herself to relax for the first time all day and said, "Thanks. Did you ever know that you're my hero?"
Jess smiled and said, "I'm sure I'm the wind beneath your wings. Would you like a change of clothes, Ms. Teeny-bopper?"
"Yeah, and I could use a wash, too."
"What's mine is yours. Have at it."
While Lisbeth busied herself in the bathroom, Jessmynda rechecked Spike's wounds. The bleeding was minimal. After laying an old towel on the couch, she helped Spike up and gently laid him down to rest and coaxed a few tablets and water into his mouth. She said, "This is the most comfortable couch ever made. Take these and try and get some rest. You'll be feeling okay tomorrow."
"Mmm," Spike said, falling into a happy unconscious.
An hour later, Spike awoke to the carefree laughter coming from the kitchen. Semi-dazed, he heard only snatches of conversation. Jess and Lisbeth were trading recent horror stories about school and work, goading one another into hysterical laughter. It was kind of nice to hear. Jess's laugh was open and quick, with an undertone of wry darkness and irony. She sounded like she was laughing, then laughing again at herself for finding something so inappropriately funny.
Also, Spike had not heard Lisbeth laugh so much with such utter abandon. He could tell that Jess had her undone with humor, helplessly hiccupping giggles that echoed through the apartment. It was a nice change from the Bebop's dry exchange of witty barbs carelessly thrown at one another to hear old friends who genuinely liked each other's company without reservation. He fell back asleep quickly.
Many hours later, Spike jerked awake again. He had forgotten where he was and a quick survey of the room did not immediately jog his memory. But then he felt the dull pain in his shoulder and it all came rushing back.
Jessmynda was there, too. She was sitting in the surgery chair, backwards, using her arms that were crossed over the back of the chair as a pillow. She blinked sleepily at Spike and gave him a weak smile. "How's the patient?" she yawned.
"Mmm, ok," Spike rasped out.
"Thirsty?" asked Jess, getting up and flicking on a small table lamp.
"A little."
She brought over a cup of water with a straw in it and held it out so Spike wouldn't have to move too much. He drank a couple of swallows and accepted the ibuprofen tablets that Jess gave him. He relaxed back as Jess repositioned herself in the chair and took his pulse in his left wrist.
"You sleeping in here?" he asked.
Jess nodded and looked toward the hallway. "Betha's taking the bed. She was exhausted. Plus, I thought I should keep an eye on you. You lost a lot of blood. I think the bullet nicked an artery. You're lucky it wasn't worse."
"Thanks again for what you did."
"Thank Beth." Jess squinted at Spike. "You should think about apologizing to her, too. You really scared her. I've never seen her like that."
"She seemed ok."
"Oh, no. Don't get me wrong. Betha will always be ok. She's brilliant. But she's not used to gangster lifestyles, you know?"
"I doubt anyone is."
"But if anyone is, you are, right?"
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I've only ever seen scars like that on syndicate guys."
Spike didn't answer, but met Jess's gaze. She wasn't angry or confrontational. But her dark eyes were wary and concerned.
She continued, "I know you're a cowboy now. But I also know that no one really ever leaves the syndicate." She frowned and gave long thought to what she said next. "I guess what I'm asking is for you not to put her in danger." Jess took a breath and immediately regretted asking him that.
Spike didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let Jess say what she had to. "I guess what I'm asking…I don't know. Just trust her. She makes good decisions." She shrugged and finished, "Tell her everything she needs to know. She'll know if it's too dangerous for her or not. Please. I would really hate for anything bad to happen to her. And you, Spike, don't need someone with an extensive knowledge of anatomy pissed off at you." A mock-wicked smile stole across her mouth. "You follow me?"
Spike gave her a tired smile and said, "I think I get it."
Jessmynda immediately brightened, the easy humor settling back into her eyes. "So, tell me Spike-o, you in love with Betha?"
Spike gave a surprised chuckle in spite of the brief pain it gave him in his wound. "Excuse me?"
"Trust me, it's impossible to hate her. I've tried. She just doesn't care that she's drop dead gorgeous. Every straight guy I know that wasn't into blonds has fallen for her. It's like I'm invisible when I stand next to her." She didn't wait for an answer. "You into blonds, then, huh?" asked Jess with a knowing nod.
"Uhh…"
"Oh, don't mind me. It's after 3 AM. I tend to lose that filter between my brain and my mouth that stops me from saying inappropriate things, asking inappropriate questions."
"I see."
"But now would be a great time to pump me for information." Jess laughed. "See what I mean. Now I've just shown a vulnerability." She cocked her head and rolled her eyes at herself. "If I were rested, that never would have slipped out." She smiled widely at Spike, showing amazing straight white teeth and a dimple in her cheek. "Did you know that you look just like one of my ex-boyfriends?"
Spike gave a soft laugh. He was pleasantly distracted by her mindless patter. She talked and seemed like she was always on the verge of laughter, ready to find the humor in even the darkest situation. "You known Beth, long?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah. We go way back. We met when we were 13. God. That's half our lives." She shook her head in disbelief. "She moved into our small town on Venus from Mars. The poor thing didn't know what she was getting into. Our town was mostly ex-Texans." Jess laughed again. "Poor Betha."
Spike countered, "It seems like she did ok."
Jessmynda smiled sadly, "It depends on who you ask. I think most of the teachers and people in our town consider it a huge disappointment that she's, we're, not married and squeezing out the young 'uns."
"You two took the road less traveled by," said Spike, remembering his earlier conversation with Lisbeth.
Jess looked surprised. "Wow. That's it exactly." She looked thoughtful. Then, speaking more to herself than to Spike, she said, "We didn't really have it hard. We grew up safe and loved and never wanted for anything. But we didn't exactly have it easy, either. No one really expected anything out of us. No one outside of our family gave us encouragement when we were in high school. And we've made sacrifices. Betha more than me, I think."
"Yeah?"
"But the thing that you have to understand…Girls like her, girls like me…We were given pretty good brains. It seems like some kind of sin if we don't use them. I know I wouldn't feel right about just stopping, settling down, starting a family. I need to do something more. I think I can help people by being a doctor. I hope I can. I want more than anything to be a good doctor. And Betha…God, she's so brilliant, she's so full of rage, she'll change the world for the better. Just wait and see."
"Studying bounty hunters?"
"She didn't start out studying bounty hunters. She'll do it for now, get herself known. But then, she'll tackle the other problems, the big ones, the ones she went into research to understand. Even if we don't see it in our lifetimes, the work that she does will make a huge difference. I don't doubt that she'll help fix all of us, all humans."
"Oh, yeah?"
Jess snapped out of her dreamy reverie. "Sorry. Just listen to me. I've got a serious case of diarrhea of the mouth. Like I said: no filter between brain and mouth. What I'm really trying to say is that she's my friend and I don't want anything bad to happen to her before she's had a chance to do everything she's capable of." Jess reconsidered her last statement before adding, "Or after."
Spike felt himself drifting off again into unconscious as he said, "It's fine. We all like Beth. We'll make sure she's ok." He felt as thought it was a promise he would keep.
Spike awoke again a few hours later when Jess started to delicately change his dressings. The morning light was pouring in the window and he smelled coffee brewing. He felt rested, almost well. Even Jessmynda's ministrations were surprisingly pain free.
He looked into her face, startled because she was prettier than he remembered. Her eyes caught the rising sunrays, glinting with liberal flecks of green within the brown. He also noticed her hair was a few shades lighter than Lisbeth's, caramel-colored in the light. While not stunning, she was pretty.
Jess noticed Spike was awake and asked, "How's the patient? Is there pain?"
"No. I feel pretty good, considering."
"Do you feel lightheaded? Nauseous?"
"Nope."
"That's good. You have no fever, either. Let's sit you up. Would you like some coffee, breakfast?" asked Jess, gently moving Spike into a seated position on the couch.
"That sounds great. Can I smoke in here?"
Jess chuckled condescendingly. "Absolutely not. Now what kind of doctor would I be if I let my patients smoke?" asked Jess with a devilish spark to her eyes.
Lisbeth walked into the living room and handed Spike and Jess a mug of steaming coffee. She was wearing the more characteristic huge, billowing t-shirt and running pants. It appeared that Jess had a similar passion for soccer and t-shirts declaring its glory. "You look ten times better," Lisbeth said, sitting next to him. She bounced a few times on the couch, exclaiming, "Was this not the most comfortable couch you've ever slept on?"
"Mmm," Spike assented, sipping the brew.
"Sometimes I think I slept more on this couch than my own bed in college. Speaking of sleep, Jessa, were you up all night?" asked Lisbeth guiltily.
"I dozed in and out. Don't worry. I'm getting used to it," said Jess, standing up and heading back for the kitchen.
Lisbeth turned to Spike and said, "I talked to Jet already this morning. He's on his way. He also told me that the police have Shy. They were around the corner from the ice cream shop last night. They saw him shoot you and they caught him right away." She gave Spike a weak smile, filled with commiseration and a kind of angry reproach. All of the worry and drama of the previous night had been for nothing. And there would be no bounty.
"Betha, I'm sorry," said Spike, not knowing how else to thank her and not realizing he'd used Jess's nickname for her friend. Lisbeth took the apology with another smile.
Jess reentered the living room with an armful of fresh fruit and another t-shirt for Spike to wear. The three munched contentedly. Fifteen minutes later, the door buzzer sounded. It was Jet. He shook hands with Jess and thanked her for her help. Jess filled him in on Spike's condition and counseled him to get him to a doctor sooner rather than later. Jet then took Spike's elbow and began to lead him out, down the stairs and back to the Bebop.
Lisbeth turned to her friend. "Big plans today, Jesse B.?" Lisbeth asked Jess.
"Soccer game. Coed." She gasped suddenly. "You should come! We always need more girls playing! No one cares if you're not official and you could wear my stuff. Come on Beth. Game's at 1."
"Oooh. Sounds fun. Hey, Jet, can you wait until later before taking off?" Lisbeth asked hopefully. "I promise I'll catch up after the game."
"That's fine, Beth. We'll see you later." Lisbeth squealed and Jess clapped her hands and laughed excitedly. Both girls jumped up and down, beaming.
Jess dimpled at the guys and waved goodbye before closing the door. From behind it, Jet and Spike heard a crescendo of laughter from the girls.
Walking back to the ship, smoking the first cigarette of the day, Spike felt more reflective about his life. It was only natural, he supposed, having been shot. This day was every bit as beautiful as the day before. He closed his eyes and thought about pretending a blissfully happy life as he had before. But then he realized he was pretty happy about his life already. It wasn't perfect. It certainly wasn't what he'd imagined. He still didn't have a fear of dying, but he was glad he was alive. The sunlight and breeze felt good and he knew that had friends who would help him out of a tight spot. That was a lot. It's more than a lot of people had. He took another contemplative puff and realized that Jet was talking to him.
"Hey, Spike? Where are you?"
"I'm right here," said Spike.
A/N: I feel like I should apologize for the non-exciting conclusion for this part. I wanted to get a little into Beth's background and motivations. Also, sorry about the wait for this chapter. Since school has started, writing CB fanfic went from about 5th on my list of priorities down to 20th. But reviews keep me writing, so keep them coming (good or bad, I want to know what you think)! -S.