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Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop, and am making no profit from this fan story.

Note: Lyrics are from Yoko Kanno's "Blue."

-- Kites Without Strings – Part Six: Ask Myself What It's All For

An hour later, Julia set her hand on the handle of the door of her apartment building and turned back to Spike. She stared at him for a moment. His hands were burrowed deeply in the pockets of his suit jacket, and a cigarette was hanging loosely in his mouth. The night wind had given his green fuzz of hair a tousled look, that, she couldn't deny, was too attractive for words. Nervously, she pushed some hair behind her ear. "Well—" she began, and Spike grinned.

"Here's the awkward goodnight," he laughed. "Dare I ask to get a goodnight kiss?"

He'd been joking, well, half-joking anyway, but Julia looked as though he had just backhanded her with his pack of cigarettes. Her face was pale, causing the red lipstick and her sapphire eyes to stand out like a pool of blood beneath twin moons. Though it wasn't cold out, she folded her arms and rubbed them lightly. "Why did we do that at the club?" Julia asked. Her voice was no more than a whisper that seemed to dissolve in the Martian air. "We did we let us?"

"Dunno." Spike's smile dissipated, and he took a long drag, hoping the smoke would clear the taste of her from his mouth. It didn't.

"Spike…" There was a defeated tone in the way a sighed accompanied his name. "You should know we can't do this. I do. We just…" She shook her head. "Can't."

"So, supposing I don't know this and you do, was I the only one in the wrong when you kissed me tonight?" He raised an eyebrow. "It was you, you know."

"I know." Her fingers twisted together, linking and unlinking. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not complaining."

"Spike!" she exclaimed in frustration. "Please, be serious!"

This time, he took the time to stare at her. There was no lamppost on the street within twenty feet of them, and the only light came from inside the apartment building. It spilled out upon her form, causing her hair to glitter in a silhouette that was so beautiful it stifled. His ruby eyes flashed as he dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his one of his leather shoes.

"I'm very serious. And, seriously, I'm going to ask you this question." He stepped up to her. Reactively, Julia moved back, and he pressed her against the plastic door, but didn't touch her. He could hear her breath come out shakily as his own heart pounded in his ears. "Do you love Vicious?"

Her eyes grew impossibly wider. For a moment, she made wordless sounds, at a loss for anything to say. Then her shoulders slackened and her eyebrows narrowed. "What makes you think you have any right to ask that question?"

"Well." Maybe, by doing this, he would be doing both of them a favor. Ending the chess game he and Julia seemed to be battling in, he could put both of their minds at rest. "Vicious is my friend. I don't want a friend to get hurt by a girl who would kiss another guy while she was dating him."

Her hand darted out and had slapped his left cheek, but he had expected it. He felt a particularly acute sting and was fairly certain she'd scratched him with one of those well-shaped nails of hers, but he quickly forgot about it as he turned his head back to face her again and saw the raw storm raging in her gaze.

"Is that so?" she asked, close to aiming at him a second time. Her hands were balled up at her sides, and she was practically gulping air with the way her chest was heaving. Her shoulders shook with her anger, but Spike didn't let himself do anything to reassure her. "Then tell me, if I'm the girl who would kiss another man, how does it feel to be the other man?"

"Feels damn awful." He smirked, certain that his look was cold. "But it was fun while it lasted."

"You filthy bastard—mph!" Her tirade was cut off by his mouth against hers, his fingers delving into her hair, pressing her to him at the waist. Every cell in her body warmed instantaneously, and her hands went to his face automatically. She was on the verge of moaning when he yanked himself away from her and took off across the street.

It took Julia approximately four seconds to pull from her haze of sexual tension and push into the cloud of lividness again. "Spike!" she shouted after him. He didn't stop, and a late bus making its last stop at the corner sped in front of her before she could go after him and make any attempts on his life. By the time the vehicle had passed, Spiegel's form had disappeared from her.

She burst into the building, stomped loudly up the steps, and it took three tried before she could get her key into the lock of her apartment. She slammed the door behind her, kicked her heels off rather violently, and in her temper, grabbed what was nearest her – a glass vase of white roses Vicious had given her the day before – and hurtled it against the wall. The shattering sound of glass and the splash of water satisfied her. She stared down at the bruised flowers, some of them impaled with shards. Julia felt just like them; cut and aching.

That selfish bastard, she thought, cooler-headed now as she reached under the sink for a brush and a dustpan. Sweeping up the glass, stems, petals, and most of the spilled water, she dumped the whole business in the trash and tossed the tools into the corner. Wanting something to do with her hands, she put on a pot of tea and went into her bedroom to change. She let her clothes fall where they would, remember with not a little bit of shame how she had impulsively chosen something sexy for him. How could he say those things to her, after being so nice and sweet?

The worst part, she decided as she threw on a long black nightgown of rich satin, was that he was right. The idiot was right. Ever since she had laid eyes on Spike, a part of her had been steadily inching away from Vicious and towards the green-haired syndicate agent. But she could recall how she had so easily been attracted to Vicious; those mysterious, icy eyes that had met hers when she had served him his drink at a bar when he had been conducting a business meeting on the other side of Tharsus. The place had been low-paying, and the customers had been less than decent to her. Her boss had been a man who had demanded payment for giving her a job.

But Vicious…Vicious had been kind to her, which was more than she could say for anyone else that she had interacted with at the time. Before he had left, he had given her a card with his name and a number she could reach him at. The week hadn't even ended before Julia and called him, and he had come for her personally in a sleek black limousine. That had been it for her. She had found a knight that had rescued her from a dragon.

And then she had realized that he had taken her to another dragon, a red one; one whose claws trapped anyone and everyone who messed with it, killing them slowly. She had seen that with Karuma tonight. But, like the golden eyes or the shining scales, some aspects of the dragon were attractive. And though it unfortunate now, Julia could never deny that Spike was one of them. Vicious was as well…but he was more like the fangs, interesting to look at, but you would never want them to touch you. And she had been bitten by him many, many times now.

Perhaps, she thought as she flopped down on the bed, it would be best to just run from the dragon entirely. She wasn't exactly a damsel in distress, and she didn't expect anyone to come out and save her. So she would just have to take care of herself.

Julia closed her eyes, forgetting about her tea. Her lips still tingled from Spike's heart-jerking kiss that had exhausted her. Everything he did exhausted her.

If she could save herself, she added mentally as sleep took her.

---

"I'm such an ass." Grumbling to himself, sitting up in bed, Spike flipped through channel after channel with the remote control, pausing now and then to take a drink from the beer on the nightstand next to him. Unlike his effect on her, Julia made him feel energized and alive no matter what passed between them. And since he couldn't sleep, he had opted for a night of television. However, he wasn't seeing a single damned thing on the screen. Every image held Julia's angry face, so disastrously beautiful and tearing him up inside.

It had needed to happen. Spike told himself this over and over again, but the words refused to sink in properly. Hadn't he been thinking from the night he'd first met her that he couldn't get wrapped up in something he could handle? If Vicious found out…which he might even now…he would be in trouble. Julia might even be in trouble. He had seen Vicious angry. The possibilities for temper satisfaction for that man were boundless.

Spike drained the rest of his beer in one gulp. Reaching into the drawer of the same nightstand, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Once there was a steady stream of nicotine going into him, he turned off the TV, and stared up at the ceiling in the blackness. God, he'd really pissed her off, hadn't he?

Damn it. If the woman were going to keep him up all night, he would prefer it be in a way different from this. But since this was all he was ever going to get, he'd take it.

He still could remember the taste of her. And this was his seventh cig since he'd left Julia. Shit.

---

Vicious was… Even he had trouble describing it. Not nervous; Vicious hadn't felt something as strong as nervousness in years. More likely, he was anxious.

In all the time since he'd joined the Red Dragon Syndicate, there was not a time he had been the sole invitee to Mao Yenrai's private offices. He had always gone there in a group or with a committee. But he had been called early this morning with word that Yenrai had insisted on an immediate audience with the cool syndicate agent.

He couldn't possibly think of what the old man would want. It was always possible that the Elders had asked him to give orders for a new mission, but that seemed unlikely. He had always been summoned directly to the Elders themselves. Could Mao have points to make on a current project? No, the Hauvez-Morlette Drug Exchange had just been cleared up at Gate 51 the night before, Vicious knew. What, then, was the sudden business?

To some, the ones to fear in the Red Dragon Clan were the Elders, with their ruthless hearts and all-seeing eyes. The image of the three old demons behind their screens was enough to intimidate just about anyone. But those that knew the business well knew that the Elders were gentle lambs, with their subtle commanding, in comparison to the field operator, Mao Yenrai.

The Elders were the dragons of the Syndicate; but Mao was their obedient tiger, whose loyalty surpassed any of emotion in his soul. Though he was familiar with patience and wisdom, Mao was the best when it came to cold handlings. The banquet in honor of Karuma's execution the night before was direct proof of that.

He walked into the first office building, giving no care to the tiled floors and lavish tapestries that had been there for thirty or forty years now. He took no notice of other agents and staff members he passed as he walked into the elevator. He did not even see the short, shaggy-haired man that shared an elevator with him until he got off on floor seven, leaving Vicious to ride to the eleventh floor by himself.

Mao had a suite here; he also owned an apartment on the West end of Tharsus, but he rarely left his work for enough hours at a time to truly enjoy it. There were fresh flowers everywhere, imported most likely from Europa. Mao enjoyed things of beauty. That he and Vicious held common between them, but Vicious had accepted long ago that he didn't deserve them. Looking around, the katana-wielder surveyed the room with chilled eyes. His gaze fell on Mao sitting in an armchair that faced a high coffee table. There, here was pouring two glasses of tea.

"You're very prompt," the older man said, his smile creating deep lines in his cheeks and forehead. "Thank you."

"I make it a point to fulfill requests," Vicious replied smoothly, "and I was asked this morning to be here at nine o' ten."

"Yes, you were. Tea?" Mao sipped from his own cup, releasing the slightest breath of contentment when he lowered the beverage again. "I imagine you would prefer me to get right to the point."

Vicious didn't respond but looked straight, out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the glorious Martian city.

"Please sit, Vicious," said Mao, setting his cup down on the table. "What I am going to tell you is by no means a simple topic." When the tall agent was seated in the armchair across from his on the other side of the coffee table, he folded his hands and placed them in his lap in a very business-like fashion. "What do you know about current events?"

Vicious did not leap into speech. The way he replied was quick, and more like sliding into words like a hover car slides into mid-morning traffic. "I know that the Clan is intended to intercept a dealing with the ISSP and a Pluto export company—"

"I'm referring to current events concerning the Solar System," Mao cut in. "What can you tell me that is important and could effect everyone of the sun."

Confused, but not willing to showing it under any circumstances, Vicious took his tea and drank half of it in one gulp. This is what you get for being work-absorbed, he scolded himself. It hit him when he returned the cup to the table. "The war sprouting on Titan."

Mao's face was grave. "Rebels from all over, but mostly from Earth, are daring to retaliate against the government's oppression. They're strong. Should they defeat the Titan regime, Vicious, their next conquest will be Mars – strictly, Tharsus. Of this there is no doubt. Should they come for Tharsus, the Syndicate shall not come out unbroken, even if every mafia united as one." He stood so that he could look down at the pale man. "You must go there. You must go and fight for us there."

Vicious didn't know what it was he was feeling. If the icy trickling that seemed to wet his spine was fear, he found it more annoying than any other emotion. He wanted it gone. To distract himself, he asked a question. "What do the Elders wish I do there, sir?"

"We will be sending a team of one hundred men to Titan. Though they will be following the orders of whatever captain volunteers from Mars are put under, you must lead them. Dragons can listen to anything, but that does not mean they hear it." Mao held out his hand. "Everyone in this organization has faith in you, Vicious. You have the spirit of warrior."

Vicious rose to his full height, a vast number of inches more than Yenrai's, and shook the leader's hand. There was no decision for him to make. The answer had been given by the ones "asking" him to go to battle.

"You have concerns, of course," said Mao. "I can assure you anything you wish to be taken care of shall be."

"Respectfully," Vicous said in his gravelly voice, "I know the Clan is of all competence. In my mind, I know that I will be safe. But I feel as though—"

"Do you honestly believe that the Red Dragons would be short-sighted enough to allow the death of such a valued member of the Syndicate?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then," smiled Mao, creasing once again those deep lines in his face, "do not look so worried. Why don't you go spend some time with those you care about?" As Vicious turned, he added, "You must make sure you really care about them, Vicious. When you're sleeping on that sand, you'll find that they are the only ones you'll want to think about."

---

It was evening with Julia finished cleaning her entire apartment. She didn't know why she kept at it. She scrubbed the place weekly, whether it needed it or not. This behavior would be called obsessive by some, but Julia preferred to see it as organized. Humans often forgot with the new technology that practically lived their lives for them that humility was still a necessary part of a person's character. She liked to be certain that she could keep just a little of that humility inside of her.

She was just tossing her disposable plastic gloves into the waste bin when she heard a key in her lock. Her shoulders instantly tensed as Vicious stepped through the door. Sometimes she regretted having given him the extra key to her apartment, but she always gave him a smile when he just strutted in – like now.

Well, she smiled anyway. But Vicious wasn't strutting. He seemed to almost be limping with a lack of attitude, and Julia opened her mouth to inquire what was wrong with him. He was usually so restless. But before she could utter a syllable, the cool-fleshed man had covered her lips with his, drinking the words like wanted poison.

Even his kiss was lackluster. It was normal for it to be fierce and energetic, inviting her to let him in, to allow him to take that molding of lips wherever he would. Julia brushed her fingers over his shoulders, ready to open her arms to him, but Vicious suddenly pulled back and stepped away from her.

They stared at each other for a moment. Julia wasn't positive, but she could have sworn there was something akin to helplessness in his eyes. Her heart pounded, but not in the way it would have two months ago. "Vicious?"

"I need to call Spike," he told her abruptly. "I need him to come over here. You both need to know what I'll be doing soon."

Spike? No, not Spike! "Are—are you sure?" she asked quietly. "Do you want to talk about it first?"

"I'll talk about it," he growled out, "when Spike's here." He stalked over to her telephone, nearly ripping it from the while in his hurry.

As he dialed, Julia clenched a fist at her side. Though her head ached with worry, her blood was hot with nervousness. She didn't want to see Spike again. Not yet. Not after what he'd said about her, said about them…

If Vicious saw them together this time, would he so easily miss the chemicals churning between her and Spike?

Julia could only pray he would.

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