Gunshot Serenade
A/N: Holystomach aches, batman! What a rotten apple pie!Five days! Yeah! Thank you guys all for the amazing reviews. I'm only here because of all you guys. I love you all so much much much! Enjoy this chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop. Or do I? J/K! LOL!
Dedication: To i-Tunes, the love of my life, and my dad. If you are reading this, I'll get you a hard copy soon. Love!
And Now...
Chapter Nineteen:
Rooftop Waltz
Am I sad? Not sad enough, really.
Am I mad? Not mad enough, clearly.
Am I complacent? Completely.
Lacking in sincerity?
Yes, indeed I am.
Really.
-Nellie Mckay
Spike hadn't aimed to kill. But by the time the bullet was ripping out of the barrel, that didn't mean a god-damn thing.
Hot metal met cold flesh.
Two men watched, frozen in place, as Faye Valentine gasped, stumbled back, and fell.
Alex was laughing quietly.
Faye crumpled. Hit the ground hard. Rain pounded on her back, watered down blood seeping from under her body.
Spike pulled away from Alex suddenly, biting back the flood of emotion as he ran to where she lay on the flat asphalt rooftop.
He was sure she was dead.
Praying he was wrong but almost afraid to find out, Spike knelt by her limp, soggy form, stripping off his trench coat and setting it beside him.
His heart pounded, breath caught, as he touched Faye. Gripped her by one shoulder and rolled her over onto her back.
A trail of blood slithered down from her mouth, instantly diluting in the rain.
Internal bleeding.
Spike's brow furrowed. She was pale. Paler than he had ever seen her. Rough hands found her icy cold neck, searched for a pulse.
He exhaled, relieved.
There it was. Slow, but steady none the less.
Faye Valentine was alive.
For now.
Spike, acutely aware that each pulse was pumping more blood from her body, began searching for an entrance wound. There was a dark, sticky spot on her shirt.
He pulled it up just enough to reveal a wound in her stomach, oozing blood.
Spike quickly balled up coat and pressed it hard on the wound. Almost immediately, Faye cried out in pain, her slender hand wrapping around his wrist, green eyes snapping open.
Spike pressed harder.
She squeezed his wrist tight as a scream scraped out of her throat, her eyes rolling back. She passed out again.
Still holding the trench coat over the open wound, the Cowboy smirked.
No last words for Faye. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.
He should have known.
She had always been stronger than Julia.
Faye woke up slowly.
As her heavy eyelids lifted, she stretched, reaching arms and legs as far as they would go.
Her vision cleared.
Perfect blue skies, hung with light cotton clouds greeted her. A beautiful contrast to the too-green grass she lay on. An amazing day.
Leisurely, Faye sat up, waiting for the pain in her abdomen. Nothing. She furrowed her brow, glancing down at her white sundress.
No red.
A smooth had grabbed her wrist suddenly. Startled, Faye turned to see Spike, grinning as he pulled her back down.
"Stay with me." He said quietly, his brown eyes studying her face.
Faye felt herself smile.
"Where are we?" She asked, rolling over and using her elbows as support. Wildflowers, a vibrant red, grew around them in a circle.
"Wherever you want us to be."
"Where's that?" Faye glanced over at Spike. He was smiling like she had never seen him smile. Something sweet and genuine.
"Singapore. Neo-Paris. You choose."
Anywhere. Faye searched his eyes, brow furrowed. In their beautiful depths, she saw everywhere she had been, everywhere she wanted to go.
Everything she had ever wanted to be.
A word escaped her lips before she could bite it back.
"Nowhere."
Spike nodded once.
She blinked. He was gone.
Grey.
Faye was hemorrhaging. That, Spike knew for sure. What had seemed like a clean shot obviously hadn't been; something more than skin had been damaged.
Spike tried to clear his mind, but every moment it was getting harder and harder. Things were building up: guilt, anxiety, broken promises, flashes of the past.
One thing remained constant: Faye was bleeding internally. She had to get to a hospital, or she would die.
Another thing: Alexander King wouldn't just let Spike carry Faye off.
Checking the wound in Faye's abdomen quickly, Spike sighed. It had clotted nicely. That didn't mean anything.
His brow furrowed. Faye's skin was so cold to the touch. Cursing, he unrolled the trench coat and wrapped it around her. She was shivering.
"Spike-o!"
Alex.
Reluctantly, Spike stood, leaving Faye on the floor, hiding her with his body as best he could.
The leader of the Red Dragon Syndicate was smiling and laughing as he jogged over to Spike, wincing against the rain.
"How is she?" Alex asked, maneuvering around Spike to get a good look.
"She's alive," He said quietly, smirking as he visually checked Alex for any weapons.
Nothing.
Leave it to Alexander King to be unprepared.
He was furrowing his brow. "But… that was such a good shot!" He flashed a grin at Spike. "Wow. I must be really off today."
The ex-cowboy was completely floored by Alex's nonchalance.
Un-fucking-believable.
"Well," The angelic man was saying, surveying the unconscious Faye further. "She's bleeding internally. I'd give her another half hour. Give or take. Whadda you think?" He looked at Spike expectantly.
His answer was a hard punch to the face.
Alex stumbled back, wiping the blood from his lip. "What the hell, Spike!" He questioned, genuinely shocked.
Spike shoved his hands in his pockets, smirking at his boss. "Don't say you didn't deserve that." He drawled.
To be honest, he felt the telltale signs of worry building in his bloodstream. Alex was almost Spike's equal in martial arts, and with Faye fading fast, had much more concentration to spare. With the Jericho over by the stairs and Faye's gun trapped under her body, firearms were almost out of the question.
The clock was ticking. Spike had no way of getting off the rooftop and to a hospital.
There was one option.
Spike took another swing.
Young female Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrosky IV was typing. And dancing. And singing.
Einstein was sitting. And watching. And waiting.
He knew what was happening, maybe better than any of his crewmates. He knew the causes, he knew the effects, and he knew all of the possible outcomes.
Obviously, no one else did.
Distressing, considering that he wasn't even a Homo Sapien.
Abruptly, the young female Edward halted her singing and screamed.
"AAAAHHHHH! Faye-Faye down! Faye-Faye dooooooooowwwwwwwwnnnnnn!"
Ein barked in response.
Regrettable. So the old female was injured. Most likely a gunshot wound. Einstein let loose a low whine in sympathy.
"Goodness, Einstein!" Young female Edward wailed, swinging her body wildly back and forth. "Edward must help out Faye-Faye!" Rapidly, the girl began to type, hunching over her beloved central processing unit.
"Cleaning machine! Cleaning machine! Clean up Faye-Faye for Edward!"
Ein whined again as the young female Edward let loose a feral cackle.
He recognized there was an outcome the data dog hadn't taken into consideration.
Faye blinked.
Suddenly, she was in her bedroom on Singapore.
A slumber party.
Alyssa and Ed were painting each other's toenails on the white carpet. Julia sat on the pink bed with Faye, French braiding her hair. They were all three in fits of girlish giggles. Faye was grinning, a blush painting her cheeks.
They were laughing about something she had said.
As the giggles died away, Alyssa sighed and leaned back. Ed, pink nail polish in her hand, muttered her dismay.
"So," The dark haired woman said, big brown eyes turned to Faye. "Did Spike ask you out yet?"
Faye's blush deepened. She laughed quietly. "No… Not yet."
"I bet he's waiting to take you to prom. I heard he really likes you."
Three of the four girls burst into a fit of giggles. Julia was silent.
"I'm done." She said curtly to Faye, who now turned fully to face the group.
"I heard that, too," Faye admitted, smiling, embarrassed.
"You wanna know what I heard?" Julia said, her voice almost malicious.
The three other girls nodded. A sweet smile formed on her beautiful face.
"I heard Spike shot you. Just like he shot me."
Alyssa, Julia, and Edward laughed like it was the best joke they had ever heard.
Sweat, blood, and rain were mixing and falling, along with long strands of sopping wet hair, into Spike's eyes. He wiped the sick cocktail away quickly as he dodged an easy kick from Alex.
His boss laughed. "Do you need a scrunchie, Spike?" he mocked punching Spike hard in the face.
Spike laughed and fired back, landing a kick in Alex's gut. "Not nearly as much as you need a hair cut."
"Funny." Alex spat.
They exchanged blows. No hits.
Spike caught a quick glance back at Faye. Just the same as she had been. Dying quietly under an ugly sky.
Alex noticed the direction of his gaze.
"Poor old Spike," He sneered, backing away as they circled each other. "Loosing another woman. God is crying for you, Spike."
Spike snorted and dove at him, knocking him back a few steps with a solid punch in the gut. He could hear the wind pushing out of Alex's lungs.
"What God is crying about is making something as disgusting as you." His comment was ignored.
"You know what they say," Alex continued, a sweet smile on his face as a foot flew inches from Spike's face. "Third time is the charm."
Spike kept himself in check, continuing to circle.
One punch. A miss.
Alex tried to sweep his feet out from under him. Spike jumped over his leg easily,
landing a kick under his boss's jaw. Alex's head snapped back and he fell, doing a quick roll to land on his feet for a split second before launching himself at Spike, punching him square in the jaw, then elbowing his cheek to send his head jerking the other way.
A grunt of pain and Spike was over it, shifting to his left to avoid a kick. He fired back with two kicks of his own, knocking Alex around a little. His lip was bleeding. He stood above a heap of scrap metal, abandoned on the roof.
"You're an asshole, Spike." Alex said, spitting out the blood.
"You're a hypocrite, Alex."
He just smirked. "Just as much as you, I guess. What are you doing, Spike? Think about it." Slowly, steadily, Alex was advancing on him, but Spike wasn't moving. Something was sparking inside him. Some sadness he hadn't felt for a long time. Alexander King crouched down, his hand wrapping tight around a metal pole, probably fallen from some unfortunate aircraft. "You say you don't want to loose another woman you love." An evil smile curled on his beautiful face. Spike began to back away. "But you set her up. This is just like it was before. Except this time, you die, too."
"How would you know," Spike said, carefully, still moving away. Russet eyes flickered to Faye, bleeding, then snapped back to violet. "You weren't there."
"You know I was." Alex replied, standing, the pole grasped white-knuckled.
Panic flickered behind Spike's eyes.
This wasn't Alexander King anymore.
This was Lucifer.
The metal pole gripped in his hand swung through the air, whistling as it ripped through atoms.
Spike Spiegel turned and ran.
Faye found herself waking for a second time.
This time was much less pleasant.
A child was crying.
Distantly, like in another room.
Green eyes opened slowly. She was in a beautiful room, asleep in a white canopy bed. Light fabric hung gently from the light wood, drifting in a tender breeze.
The crying continued.
A voice called to her, much softer, much nearer.
"Mommy…" A little girl whispered.
Faye sat up slowly, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She half turned towards the voice. A small child, maybe five or six, stared at her, big brown eyes calm. She saw Spike in her immediately.
"Audrey…" Faye murmered, knowing the child's name immediately. Slender hands reached out and cupped the child's beautiful face. A diamond ring glittered on her left hand.
"Mommy…" The little girl was calm. "Mommy. Daddy is dead."
Faye's eyes widened. "What?" She choked out, brushing black hair from brown eyes. "Don't play games like that, Audrey…"
"Daddy is dead."
Oh God.
Throwing back a satin comforter, Faye scrambled out of bed, grasping the girl who she now recognized as her daughter by the hand, dragging her out of the room.
The crying grew louder as they stepped out into a long hallway. White walls, hardwood floor. Another child stood against a wall. Hers also, tall and skinny for his age. Three. He stared at her with wide green eyes. She reached out her free hand for him. He took it.
Lead her silently down the hall.
As they moved, the blank white walls blinding Faye, the sobbing became loud. Too loud to bear. Suddenly, both children stopped.
Pointed at a door.
Faye understood.
"Stay here." She urged desperately, releasing their hands.
Both children, her children, were dreadfully calm.
With trembling hands, Faye pushed open the door.
She wanted to shy away, but forced herself to enter, clicking the door shut behind her.
Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
It was a nursery, beautiful and yellow and full of light. A mobile hung above the white crib, turning and tinkling a pretty song as it drifted in the breeze. Lace curtains fluttered. A rocking horse swayed.
And there, in the middle of the room, was Faye's third child. And infant, maybe one and half, sitting in a puddle of blood, sobbing.
Because his father was there.
And he was dead.
Gasping for air desperately and fighting back tears, Faye rushed to her child, swooping it up and shielding it from the grisly sight before it.
Spike, on his back in black training pants, bleeding. Ripped open by a sword or a knife, spread eagle, organs half spilling out, eyes open.
Death had glazed them over.
Tears spilling over the rims of her eyes, Faye placed her baby gently in the crib and knelt beside Spike, cupping a cheek in her hand. His skin was cold. Brown eyes, both real, stared up at her vacantly.
A thin gold band circled his left ring finger.
Oh God. Oh God.
Faye allowed herself to cry. Sobbing, she knelt by his body, watching as tears hit smooth olive skin.
Each droplet left another pale scar, divots on perfect skin.
The closet door crashed open suddenly.
Faye snapped to attention as a crow shrieked, flying over her head to land on the crib. Her baby reached for it, tears dry, laughs bubbling over.
Eyes wide, the mother turned back to the closet, cold dread building. Slowly, Vicious stepped out into the light, silver hair shining, katana sheathed in his hand.
He smiled.
Faye's blood ran cold.
Suddenly, the sword was free, Spike's fresh blood glimmering along its length.
"Faye Valentine," The man said, his voice like ice. "How would you like to join your husband in hell?"
The baby laughed.
Spike surveyed the situation.
Alex had gone mad. Was chasing him with a metal pole. Spike had no weapons. Faye was dying slowly, her gun trapped under her. He didn't want to risk moving her. The roof was large, but Spike couldn't run forever.
He didn't doubt that Alex could.
Air swished by him as Spike ducked out of the way of the rod as it came close to his head. He ran faster. The rain cascaded down. Everything was drenched.
This was it.
Alex was going to kill him.
Spike cursed as he dodged a stray cleaning robot, arm outstretched and trashcan lid open. Whoever had put it up there was going to get an ass kicking if he survived. Alex didn't have any trouble with the robot; he jumped clear over it, landing on his feet and charging at Spike.
Like a deer in the headlights, the ex-cowboy stood perfectly still, watching as a man who had once been a friend came running at him with a metal stick. As Alex was about to swing down, Spike slid out of the way, elbowing Alex in the back of the neck hard.
But what was supposed to shock Alex enough to make him drop the rod didn't work exactly as planned. Instead, Alex wheeled around, his eyes wild, and cracked Spike beside the head.
Hard.
Pain shot through Spike's skull, rattling his brain as he stumbled back, head clutched between his hands.
A moment later, he was falling towards the ground.
Alex had knocked his feet out from under him.
Holy Shit.
As Spike Spiegel lay on his back on hard asphalt, he looked up at the sky, at the rain as it fell. At Alex as he stood above him, his weapon in his hands, ready to swing it down and beat the crap out of him.
Then he looked to the side, looked towards the stairs. A few feet away. He could have gotten out of there.
And as he looked at the stairs, his russet eyes turned to the Jericho, abandoned by the door.
The Jericho. Bingo.
Alex saw it, too.
All at once, the two men scrambled for it. But Alex was already standing, already running as Spike made it to his feet.
Alexander King's hand grasped the hilt of the gun.
Scrambling backward, Spike grabbed the first weapon he found: The metal rod.
Great. Some protection against a gun.
Through the rain, Spike heard laughter. Alex was laughing at him, clicking the safety off, training the barrel on his subordinate. Closing one eye.
Perfect aim.
"Sorry, Spike." He said, his voice light again, tinted with regret. "But you end here."
Alex pulled the trigger.
Click.
Click.
A smirk broke on Spike's face.
The new clip had only been half full.
And now it was empty.
The color drained from Alex's face as Spike advanced on him, gripping the metal rod he had forsaken for what he thought was a quicker end.
The rod came down. Cracked Alex in the head.
The leader of the Red Dragon Syndicate, the most powerful syndicate on Mars, in the universe, even, crumpled to the ground.
Spike watched, relief mixing wildly with lamentations. He hated to see a friend on the ground, bleeding from the head.
Then again, Alex wasn't dead. And he wasn't a friend, either.
Metal clanged as Spike dropped the pole, tucking his hands into his pockets.
He couldn't turn around.
Not that looking at Alex's unconscious body gave him some kind of satisfaction. It actually depressed him, the mortality of men. But it gave him something to do.
Because too much time had passed.
There was no way Faye Valentine was alive.
And in all honesty, Spike really couldn't handle loosing another woman he might have, at one point, loved.
Or at least tolerated.
Faye would, without a doubt, be the straw that broke the camel's back.
But it couldn't be put off any longer.
Slowly, methodically, Spike turned around.
To face an empty rooftop.
Faye's body was gone.
All that was left was a bloodstain and the gun that had been trapped under her body.
For a long time, Spike was still. Just standing, looking at the stain and the metal of the firearm, listening to the rain fall. And then, very calmly, he walked to the spot, picked up the gun, and checked the clip.
Nearly full.
He snapped it back in and, still unnaturally serene, moved to where Alex sat upright, blinking rapidly as he woke.
Cool metal met the flesh of his forehead.
The safety clicked off.
"Where's Faye?" Spike growled, his voice low.
Purple eyes widened, a black brow furrowed. "Wh…What?" Alex stuttered, alarmed at waking to a gun at his head.
Spike backhanded him quickly, watching pain flicker across the injured man's face.
"What did you do with her?" He asked, brown eyes cold and unsympathetic.
"She's gone?"
Another slap.
"Tell me or I'll kill you."
Alex just laughed. "Who are you kidding, Spike?" He asked, clearly amused. "What would change if I was dead? You'd live a lie for a couple more years, sure. But then you'd come back to the Dragons. Because this is all you know." A smile formed slowly on Alex's face, sadistic and beautiful and shimmering. "This is all you are."
"The body is gone. Where is she?"
"What difference would it make if I took her, Spike?" Alex laughed, too loud, too feral to be completely human. "She would just end up where Julia is." Violet eyes caught brown. Held them. Spike's face was blank. "Waiting for you, just like Julia."
An olive finger was on the trigger. Centimeters away from detonation. Spike's lips curled into a smirk.
"Don't worry, Alex," He said quietly. "It's all a dream anyway."
"Of all people, Spike," Alex whispered, "You should know."
The pressure on the trigger let up suddenly as the door to the stairs slammed open. Spike looked up and met Jet Black's dark stare.
"Spike!" He barked, panting from his run up the stairs. "Put the gun down!"
"He killed Faye, Jet." Spike spat, glowering down at the surprisingly tranquil Alexander King.
"Faye's not dead, you idiot!" Jet practically screamed. "And if honor meant anything, you'd put that god damned gun down!"
Spike froze, brow furrowed. "What?"
"Ed hacked a cleaning bot. It took her to the hospital, almost half an hour ago! Alyssa is already there."
A lopsided grin formed slowly, carefully, on Spike's face. He lowered the gun.
Relief flooded over Alex's features.
"Which hospital?"
Jet laughed, deep and loud and breathless. "Come on, you asshole. I'll take you."
Nodding and brushing back the hair that had fallen into his eyes, Spike tucked the gun into his pocket and moved around Alex, sparing one last knowing glance, to the door Jet held open for him. As he was about to go down the stairs, a voice called out to him.
"Spike!" Alex called out. The man half turned to face him.
"Yeah?"
"She's down there, waiting for you. And no matter what happens, you're going to carry that weight."
Shaking his head, smiling sadly, Spike pulled the gun from his pocket and fired a quick, clean shot through Alex's shoulder. As one friend screamed, Spike followed another through a door and into the same staircase he had climbed a million times.
Yeah. He would always carry that weight.
But Spike Spiegel had been hauling it on his shoulders for years.
Nothing new.
A/N: This chapter didn't turn out quite like I had it in my head, but I like it anyway. lol. And my brother liked it. Not that that means anything... Anyway.
With only one chapter left, I just want to let you guys know that I love you all. Because I don't want to spoil the ending with a long ass authors note on that post, I will add an additional authors note about a week after chapter twenty is posted.
STAY TUNED! IT IS VERY IMPORTANT!
But I love you guys so much, and please RxR! You Rock!
Love always,
Lucy