The Symphony Hall
Pre-Bebop, pre-Julia. Twenty-somethings Spike and Vicious are low-time gang members for a group called the Red Dragons, but when an opportunity makes itself clear, their lives are changed. Rated R for cussing and adult situations.
Radishface
~ 7 ~
"So, what'd you think?"
Vicious let his eyes wander to the light up ahead, to the park bench illuminated beside it. "Of what?"
"The brothers. The Red Dragons."
Vicious shrugged, let his shoulders roll as if they were used to this form of dismissal. His movements weren't as practiced as Spike's. "There wasn't anything to think about. It's a decision that's been made for us by Wolfe."
"So you don't want to work with them?" Spike stopped walking, stood there, swaying a bit. Vicious made a note to himself to not comment on the state of Spike's continually emptying wine glass when they were having dinner, and chose not to say anything about it now.
"I didn't say that."
"I don't see why you didn't enjoy the dinner. It was free."
"And you nearly compromised our reputation."
"What?" Spike's eyes widened, and Vicious looked away, pressing his lips. "And what the fuck did I do?"
"It was business, Spike." Vicious managed to grit out. And there you were, dropping your forks, getting drunk on expensive wine, flirting with the waitress, flirting with Yeung--
Vicious stared straight ahead, trying to dismiss the thought.
To his surprise, Spike laughed. "If I recall correctly, it was Wolfe who told me to come along with you to brighten the mood. Maybe it didn't occur to you to appreciate my charms."
Yes, he did say that. Or something like it.
"Yeung Lin-Huang seemed to like you well enough."
Spike squinted. "Who?"
Vicious sighed. "Lin."
Spike grinned. "Nice guy."
There was a pause. "I'm sure."
Vicious didn't know what deals Wolfe wanted them to negotiate. Shin had told him about the plans of the Red Dragons, their plots for financial and underworld conquest, masked in economic and diplomatic terms.
Spike had spent the entire evening making himself look like a brainless individual, much to Lin's amusement. It had supposedly reduced tension that was prone to be there, but Vicious felt even more strained than he had before the dinner, with knots in his shoulders and heavy thoughts in his head, trying to tell him to relax, since there was nothing to be stressed about.
One glance at the man beside him, and he could hear himself groan at his own ignorance. Vicious scowled.
"Well, it's nothing different, you know." Spike said, his words running together. "It won't be too different, once we're working with them--"
"What?" Vicious turned around, and Spike gave him a confused glance.
"We're going to be working with them, yeah." He said, and grinned. "I think Lin said something about that. Didn't your own Chinese friend tell you something?"
"No, he didn't mention anything like that."
"I must have gotten the inside part of it, then." Spike winked at him. "You see, being amenable is helpful in situations like this. I already know something you don't know, and you know what the saying is."
"I think you mean amiable."
"Huh?" Spike was looking confused again.
"You said amenable."
"Right."
And then Spike tripped, and Vicious instinctively reached out to steady him. Spike's face pressed into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and Spike's hands fell to his sides, and Vicious smelled the faint scent of shampoo, mixed with aftershave, cologne, cigarette smoke, and wine.
"Spike." Vicious said, his hands still on Spike's shoulder, for some reason, reluctant to leave the position.
"What?" Spike's voice was muffled, and Vicious could feel the outline of his nose, his lips a smile as he muttered the words.
"You want to sit down?"
"Not really."
He felt his face flush, and shook the standing form a little, just to get Spike's attention. "You're going to fall over. I thought you had more alcohol tolerance than that."
"Did you have any?"
"What?"
"Have any. Dom Perignon. Whatever it was."
"No." Vicious felt a smile on his face, and steered Spike over to the bench under the street light. "Somebody has to drive back."
"I drove."
"You can't drive now." Vicious said pointedly, and then frowned. "When'd you get a car?"
"The one we stole from the lady. Down the street." Spike yawned, and Vicious sat down beside him. "She's dead, remember?"
"You idiot." Vicious chuckled, suddenly feeling at peace, the chirping of crickets echoing distantly in the background, and he wondered where the hell they were, and why he was in some deserted public park with a drunken Spike sitting next to him, droning on about a car that he didn't own. "I'm driving that car."
"Oh." Spike said, without missing a beat. "Then I wonder how I got here."
"Did you take the bus?"
"Might have taken the subway."
"There we go." Vicious felt like he was talking to a little kid, a little kid who was scared of getting the answer wrong, and he had to be the one to do the reassuring. Spike's head leaned against his shoulder, and although Vicious tensed, he didn't pull away.
"So." Spike started, and then there was silence.
"You can't fall asleep like that."
The fuzzy-haired man lifted his head and looked at Vicious with bleary eyes. "I can't?"
"It'll be shit on your neck." Vicious said, and found that he really couldn't say anymore, that it took a huge effort just to say that.
"Oh. I thought you were going to say--" Spike dropped his head back on Vicious's shoulder, "--that you didn't want me puking all over your coat or something."
"That too."
"Fuck it, Vicious." Spike smiled, grinning into Vicious's coat. "Selfish bastard."
"Pot calling the cocaine black."
"Hypocrite."
"I never said I wasn't."
Silence, and the crickets, and a car, somewhere in the distance.
"So how much did you drink?" Spike asked, his voice seemingly out of place in the quiet.
Vicious looked down at the fuzzy head by his shoulder, and chuckled. "You're losing it, Spike. I just told you I didn't have any."
"You're different now."
"How?" Vicious said, and felt the apprehension pulsing in his chest, and told it to shut up otherwise he'd take it down with an M-16.
"Nicer, for one. You're listening to me."
"When don't I listen to you?" Vicious said, and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He might have had something to drink, maybe just a sip. He didn't like wine, he didn't like alcohol, he didn't like anything that could distort his view of reality.
"Did you accept my apology?" Spike muttered, and Vicious stared at him, wanted to haul him up and look at him in the eyes, know that it was because he was drunk that he was saying these things.
"I--"
"Never mind." Spike said, yawning. "I'm such a fucking idiot. I didn't even apologize. Never mind. Just forget what I said."
"Why don't you just apologize now?" Vicious said carefully, suddenly feeling how Spike's weight was on him, how he was his support.
"All right." Spike said, and Vicious could hear the grin. "Vicious, do you forgive me? I was a bastard, and I don't know why I didn't drop by your apartment when my phone wasn't working."
"You had that girl over." He replied lightly.
"Not all of the time." Spike muttered. "And it wasn't just for the Red Dragons either, you know?"
"What about them?"
"Maybe some of it was." Spike admitted. "I thought that Wolfe had reassigned you or something, and that was why you didn't come over, and so I was going to go do it myself, but--"
"Do what yourself?"
Spike made an indistinct motion with his hands. "You know. Come over. Talk, or something. Have a cigarette or two. You don't usually smoke."
"I don't."
"But you must have kept yourself entertained." Spike said, and Vicious heard the bitterness in the tone, the ambiguous quality to it. "What was her name? Lisa? You always go to her, don't you?"
"What about her?" Vicious said, and all he could do was whisper it, because his throat had gone dry.
"Nothing. Just wondering why you can sleep with them and I can't, and when I do, you piss off on me." Spike lifted his head up, looked at Vicious in the eye, even though he couldn't hold the gaze.
"I didn't--"
"You didn't what? Sleep with her? I knew you slept with somebody, you came in today for dinner and you looked like it. You don't think I don't know what you look like after you've done it? I can tell for days after you've done it, and whether you liked it or not."
"Damn it, Spike." Vicious said, and drew out a cigarette, and managed to light one after four tries.
He drew a shaky breath, inhaling the smoke, and the light flickered above him, and although Spike looked up to see it, Vicious kept looking down at his hands, didn't pay attention to it.
"You're doing it again."
"What?" Vicious asked, and Spike was watching him.
"You're biting on it."
Vicious took the cigarette out of his mouth and studied it for a moment.
And do you know why I do it? He asked himself, noting the frayed edges of the cigarette paper. It's a bad habit. I do it when I'm thinking about you.
Vicious put the cigarette out on the bench and threw it on the ground, watching the ashes blow away.
"That's right." Spike said suddenly, and Vicious turned to look at him. Spike's gaze was fixated on the cigarette, the one on the ground, and when Vicious crushed it under his heel, Spike's eyes turned to look up at him.
"What's right?" Vicious said, and he felt the tension in his voice, there for no reason at all.
"I remember." Spike laughed. "Wolfe drove me here. He's supposed to pick me up."
Vicious looked at him for a moment longer, and then stood up, ignoring Spike's confusion, and turned briskly towards him.
"Let's go."
"What--"
"It's late, and you're drunk, and Wolfe's probably waiting for you."
"I'm not drunk." Spike protested. "I'm just past my legal blood-alcohol-concentration level."
"Spike." Vicious said, and it left no room for argument.
He walked on ahead, about five yards ahead of Spike, his hands shoved in his pockets, his teeth clenched together. He didn't care that Spike was lagging behind, was trying to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to figure out what was wrong, what went wrong, and Vicious couldn't figure it out either.
Damn it damn it damn it, he heard Spike say, and he increased his pace, ignoring the man behind him.
"Vicious." He heard, and he turned around, only because he was obligated to.
"What?" He said.
"Why--"
Vicious couldn't help it when his legs seemed to walk on their own, when they walked towards Spike, who was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, biting his lip, as if he didn't know what to say.
"What?" Vicious snapped, glad for the dark, glad that Spike couldn't see how tense he was.
"Just drive me home." Spike said.
Vicious looked up. "Wolfe is--"
"I don't care." Spike shook his head, stumbling a bit. "He's not my fucking chauffer."
"You'll get in trouble." Vicious said, and it was like somebody else was saying it, some other voice, and he seemed very distant.
"I'll explain it to him." Spike said, a familiar grin appearing on his face as he looked at Vicious. "I'll tell him I got drunk and I didn't remember and so you had to take me back."
"Yeah." Vicious said, his voice tight, and they started again for the hotel, Spike standing close to him because he was drunk, Spike standing close to him so that their shoulders brushed when they walked.
~
'Aight… that was a big "moment" for them. Somewhat _ Yeesh, this is taking a while.
Anyway… as one can tell, there is this unresolved issue of Mr. Wolfe between Spike and Vicious (and a lot of other stuff, too… ehehe.) Eventually it will be solved, and Lin and Shin will play parts, and stuff will happen. Annie is going to be my plot device… so… WAHAHA.
Spike is going to get in trouble, not for this little thing, but something else. And then after that, stuff starts to reveal itself… and while the shagging and screwing demands to be written, I still have to make it agree with the general Cowboy Bebop scheme of things. Why didn't I just label this AU and take the easy way out?? Stupid OOC restrictions.
Okay, so I'm rambling. Reviews are appreciated, even begged for. ^_^;; Ehe.
