A/N: I know, I know. It's another one-shot when I really should be working on Sixty Frames Per Second. But I am, and I suppose this kind of wormed its way out... :sheepish: ANYWAY. I had trouble deciding on a title, and in the end, I decided on one of Switchfoot's songs. Just because. There's something significant about it when it's related to the story (to me, anyway) which I'm not sure is quite so obvious. It's complicated, I guess. :) So enjoy!
Oh, and thanks so much to DeathIsOnlyTheBeginin for putting Sixty Frames and Instead on her C2... and for her complimentary reviews on both of them. ;) Honey, this for you. (Kendra Leuhr, thanks so much for correcting Ed's character. I have problems portraying her most of the time!)
Beautiful Letdown
Summer rain. It was the first thing that flooded his mind when he stepped out into the warmth and wet of the busy neon-filled city, a cigarette in his hand and bitter-sweet tunes in his head. The pitter-patter of it on the scratched hull of the Bebop, and the soft, lulling feel of it in him, around him, and everywhere else.
Music.
The cigarette fizzled as it dropped to the ground, and he pushed sopping hair off his forehead with his free hand, held it there as he twined his fingers in his own hair. Looked up at the sky-scraping edges of tall, endless buildings, with their yellow lights, and the docile glow of warmth against the cold of the rain.
The city throbbed with life, future, past, and present.
And still… 'Something different,' Spike Spiegel thought as he studied everything. 'Something missing.'
It was all there as he remembered it. The dull smolder of rain against the sharpness of bony building structures. Lights, signs, casinos and the smell of fresh dew and dirt.
Something missing.
Was it Julia? he wondered. Here was, after all, the place she had died. Here was her lingering presence, left in the trampled grass, the rumble of thunder, the silence of rainy July nights. Here were ghosts and regrets, and still no solid reality that he could touch, see, and believe in.
No, it wasn't Julia who was missing. It was the truth.
He'd missed that, even back then, and he'd never really known it, he thought, rummaging through his pockets for another cigarette. It was part of why he'd left.
For the touch of skin. The smell of perfume. The taste of fact. Simple reality. And he'd never gotten anything real until he'd left this place.
They had all been missing here, in the city he'd once called home. He stared moodily at the blue-black sky framing the line of structures, the enormous moon. It had been full of fairytales and princesses, of evil dragons and forbidden love, and he'd thought that enough. But there was still reality, and he'd been stupid enough to overlook it, until it was too late.
Until he'd sunk so deep into the fantasy that he'd almost thought it real. Until Julia had appeared, and pulled him in like an anchor, entrenched in the deepest of dreams.
Love. Obsession.
Julia.
"If you're done standing around like that with your thumb up your ass, I've got something for you to do."
He looked around, saw that Faye had snuck up behind him, hair gleaming wet in the dark, and her eyes large and green and annoyed. She was dressed more conservatively tonight, he saw—green sweatpants and a snug tank top—but it did nothing more than make him realize it was worse than her usual vinyl suit.
Revealed, not exposed, he thought absently. It made him want to run a finger up the strong, white line of her throat, unframed by the usual cascade of dark hair that swung loose, now swept up into a neat ponytail.
Perish the thought.
"Yo." She snapped her fingers in front of his line of sight, startling him. "I'm talking to you, boy, so listen up. Jet's just run out of food supplies for the kitchen, and we need more candles so he can actually see what the hell he's working on. He'll be fixing the toilet at this rate, thinking it's the engine, and we'll be swimming in our own piss soon after. All that, and being stranded in this godforsaken city…"
She glanced out the door, and he saw the flicker in her eyes. Unreadable. Unrecognizable. It disappeared as soon as it had come, and she switched her gaze back to meet his.
"You've been here before."
It was a statement, not a question, but it merited an answer all the same. And he gave it, lifting the cigarette to his lips while he spoke. "I lived here once. Maybe a lifetime and a half ago. How did you know?"
"Something…" she gestured vaguely at the line of buildings, the rise and fall of the skyline, "… familiar. Something about you that's in this place." A pause, and it broke when she muttered, more to herself than him, "Well, I suppose, since you've lived here, you know where all the shops are…"
"Maybe," he shrugged.
"So go get the stupid candles yourself. I'm not going out into that rain." She turned, had already taken the first few steps away from him when she was caught in a hold that had more crushing violence in it than fierce gentleness.
And her breath caught as she was lifted to the tips of her toes, his gaze meeting hers in a connection that was far, far too heated for comfort, his arms locked around her in a grip that was strung so tight she could hardly breathe. The rain grew louder, and the air between them hummed with hidden pressure. The muddy velvet brown of his eyes, the sharp green of hers.
"Can you give me something I've wanted for a long time, Faye?"
Can you give me reality?
For a moment, there was nothing. And when his lips met hers, there was everything.
Rain, smoke, and the scent of long-buried dreams, mingling in the hum of pleasure she gave, the appreciative rumble in both their throats as they moved closer, melding against the soft backdrop of rain and blurred rooftops. But this time, he was sure there was no illusion, no delusion of fairytales and glimmering golden hair.
Only reality, and reality was a princess with hair as dark as sin, with her mouth on his, and a curse just waiting to escape her lips as soon as the kiss was over. And then… perhaps… He moved away, and, breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his shoulder for a moment, before lifting her eyes to his. Jade. Angry. Amused.
"Fuck you, Spike."
He grinned, bent his head to skim his lips over hers, reveled in her. The touch of skin. The smell of perfume. The taste of fact. No more smudges of dreams, no more bitter memories. No more fairytale princesses and no more Julia… but he could live with that.
Here was reality. Here was Faye. And, when she kissed him again, it was all too true. Too damned true.
And the rain blurred.
End