All characters and themes belong to Bandai Entertainment and Sunrise, Inc.
I guess this account didn't allow anonymous reviews. I changed the settings, so hopefully it does now. So send them reviews in! This is a pitiful showing for the amount of chapters I have. Thank you! (especially Emi)
Chapter 7
It all came back to Julia in a rush of melted images. Ruby red, Vicious's face. She sat up. She was wearing the same red dress she had that night, and wondered how long she'd been out. Her head felt about three sizes too small, and she felt the urge to vomit but knew there wasn't anything to come up. Gingerly, she looked around the room for signs of Vicious or Spike. Luckily, they weren't anywhere to be found. She groaned again, not at the pain embracing her body but at the thought they had seen her so weak. Especially Spike. He was the person who she most needed to be blind to any of her weak spots. He already thought she was weak. She stood up with a growl of frustration and sat down just as quickly, hugging her head to her chest. The door opened ten times too loud, and Spike emerged through the door.
"Hey," he said as she composed herself, leaning against the door frame. "Vicious said the antidote he came up with should work about now. He's coming up with something for the pain."
Julia nodded, hoping vainly he'd leave her to her misery.
"You okay?" His voice caught in the middle of the sentence, as though he didn't know whether or not he should ask.
"Fine," she said. She could tell he wanted to say something, so she continued, "I just need a shower and a change of clothes, if you don't mind. How long have I been out?"
"Five hours," Spike replied.
Julia stood and steeled herself against the urge to sit back down. "Boy works fast, doesn't he?"
"Yeah." He gave her a sympathetic glance that she hated him for before he left.
Julia lurched towards what she hoped was the bathroom. A wave of relief passed over her when she saw a Jacuzzi the size of a small pool. Hopefully the hot water would relieve the pain. She turned on the tap and began to slip off her dress.
* * *
Julia didn't answer the tentative knock on her door so Vicious went in, thinking perhaps the antidote hadn't worked as well as he'd thought. The empty bed and steam coming from the bathroom told him otherwise. He started to leave when he heard Julia.
"Vicious?"
He cleared his throat. "It's me. I have something for the pain."
"Oh." There was a pause, then the sound of water being stepped out of. Minutes later Julia emerged wrapped in a towel, her wet hair plastered over her shoulders and her skin pink from the heat. She was being careful not to show any pain, but Vicious could tell by the extreme rigidity of her posture and gait the toll being forcefully paralyzed for six hours had taken on her. "Thank you," she said, carefully extending her hand and barely wincing.
"It's an injection," he said, producing a vial and syringe from his pocket.
"Oh," she said, again, biting her lip. She sat down on the bed, wet hair making transient stains on the sheets. Her arm was still extended. Vicious filled the syringe. Then he gently took her arm, probed for a vein, and slid the needle into her arm. Julia showed no response to the pain. Her face still wore an expression of that half-lidded calm, that seeming softness that hid a strength whose price he wondered at. Vicious withdrew the needle. Julia didn't look at him.
"It's all right, you know," he told her. "We're comrades. We look out for each other. I know you think you made a mistake, but no one can play a bum card like that. You had more than one bum card, and you made it farther than most men I know would have."
Julia looked at him, the grip of her gaze overpowering. "I don't need your justifications." She stood, with much more ease than she'd sat. "It's working. Good thing we had a poisons expert on hand." She looked back at him, offered a half-hearted smirk to soften her words. "I'm going to finish my bath, if you don't mind."
He left her to her recovery. He headed, as he often did, to the deck. Spike was lying back on some of the blood-colored pillows, smoking. Vicious stood, watching the stars through the frame of his plants. He didn't say a word.
"She all better now?" Spike asked.
"She's fine."
"She's a lot of trouble," he offered. Vicious didn't reply. Spike sucked on his cigarette. It had cemented, the second he saw Vicious go for the Illuminati man with a passion he never allowed himself in battle. The way he cradled Julia's body as he walked her to the bikes, the speed with which he'd concocted an antidote from the juy plant, his prized possession, one of seventeen known samples. Spike wanted to say something in warning, thought about how bad his own betrayal would be when the time came to shut down this branch of the Syndicate. It would be worse in Julia's case. If she even knew what Vicious already felt for her. But there was nothing he could say. So he just finished his cigarette and left Vicious to come to his own conclusions.
It was a short time before they docked at Mars and were off to their assorted homes. Julia was pale and silent, Vicious was brooding, and Spike was sick of both of them. Once again this job seemed like it was dragging on far to long and with far too many complications. He sped to his loft in the rain, taking turns too sharp for the weather, on purpose. He didn't know what he hoped to achieve with his impatient taunts at death. Once home, he made a report to Kyt Harley and tried to drown out his musings on Vicious and Julia with television and cigarettes, until it was time to convene with the elders.
* * *
Vicious could tell the elders weren't happy about something. He wondered if one of their soothsayers had something or another to say about the whole Illuminati situation. Neither Julia nor Spike seemed to notice anything off-key during their report. However, Vicious realized it had nothing to do with the Illuminati situation, when he ran into Mao Yenrai on the way out.
"Vicious," the old man said with pleading eyes. "Leave soon!" Julia and Spike slowed their steps in curiosity. Mao kept on glancing at the hallway behind him. Spike frowned at him, demanding an answer Vicious couldn't give.
"Mao," Vicious said, pulling his arm back from the man.
"Leave," he hissed. "Hurry!"
Vicious was about to say something when his father burst through the door.
Spike had never seen Vicious afraid, and the sight of it made him sick to his stomach at whatever could cause it. There was a reason for Vicious's name, a lack of fear that verged on madness, something that intimidated Spike when he saw it. And Spike wasn't easily intimidated.The man's presence broke into the room the way a knife broke through skin. His speeding, tyrannical gait threatened to overtake Vicious. It was the way a murderer walks towards its victim, and Vicious took a step back. The man enfolded Vicious into a hug, Vicious's face recovering over the man's shoulder. Spike spared a glance to Julia, who was coolly surveying the situation.
"Son," the man said, clapping Vicious on his back.
"Father," Vicious managed, weakly. Mao had regained his composure and pumped Vicious's father's hand vigorously.
"Pleasure, Mr. Dragon," Mao said.
Vicious's father turned towards Spike and Julia, and proclaimed in a booming voice, "Friend? Or foe!" The question was meant for Vicious, who didn't answer. The man whirled around to Vicious. "Learn to answer me, boy," he said in a sinister whisper.
"I've learned when I shouldn't answer you at all," Vicious said seriously.
The man giggled. It was a madman's giggle, high-pitched and uncontrolled. "Right you are, my boy," he said. Then, "You know why I've come here, don't you?"
"It's my birthday in a week," Vicious replied. His voice had gone miles beyond desolate. He refused to look at Spike or Julia.
"That's right," his father said. "Time for another test." A cold hand grabbed Vicious's heart and squeezed.
I guess this account didn't allow anonymous reviews. I changed the settings, so hopefully it does now. So send them reviews in! This is a pitiful showing for the amount of chapters I have. Thank you! (especially Emi)
Chapter 7
It all came back to Julia in a rush of melted images. Ruby red, Vicious's face. She sat up. She was wearing the same red dress she had that night, and wondered how long she'd been out. Her head felt about three sizes too small, and she felt the urge to vomit but knew there wasn't anything to come up. Gingerly, she looked around the room for signs of Vicious or Spike. Luckily, they weren't anywhere to be found. She groaned again, not at the pain embracing her body but at the thought they had seen her so weak. Especially Spike. He was the person who she most needed to be blind to any of her weak spots. He already thought she was weak. She stood up with a growl of frustration and sat down just as quickly, hugging her head to her chest. The door opened ten times too loud, and Spike emerged through the door.
"Hey," he said as she composed herself, leaning against the door frame. "Vicious said the antidote he came up with should work about now. He's coming up with something for the pain."
Julia nodded, hoping vainly he'd leave her to her misery.
"You okay?" His voice caught in the middle of the sentence, as though he didn't know whether or not he should ask.
"Fine," she said. She could tell he wanted to say something, so she continued, "I just need a shower and a change of clothes, if you don't mind. How long have I been out?"
"Five hours," Spike replied.
Julia stood and steeled herself against the urge to sit back down. "Boy works fast, doesn't he?"
"Yeah." He gave her a sympathetic glance that she hated him for before he left.
Julia lurched towards what she hoped was the bathroom. A wave of relief passed over her when she saw a Jacuzzi the size of a small pool. Hopefully the hot water would relieve the pain. She turned on the tap and began to slip off her dress.
* * *
Julia didn't answer the tentative knock on her door so Vicious went in, thinking perhaps the antidote hadn't worked as well as he'd thought. The empty bed and steam coming from the bathroom told him otherwise. He started to leave when he heard Julia.
"Vicious?"
He cleared his throat. "It's me. I have something for the pain."
"Oh." There was a pause, then the sound of water being stepped out of. Minutes later Julia emerged wrapped in a towel, her wet hair plastered over her shoulders and her skin pink from the heat. She was being careful not to show any pain, but Vicious could tell by the extreme rigidity of her posture and gait the toll being forcefully paralyzed for six hours had taken on her. "Thank you," she said, carefully extending her hand and barely wincing.
"It's an injection," he said, producing a vial and syringe from his pocket.
"Oh," she said, again, biting her lip. She sat down on the bed, wet hair making transient stains on the sheets. Her arm was still extended. Vicious filled the syringe. Then he gently took her arm, probed for a vein, and slid the needle into her arm. Julia showed no response to the pain. Her face still wore an expression of that half-lidded calm, that seeming softness that hid a strength whose price he wondered at. Vicious withdrew the needle. Julia didn't look at him.
"It's all right, you know," he told her. "We're comrades. We look out for each other. I know you think you made a mistake, but no one can play a bum card like that. You had more than one bum card, and you made it farther than most men I know would have."
Julia looked at him, the grip of her gaze overpowering. "I don't need your justifications." She stood, with much more ease than she'd sat. "It's working. Good thing we had a poisons expert on hand." She looked back at him, offered a half-hearted smirk to soften her words. "I'm going to finish my bath, if you don't mind."
He left her to her recovery. He headed, as he often did, to the deck. Spike was lying back on some of the blood-colored pillows, smoking. Vicious stood, watching the stars through the frame of his plants. He didn't say a word.
"She all better now?" Spike asked.
"She's fine."
"She's a lot of trouble," he offered. Vicious didn't reply. Spike sucked on his cigarette. It had cemented, the second he saw Vicious go for the Illuminati man with a passion he never allowed himself in battle. The way he cradled Julia's body as he walked her to the bikes, the speed with which he'd concocted an antidote from the juy plant, his prized possession, one of seventeen known samples. Spike wanted to say something in warning, thought about how bad his own betrayal would be when the time came to shut down this branch of the Syndicate. It would be worse in Julia's case. If she even knew what Vicious already felt for her. But there was nothing he could say. So he just finished his cigarette and left Vicious to come to his own conclusions.
It was a short time before they docked at Mars and were off to their assorted homes. Julia was pale and silent, Vicious was brooding, and Spike was sick of both of them. Once again this job seemed like it was dragging on far to long and with far too many complications. He sped to his loft in the rain, taking turns too sharp for the weather, on purpose. He didn't know what he hoped to achieve with his impatient taunts at death. Once home, he made a report to Kyt Harley and tried to drown out his musings on Vicious and Julia with television and cigarettes, until it was time to convene with the elders.
* * *
Vicious could tell the elders weren't happy about something. He wondered if one of their soothsayers had something or another to say about the whole Illuminati situation. Neither Julia nor Spike seemed to notice anything off-key during their report. However, Vicious realized it had nothing to do with the Illuminati situation, when he ran into Mao Yenrai on the way out.
"Vicious," the old man said with pleading eyes. "Leave soon!" Julia and Spike slowed their steps in curiosity. Mao kept on glancing at the hallway behind him. Spike frowned at him, demanding an answer Vicious couldn't give.
"Mao," Vicious said, pulling his arm back from the man.
"Leave," he hissed. "Hurry!"
Vicious was about to say something when his father burst through the door.
Spike had never seen Vicious afraid, and the sight of it made him sick to his stomach at whatever could cause it. There was a reason for Vicious's name, a lack of fear that verged on madness, something that intimidated Spike when he saw it. And Spike wasn't easily intimidated.The man's presence broke into the room the way a knife broke through skin. His speeding, tyrannical gait threatened to overtake Vicious. It was the way a murderer walks towards its victim, and Vicious took a step back. The man enfolded Vicious into a hug, Vicious's face recovering over the man's shoulder. Spike spared a glance to Julia, who was coolly surveying the situation.
"Son," the man said, clapping Vicious on his back.
"Father," Vicious managed, weakly. Mao had regained his composure and pumped Vicious's father's hand vigorously.
"Pleasure, Mr. Dragon," Mao said.
Vicious's father turned towards Spike and Julia, and proclaimed in a booming voice, "Friend? Or foe!" The question was meant for Vicious, who didn't answer. The man whirled around to Vicious. "Learn to answer me, boy," he said in a sinister whisper.
"I've learned when I shouldn't answer you at all," Vicious said seriously.
The man giggled. It was a madman's giggle, high-pitched and uncontrolled. "Right you are, my boy," he said. Then, "You know why I've come here, don't you?"
"It's my birthday in a week," Vicious replied. His voice had gone miles beyond desolate. He refused to look at Spike or Julia.
"That's right," his father said. "Time for another test." A cold hand grabbed Vicious's heart and squeezed.