Disclaimer: Still don't own it...I do own the guy Jet's talking to right now, though...so there.

Chapter 2: Want It All Back

Jet's every muscle went taut, and he subtly glanced at Vicious from the corner of his eye. He was still out, but his was a restless sleep. Jet could see Vicious' fingers compulsively clenching and unclenching in the couch cushions. Brushing away a flash of Spike doing the same thing when he dreamed, he met the man's eyes again. Torn between the advice of his common sense and that of his conscience, Jet merely remained silent, to buy himself some time to think.

The man seemed patient enough, sitting back and languidly twirling a pocketknife between his fingers while he allowed Jet to mull over it.

A thought coming to mind, Jet frowned slightly and looked up once more. "Enlighten me here. If he's all you want, why wouldn't you just send a squad and get him yourself?" He eyed the man quizzically. "It'd be a hell of a lot more convenient on both sides."

Giving a shrug, the man replied, "Not so much. It's much more conspicuous for us to come to you than for you to come to us. I doubt you have as remarkable a criminal record as our majority," he added, the side of his mouth quirking up in mild amusement.

"Alright, I'll buy that," Jet agreed reluctantly, "but then, if you were right there to get Spike, why didn't you just grab Vicious while you were at it?" No way in hell was he going to believe it was just human error on their part. If that was true, this guy wouldn't be alive to negotiate over it.

"It wasn't our job," Mafia-boy replied simply. "If you'd arrived ten minutes later, neither of them would have been there for you to whisk away." He eyed Jet challengingly, as if daring him to question any more of the details.

When Jet still looked uncertain, the man gave a small sigh and sat up, leaning his elbows on his desk again. "Look, I'm on a schedule like the rest of the world, so for the sake of time, I'll take a risk on you. There are some arrangements to be made on our side, so I'll give you that time to think it over. However, let me stress how much this deal is favoring you. One life for the price of three, with interest. If you were to decline, you'd be the first of your kind, and frankly, an idiot."

However, the last sentence fell upon deaf ears. Jet hadn't gotten to the last phrase. "Three lives?" he inquired guardedly, eying the man with suspicion. "I don't know any other Spikes."

"Well, his isn't the only one at stake," the man replied, looking slightly surprised that it hadn't occurred to Jet. "I've been told you've some skill with decryption, in which case you could have the authorities listening in by now, or tracking it. And in this line of business, we only know one foolproof method of being sure people don't let anything slip."

"That makes two," Jet stated calmly, remaining as relaxed as ever and waiting patiently for the third threat.

The man's face went deadpan, as if disappointed that Jet still needed to be told. "Would you honestly expect a kid to keep their mouth shut if their guardian suddenly disappeared?" he asked, his eyes moving to glance behind Jet and settling on where Ed still typed contentedly on her laptop.

"HEY!" Jet burst out suddenly, quickly regaining the man's attention. "You or your boys come within a hundred feet of her, I'll—"

"That," the man interjected, "won't be necessary, if you do as you're told."

Jet's eyes narrowed, the fire not quite leaving them. "Let's say I agree to it. How can I know I won't just be taken out once you have him, or pegged up for murder a week later?"

"Won't happen; I thought I made that clear when I explained the bargain." By now he was starting to look a little impatient, his silver eyes glimmering dangerously as he stood up. When he spoke, his voice was formal and brief. "You'll be informed of the place and time. You know all the pros and cons," he paused to quickly and pointedly flick his eyes to Ed and back, daring Jet to say anything, "which means there isn't much reason to give you time, other than for the sake of our own convenience. Finally, I wouldn't suggest leaving your ship between now and the time you're contacted. We've had to take some precautions, so to speak—we don't know who you could be talking to," he finished, his face neutral but his voice betraying a sliver of satisfaction at the sour expression that quickly came to Jet's features.

"Hmph," was Jet's only reply, as he didn't trust himself to verbalize anything at this current moment. The man reached to turn off his end of the vidphone, glancing briefly in the direction of where Vicious lay. A quick look told Jet that the Dragon had regained consciousness.

"Until then," he bid, moving his eyes back to Jet to acknowledge him as well. Then the screen went blank.

By now, Jet's cigarette had burned all the way down, but he didn't even notice, as he had it clenched in his left hand. "Damnit..." He stared at the blank screen a little longer, then his left arm shot out and slammed into the wall, giving it a nice new dent. "DAMNIT!" He whirled around to face Vicious accusingly. "You know that guy?"

"No." Vicious didn't look away from the screen either, his eyes narrowed slightly in what Jet could only guess to be puzzlement at this turn of events.

Jet would have gone on in frustration, but he was cut off by a flash of light from the hallway in which Ed was sitting, immediately followed by her flying backwards with a shriek. "What the...!" Jet's vexation was replaced by curiosity, and he went into the hall to find Ed slumped against the back wall, her hair sticking straight out every which way and smoking. Through the doorway of the room, Jet could see that the computer was blank and smoking as well. "What happened!" he demanded, kneeling down next to her.

"Oohhhh..." she moaned. "Tomato go boom-boom..." She shook her goggles away from her eyes, and they dropped around her neck. "Rig-ragged file is eeeevil..."

"The files were rigged?" Jet repeated half to himself, and Ed nodded, swaying back and forth dizzily. "Which syndicate were you hacking into, Ed?" She stared into space without a word, and Jet shook her gently. "Ed? Come on, what syndicate was it?"

"...BIRDIES!" she finally exclaimed, then promptly passed out.

After the incident, Jet had set Ed in Faye's old bed and returned to his bonsai room to just try to sort things out for a while. He completely lost track of time as he enshrouded himself in thoughts of Spike and Vicious, of the strange call, of how he could get out of the mess he'd somehow gotten himself into—he couldn't conjure up a thing—of the damn tiger-striped cat, of everything.

By the time he returned to the gloom of reality, a glance at the clock told him that it was well past midnight. He'd been up early that morning, knowing that he couldn't stop Spike but wanting to spend at least one last day with him. Jet could feel his eyelids drooping and considered sleeping; much as he hated to admit it, there wasn't much else he could do about the situation except fix Ed's computer, which there was no way he would attempt to do in his half-awake state. He would likely end up in the same condition as Ed if he tried to do a thing with it before getting some rest.

Finally Jet gave up trying to stay awake and quietly left his bonsai, going to his room for some much-needed sleep.

From the moment he'd awakened to the sound of his title over the vidphone, Vicious' mind had been working. Before he'd even opened his eyes, his mind had quickly listed everyone he could think of who would know him, follow him, and be resourceful enough to negotiate over him in such a short time. Alongside that list, he decided after listening a moment, went a list of those who disliked him enough to do so. Choosing to ignore how distastefully long the second list was, and noting that none of the names matched the voice he heard, he'd finally opened his eyes and marked the face he saw, burning it into his memory for future reference.

Once the call had ended, effectively getting Spike's partner riled up before he knew he was getting riled up, Vicious was able to deduce that whatever the matter was, it wasn't personal to the caller, which was a good thing. Personal usually meant vengeance, which usually meant excessiveness, which was irritating as all hell. However, he wasn't able to think for long about what sort of impersonal matter concerned him before his head began to swim, resulting in a silent damning of painkillers.

Though he had no doubt that he would be able to sleep, as drowsiness was already beginning to set in, Vicious paused a moment to glance with slightly narrowed eyes in the direction Jet had gone. The man had surprised him, which was surprising in itself, as Vicious found very few things impressive lately. He certainly hadn't expected to spend the evening in a run-down ship, choking down leftover bellpeppers while a Welsh corgi stared at him from across the room.

It was a strange departure from the path he'd expected, he decided as he finally gave his eyes a rest. Perhaps it would be best to lay low for the moment, while the option was staring him in the face. This little convalescence was in no way unwelcome; after all, it wasn't as though he could do much else when he was still working on standing up. Let Spike's partner be the begrudging mother hen he was turning out to be; far be it from Vicious to deny the medical attention.

So, it was decided. He would stay until he left, simply put. If that time happened to be the date the man on the phone had promised to specify, so be it. Whatever happened would happen.

Decision made, Vicious allowed his mind a much-needed release, letting himself drift into unconsciousness once more.

Just a note to microfiber shoelaces, Picon, and Milky Wings, thank you so much for your reviews. You really made my day. Seriously. I was raving about all of you to everyone in earshot yesterday. So thank you; you inspire me to carry on!

To Everyone Else: (chibi-V bops in with two flags in hand, one reading "review please!" and the other reading "thank you!")