Here it is, and with not so long of a wait! Hurrah!
Disclaimer: I disclaim ownership of Cowboy Bebop.
Note: Chapter title is from "Flying Teapot," by Yoko Kanno.
--- Kites Without Strings --- Part Five: Where All The Shooting Stars Are Gone
By Gundam Girl
The clubs are Mars were special. They had a certain feel to them, an always-lingering sensuality that curled around each person there, whether in the form of a date or the smoke from a used cigarette. They tended to each person's preference, from the salad bar for the vegetarian of the twelve-ounce steak for the hearty meat lover.
Vicious despised them. There was too much life, too much warm blood. Cobra practically sizzled with it tonight, great spurts of warmth puffing like steam from everywhere. Body heat threatened to melt flesh. These places were far too kind for someone like him, he mused. He glanced dance at the woman on his arm.
Julia had pinned up her hair with a jade-colored, oval clip that rested on the very crown of her head. Slim lines of hair fell down her temples in light waves, curling at the very end. With her makeup carefully crafted, her hair was like sleek gold against marble. Her dress was full, dark green like the hairclip, with a bodice that was tight against her bosom down her waist and fluffed out slightly from there to her ankles. The dress was sleeveless, but a white, gauzy wrap was balanced between her forearms and around her back.
Vicious liked the look of her. Not merely because she was obviously the most beautiful woman in the club, but because of the subtle symbolisms in her choice of dress. The deep green stood out, lured, but evoked cautiousness; like poison. That strip of cleanness on her wrap and the pale smoothness of her skin that it all defined were like an assurance of innocence.
Warning and welcome in one small package, Vicious mused. Like a trap. He smirked faintly. He always did approve of a good trap. This one was his own.
When she suddenly turned her head up and smiled at him, he didn't think that his twist of lips might be intimidating. But Julia had to work to keep her face pleasant.
She cleared her throat. "Is there any definite point in being here?"
He let out a low chuckle that was more like gravel crunching beneath feet than any actual mirth. "You should know by now that with the Red Dragons, there's always some ulterior motive. Note how new agents weren't specifically needed here tonight."
Julia pressed her red-painted lips together. "They just need people with experience then."
"They need them, and they'll get them." He fell silent as a waiter showed them to a round table draped in starch white linen, and Vicious courteously pulled out Julia's chair for her. "Wine?"
"Yes." She accepted the slim glass of chardonnay from the perhaps too-appreciative waiter and tipped it back elegantly. The waited cast one last look at the neck of her dress and shuffled discreetly away. If Vicious had noticed, he hadn't said anything, and Julia breathed a small sigh of relief.
She berated herself in the next instant. Why the hell should she be relieved? Vicious wasn't one for making scenes over little things like horny waiters. He wasn't one for making scenes at all, as far as Julia knew. He preferred to keep things private and close, to keep any and all affairs within his arm-length should he need to reach out and pull it back to him. Nothing escaped Vicious. He was too calm for that.
That was a relief. People who tended to blow up lost sight of themselves and their goal. Emotions muddled things that should be clean and simple. Passionate people knew more failure than success. People like…
Damn it. When Cobra's main doors opened again, she could tell without looking who the newest arrival was. The scent of him, cigarettes and night air, carried over to their table and made Julia's fingers tighten on the stem of her glass. Damn him, she thought, for being so noticeable. Damn him for being so memorable.
In every way, damn Spike Spiegel.
Spike was damning a thing or two when he walked into the black-tie snazz house. Unlike Vicious, he liked clubs. He appreciated this one with its shimmering crystal chandeliers and complicated tapestries. Hell, he would even go so far as to say he liked the short-skirted uniform for the waitresses. But this place was too tight-necked. He liked the others kind of clubs Mars was famous for, specifically the jazz huts where saxophones and trumpets were every bit a part of the décor as the scarred bar and used ashtrays. Damn the lot of high-class sequin-showers.
Finishing lighting a cigarette, he raised his eyes and nearly caught his thumb in the cap of his lighter.
Dear God, and he thought she'd looked good in leather. Spike inhaled sharply on his cigarette and forced himself to exhale it. Through the wisps of smoke, he saw her with her green gown, her white wrap, and her wine. He took special notice of the golden drops dangling from her earlobes. They matched her hair.
Why, he asked whatever force might possibly know the answer, did she have to be like that? Like a glimmering emerald among a box of graying diamonds? He'd seen women, a lot of them like the tittering ones that dotted the banquet room, who had caused an impact in him before. Julia had taken a shot to his head and scored a direct hit.
Damn that, too.
He didn't have a date, Julia mused. Was he a man who preferred to go it alone; be the lone mystery man with a cigarette and a tie not entirely straight? Maybe "preferred" wasn't the right word, but she wasn't exactly sure what phrases described him. Spike was a mystery. One she wanted to solve even though she wished it wasn't so.
She was disturbed from her thoughts as Vicious' icy hand fell on her bare shoulder. "How hungry are you?"
"I'll just take a salad," she replied absently. She had to force her eyes to stay on his.
He smirked the tiniest bit again. Leaning over, he muttered into her ear, "I can always feed you later."
She begged her stomach not to complain. "I do need some sustenance, Vicious."
He kept his gaze on her for a moment longer, than motioned for a waiter. Placing an order for Julia's salad and a steak for himself, a drank from his own wine and smiled. Angling his head, he called out, "Spike!" but his voice was still like velvet-covered steel. Julia didn't fathom he would ever be softer.
"Vicious," Spike said, humor blanketing his voice like a uniform. As his garnet eyes fell on her, they shimmered just a bit brighter. "Julia. Good evening."
"Hi, Spike." She inclined her head and wished to God her fingers weren't shaking. Mentally swearing, she smiled, hoping it looked genuine. "Was the traffic bad?"
She was straining. Vicious didn't seem to notice it, but Spike certainly did. And because he could see the small pulse thrumming at the side of her neck, he shoved his hands in his pockets. He couldn't touch her and ease that franticness.
"Not too bad," he replied. "At least not for me. My cab must've cut off at least six cars." He pounded a fist to his chest. "Had to make sure my heart was still working when he finally stopped."
"Hm. He can face gunfire and is scared of mad taxi drivers." Vicious shook his head. "You're pathetic."
"I'm not scared of them, I disapprove of them," countered Spike. "Notice the vocabulary I used for your benefit."
The three of them laughed, but only Vicious was truly – or at least half – amused.
Bravely, Spike opted to join them for dinner instead of sitting with Lin and Shin or Mao. Annie was even here tonight, and although Spike hadn't bothered to find out what was happening at this particular event, he noted it had to be important for even the Red Dragon's main supplier to show up. But he remained with Vicious and Julia, forcing himself to eat a plate of chicken and vegetables despite the anxiety rolling around in his stomach at the most subtle of Vicious actions; his hand falling onto Julia's shoulder, his fingers brushing over the back of her neck, his lips pressing discreetly to her cheek.
He toughed it out, but once, he was certain he heard Julia sigh when Vicious took her hand. Of course, it could have been a happy sigh; the two certainly did look as though they were in love (something that, in Vicious' case, was hard to discern). But Spike had the odd feeling the Julia wasn't completely happy.
He crushed his current cigarette in one of the dainty glass ashtrays available at every table and folded his arms, averting his gaze as Vicious pushed one of her curls over her shoulder. Damn, it was gonna be a hella long night.
Or was it, he corrected himself as he finished off the last of his beer and leaned back. Mao was seen standing up from his seat next to Annie and walking to the center of the banquet room. He raised a hand and everyone's voices ceased in a matter of seconds. The respect filtering from brain to brain was awe-inspiring. Spike grinned a bit. Not bad for a man entering his late fifties and not exactly caught up in modern-times.
"Some of you know why you have been called to gather here tonight." Mao was smiling. "The fact is, we of the Red Dragon Clan have a strong wish to honor a certain person. He has been with our family for close to three years now. Throughout the course of his service, we have come to see that he is a man full of ambition, of bravado, and of healthy character. His name is Jusuke Karuma." Mao smiled thinly at a man with thick reddish hair and violet-blue eyes that had been seated at his table as well. Slowly, in the fluid way of moving that every Syndicate member was to some extent gifted with, he pulled out a smooth-barreled Glock from the inside of his suit jacket. His deceivingly pleasant expression never changed. "Congratulations, Mr. Karuma," he said softly.
Karuma's face, which had been filled with satisfied surprise before, broke down into pale terror. Amid the fancy perfumes and expensive colognes, Spike smelled the man's swear and his eyes hardened.
"You managed to feed information to another Syndicate for nearly two full weeks," Mao continued, aiming the weapon steadily at Karuma's heart. "And to the Jade Lions, no less. Gaining money takes ambition, betraying us takes bravado, but I was wrong about your character. That, Karuma, is simply stupid." Mao lowered the gun. "Proceed with annihilating his membership in this Clan."
"Mr. Yenrai!" Karuma exclaimed in a cracking voice even as two broad-shouldered men grabbed him under his arms and hauled him from the table. "Sir, forgiveness, please! To survive, one has to—"
"There is always conflict," Yenrai acknowledged. "And conflict, you understand, must always be dealt with." He lifted his wineglass from the table and held it high in the air. "Let us toast our friend, Mr. Karuma."
Simultaneously, the Red Dragon agents raised their glasses as everyone looked on grimly.
"No! Mr. Yenrai! I had to make a choice!"
Julia watched with somewhat sad eyes as the door closed behind Karuma and his captors. And you made the wrong one, she thought.
Vicious' voice cut across her mind like a stream of freezing air as the chatter resumed as though nothing had happened. "It's no use getting sad. When you betray this Clan, any person in it, you are wiped out. It is a matter of retaining honor, dear."
"So he is dead?"
Vicious looked at his gold watch. It had been ten seconds since Karuma had been taken out. "Yes," he said, certain. "The hearse is probably pulling away from the curb as we speak."
So, she realized, this is why the newer members weren't encouraged to come.
"God, Vicious, you're such a depressing guy tonight." Spike was shaking another cigarette from a black case that had been stowed away in his jacket. It was odd to think that a situation like this made him jumpy, even though he had grown up with the Red Dragons and had seen this procession a hundred times or more. He shook his head at his friend and the woman to keep the mood light. "Lighten the hell up, will ya?"
Vicious smiled cordially. "You've always been more cheerful than me, Spike."
"No kidding." He lit the cig and inhaled deeply. "Right now though, I really wanna get outta here."
"Haha. So whereas you're cheerful, I get to handle all the bloody scenes. Fine then." Vicious stood up, happy to note Julia did as well. "Where will you be going?"
"I thought I might try Playnote and see who's playing. Jerry can really blow a trumpet." He aimed a wink at Julia. "Whaddya say? Wanna ditch the stiff and run away with me?"
Julia grinned, prepared to shoot back a smart comment, when Vicious's fingers tightened on her shoulder.
"Actually, why don't you go with him?" Vicious said. "I can promise you'll have a lot more fun with him. The most we're going to do here is decide what kind of vegetable platters to have available at Karuma's funeral. Go have some fun." Julia's spine straightened as he brushed his hand over it. "Perhaps later you'll be more relaxed then."
Julia knew what was later, and she bit her lip. "If you think I should," she began.
"I do. Play some silly drinking game that I would be bad at." Vicious took her hand and placed it in Spike cigarette-free one. "I'm trusting you not to lose to her, my friend. She can really put it away."
Spike mouth was straight as he nodded a response and began to lead Julia away. Feeling like he'd been put in a pinch without his knowing, he flicked a sideways glance at her lovely face.
He didn't think there was any outcome but to lose to her; her and the feelings she lit up in him.
---
"Playnote, huh?" Julia smiled as they walked along the Mars sidewalk. She had long since taken her hand out of Spike's. "A jazz man, Speigel?"
"A big one," he nodded. "I like the classics. Armstrong, Mariano, you name it. Summertime's my favorite."
"Old one," she remarked.
"Great one," he retorted. "And anyway, at this place, you can't be dressed like that."
She responded by lifting her chin. "Jealous of the money?"
"Afraid of it. They won't give you anything but water in case you spill a drink on yourself and try to sue them for it."
Her eyes glimmered. "Water ruins silk, too."
"You've just proved my point. Let's get you changed, honey." He steered her to a curb and hailed them down a cab. "And then I'll show you what a good time is."
---
Half-an-hour later, Spike hadn't been able to object to the dark blue vinyl halter top and tight black skirt Julia had put on in favor of the dress. Her hair was down and teased enough to give it a wild look, the ends curling from the time spent pinned up. She was like the human form of a lioness, power lying beneath a graceful countenance. At least that's what Spike had thought of when trying to ignore the urge to press his lips just beneath where her earrings dangled.
"I don't understand," she told him as they were getting out of the cab that had driven them to Playnote, "why you can wear a semi-dressy suit and I'd get burned in a nice dress."
"Because they know me here, and I buy their expensive drinks. Management won't let anyone say anything." His grin was quick and made Julia's heart thump wickedly but she didn't have time to feel its effect before they went inside and she was surprised.
It wasn't loud or crowded like a club. There were booths, a few four-sided tables scattered around, and of course, the long mahogany bar with three or four empty stools.
"Ladies first." He extended a hand and Julia made her way over to the bar, Spike behind her with his hands in his pockets. Maybe the skirt was a little too tight. With that and the strappy high-heels give her legs a dangerously appealing look, Spike had to bite back a low whistle. Keep your animal instincts to yourself.
He slid onto the stool next to the one she chose and shot a smirk at the bartender. "Busy night, eh, Warren?"
Warren looked up from the Guinness he was building, saw Spike, saw Julia, and hastened to make sure his toupee was on straight. "Happily so, Spike. What can I get you and your girl here?"
"This is just a friend," Spike grinned, making Warren's eyebrows lift, "and I'll take a passion-fruit rum. Julia?"
"Martini," she told Warren, "dry, please."
"You got it, ma'am. I take it this's on the gentleman here?"
Spike drummed his long fingers on the bar. "Why the hell does everybody think I'm some kinda delinquent?"
"Because you are," Julia said, giggling a bit.
Spike looked at her, watched her clear blue eyes glimmer beneath the dim bar lights, and smiled lightly. "Yeah," he replied, his voice soft. "I guess I am."
Heat rushed through her by simply pitting her gaze against his. Damn it, Spike. If this wasn't the wrong time…
"Rum and a martini." Warren placed the drinks in front of them. "Let me know if you want anything else, Spike. Oh, by the way, Jerry's up next, and Curt," he jerked his head at the man onstage playing piano music that trickled through the house, "is almost done. You kids enjoy yourselves."
"So are you Jerry's patron or something?" asked Julia, sipping her drink and keeping her eyes on him.
Spike chuckled, drinking from his own glass and wishing it would actually succeed in cooling him down. "Or something," he agreed and turned in the stool to face the stage as Curt stood, nodded the customers and exited stage left as Jerry came in stage right.
Jerry was a short man, not past five-six, if Julia was any judge. He had fairly shaggy hair that was tinged with purple, and he sat on a low stool onstage, trumpet in hand. Adjusting the microphone a bit, he lifted his instrument, and, winking, let the music spill forth.
By the fourth beat, a women dressed in a light green spring dress was onstage with another mic held up to her mouth. At the fourth beat, she joined Jerry with her voice.
"Summertime…and the livin' is easy…"Spike turned back to Julia. "Jerry and Gretchen always open with this one." Amusement dancing in his eyes, he stood up and held out a hand. "Come and dance with me, Julia."
Julia's eyes widened fractionally. "Do what? I don't dance."
"Fish're jumpin'…and the cotton is high…""You don't go to jazz clubs but that's where you are," Spike said. "You don't dance, but that's what you'll do."
Julia's expression was suspicious even as she slipped her fingers into his. "I don't get the feeling that you dance either, Spike Speigel."
Spike's garnet eyes seemed to smile by themselves. "You wanna know something weird?" He led her over to the dance floor with long, even steps and slowly let a hand slide around her waist. "When I'm with you, I start to think I can do anything." He shrugged. "I think you inspire me."
"Daddy's rich…and Mama's good-lookin'…"She set the hand he wasn't holding over his sturdy shoulder. His words made her press her lips together in reaction and her mind swam with worry. "I don't. I don't inspire anyone. I'm not…" She searched for a word and stared beyond him. "Inspirational," she finished lamely as they began to sway.
Her voice fell dead in her throat when their eyes met again. They continued to dance, front and back, back and forth, right and left. Julia felt a ridiculous emotion that was a cross between giddiness and paranoia. What kind of feeling was that?
"Spike," she murmured, though she didn't realize she said his name aloud.
Spike arm tightened around her waist. Leaning his head down, their foreheads touched. "What is this, Julia?" he whispered. "What am I allowed to do? You're Vicious's – you're my best friend's girlfriend," he corrected.
This was absurd, Julia told herself. These odd feelings of ill-content when she was with Vicious and only happiness around Spike. Happiness she'd never been completely shown before. "I don't know what it is," she told him honestly. "But…" Slowly, ever so slowly, her hand slid up the range of his neck, her palm grazing the fine hairs there. She felt him shudder against her.
"Do you think it's wrong?" he queried, his voice so quiet.
"So hush…hush, little baby…"
There was no denying it, Julia thought. After only a couple of months, a few handfuls of encounters, the barest of knowledge about him…she was in love with Spike Speigel.
"Julia." Her name on his lips. It was like hearing some ancient symphony…or maybe some kind of warning.
"I think…" She couldn't form the words. His hand fell away from her own and she snaked those now-free fingers into his hair as well, pulling his head down.
Their lips met and clung and Julia soared…but she still couldn't be certain that it wasn't wrong.
"Don't you cry…"------------------------------------------------------------
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