Whoot, chapter nine be here. This one gave me some trouble (I say this a lot, though). I wasn't entirely sure how I wanted to follow up on the events of chapter eight, so I'd really appreciate feedback. I'm going for something that would seem like the real story of Spike's past in Bebop world, so please let me know how it's going.

Note: Chapter title is taken from Yoko Kanno's "Words That We Couldn't Say."

Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any of the Cowboy Bebop characters and am making no profit from this story.

Kites Without Strings -- Part Nine: Fools On Parade

By Gundam Girl

Spike's eyes were glazed as he watched the rain outside. The water droplets fell and merged, becoming one – just as they had. One after another, they hit and swirled, some slowly, some fast as lightning. If he touched the glass, he knew it would be cold, and that he'd recoil from it.

Just like he'd known that if he touched Julia, she would be warm, and he would be unable to pull away.

He turned on his side to stare into her face. The rain made him think of how she had cried. She had sobbed out his name and had fallen almost instantly asleep after they had…

Spike wasn't sure what he wanted to call it. It wasn't simple sex. He'd had a lot of that, and in no way had it been so basic. He supposed he could say they'd made love, but the love had already been there, created at least in the kitchen, but most likely sooner.

He did love her. And to him, it was strange to that way, probably dangerous.

Julia shifted, rolling onto her back and causing the sheet wrapped around them to slip low on her breasts.

Correction, Spike thought. Definitely dangerous.

Her eyelashes fluttered, then rose to reveal the blue that had startled him when they'd first met. As it had then, his pulse leapt and he wanted her all the more.

Her lips curved slightly. "Hi." Her voice was low and a bit husky from sleep.

He felt his blood warm and moved in to press his lips to her neck. "Hi."

Julia breathed deeply, and she wanted nothing else than to repeat their earlier activity. But when he reached for her, she pushed lightly against his chest to pause him.

When they met gazes, Spikes heart constricted to find her eyes wet once again with tears.

"I've destroyed you," she whispered.

He didn't move – at least for five seconds. Keeping his weight on his hands, he leaned over and kissed her slowly, drawing her in.

"I don't think so," he replied, his own voice deep. "I've never felt this alive. I feel like…I'm dreaming."

Though his kiss had momentarily hypnotized her, logic was slowly seeping its way back in. It was a sad man, she contemplated mournfully, that felt more lifelike in his dreams than he did when he was conscious. "That's because you are dreaming, Spike. You're thinking we can stay this way forever." Her tone was soft with pain. "There's no reality to that."

Though she seemed to grow more and more anxious, he remained unceasingly calm. "Then if there's no reality…" He caught the smooth skin between her collarbones with his lips, careful to avoid a patch of bruised skin. "Don't wake me up."

"Spike." She couldn't help stroking her fingers over his back, feeling the ridges of his spine and the scars here and there that were like a subtle brand of the syndicate: forever active and binding him.

"I know you're worried," he breathed against her neck. Christ, he was too. He rose over her until he could bury his face in her right shoulder. "For now, at least…can it be enough that I love you?"

Just like any man, Julia thought. As long as things were going their way, there was nothing to be concerned about. Whenever they loved, nothing could go wrong.

She wanted so badly to believe that he was right, but a pair of icy eyes kept flashing at her from the pit of her mind, the glare they sent intense and frightening. Yet she would let him keep his hope as long as he could. She turned her head to breathe into his ear.

"You're enough for me." She meant the words more than he would ever know.

She stared, dazed like he had been, at the ceiling beyond his head, her eyes mere glints of pain as her fingers buried themselves in his thick hair. He held her tighter.

Gren didn't remain an acquaintance, as Vicious soon learned. Although far from being a friend – Vicious wasn't certain if he had one of those any more – they were assigned to each other as specific war comrades, so if nothing else, they were partners. He was dependable, and after a few days, Vicious managed to trust him enough to not get shot in the back.

But that didn't mean he didn't always have his gun handy, just in case he'd underestimated the saxophonist.

Gren's nature seemed far too gentle for war. He often spoke of life on Venus, where he had been born. The heat had made him unnaturally tall in a family where no one was over five-six, and he'd been resented for it. An unreasonable thing to hate someone for, as Gren had mentioned with the most casual of airs, but it had been enough to make Gren go to war.

Vicious didn't buy it. If people didn't like someone, they went somewhere else, but not a place that would likely see them killed. There was something else there. If Vicious had been kinder, he may have actually cared about what it was.

As it was, he wasn't, and so he didn't. What he cared about were the days that went by. Each new dawning on Titan left a fresh wound in Vicious' black soul – wounds of impatience, however, not loss.

Spike had betrayed him. Julia had betrayed him. By now, surely, that had to have furthered that abuse of trust in ways Vicious could only imagine. The idea…

Spike's hands on her… Touching her, caressing her… And Julia wanting it, loving it, loving him…they way she had never loved Vicious.

Most men went crazy. Most men went depressed. Vicious did neither; he remained calm, calculating, and plotted for how he would react upon his return to Tharsus.

Plotting was increasingly difficult when you were paired with a guy who had a far too lively time talking.

"Did you see those sissies, Vicious, how they kept falling into the mud like that? I swear, I think I had a harder time doing high school phys ed." Gren cut zealously into his steak at dinner. "And they were volunteers, like us. Hard to believe…"

That you're still alive. Vicious was fairly certain that he'd have killed the man nights ago and made it look like he'd simply fallen on the barbed wire fences outside the base if it had been someone else. But for someone reason, he felt strangely non-hostile toward the purple-haired man.

Probably because he'd be killing enough people soon anyway.

Spike stayed with Julia throughout the night, though rather than keeping her awake with his own desires, they slept. He got the feeling that Julia hadn't gotten very many full-night's sleeps since she had started seeing Vicious. She slept so motionlessly, almost as if she were dead.

His stomach clenched; admittedly, several times throughout the night he had been so startled by her absolute lack of movement that he had sprung up several times to see if her shoulders were still rising and falling with each breath.

He'd noticed too, how completely at ease she was when she slept. In her waking hours, there had so often been some kind of tension to her, even when she laughed. It was as though she thought that someone would catch her feeling happy and punish her for it. But in sleep, her face was totally relaxed, her limbs loose. She was nearly…very…angelic.

Spike took a deep breath and thrust his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, retrieved along with the rest of his clothes from all over Julia's apartment between the bedroom and the kitchen. She was most likely still sleeping now. He'd taken a shower and slipped out, leaving a note on the pillow beside her that he'd gone to see Annie. Julia wouldn't worry that he wouldn't come back.

Annie's store wasn't the least bit busy. In fact, no one but Annie herself was in the place, and she was only watching her miniature TV with a kind of bored fascination. At the ding of the bell on the door, she glanced up, looking annoyed. Spike guessed that there had been another run in with those perverted teenage boys.

"Hey, Spike." Annie smiled, brushing a bit of her red hair away from her face. Spike noted with some sadness that there was the slightest of gray tints to the burgundy strands. It felt…uncomfortable…to think that Annie might be getting up in the years. "What's your special today?"

"Just some cigarettes." Annie tossed him a pack, but she also went to the cold cabinets and got a quart box of milk and a donut for him as well. Leaning against her counter, she frowned when the only thing he touched were the cigarettes.

"What's wrong, Spike?" When he gave her a questioning look, she continued, "I ain't seen you a few days. Vicious just left for Titan yesterday and you come in here lookin' all gloomy. Plus," she added as he lighted up, "yer eyes are lookin' at me without even really seein' me. Who're ya really seein', Spike?"

Spike's expression had darkened throughout her rambling. "Is it really that obvious, Annie?"

"Like readin' a kid's book. You tell me what's happened." She rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. Her shrewd eyes narrowed. "It's that Julia, isn't it?"

Her tone wasn't protective, Spike noted. It was calling. And she'd certainly just called his bluff. "I'm in love with her, Annie."

Annie's face contorted a bit with doubt. "Oh, boy. Spike…well, I don't even know what to tell you."

"Probably nothing I haven't already told myself. I know there's…complications," Spike said at length.

"Complications?" the shop-owner said, a bit of a guffaw to the way she blurted the word. "Honey, you're almost asking to be shot in the head. Haven't you seen the way Vicious watches that girl? Like he could grab her any minute and gobble her up?"

"He's a man, Annie, not a tiger."

"He's a Dragon," Annie retorted. "And ain't dragons always wantin' the pretty girls for themselves?"

Touché."All right. But what else could I do, with her crying and me loving her and Vicious gone?" Thinking about it now, he felt on the edge of guilt. "Annie…he hurts her. There are actual injuries in places where no girl should be injured."

Annie paled a bit. "She need a doctor? You can bring her to me, Spike, and—"

"No, she's okay. She will be." Spike reached up and ran a hand through his hair like he was nervous, but when he looked at Annie, his eyes were hard and focused. "I'll protect her. If necessary…from him."

She shook her head. "This whole business has me feelin' bad. Spike, think about it. Vicious might be your friend, but he's also a Red Dragon captain. Now, I'd like to say that Mao would never let you get killed, but when a man's angry and, more'n that, jealous…"

"Vicious is the last thing I'm concerned about," he lied. "The first thing is Julia. If she's hurt again, physically or emotionally, that's my fault." He leaned against the counter, his eyes set on the freshly-swept tile floor. "But how do I know if I'm not hurting her right now, Annie?"

"Well, for starters, I doubt she'd have let you take her to bed." Annie's frowned deepened. "Has she told you how she feels?"

"She did. Yesterday." And hearing her tell him that she'd fallen in love with him had been heaven. But she'd also said she didn't want to. And that had been hell.

Well, heaven or hell, Spike decided once he'd left Annie's and was walking back toward Julia's place, Julia was an angel to him. And he was just the unworthy mortal man.

Spike thought of Vicious.

Unlike angels, mortals died.

The military on Titan had moved out and were crossing the desert terrain on foot, less they should attract rebel units and be caught by surprise. On carts, they pulled weapons, rations, and meager means of shelter behind them. Vicious had certain parts of him that wanted to complain with the others, now that he was so used to luxury on Mars with the syndicate. But he had been chosen to come here because Mao Yenrai knew he could endure, so that was what he would do.

But it wasn't necessary to like it.

On the second day since departing, they took an early break – it was hottest it had ever been on Titan in the days since the first grouping, and Gren and Vicious sat against the edge of the ravine they were meandering through. If either of them had hoped that the slightly shaded rock would be cool against their backs, they were disappointed.

Vicious sipped from a canteen while Gren amused himself by miming playing his saxophone, pressing phantom keys and hearing an imaginary melody.

Vicious ignored him, choosing to delve inside his cloak, pulling out the miniature music box Julia had given him. He wound it expressionlessly.

"Ah, so the man with no emotions has a keepsake." Gren's eyes twinkled mischievously as he moved nearer to him. As he listened to the tinkling notes of the song, he tossed away his cigarette and went for a fresh pack. "What song is that?" he inquired cheerfully.

Vicious didn't look up from the contraption. There was a slight growl in his answer. "Julia."

And there was the history. Because he couldn't detect the brief anger from the other man, Gren smiled sadly. There was always a woman. Behind fascinating man, there was a captivating woman.

He would have to settle for being dull.

Lifting a cigarette to his mouth, he feigned being casual. "That's a good tune." He took a long drag and a long breath. "Well, do you mind if I play that tune on my sax when I go home after all this?"

The syndicate agent felt as mechanical as the music box in his hand. After a few seconds of gazing at the painted dragon on the lid, he held it out to his war partner.

Gren paused with his thumb on the wheel of his lighter. Surprised, he stared into the quiet man's dark, hollow eyes. Something he couldn't name passed between them; not quite trust, but maybe a bit of understanding. Automatically, he held out his hand, feeling awkward as the little music-maker fell into his palm. He found he couldn't even form a proper thank-you.

As he stared at the small gift, Gren saw a sudden flash. Raising his eyes, he took in the image of Vicious, now on his feet. In his hand was a long dagger which reflected in the monstrous sunlight and glinted into Gren's face, falling in a line of light over his eyes.

Gren set his jaw. He supposed there were worse people who could kill him. But his heart still thundered beneath his heavy cloak, and survival instinct had him drawing away from the pale-haired man. Lightning-fast, Vicious pressed Gren back against the ravine by his forehead.

The knife came down, slicing the air with a swift whoosh; the blade was tightly imbedded in the rock just to the left of Gren's head.

Gren turned his frightened eyes to see a black scorpion, squirming in its final moments, its stinger still raised to attack. The dagger had impaled it directly in the center of its shelled body.

Again, Gren found it impossible to thank his partner – his eyes were cold he retracted his weapon.

"Don't take that personally," he muttered. Gren wasn't sure if he was referring to the music box or the fact that he'd saved the saxophonist's life. "There may still come a time when I will strike."

Gren could only stare, half-dazed, as the Red Dragon captain walked away, the hem of his cloak flapping in the wind. After Vicious had gone, he glanced down at the music box, and gently wound it.

As the tune played again, Gren couldn't resist smiling.

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