Midnight Blues

9. Twist of Fate

Screams echoed hollowly through the vast room, detached as if part of another world. Blurred figures swept past, heedless of the sprawled body on the floor. Voices, hundreds of voices cried out as shots ricocheted in every direction, the marble tiled floor beside him exploded in a shower of jagged chips. Powdery white dust floated over him like snow as it settled onto his black clothes.

He idly wondered what all the fuss was about as he watched the tiny white lights of the chandelier sway above him. So lovely, swaying, almost like…butterflies… Something was nagging at him from the corner of his mind. There was something important he had to do, something very important…someone…but the lights were so pretty, they looked like stars. Which one of them belonged to him? He reached out to touch them, but his arm would not move.

His brows bunched slightly. It didn't matter. His body felt cold and he closed his eyes, willing the panicked voices to be silent as he slipped into the darkness.

A twinge of pain brought him back and he blinked slowly, his hazy vision picking up a figure looming over him. They were saying something, but he could not understand. The pain in his side flared again, but it seemed far away, as if it was happening to someone else. He closed his eyes.

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him, the voice screaming at him. Go away… he murmured in his mind as he sank deeper into the cool darkness. Just let me go… Hands were touching his face, his chest, his side, someone was crying. Something warm fell onto his face sending a tingle of sensation through his body, reawakening numb nerves as it trickled down his cheek.

His eyes opened slowly, but all he could see were vague gray shapes blurring and shifting, melting into one another like clouds in the ether. The sound of broken sobbing filtered through to him from miles away. He wanted to comfort whoever it was, wanted to make sure they were all right, but the pull of the emptiness he was floating in was too great.

Spike…please…

Something within him stirred. Spike…yes, that had been his name.

Faye…we have to go… The second voice resonated deeply within the dark confines of his mind as he floated.

Something nagged at him again, tugging urgently at his mind. He tried to brush it away but it would not leave, so he simply stopped resisting and let it come his way. An image of a woman floated before him. She was young and pretty with frosty blue eyes and a sad smile that made his heart ache, her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like gold. He frowned. He new this woman, who was she…?

Julia…

He reached out to her as she smiled at him, her blue eyes drawing him toward her. His bloody hand touched her face and her image rippled like water, her features shifting, rearranging themselves. Her eyes were now a verdant green, her shoulder length hair a silky violet. She was crying.

He knelt beside her, touching her shoulder. A small frown graced his lips. He knew this woman, too, but from where? The nagging feeling flared and his eyes widened.

Faye.

Suddenly the blackness around him did not feel comfortable or peaceful; it felt ominous, suffocating as if it were trying to smother him in its dark shroud. He struggled against it, feeling as if he were drowning. Desperately and with agonizing slowness he fought his way up through the frozen void. Faye. He had to get to Faye. She was important, somehow. He had to tell her something…but what?

Ever so slowly, feeling began to return to his numb body. His lungs burned with need for oxygen as he fought to surface from the depths of emptiness. Jagged pain arched through his body like a bolt of molten lighting as his frayed nerve endings suddenly burst to life and he gasped as the agony of it swept over him, the pain filling the void with soul tearing ferocity, blinding him.

Cool hands touched his face and his ears vaguely registered someone's frantic cries for help. His head spun nauseatingly as the pain in his side flared, knifing through him with a murderous intent.

"Jet do something!"

"I'm…ing! Get out of…way!"

Voices flowed in an out of his awareness as the searing pain tore his breath from his lungs, the edges of his blurred vision turning white. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears poured unnoticed down his cheeks. Liquid fire burned through his veins, his skin felt as if it were being burned to a crisp, crackling in the inferno as his muscles were seared from bones that by now must have been blackened and charred.

"You… to hurry!"

Someone tore his shirt and was holding something to his side with agonizing pressure. He struggled against the hands holding him down.

"He's lost…blood….have to get him…hospital…"

Just when he had thought the pain had reached its pinnacle, it increased and he curled in on himself, clutching his chest as he rolled onto his side, a whimper of pain escaping through his clenched teeth. Had he not already been flat on his back on the floor he would have been brought to his knees long ago by the pain that had forthwith dispensed with his sanity.

"…thing else…wrong…him!"

His insides had been ripped apart, every bone had been shattered, skin flayed and charred to a cinder. He had become one with the pain, it had devoured his soul and he opened his arms, welcoming it to him, hoping dimly in what was left of his mind that it would take what was left of his life and end his suffering.

"The blade… poisoned…"

The darkness swallowed him and he slumped down onto the floor.

Faye's cheek slipped from her hand, her head thunking against the metal frame of the bed; she hissed in pain. Her eyes squeezed shut and her brows furrowed as she pressing her palm to her forehead, cursing as a few stray tears rolled down her cheeks. Served her right for falling asleep at a time like this.

A slow, constant beeping was the only sound in the tiny stark room besides the buzzing of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. The entire room was a sterile white: white walls, white ceiling, white floor, tiny white plastic chair, white bed, white sheets, white, white, white. Her eyes were beginning to hurt from looking at all that white. She turned to look at the white door. Jet had long since returned to the Bebop, grumbling that it wouldn't matter where they were, whatever happened would happen.

She glanced at the body lying on the hard hospital bed, an IV dripping fresh blood attached to his arm. His eyes were closed; the peaceful expression on his face at odds with the ugly bruises and scratch marks marring his skin. She glanced at the clock.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she and Jet had rushed into the hospital, Spike's limp body slung over Jet's shoulder. At first the doctors had refused treatment, claiming that this man is obviously beyond all help, but when both Faye and Jet had drawn their guns, the frightened receptionist had shakily remembered that there was indeed a room open, ninth floor, down the hall on the right, 907.

Faye laid her head down on the cool metal railing of the bed as the quietly buzzing machines continued to monitor Spike's vital signs.

They had failed to catch Sanders. No one knew where he was, no one had seen him leave, no one had seen him go down, nor had anyone found a body. All they had found was a single bloody footprint and that could have belonged to any number of the guests that had been in attendance at Tanaka's that night. Faye cursed. Sanders had slipped through their grasp and now he was home free, able to kill again, and Spike was lying in a hospital bed on the cusp between life and death as the poison that had laced Sanders dagger ravaged his system.

Spike's face was almost as pale as the pillow his head was resting on. He had lost so much blood that the doctors had been surprised his heart had had anything left to pump out when they had brought him into the hospital, his side still bleeding sluggishly. He had been attached to an IV since he had arrived receiving blood transfusions to replace what he had lost.

They had given him something they said would counteract the neurotoxin in his system and told her that all they could do now was wait, but more than likely, if the poison didn't kill him, his other injuries would.

The cuts and bruises on his face and neck from when he had been hit by flying chips of marble that had been thrown into the air by a stray bullet were the least of their worries. The wound in his shoulder was, in itself, not life threatening, but the massive blood loss that he had incurred through it and his side were very dangerous.

But those wounds together were not what had troubled the doctors the most. It was the wound in his side that was the most worrisome. The blade had damaged vital organs as it had slammed into him. Now he was in danger not only of dying from blood loss, damaged organs and the poison, but was at high risk of contracting a fatal infection.

Faye's eyelids drooped and she stifled a yawn, her back cramping from having sat in the hard plastic chair for so many hours. She stretched with a groan and her stomach rumbled urgently reminding her how long it had been since she had last eaten. With a sigh she settled numbly back into her chair, her gaze unfocused as it rested on Spike's abused face.

The door opened quietly behind her, but she took no notice. Someone stood beside her and put a hand on her shoulder as she stared blankly at the lanky figure in the bed.

"Faye, you can't stay here forever," Jet's deep voice rumbled through the tiny room.

Faye sat mutely in her cold plastic chair.

Jet sighed. "You have to sleep sometime," he said softly, taking in her tired red-rimmed eyes, pale, drawn face and rumpled clothes. She hadn't even changed out of that black dress.

"Go back to the ship," he urged her. "I'll stay with him."

Faye looked up at him and the blankness in her eyes frightened him. She blinked slowly. "I can't leave him," she whispered. "This is my fault."

Jet pulled her slim body to him in a tight hug. "Don't give yourself so much credit. There was nothing you could have done." He felt something warm soak his shirt as Faye's shoulders began to shake.

"I should have done something," she sobbed brokenly. "I should have stopped him, I should have been able to protect myself—"

"Faye, go home. Go back to the ship." He took her shoulders firmly in his hands. "Get some sleep and something to eat." He wrinkled his nose slightly. "And you need a shower." A tiny humorless laugh bubbled from Faye's chest as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"But—"

"Go on, get out of here. Do you think Spike would appreciate waking up to a bloody mess of tangled hair and torn clothes? He wouldn't be awake for very long."

Faye smiled as best she could and gave Jet a quick hug. "Go," he pushed her gently towards the door.

He watched as she slipped out of the tiny room and shut the door. His gaze lingered on the stark door for a moment before turning to his injured partner.

"I hope you can see what's right in front of you," he muttered as the beeping of the heart monitor filled the room again.

It had been a long night for Faye Valentine.

She stood at the base of the large hospital, gazing up at the hundreds of windows, some lit, some dark. A heavy emptiness had settled in the pit of her stomach as she had walked out of the large building. Spike had been a man living on borrowed time and now it seemed his debts would be collected.

Tears pricked her eyes as she stumbled through the dark city streets trying to remember where she had left her Redtail. With a resigned sigh, she pushed into a small corner café, one of very few whose lights were still on.

A man wiping down the counter looked up at her. "I'm sorry ma'am, but we're—" He stopped mid sentence as he took in her haggard appearance. "Lady, are you alright?"

"No." She paused as she caught sight of herself reflected in the window. "Do you have somewhere I can wash up?"

The man stared at her for a moment in shock. "Uh…yeah…down the hall on the left." He pointed back behind him. "Are you sure—"

"Yeah, thanks." Faye stumbled into the small bathroom, dropping her things onto the floor carelessly as she slumped against the sink. Her frame shook slightly, tears falling into the white porcelain basin as she wiped the blood and grime from her skin as best she could.

She steeled herself. She had to pull herself together. Sanders was still out there, and sniveling in a bathroom somewhere was not going to do anything about it. Straightening, she quickly pulled on the pair of worn jeans and a black t-shirt Jet had brought her.

Sanders could run and hide all he wanted, but she was going after him and she was going to kill him.

Something bobbed in the darkness. It was fuzzy, glowing faintly. What was it? Stop. Something familiar. Come back. Where had it gone?

It teased, popping in and out of existence like a taunting firefly. There. Don't leave. It evaporated only to appear somewhere else, bouncing, pushing. The fuzziness became a gentle pressure.

Where do you come from? The pressure eased playfully, coming back after a few moments only to recede once more. Do you want something?

The pressure increased fractionally. What are you? It increased, steadily becoming sharper, slowly losing its playful edge and beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. Hey, stop that.

But the sensation wouldn't go away. It continued to swell until only it remained, filling the void. Pain. Ebbing and flowing like an erratic tide, it folded in upon itself, multiplying and then dissipating. It was all there was, there was nothing outside the pain, nothing to hold it back, only it and him.

Spike gasped for breath like a man just saved from drowning. All he saw was white. Where the hell was he? He tried to lift his head as the events of the previous night filtered slowly back to him and hissed as his neck muscles screamed in protest at the movement.

There was a rhythmic beeping in the background accompanied by a steady buzzing. He knew those sounds. His mouth felt like someone had stuffed an entire bag of cotton balls inside it.

His entire body was overcome with a dull ache as he lay on his back, but it was nothing compared to what he had suffered.

Someone let out a loud snore from somewhere beside him and grunted.

Spike tried to speak, but managed only a feeble groan as his parched throat refused to cooperate.

"Spike?"

He grunted.

"Shut up, you idiot. Do you have any idea…no I don't suppose you would," the deep voice rumbled darkly.

Jet scooted his chair over to the side of the bed and peered at his younger partner's face. "Doctors said…" He shook his head. "You've been out for two weeks." Two weeks? "They didn't think you'd wake up."

Jet regarded the prone figure on the bed. Spike had more lives than a cat, but at some point they were going to run out.

He scowled. "You really ought to be more careful," he said gruffly.

A hoarse cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh burst from Spike's chest. Jet smiled tightly despite himself. Yeah, right.

Faye collapsed onto the yellow plastic couch, dropping her things on the floor carelessly. Her whole body ached, her heart aching with it as she thought of what Spike had gone through, for her. She was able to flop onto that hard yellow couch, unscathed, at Spike's expense. Her eyes prickled with tears as she thought of him lying in that cold hospital bed in that tiny little room, alone.

She stood quickly, about to jump back into her ship. The room spun sickeningly and she clutched the back of the couch for support as the walls slowed their frantic movement. She thought she might be sick and sank slowly back onto the couch, her eyes squeezed shut.

"So you're back."

Faye nodded, barely acknowledging Jet's comment as she fought to still her lurching stomach.

"Here drink this," Jet held a steaming mug out to her, but she shook her head. "You'll feel better, Faye." The silent question of where she had been for the past few weeks hung unasked and unanswered in the air as Jet regarded her silently.

With a shaky hand, she took the mug from him and sipped its contents warily. Slowly her stomach settled, the tense muscles in her neck, shoulders and back uncoiled a little, her hands stopped shaking. She looked up at Jet. "What is this?"

"Ginger tea," he said gruffly. "Drink all of it."

She nodded mutely as he walked out of the small room, leaving her once more in silence.

Spike had managed once again to beat the odds and claw his way back to life. She shook her head. For a man with such a wish for death, he simply refused to die.

Fragrant steam rose from the mug in her hands, clouding her vision slightly. The reality of the past few weeks had yet to sink in, to her, it seemed as if she was walking through a dream.

Looking for Sanders had sent her on a dozen wild goose chases; she couldn't remember the number of dead ends she had followed. The bastard had simply ceased to exist.

She had gone to visit Spike as often as she could, though he was only conscious on one or two of those occasions. Each time she had sat in silence watching as his chest rose and fell slowly, the heart monitor beeping in the background.

She bit her lip. Faye Valentine was getting nervous. She recognized the feeling in the pit of her stomach and couldn't decide whether it was a curse or a blessing. She was beginning to feel something for her fluffy haired companion and that frightened her nearly as much as the prospect of his dying and leaving them again did.