Quaking

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Spike and Ed took the Bebop back to Mars, leaving Jet on Venus with Faye. Spike said, and Ed concurred, that nothing would make Jet leave Faye's side at this time anyway. However, Mars was more like home to Ed and Spike, and they were comfortable docking in the usual port, near to Spike's home city. And as Spike liked to say, all bounties end up on Mars.

His renewed vigor in hunting, however, paled when Ed announced that she had finished her thesis and she was expecting her Master's degree soon. Spike was incredulous. "Master's degree? I didn't even know you finished a Bachelor's."

Ed puffed up a little with pride. "I finished two Bachelors', actually; I double majored in Electrical Engineering and Computer Sciences, and a minor in pure Mathematics."

"Damn, woman."

"What do you think I've been doing on that computer all this time? Downloading porn?"

"Haven't you?"

"No."

Spike adopted his usual slouch, and jammed his hands in his pockets. "Well, Ed, that is . . . amazing. You're really something else. I'm proud of you." However, he sounded anything but. Still, Ed wasn't going to let a compliment from Spike go to waste, so she gave him a hug. It was a while before he returned the gesture in kind. "Ed, listen, I'm going to take off for a couple of hours. Okay?"

"Okay." And as Ed watched Spike mosey off the ship, she thought to herself, Whatever it is you have, Spike, I don't think you're going to fix it in only a couple of hours.

A little while later, Spike was bemused to find himself once again on the steps of the old church where Fred watched over his mostly student parish. I haven't spent this much time even near a church since . . . well, since I got tossed out a rose window a few years ago. He was chuckling at the bizarre memory when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"If I'd known you were coming to visit again, I'd have brought another cuppa joe."

"I don't think coffee's going to work, Fred. How about we go get a drink somewhere?"

Fred laughed. "I stopped sneaking the sacrificial wine long ago. Now I get paid to drink the stuff. I don't think a drink is what you need, though."

"Oh? What do I need, then?"

"You're the one who came over here. You tell me."

Spike sighed. "At the risk of sounding lame, I feel like a prodigal son with no place to call home."

Fred was silent for a moment, and then replied, "You're right. That does sound lame." Both men laughed for a moment, and then Fred looked at his watch. "Okay, I usually do confessions at this time anyway. C'mon." Fred bounded up the steps to the old church and pulled the door open. Spike followed.

"Fred . . ."

"Hey, no one here. So it's just you and me." Fred dipped his fingers in the holy water and quickly crossed himself. Out of habit, Spike followed suit, and then stood still as he looked over the church. It was small and simple. There wasn't a huge ornate altar or communion rail or pulpit like the cathedral at the seminary, only plain white walls with simple crosses denoting the stations. The crucifix wasn't exactly a crucifix at all, at least, not the kind that Spike was familiar with. This one was a simple cross, but instead of what Spike always termed the "Our Lord of Perpetual Bleeding from Stem to Stern", the Christ figure, made of crackled glass, looked more like someone who was living. Or resurrected.

Fred had donned his robes and scapular and stood waiting for Spike to finish his perusal of the building. He then led Spike to a small set of booths. Inside, there was no priex- dieu, like Spike expectedonly a folding chair. Fred sensed Spike's hesitation. "We don't stand on ceremony here. Or kneel, I should say. Go on in." Spike complied, and sat in the chair with a sigh. Fred entered the booth on the other side, and slid the dividing screen open with a bang.

Silence. Fred sipped his coffee. Spike leaned his head against the wall. "I don't know how to start."

"The usual preamble is Bless me Father, for I have sinned."

"Fine, Fred. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been . . . over twenty years since my last confession."

"Not since school?"

"Not since they kicked me out."

Fred paused for a moment. "Go ahead." Spike closed his eyes, looking for a simple statement that would tie everything up quickly so he could get out of here. The little room already felt cloying, even though the door was wide open and Spike could see the afternoon sun through the tall stained glass windows and reflected on the glass Christ figure.

Fred, for his part, remained silent. He took another quiet sip of his coffee and thought about the Spike he had known around the time that Spike had placed his last confession. That Spike had been quiet as well, but that was a reserved shyness that was exclusive to non-Catholics in that ultra-Catholic universe. Why a Pentecostal preacher would send his son there had been beyond Fred, but Spike had managed to quietly blend in and went through all the sacraments along with the rest of his peers. Spike had also crossed clique borders by not only excelling in sports, in particular Jeet Khun Do and other martial arts, but in band as well. Fred had never been an athlete.

Spike's voice brought Fred out of his reverie. "What am I doing here?"

"Unfortunately, Spike, you're the one that has to answer that."

"Dying was easier than this."

"I should say so. When you confess you have to scrutinize yourself. It's difficult for most people."

"I don't think you caught my sarcasm."

"No, I did catch your sarcasm, Spike. I'm well aware of the fact that you have managed to live despite your best efforts. For someone who speaks very little, you live very loudly."

"Now you sound like Bull."

"The shaman?"

Spike was flummoxed. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"It doesn't matter how I know, and it doesn't matter where exactly you seek spiritual guidance, if that is what you're looking for. I think you're failing about out there in the universe, but what you don't seem to understand is that we're all flailing about, trying to figure out which way to go. It's not a problem particular to Joseph Spiegel. It happens to all of us. It's called life."

"That's the thing, Fred; I didn't plan on living this long."

"Who am I talking to today?"

Spike frowned. "I don't get what you mean."

"Am I talking to my old best friend or the man who became a killer for hire?"

"They're one and the same, Fred."

"No, they're not."

"Fine, Fred, if you want to go on this tangent, Vicious killed him. Satisfied?"

"Don't call him that. Vicious wasn't his name, it was an affectation that you enabled. That's why he held so much power over you. Call him by his given name."

"Gabriel? He never was Gabriel. Vicious killed him the same way that he killed the Joseph you knew."

"But Joseph isn't dead, as much as Spike would like to believe that. Yes, I know parts of Joseph died away, like when his father was murdered, and his mother died of grief. But Joseph was the man who fought Gabriel over the honor of a girl he didn't know, and it was Joseph who walked away from the syndicate and began creating a new life. One that includes people you honestly care about, like Jet and Faye, and even Ed, if I dare say, as opposed to 'Vicious' and Julia."

"Vicious was my best friend. And I loved Julia, damn it!"

"And she, along with 'Vicious' played you for a patsy every step of the way. They used you."

"That's what life is about, Father Fred. Use them before they use you. You were the one who threw life away and cloistered yourself in the prayers and the chants."

Fred took another sip of coffee. "Then how is it that you're so unsure of whether you're living or dead?"

Spike sighed and put his head in his hands. "Jesus Christ."

"And don't you blaspheme in my church."

"A church isn't the building; it's the people who are in it."

"Touché. You do remember some of Father Bill's rhetoric. And right now the church consists of the two of us, or, most importantly, you. I'm just a channel here. Do you know what I hear in your voice?"

"Tell me."

"I hear anguish, Spike. You're wrestling with what your past was and what you think your future should be. What that tells me is that you're very much alive. The door of your past, that includes Gabriel and Julia, is closed. But God has a window open for you. Why are you always looking at the door?"

"Because I killed them both."

"Are you confessing to that?"

Spike sat back up and leaned his head against the side wall of the booth again. "I confess . . . that I killed Gabriel and Julia."

"Did you actually, physically, kill Julia?"

Spike closed his eyes. "No. But it was my fault that it happened."

"It was her choice to be there. You can't carry that burden. You did not pull the trigger. At any rate, it's time to let the dead bury the dead. Climb out the open window, and start living."

"Easy for you to say."

"You have a perfect opportunity. Actually, you have several."

"How's that?"

"Faye's baby is due soon."

"Ah, yes. Of course. Jet and Faye and baby makes three."

"And if I'm not mistaken, Ed is nuts about you."

"She is."

"And how do you feel about her?" Silence. "Why is so hard for you to admit how you feel about her?"

"Ask Julia."

"Julia did not die because she loved you. She died because she didn't make the choices that Joseph did."

"Ed almost died once already because of me."

"It's not all about you!" Fred sighed, and rubbed his face. "You know what? This is going to be the first time I've stopped a confession. Ever. Because I can't continue like this. You're the one who came here, but I can't reach you." Spike remained silent. Fred continued, "Remember praying the rosary in school?"

Spike blinked. "Yeah."

"What did you think about while praying the rosary?"

"Not much, other than repetitive it was. It seemed so pointless."

"What would you say if I told you that the repetition was the point? You were supposed to lose yourself in the rhythm of the prayers, to release your thoughts and make your heart more accepting."

"I really hope you're not going to ask me to pray the rosary right now."

"No. What I want you to do is pray the Penitential Rite."

"Which one was that again?"

"It begins, I confess, to Almighty God . . . Okay? Once you do that, then pray for the needs of others. I need to go clear my head before afternoon Mass starts." And with that, Fred swept out of the chapel, leaving Spike sitting alone in the confessional. Good one, thought Spike, as he stood back up, knees cracking. Add pissing off another member of the religious to your list of faults. Why did I come here, anyway? Spike looked around, but the dust motes weren't answering. He felt around in his pockets, looking for cigarettes. He couldn't find any. Closing his eyes in frustration, he thought to himself, great. No smokes. Admonitions to pray. Jesus.

Spike opened his eyes and they fell on the serene face of the glass Christ. Fine, he thought. You want prayers? I'll pray.

Spike moved into a pew near the back and reached down for a kneeler. No kneelers? Fine. The floor it is. "I confess, to Almighty God . . ." How does this thing go again? This is just pointless, he thought, as he shifted his weight on his knees. A fold of his trouser leg caught under his knee sent a little pain clear up to his hip. Oh, no, wait! That's the point, isn't it, Almighty God? Pain and suffering. "I confess, to Almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters . . ." - or to no one at all - ". . . that I have sinned through my own fault. . ." Tell me about it. ". . . in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and what I have failed to do." Spike paused for a moment, and sighed. "And I ask Blessed Mary, ever virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God."

Spike was still for a moment. The chapel reverberated with silence. Got nothing to say, huh, God? Okay then. Get ready for prayers for others.

This was almost easy to start. He began by saying a prayer for Faye and the baby, that Faye may experience an easy birth, and that the baby be healthy and whole.

Spike began a prayer for Jet, but his mind wandered. The truth was, he was angry with Jet, because Jet had essentially stated that he was leaving bounty hunting. There was a discussion to be had at a later date regarding the actual ship, because Jet was making noise about selling it, almost as glibly as Faye saying that the Redtail could be sold. Ed, true to her nature, took the whole thing in stride. But not Spike.

Well, she's got no worries. She's got the smarts, and now the degrees, to take her anywhere. And what do you have, Spike, other than an itchy trigger finger and a sporadic education?

Then it finally struck him. What he didn't have, the greatest thing he had 'failed to do', was to create a future, a future that was specifically for him. In the syndicate, there was no thought of a future. In fact, there was no need. Either you died in the syndicate or the syndicate took care of you, one way or another. By leaving, he had made a half-hearted gesture at making his own way and then kept performing his past behaviors. No wonder he assumed that his relationship with Ed would have the same conclusion of his relationship with Julia.

It's not all about you, Fred had snapped at him. Which was correct: the scenario between Ed and Winfield had nothing to do with him, beyond the circumstance of time and place. Jet's future was his to map out, and if that future was with Faye and the baby, then who was he to stop that? Jet, I'm sorry, he thought. I was so wrapped up in myself that I tried to drag you down with me.

And where he thought he had been the tough one, Faye faced death and life in the face all at the same time, and she prevailed with a grace that I envy. And I envy you, Jet, because you will be getting a life. And Ed, I envy you most of all, because you can go anywhere, be anything, whatever you choose, and not only that, you make bold and fearless choices. I thought I made bold choices too, but every single choice was made in fear.

Spike rested his head on his folded arms on the back of the pew in front of him. What have I failed to do? The real question is what haven't I failed to do?

Spike began to pray, in earnest this time.

He prayed for Jet and Faye, for their happiness, for their joy, and he prayed for their forgiveness for his pettiness and jealousy.

He prayed for his mother, who had died too young and in far too much sorrow, and he prayed for her forgiveness in causing a good part of that sorrow.

He prayed for his father, who had also died far too young and alone and in pain, and he prayed for his forgiveness for not living up to be what a preacher should be able to expect from his son, for championing the very causes that his father condemned.

He prayed for Julia, because he had loved her. He prayed for the Gabriel he knew and the Vicious he became, he prayed for Mao, Lin, Annie, Gren, for all of them.

Except Ed. He couldn't pray for Ed, and he couldn't understand why. Ed was the symbol of where his life could lead, as if by accepting her into his life, he would then be acknowledging that he actually had a future.

You're not making sense anymore, Spiegel, Spike thought, head still on his crossed arms. He rocked the knee with the fabric caught underneath again. The pain shot up his leg once more. Ed. Ed, Ed, Ed. Am I allowed to have her in my life? Why should she choose to put me in hers? Christ, how am I supposed to figure this out?

Just then, Spike felt a cool hand on the back of his neck. He lifted his head to see Ed, leaning down towards him, a small smile on her face. It may have been a trick of the light or of his own confused mind, but it seemed to Spike that she was back lit by one of the stained-glass windows, and a corona gleamed around her. She sat primly and looked around her. "Pretty church," she whispered.

"Yes, it is," Spike whispered back. His mind came back into focus, and he realized that the church was filling with people, and a small choir and guitarist had begun tuning up. Spike rubbed his face and then sat back into the pew. Ed handed him a song sheet. Spike looked it over, thinking that some of the lyrics looked familiar.

The guitarist called the congregation to attention and asked everyone to stand and greet those around them. Spike did his perfunctory handshakes, and Ed was greeted by former teammates from her volleyball team. Ed gave Spike a one-armed squeeze around the waist and smiled at him, and then turned her attention to her song sheet. The choir began, and Ed lifted her voice in song.

Open my eyes, Lord, help me to see Your face. Open my eyes, Lord, help me to see. . .

Spike was surprised by the light second-soprano tones of Ed's voice. He had never heard her sing beyond her silly and surreal adolescent chanting. She gave him a quick wink and continued singing, so Spike joined her with his barroom tenor:

Open my ears, Lord, help me to hear Your voice. Open my ears, Lord, help me to hear.

Open my heart, Lord, help me to love like You. Open my heart, Lord, help me to love.

Father Fred began the Mass, and once the Sign of the Cross was complete, Spike reached for Ed's hand, and then lost himself in the familiar routine of the Mass. But instead of his mind wandering completely away, as he did in his younger days, he fell into the rhythm of the prayers, opening his heart, possibly for the first time ever.

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Open My Eyes, Lord – hymn by Jessie Manibusan

Still more to come. I know this is supposed to be a Faye/Jet story … but this chapter wouldn't leave me alone.

This is a work of fiction, and the CB characters are copywrited by someone other than me. Please leave a review!