The Heart of the Bounty

A fanfiction

Chapter 8: The Final Vigil

I have more reason to hide now; Spike is mobile. Not fully on his feet, but he can move about. He's more aware, more conscious. I'm both grateful and upset; I'm only upset because I have no other means of looking upon him without being questioned. It's hard to fight the urges of not seeing him, of not thinking about him, of not wanting to stop thinking about him. I can never explain how or why, but his last accident made me open my eyes to him more. Or at least to his mortality. To my mortality.

I put out my best efforts to avoid him. You know, those silly girls' ploys that are only done for the sake of preserving a crush. This, however, is more than a schoolgirl crush. Every hour it feels more fatal. Every time I avoid him, there's more fear erupting inside me. Ignorance really would be bliss; if I never knew about Julia, I would be more courageous. The threat of someone so distant, someone clearly moved on is so heartwrenching. And girls are delicate creatures. At least I've maintained that thought through my on and off stay on the Bebop.

It feels as though all this time we've both been pretending. Or at least I have. Our quarrels, our disagreements, our mild contempt for one another … those were the acts of a juvenile crush. That was our denial. Perhaps this all was just waiting to happen. There's always been that special something about our connection, only back then I never called it special. Something always kept us crossing the same paths; maybe it always has been attraction.

I've been careful about when I catch glimpses of him. What's worse is he teases me with his half naked body. Jet already got Spike back into his pants. Otherwise, the torture would've intensified, the torture of only staring at a body I long to touch. I only scan him down when he's turned away, I hide in dark doorways to see his profile. Ein would begin to bark in my direction, stupid dog. He always comes close to ruining my secrecy.

At night, I've become braver and braver. I've managed to touch his face again. I'd dab his skin with my fingertips. I even pressed my fingers against his lips as compensation for being unable to meet them with my own lips. His temperament is sugar-coated the more I think about him, the more I see him in recovery. I'm really waiting to snap out of this infatuation; I know as soon as he resumes his normal self and we go after a bounty I'll be repulsed, as per usual. While I expect that, I really don't want that to happen. I don't want this bliss to end. This is the most real reverie I could ever be caught in. It was hard to let go of thoughts of him from the start, and it'll be even harder to let this more tangible relationship go to waste.

After another aimless day, floating in the space outside of Jupiter, I sit by my bedside and watch the time pass. I am waiting, waiting for that perfect nocturnal moment to execute my ritual. I twiddle my thumbs, tiring my senses of my skin, preparing my fingertips for the refreshing feel of his skin. Finally, it's 2 a.m. Perfect.

I tiptoe toward the common room. I hear from the doorway his coarse, silent snore. He still struggles to breathe. Poor Spike. If only I could help ease that pain.

I feel hypnotized as I walk toward him. His aura lures me next to him. Graceful and petite, I kneel against his seat, taking his hanging arm and placing it atop his body as I have before. Without hesitation, I stroke down the side of his face, moving wisps of hair out of my path. An icy tingle seeps into my pores all over, filling my body with a sense of exhilaration. I sigh aloud and smile, with a twinkle of a wistful tear in my eye. I haven't felt like this about anyone in so long, and it both hurts and feels stupendous to feel it again. His presence truly had me under a spell; it was like I had no control over what I was doing hovering above him. I watched his face in the streams of dimmed incandescent lights; his peaceful eyes were smiling. He may be thinking of Julia, but I won't let that get in my way. I continue the dream; I tell myself it's me he's smiling at. I tell myself he knows I'm there, and for once he's glad.

Suddenly, his face starts to cringe. Perhaps he's just having a nightmare about the accident. Or maybe… I look down to his chest. His torso is slightly raised, but tense now. There's some inner pain that I cannot understand, but he feels. I gently press my hand to his chest, applying the littlest amount of pressure to calm him. As his body starts relaxing again, I boldly take the hand that lies upon his chest. His hand slides easily into the palms of my hands, almost as if it were a perfect fit. I soak in the feeling of his warm, smooth skin. A bleak thought suddenly crosses my mind… This may be the closest I'll ever get to touching him. I fight the tears of realization with a smile, so that I may cherish the moment. I was holding his hand in midair for a while before I realized he might feel the strain of his arm. As I resume his hand to its resting position, my hands stay attached to his, and I drop my head close to him. I smile sweetly, in what may be called a feigned bliss, because I find myself in a position that I've longed to be in with a man. Just resting gently against him.

With my head pressed against his chest, I feel his breathing. The slow heaves of his inhale, the deflation of his exhale. Its rhythm becomes lulling, but I fight the urge to fall asleep. The last thing I want is to fall asleep and be awoken by Jet, Ein, Ed, or even Spike himself. I'd be humiliated! As I sleepily blink my eyes in poor attempts to stay awake, I look to his face. His defined features look appealing in any angle. I begin to smile euphorically when I notice his face begins to stir… His chin starts moving forward; he's moving his head up! I'm too tired to process what this means. I see his eyes— lazy, too— blink frantically. His eyes are trying to adjust to the minimal lighting. When they both open, I look into his eyes. For the first time, I see clearly the distinction between his mismatched eyes. Yet, it was either the low lighting or my own vision impairment maybe, I heard cogs in his operated eye at work. The color began to resemble more and more his normal eye with every breath. I was hypnotized, not even noticing any other expression on his face. Before he drooped his head back, my awe-filled gaze turned its attention to his lips. He smiled. A breath of air escaped his lips, as if he wanted to say something. "… Aye," I heard, faintly. Instead of running away in fear, I continue to kneel and reflect.

After a minute or so, I left Spike alone to rest up. I couldn't help skipping lightly down the hallway. Whether it's true or not, only one thought motivated me now: he spoke my name, lovingly.