Warnings: None

Queen of this Backwater Moon

Chapter 06:

"Too Many Times Before"

The transport was a dump.

She muttered that a few times as the vehicle swayed and bumped and made its way across the desert, but the two idiots wearing what were obviously homemade combat outfits didn't take the bait. Faye half hoped they would. Give her an excuse to work off some tension, y'know? But instead they just sat there staring blankly at the wall across from them (which, boring), occasionally muttering to each other in Spanish (which, rude), and Faye had no choice but to sit there and wait (which, ugh).

Faye hated waiting.

Spike provided no entertainment, either, eyes closed as his head bounced bonelessly atop his neck with every jostle of the moving car (though Faye didn't believe for a second he was really asleep, though; Spike was too damn good at playing dead for her to fall for that trick—not again, damn him). Ed, meanwhile, had actually fallen asleep, limbs akimbo across the transport floor with head pillowed on Ein as she snored.

Ein was awake.

He rested his head on his paws, but his ears twitched back and forth with every new sound that echoed through the car, and his beady little eyes watched the two troopers from under half-closed lids.

Faye wasn't stupid enough to fall for the dog's act, either.

It took, oh, about an hour by Faye's reckoning for the transporter to slow to a creaking crawl, and soon after that it came to a halt. Doors in the cabin opened and shut; there followed the hissing release of a hydraulic lift as the cargo hatch at the back began to lower. Dust motes danced on dim light as the two commandos stood and grabbed Spike and Faye by the elbows, guiding them out of the transport and onto the desert sands (Spike yawned at the rough treatment while Faye snarled, seemingly unbothered by the less than dignified proceedings). Faye worried they might forget about Ed, but she heard Ein bark and the kid give a sleepy mumble before six small feet pattered after her on the transport's metal floor.

The minute she got outside, window kicked up and blew her hair over her face. Faye stopped in her tracks to look up and over her shoulder, violet eyes catching on the enormous wall of dust blotting out the horizon. They'd driven ahead of the storm, but they couldn't outrun it. It'd get there soon, to wherever it was the commandos had taken them—and with a grimace Faye realized the Bebop, wherever it was, was probably getting buried in a few tons of dirt right about then.

Jet would be furious.

Not that she had much time to consider where the hell Jet might be, much less his sappy emotions for his ship, nor if he'd managed to find somewhere to bolt out of the path of the storm, because just then something pressed tight against the small of her back.

She didn't need to look to know the feel of a gun against her spine. Had felt that too many times before not to know it for what it was.

"Keep moving," said one of the commandos, and he jabbed at her with the muzzle none too gently.

Faye grit her teeth. "Hey, watch it!" she snarled, but she heard the click of a bolt engaging and she simmered, tossing her hair with supreme disdain. "Fine. I get it. I know the drill. I'll move, OK?"

The gun withdrew.

Faye started walking again with a smirk.

Honestly? As far as hostage-taking went, this was all pretty cliché. Faye was less than impressed.

Although she'd agreed to keep walking, she didn't much enjoy the destination to which she was being directed, but it wasn't like she had a say as to where they were going. Not that anyone cared, but she'd much prefer a five star hotel over the ramshackle collection of buildings and houses before them. A tiny town, comprising no more than maybe twenty or thirty wooden structures all told, stood in a cluster in the middle of the desert. It looked like a town out of the old American west, like from a cowboy movie or whatever, and a few of those tall rock features she'd seen out in the desert ringed it like a battalion of looming giants. It was creepy, honestly, even if the huts were all well-kempt, and Faye wondered how simple wooden buildings like these could survive the desert storms—especially when a wind kicked up and sent a blast of sand across her bare legs, stinging and cutting even though the storm was still miles off.

… this couldn't possibly be Paradise, could it?

No. No way. No way in hell could a place like this be paradise.

Beside her Spike started whistling a merry tune, utterly unperturbed at the chill that washed over them as they passed into the shadows of those stones (and completely uncaring that the persistent wind had knocked his hair wildly askew). Faye took comfort from Spike's song in spite of herself—because Spike was kind of like a dog, really. If he wasn't freaking out, then she didn't have a reason to freak out, either.

… right?

Filling her head with dreams of ritzy hotels, Faye tried not to let the doubt creep in.

The commandos, headed by that woman (Maggie? Morgana? No, Moriah), guided Faye and the others through town. All of the windows were boarded up, Faye noticed, probably to keep out the debris of the oncoming storm, and she saw no one as they passed a few structures and walked onto the porch of a squat, square two-story number that smelled like dust and sand. The porch creaked under their weights, and the door creaked when Moriah opened it, but the creaky-as-shit building didn't collapse as they went inside out of the wind.

When Faye saw what lay inside, she half hoped the building might decide to fall down, after all. The only thing inside the building was a long hallway lined with four barred cells, obviously a very rudimentary jail. On the other side of the room stood a door leading to god knew what (and Faye hoped it was a broom closet, not a torture chamber). Predictably (really, this really was so cliché) the commandos forced Faye and her companions into the nearest cell through a narrow wooden door. A cot and an exposed toilet—that's all they got by way of amenities. Faye had seen worse, but she sure as hell deserved better, and as the door clanged shut behind her she spun on her heel to rip her captors a verbal new one.

Moriah was saying something in Spanish to one of the guards, who grinned at her before walking past Faye toward the door-that-hopefully-didn't-hide-a-torture-chamber. Faye didn't pay him any attention, walking up to the bars and leering at Moriah through them, hands wrapping firm around cold steel as she geared up for a good ol' fashioned bitch-session.

"So." Moriah beat Faye to the punch, speaking with a small, closed-off smile. "Feel like telling me what you're doing here?"

"Sorry, lady," Spike said (and Faye shot him a burning glare over her shoulder for preemptively interrupting her). He flopped onto the cot and draped his hand over his forehead. "My head's all woozy on an empty stomach. Got anything to eat around here?"

"There's food if you talk," Moriah said.

"I'll talk if there's food," Spike countered.

"Hmmph," said Moriah—and as Faye opened her mouth to finally begin her diatribe, Moriah turned on her heel and stalked off toward the mystery door.

Faye growled, vibrating with the tension no one was letting her work off. Seriously, what did a girl have to do to get a chance to yell around here? As Faye stewed on the unfairness of it all, Ed lay down in the corner with the dog, kicking her feet up over her head and walking her toes up the wall until she couldn't reach any higher (at which point she collapsed with a giggle). Spike settled himself more comfortably onto the cot, but Faye? No, she was not going to take this lying down, figuratively or literally or whatever other words ran in the same vein; fuck if Faye knew. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she paced back and forth, back and forth, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

But calm down, Faye, she told herself. She'd been in worse situations than this before, and she'd gotten herself out of them with less at her disposal. It was time to strategize, take stock of available assets and put them to good use. So, let's see… Jet was still out there (though Faye had no idea where he might've gone). Their ship was still out there (though in what condition she couldn't say). They weren't sure who these Spanish-speaking guerrillas were and there were a hundred hostile ships waiting just past the edge of the atmosphere and they had no weapons and no transportation and was Faye hearing things or had a low moan of wind just shaken the walls of the house, the rattle and hiss of flying sand skittering over the exterior walls like the fingernails of a gaggle of invading zombies? Had the storm gotten here already?

… OK. So maybe Faye hadn't gotten out a worse situation with less before.

The realization made her teeth absolutely grind, so Faye did the only thing she could think to do and rounded on Spike with a look that could melt stone with its raw acidity. He quirked an eyebrow at her but she just snarled, "They leave us in here in this dilapidated hut, and you're taking a nap?"

Spike's eyes slid from her to the ceiling and back to Faye again. "Um?" he said. "Yes?"

Faye bared her teeth. Her hand lashed toward the wall, the ceiling, the storm raging on the other side of both flimsy wooden barriers. "That wind'll rip this shack to shreds! We're sitting ducks—unless we can bust out." She eyed the walls with new interest, wondering if she could kick a hole through one. "Wood looks weak enough."

Ed (who touched the floor with nothing but her head, toes skimming the wall) did a backward roll and came up with legs splayed, hands resting on the ground between her thighs. "Not wood, Faye-Faye!" she said. "Not wood!"

Spike grinned at the kid, unlit cigarette bobbing between his lips. "So you saw it too, huh?"

"Hee hee—yup!" Ed said, and she did a return roll and started walking her toes back up the wall.

Faye put her hands on her hips, looking between the kid and the asshole with a glare. "What the hell are you two babbling about?"

"Oh. Nothing." Spike put his hands behind his head and rested an ankle on his other knee, giving Faye a smile that made her blood boil. "So, we bust out, huh? And go where?"

"I don't know. I haven't gotten that far." She threw her hands alof after a moment of contemplation, grin triumphant. "We steal a ship, find Jet, and get the hell off this armpit of a moon. There. How's that for a plan?"

Spike shut his eyes. "Shoddy," he said.

"Yeah, well—you're shoddy," Faye sputtered. "It's not like you have a better idea, genius!"

Spike smirked, but he did not open his eyes. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Faye waited. Crossed her arms. Tapped her foot. When Spike did not elaborate, she very irritably prompted: "And your amazing plan would be…?"

Spike cracked one eye, finally. "Sit tight and wait."

"Say what?!"

"Hey, keep it down, would ya? I'm trying to take a nap, here." He sank deeper onto the cot with a grumble. "Take a look at the door."

"Huh?"

"Bottom left. Near the corner."

Reluctantly Faye turned her back on Spike and approached the door. She thought she maybe could feel his eyes on her as she knelt and stared at the wooden panel, but she ignored the feeling and focused on the bottom left corner like he asked. For a minute Faye thought maybe Spike was pulling her leg, because all she could see was wood—but then she shifted in her crouch and something glimmered. "What the—?" Faye said, leaning in close.

Down in the corner, just like Spike had said, a sliver of wood had been peeled off the door. Through the crack gleamed stark, pearlescent white; Faye dropped down to her hands and knees to peer at it. The white bore a faint grey hexagonal pattern, like a beehive made of bone or something. Faye had never seen anything like it before, that was for sure.

"Saw it when we came in," Spike drawled. "Chip away and I'll bet this whole place is made outta the same stuff."

She ran her finger along the gap in the wood; the material felt cool and smooth to the touch. "What is it?"

"Beats me. But I'm willing to bet it's a lot stronger than wood."

Ed rolled over, then, head tucked between her knees. "Not wood, Faye-Faye! Spike-person is right!" She crouched next to Faye and touched the gap, too, and then she gave her finger a long lick. "Composite of carbon fiber and ceramic and plasticine byproducts, judging by its compositional structure and delicate aroma," (here she rolled her Rs with gusto) "but that is just a very educated guess. Tomato could tell Ed exactly what it is." She sagged a bit, lip jutting out. "Ed misses Tomato."

"Faye misses not being stuck in a cell made of weird byproducts," Faye said, and she shot to her feet with a frustrated growl. "Dammit! I'm sick and tired of just waiting around!" She lobbed a kick at the door over the top of Ed's head; the girl scampered off with a delighted shriek as Faye kicked the door again, but the panel didn't pudge an inch (yeah, whatever lay under that wood was definitely strong). Faye threw herself at the bars and yodeled, "Moriah! Hey, hey, Moriah! You get back here! I've got a bone to pick with you!"

Faye was mostly yelling to alleviate stress, as was her habit—but for once her stress relief bore practical fruit. The door at the end of the hall opened, and into the room strode Moriah. She'd ditched her coat, skullcap, and body armor, however, wearing a simple outfit of breeches, boots, and a tailored shirt. Faye felt momentarily intimidated by the steely look behind Moriah's dark gaze, but she pasted on a lazy smirk and lounged against the bars like a caged tiger. Gotta look like she didn't have a care in the world, Faye thought. She had an image to maintain.

"Finally," Faye said. "So where's this king guy you were babbling about? I've always wanted to meet royalty, y'know."

Moriah's steely look softened into one of… well, annoyance, but maybe Faye was seeing things. "He's here," Moriah said. And very tiredly, almost like she would rather be doing literally anything else but do what she was about to do, Moriah gestured at the door she had just exited and deadpanned, "I present to you King Emilio of Marius CT-174, duke of Paradise, commander of armies—uh. Esquire."

Before Faye could unpack that particular oddity, someone else paraded through the door.

Someone else far more odd than Moriah and her reluctant declarations, which meant this day had only gotten weirder. Less cliche, though, which was a plus.

He was olive skinned and tall, with broad shoulders and a portly stomach, beard greying and long and in perfect complement to his long, greying hair. He would have looked perfectly normal had a red velvet cape edged in white faux fur not trailed behind him as he walked, and had he not been wearing a golden crown on his head that was most definitely made out of plastic. This man, King Emilio, swept in with arms outstretched as if to greet a roaring crowd, and behind him trailed the two commandos from before—his bodyguards, Faye would've guessed had Emilio been any sort of convincing version of a king, which he was not. Even Moriah didn't look impressed, standing off to the side and pinching the bridge of her nose as Emilio came to a flourishing halt before Faye's cell.

Faye recognized Moriah's look as impatient, annoyed, and longsuffering. Faye had worn it too many times before, mostly around Spike, not to recognize it.

Speaking of whom. Spike cracked an eye as Emilio dipped a fancy bow, but he didn't bother to sit up. Ed, meanwhile, stared at Emilio with her mouth open, eyes wide and swimming with awe as they trained on the "king's" plastic (but very shiny) crown. Emilio looked at each of the captives in turn before dramatically swirling his cape and striking a pose, hands on hips, feet spread and head held high.

"Well, well, well. It seems we have visitors," he said, English bearing an unmistakable Spanish accent. "What brings you to my humble kingdom, travelers from afar?"

Ed's eyes grew wider, still trained on the crown. "So beautiful."

Faye snorted. "Is this a joke?"

Emilio blinked, chest deflating. "Excuse me?"

"So radiant," Ed sighed.

"You heard me," said Faye. "Is this a joke?" She pointed at the crown, at the cape, at the two commandos standing behind him. "That's plastic, the cape came from a cheap costume shop, and those guards of yours can't stop laughing!"

And this was true. They'd been growing redder and redder, cheeks puffing with suppressed mirth, and at her words the pair of them lost it, cracking up and leaning on one another for support. Emilio spun and glared at them (at which point they stifled their laughter and straightened up, though their chests still shook with humor). Emilio turned back around quite red-faced indeed.

"Um," he said, and he threw out his chest again. "I mean, how dare you speak to a king that way?"

He had thrown out his chest just enough to get within grabbing range, which is exactly what Faye did. She grabbed the front of his cape and dragged King Emilio against the bars, pulling his face as far as it could go between two of the metal pylons. Emilio yelled something in Spanish, lips pressed forward between the bars like he was imitating a fish, but he shut up fast when Faye came nose to nose and snarled at him.

"Listen here, buddy," she said, tangling her other hand deep into his beard. "I don't know what kind of stunt you're trying to pull, but I'm not here for it, you hear me? I want out of this cell and off this planet in your finest cruiser and—hey!"

Faye had expected the two guards, or maybe Moriah, to intervene. She did not expect to feel a pair of small hands on her shoulders, nor a foot in the middle of her back, and she certainly didn't expect to stumble forward and smush her face against the bars as Edward put a knee on Faye's shoulder and snatched Emilio's crown right off his head. The kid flipped backward off of Faye with a delighted shriek and a clean gymnastics landing, and then with a flourish she deposited the crown primly onto her red hair.

"Edward is the king now, mortals!" she crowed, spinning in place on her heel—and then she grinned, eyes bugging and devious, and pointed a finger at the ground at her feet. "Bow down to your ruler and repent, or face my mighty wrath!"

Emilio took advantage of this very distracting display and wrenched himself free, leaving behind the cape and a few of the hairs of his beard in Faye's somewhat slackened hands. "These people are crazy!" he said, rounding on Moriah as Faye pulled the cape into the cell and wearily handed it over to Ed, who was dancing in place and doing grabby-hands. "Moriah, why didn't you warn me?"

Moriah had leaned against the cell door across from Faye's, arms crossed as she looked at Emilio with bored disdain. She said, "I told you this was a dumb idea, idiota, but no. You had to play the part of a fool."

"The part of a king." He glared at Ed. "If she'd just give me back my royal livery."

Ed stuck out her tongue and grabbed the cape (now hung loosely around her neck) in both hands, fanning it behind her like wings. "My livery now, you fool in a man's shoes!"

Ein, sitting at Ed's feet, barked once. Spike sat up on the cot at last and grinned.

"Heh! This is actually pretty fun," he said. "Gimme some food and I'll have dinner and a show."

But Faye was in no mood for cracking jokes. "You idiot!" she spat. She threw herself at the bars again, snatching at Emilio, though this time he danced back and out of reach with a triumphant laugh. "I knew you were no king! Now get back over here so I can—"

But Moriah was tired of the shenanigans before her, it seemed. She pushed away from the door and stepped in front of Emilio, waving him off as if he were no more than an annoying fly. "Now listen here, all three of you. I know—"

Ein barked twice.

Moriah paused. Studied the dog. Sighed. "Fine. All four of you." She straightened her back and glared down her long nose, and Faye felt a ripple of unwelcome unease hitch its way up her throat. "I know you're not tourists like you claim. And I know you came here with another friend."

Faye couldn't help but tense, sucking in a sharp breath she regretted at once. Behind her, she heard Spike shift on the cot. Even though neither of them said a word (and even though Ed had taken up marching back and forth across the cell, chanting a song about kings and rings and wonderful golden things), Moriah's eyes still narrowed with knowing victory.

So they knew about Jet, huh? There went Faye's one hope of outside rescue.

"Yes," Moriah continued. "I know all about your friend. We have him detained just like you. And if you don't talk, he will."

But at that claim, Faye snorted.

"Nah," Spike said. Faye looked over her shoulder just as he flopped back down onto the cot, unperturbed. "He won't."

"Yeah," Faye agreed. "Fat chance of that." Jet was as stubborn as she was, and he wouldn't give up any information without a fight.

But Moriah didn't know about Jet's ISSP background, nor about his stubborn streak. She merely shrugged. "We have our ways. Tell me why you're here and perhaps we'll see fit to let you go without incident."

Faye glanced back. "Spike?"

Eyes closed, recling on the cot, he held up both hands. "Don't look at me."

"We're cowboys!" Ed declared.

Spike sat up. "Ed!" he said, in perfect unison with Faye.

Moriah looked sharply at Ed. "Cowboys?"

"That's right!" The crown slipped down over Ed's eyes as she swirled and flapped her cape. "We're cowboys and we're here tracking a juicy bountyhead!"

"Ed, shut up!" Faye whisper-screamed.

"A bountyhead?" said Moriah.

"That's right!" Ed grabbed the crown and put it back on her head with a devilish grin. "And heavy is the head that wears the crown!"

"Ed, seriously, be quiet!" Spike said.

But it was too late. "The head who wears," Moriah said, but she cut herself off and went silent. Her expression tightened; she took a step forward, clenching the bars of the cell in both fists, staring at Ed with eyes like smoldering coals. "Who is this bounty on?" When Ed didn't answer, just did a backward roll and wrapped herself up in her cape, Moriah spat a Spanish curse under her breath and turned her burning gaze to Faye. "Tell me! Who is this bounty on?"

Faye said nothing. She couldn't say anything. She looked at Moriah and gaped, struck by the other woman's bleak expression.

That look.

Faye knew that look.

But why did Moriah look so—?

Ed stuck her head out of her cape, gasped, and pulled it back down again like a frightened turtle. "Eek! Scary lady is scary!"

Moriah ignored her. "The bountyhead. Tell me their name. Now."

Spike swung his legs over the edge of the cot with a laugh. "I don't think so, lady. You scratch our back, we scratch yours. Tell me where my friend—"

"I'll tell you the name," said Faye.

Spike did a double-take. "Faye?! What the hell are you—?"

"Look at her, Spike," Faye said, voice flat and calm. "She's terrified."

And indeed Moriah was.

At first Faye had mistaken the flame in Moriah's eyes for anger. They burned so hot and so bright, her teeth showing white and gleaming behind her curled lips, that anyone could mistake the look for one of white-hot rage. But there was a desperation present in Moriah, too, evident in her stranglehold on the cell bars, the subtle tremor in her arms from a grip so tight, Faye wondered if Moriah might think she'd fly away if she loosened her fingers even a single bit. Faye knew that grip, those eyes, that shake of the knee and the vein pulsing in Moriah's throat—and she knew that was a look of terror, not one of anger at all.

"We're after a man named Killian Marco," Faye said before Spike could intervene. "Heard of him?"

The minute the name left her mouth, Moriah's grip on the bars sagged. She released them, fingers stiff and curled like claws; these she ran through her braided hair, turning her back on Faye to compose herself. When she turned around again, the look of terror in her eyes had vanished, replaced instead by one of relieved calm.

So Faye had been right. Something they'd said had scared tough-as-nails Moriah spitless.

Interesting. Interesting, and a reminder of the past Faye really didn't need.

"Yes," Moriah said, releasing a shaking breath. "I know him. But I'm afraid he's not here."

Spike loosed a sound of wordless frustration; Faye heard his feet hit the floor only twice before his hand closed around her elbow. "Faye, what are you doing?" he said into her ear.

"She was terrified, and now she's relieved." Faye saw no need to explain herself further than that; let Spike stew on it. See if she cared. She wrenched her arm from his grip and shot Moriah an acidic smile. "I think you owe us at least a meal now, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes. I would say so." Moriah looked her up and down. "Faye, was it?"

Faye inspected her fingernails. "Mm-hmm."

"Well, then. Thank you, Faye." And it looked like Moriah meant it, too, expression utterly sincere. The moment didn't last, however; Moriah pivoted like a marching soldier and headed for the door, not looking back even once. "Men, with me, now."

They obeyed her, and soon the crew of the Bebop found themselves alone.

Not alone enough for Faye's liking, of course. As soon as the door shut behind the commandos, Spike rounded on her with a resigned grimace. "Why'd you give it away like that, Faye?"

She shrugged. "Woman's intuition."

"That doesn't make any sense."

He glared at her with his mismatched eyes as if he could force an explanation from her with a look alone—but even though she still got a tiny little thrill every time those eyes looked her way (Spike's not dead; Spike's not dead; Spike's not dead!), Faye's heart hardened as he tried to stare her down.

Of course Spike didn't get it.

He should get it. But he didn't.

And all she found she wanted to do, then, was punch that resurrected face right on the side of its chiseled jaw.

"Leave it, Spike," Faye said. "You wouldn't understand."

And with that, she walked to the cot and flopped onto its hard canvas bedding with a curse. Yeah, a five-star mattress this was not.

"Hey. That's my cot," Spike said, accusing.

"Not anymore," Faye said, and she rolled over to face the wall.

Spike grumbled a few more things at her and about her, but she very carefully did not listen—not until he muttered, "Fine. What's done is done." A pause. "You could at least tell me why."

Faye curled into a ball.

She didn't speak.

But she remembered Moriah's face and the utter desperation in it, that look of terror-suffused worry that had set her eyes so uncomfortably ablaze. She remembered that look with ease. She remembered with ease the face of a woman terrified at the unknown fate of a person she cared deeply for, because that was a look with which Faye was intimately familiar.

Faye had seen that look too many times in the mirror not to recognize it on another woman—but Faye would be damned if she ever admitted as much to Spike.

NOTES:

Truth be told, I was intimidated to touch Faye's POV. Such a delicate mix of hard and soft, y'know? She's the member of the crew I feel the least confident writing (barring Ein, oddly), and I think that lack of confidence delayed the chapter a little—but putting off her POV any further would only stress me out more. Gotta rip that band aid off and such.

More Jet, next chapter.

Unending gratitude to those who reviewed because you're all amazing and awesome and I love you. You make my day with your comments and I couldn't do this without your support: Akanue, Orihime-san, read a rainbow, Sweetfoxgirl13, Tamisin, Luck Kazajian, and a guest who might or might not be deamachi-mochi from Tumblr.