Chapter Eleven:

Cigarette


And through the smoke, I feel the scent
Of something far beyond an incident
A lecture for the trivial
Artistic, not theatrical
And she moves just like an erotic cabarét
Leaving the lust for both happiness and dismay
The softest lips, gold gracious fingertips
As she moves, I watch her hips
This is chaos, this is karma
Coming down into a drama

This is what I feed on - I won't forget
I light another cigarette

--Beyond Dawn


Fucking whore.

Spike took a long, fierce draw on the cigarette that dangled from his lips, sucking the smoke deep enough to burn his lungs. The paper smoldered so quickly that the tower of ash protruding from its tip collapsed onto the folder in his lap.

He growled and tossed the folder to the floor, sending a flurry of ash and paper scattering magnificently on top of the plush white carpet. Spike pushed himself from the chair and walked to the large window on the opposite side of the room. Bracing one hand against the wall, he pulled the cigarette from his mouth with the other.

A forceful sigh. Blue smoke pooled over warm breath beaded on smooth glass like some mystic fog twisting over a still lake – some abhorrent, slow spinning vortex.

Spike grunted at the thought, unsure of why it suddenly displeased him, and swiped at the mixture of smoke and condensation with his free hand after placing the cigarette roughly between his lips.

Fucking. Whore.

He had no idea why those words kept running through his mind. Why the very thought of Luke's hand sneaking over her thigh and under her skirt in a dingy back alley made the blood behind his eyes burn. Why the thought of his hand brushing over the thin fabric of the panties she had worn for him the night before –

Stop. You're losing it, Spike-O. Get a grip.

He was her husband, wasn't he? Wasn't that his prerogative? To fuck her like a cheap whore in a dark Venus alley whenever the hell he felt like it? Not that he'd stuck around to see if he'd fucked her. Not that he'd wondered whether the soft moan that escaped from her mouth and caught his attention was from protest or –

Not that it was any of his fucking businesses, anyway.

He took another drag from his cigarette and heard the distinct series of beeps from the keycard lock as it opened. In walked Faye, her hair and lipstick slightly disheveled and the delicate strap of her black bra peeking out from her gaping blouse – apparently, she had decided not to refasten the top two buttons. Nice touch, Faye.

Her eyes found his for a brief moment and he suddenly realized that he couldn't breathe. His fingers tensed around the butt of the cigarette in his hand and before he knew it he found himself grinding the filter into a point. He swallowed hard before stopping.

"Yo."

He was answered by the silent click of the door as it fell closed. Faye simply continued to stare back at him, her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath she took. She looked as though she was surprised to find him standing in the middle of their hotel room.

When the heat from her gaze become unbearable he decided to simply fix his eyes on the curve of her collar bone. He watched the skin shift and stretch with every breath. She still hadn't said anything. Had barely moved, and her face didn't betray the slightest hint of emotion.

When he found her face again her lips fell open. She stood like that – silent – for a moment before turning and disappearing behind the curtain to the bedroom.

Spike turned as well, running a hand roughly through his hair. What the hell happened there? He felt his pulse slowly returning to normal and, deciding not to think on it any longer, made his way back to the chair by the window to continue reviewing Bosch's financial documents.


The black comm. resting at Spike's side began to ring shrilly. He cursed under his breath and fumbled for it amidst the piles of invoices scattered before him.

"Yeah."

"Hey, Spike." Jet Black's gruff voice filled the room.

"What've you got for me, old man?"

"What makes you think I've 'got' anything for you?"

"…You're not calling me from the bathtub 'just to chat' again, are you Jet?"

Jet glared and crossed his arms over his chest, "Very funny, Spike."

"I thought so. Like I said, what have you got?"

Jet cleared his throat and leaned back against the dark yellow couch, "So how much do you know about Jack Bosch?" he asked.

"Nice try, Jet, but isn't reconnaissance work your problem?"

"It ought to be yours too if you plan on staying alive."

"Not really my area of expertise."

"The planning part or the bit about staying alive?"

"Just get on with it."

Jet frowned and ran a hand over his head, "I take it you're aware of his dealings with interstellar crime syndicates."

"You're shitting me, Jet. Another good drug dealer gone bad? You know, I blame the schools – something oughtta be done to keep the dealers off the streets and in the classrooms."

"Okay, smartass. So I assume you also know he has close ties to a few Martian syndicates as well? Like, say, the Dragons?"

Spike stiffened but attempted to keep a straight face. He shrugged and withdrew a cigarette from his suit pocket, "So?"

Jet growled. He sat up and slammed his cybernetic fist against the coffee table. The sound that reverberated through the comm.'s speaker caused Spike to wince. "Don't you get it? If your cover is blown – "

"I'm dead, I know."

"No, I was going to say you'd be on the ass-end of an ass kicking. And you can guess whose foot would be doing the job!"

Spike smirked and tousled his hair with his free hand. "Are you coming on to me, Jet?"

"Look, Spike, if word of this gets out, we're all dead. You, me, the girl – hell, I imagine they'd be so pissed they'd go off looking for the kid and dog as well. There's a reason the ISSP is shelling out 100 mill for this guy, and there's a reason every goddamn cowboy in the galaxy isn't off looking for him!"

"You know, if you wanted to scare me, we should have had this conversation before setting up the con." The cigarette between Spike's lips remained unlit. He fished the lighter out of his pocket awkwardly.

"I don't want you to be scared. I want you to open your eyes and quit being so goddamn careless. This is our nest egg."

Spike stood and stretched his long legs. He took a deep drag from the cigarette and let the smoke curl lazily from between his lips. "Besides, I'm not the one you need to worry about – why aren't you keeping a close eye on Ol' Hotpants? She's the one who usually blows our cover."

"Because you're the one that blew up Red Dragon Headquarters nearly two years ago."

"Fair enough."

Jet settled back into the couch again and stared coldly back at Spike. "So where is she, anyhow? You haven't killed her yet, I hope?"

"Well, I had a go at it, but I just didn't get that same fuzzy feeling I used to back in the day."

"Shame."

"Yeah, a real goddamn shame. Speaking of which, she did manage to get drunk off her ass last night at a cocktail lounge downtown."

Jet groaned and slapped his hand over his eyes. "Here we go again."

"Yep. Just like old times."

"Just make sure you relay this information to her, all right? I'll try to keep you posted on new developments."

"Ditto. If all goes well the little woman and I might need the routing numbers to a few private bank accounts."

"How many?"

"At least nine. Maybe one or two more."

"You mean – "

"Yep. 900 million woolongs. At least."

Jet's face paled and he dragged a hand roughly over his square chin. "Christ. And you think he fell for it? Just like that?"

"Seemed to. Wants me to sort through this mess of invoices and business transactions and get back to him in a day or so."

"And this doesn't seem – hell, I don't know – too easy to you?"

"I try not to ask too many questions."

"So I noticed." Jet sighed and leaned forward again. "I suppose I'll keep in touch. Wouldn't want to keep you from your work, Logan."

"Yeah, right."

With that Spike's comm. went dead. He tossed it to the floor beside him and, crushing his cigarette to death between his fingers, sank back into the chair and resumed his work.


The sound of rustling fabric caught his attention, and when he lifted his eyes he found Faye standing in the doorway of the bedroom. Her right forearm was braced against the door frame and her left hand rested on her hip.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, yourself."

She looked like she had just stepped out of the shower. Her hair was damp and hung heavily just past her chest. She wore a thin grey tank top and a pair of short boxers. Her skin was still slightly dewy and, just beneath the curve of her breasts, he could see a hint of moisture seeping through her grey cotton shirt. He swallowed. Faye wasn't wearing a bra.

"Need help?"

He cleared his throat, "No. Not yours, anyway."

Faye dropped her arms to her sides and began to walk toward him. He noted the slow sway of her hips as she approached.

"Christ, Spike, what's got your panties in a bunch?"

The fact that you're probably not wearing any.

He tossed the stack of papers he was holding in his hands onto the floor in front of him. "Nothing, all right? But I've got a lot of work to do before I get back in touch with Bosch tomorrow morning, so I'd appreciate it if you'd – go practice putting on your makeup or something."

Faye was so close that she practically towered above his seated form. His eyes were level with her long, slender legs and he cautiously looked to her face.

"What are you doing sitting on the floor, anyway? There's a coffee table in front of the sofa."

Before he could respond she gathered a few odd papers from the floor along with the manila folder at his side and carried them to the couch. Spike simply growled before following her.

"I said I didn't want your help."

"Nonsense. We're comrades."

She sat down on the sofa then, the thick folder still resting in her hands. Spike furrowed his brow before swiftly wrenching it from her grasp.

She shrieked loudly at that, "Spike – son of a bitch!"

He noticed a neat red line beginning to form on her open palm. He suddenly felt a slight tinge of remorse – it was longer and appeared to be deeper than the average paper cut.

Faye lifted the bottom of her gray shirt and pressed it against her injured hand. He stared for a moment at the exposed flesh of her stomach, realizing if she lifted her shirt any further –

"Do you mind?"

Spike smirked, "Not at all." He plopped gracelessly onto the couch and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table as he opened the folder in his lap.

"I don't know what's gotten into you. You've been acting like a bigger jackass than usual."

Bill to: LWK. The hell was LWK?

"Is that so?"

"We're supposed to be working together here."

He shuffled through the pile of papers haphazardly, tossing aside various bank statements and memos in his wake. He had seen those initials somewhere else. Another invoice.

"Surprising words coming from a woman who apparently spent the majority of the day using up all the fancy soaps in the bathroom."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Spike. I hadn't realized that you had wanted some heart-shaped lilac soap for your bath later today. How selfish of me."

"That's all I'm saying."

He kept his eyes focused on the papers in front of him and heard Faye grumble in response. In the time she'd been yapping in his direction he'd found eight similar invoices, all billed to the mysterious LWK.

"What's your deal, anyway?" she asked.

"My deal is that you're getting in my fucking way." So he had no idea where that came from, but nevertheless decided to go along with it anyway.

He ran his hand idly through his hair attempting to concentrate on the documents before him. Whoever – or whatever – LWK was, he certainly had a pressing need for – ladybugs? Spike smirked and looked at the letterhead at the top of the invoice. Hart's Beneficial Insect Co. A clever little cover if he'd ever seen one. He supposed it wasn't as though Bosch would be stupid enough to keep an explicit paper trail of all his bloody eye transactions. Either that or he really was making a killing in the insect business.

"So, what am I supposed to do, then?"

"Oh, hell if I know, Faye. Why don't you do what you always do – raid the mini bar, steal all the cash, and disappear for a few weeks."

She fell silent at that, and the sound of Spike shuffling through papers filled the room for few brief moments. He stopped to scribble a few numbers on a steno pad at his side before continuing. Faye shifted beside him and he heard her draw a deep breath and exhale sharply.

"Fuck you, Spike."

"Sounds like fun, but I'm busy right now."

He'd noticed the majority of invoices mirrored the ones addressed to LWK. They were all cryptic – billing information obscured by initials and X's, letterheads from various companies – all subsidiaries of "St. Gabriel Laboratories," Bosch's current front company, no doubt. LWK. Acct. No. 8RF9K-XXXX-XXZ72. Ship to: 482-XXX -- The rest of the address was blacked out in magic marker. ACS. Acct. No. 4WK9A-XXXXX-XXC34. Ship to: --

The folder flew violently from his lap, the mess of papers scattering and fluttering to the floor.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, goddamn it!" Faye demanded.

He clenched his teeth hard before turning to look at her. "What?" he asked lowly.

"So this is it, huh? You're just going to ignore me while you do the legwork and then drag me along whenever you need a pair of tits and ass?"

"Just like old times, right?"

Faye stomped her foot childishly and he assumed that wasn't the response she was looking for.

"Tell me what's really going on. This is about last night, isn't it? The truth too much for you, Spike-O? Don't want to admit what an insufferable asshole you've been?"

"You want the truth? Okay, here's the truth. I don't trust you, Faye. I didn't trust you then, and I sure as hell don't trust you now. If it had been up to me, I wouldn't have spent the last six months tracking you down so that we could go carousing around Venus like – "

"Oh, so it is about last night, then."

"What?" he asked. The word came out sharper than he'd intended.

"Why on Earth would you want to face me after walking out a year and a half ago knowing I'd demand an explanation?"

"I don't owe you an explanation, Faye. It was none of your business."

She shot to her feet at his remark. "Like hell it wasn't! You walked out when you knew goddamn well what it would cost you – what it would cost Jet and me. And why? So you could throw your life away because it just wasn't worth living anymore? Because it was without her?"

"You'd better shut your mouth while you're ahead."

She ignored him and continued, "You know, it's funny – you accusing me of being reckless and selfish. At least I knew where I belonged. What was important."

He stood and faced her, the small clearance between the coffee table and the couch causing them to stand awkwardly close to one another. "Oh yeah? And where do you belong now, Faye? What's so important now?"

She pursed her lips together and let out a deep breath. He turned his back on her then and began to walk toward the bedroom.

He heard her padding quickly behind him, and he made it just past the doorway before she grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face her.

"You're not walking away from me again."

He hesitated for a moment before a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, "That so?"

"Yeah. That's so."

"All right, Romany, what have you got? What have you been so anxious to say to me after I so heinously wronged you?"

Her right eyebrow twitched and she crossed her arms slowly over her chest. Okay. Wrong answer. "So none of this bothers you?" she asked incredulously. "You don't feel the slightest bit of remorse for what you've put Jet and me through? Not a single pang of guilt?"

"Well," he said, lowering his voice a little, "you can scream at me all you want, Faye, but your being in love with me really isn't my problem, is it?"

Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. He at least felt satisfied at that.

"Oh – and nice touch slipping Jet's name in there as a distraction. And I thought we were being honest, here."

She pressed her lips together again and raised an eyebrow.

"What? No comment?" he asked.

She huffed and ran a hand through her hair. "You are such an unbelievable egomaniac, you know that?"

"Funny, I'm still not hearing a rebuttal."

"As if you need one?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Do I?"

"I am not in love with you, you narcissistic bastard."

"Oh yeah? I don't believe you."

He took a step toward her and she took a step back.

"What, you want me to spell it out for you? Shall I put it in writing and get it notarized, too?"

He took another step toward her. She stumbled a little as she backed away and he noticed the flush on her chest and the way it spread quickly to her cheeks.

"No. I want to hear you say it again. Say you don't love me."

Another step forward, two steps back.

Faye huffed and rolled her eyes, "Don't you think I should wait until you get this on tape? I'd hate for you to be upset upon hearing it from my lips again." She sounded so small – voice unsteady, chest rising and falling gently with each uncertain breath.

He gave her a dangerous, lopsided grin, "Yeah, really breaks my heart, sweetheart."

And then her back connected with the bedroom wall. He noted how she tensed as it happened – palms flat, back straight, she looked like a cornered animal. Her eyes searched his face wildly and he wondered what she hoped to find there.

"Say it again," he dared her, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. "Tell me you don't love me."

"I. don't. love. you."

A slow smile. "Really?" he drawled. He braced his hand against the wall beside her head and leaned forward to close the space that remained between them. One last step. His hips rolled against hers – suddenly bringing stomach, thighs, and chest into aching contact – and he tried to hold back an involuntary shudder. A low groan as he realized just how incredible it felt to press his hips against hers - how badly he'd needed it. So much for this plan. Maybe it was going to end up flustering him more than her. "Then prove it."

She swallowed but didn't say a word. He watched her for a moment, searching her wide eyes for an answer she wouldn't give him, before finally resting a hand against her cheek with uncharacteristic gentleness, letting her hair fall softly between his fingers. The heady scent of lilac flowers and her perfume nearly overwhelmed him, and the feeling of her gentle breath against his skin wasn't doing him any favors.

His rough hand moved over her cheek and he splayed his fingers over the sensitive skin of her neck. And then, keeping his eyes focused on hers, he leaned against her slowly, the tip of his nose grazing hers as he tilted his head to claim her soft lips with his own. He felt her body tense against him and a smile tugged at his lips as he rolled his hips against her middle once again.

A low sigh – his or hers, he couldn't tell. He slowly drew her bottom lip into his mouth, taking it between his teeth for a brief moment before letting his tongue trace its gentle fullness. He tangled his fingers in her hair, suddenly intoxicated by the faintest aroma of cheap shampoo and the sweetness of her mouth pressed so softly against his own. One last gentle suck on her lip before letting his tongue find hers.

Had he realized teasing Faye would feel this good, he would have started a long time ago.

That is until he felt her fist connect sharply with his jaw.

"Jesus Christ, Faye!" he hissed through gritted teeth. He raised a hand to cradle his aching jaw. The subtle taste of her lips was soon replaced by the metallic bitterness of blood.

"You want proof? There's your fucking proof!"

For once he had nothing to say back to her – no sarcastic comments, no tasteless jokes – he just stood by and watched as she seethed before him.

"And so long as we're being honest, Spike, let me tell you the truth. Maybe I cared about you once, all right? Maybe there was a time when I thought that we were more than just two lonely strangers drifting through space on some godforsaken, run down fishing ship. And, you know, maybe – maybe I thought I could see myself looking after you – chasing you down after you'd leave on some crazy suicide mission. Like when you asked me if I'd come find you when you went after that – that maniac. Pierrot, was it? And I suppose I thought – just maybe – there was also a time when I was more to you than just 'a pair of tits and ass.'"

"Your words, not mine." So maybe he wasn't helping. Still, it was true.

Faye narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath, her chest and shoulders rising slowly. "But not anymore, Spike. Not since you walked out – without so much as a 'fuck you.'" He could see her hands shaking and her voice was amazingly steady considering the mood she was in. "And why?" she asked gently, her eyebrows furrowing. It would have been cute had her voice and features not been seething with bitterness. "Because you knew you weren't coming back?" Her voice broke as she said the last word and he suddenly realized he'd lost and there was no way he'd be getting out of this one.

He swallowed, unable to give her an answer. Her face twisted in disgust and she shoved her way past him toward the door.

Tensing his jaw, he drew his fingers into fists. So there was nothing he could say to keep her from hating him. And nothing, he supposed, he could say that could make her hate him any less. Or any more.

"Oh, yeah?" he called after her, "Well, here it is, Valentine – fuck you!"

But the front door had already slammed behind her. He paced back into the living room, and, standing once more in silence before the large window overlooking the city, he lit another cigarette.


A/N: Ooookay, there it is! I hope this chapter was more entertaining than the last one. I certainly had much more fun writing it. I'm a bit worried the plot is getting dull – too predictable, maybe? Plot is really not one of my strong points – which is pretty sad.

Anyway, I also hope that this chapter is not too gratingly OOC. I was a bit wary of throwing the kiss in there, but, in the end, I felt it worked. And, as usual, praise, criticism, and flames are all welcome!

Oh, and a few notes on the side. Number one, I have been considering finding an editor (or beta reader) for this fic. Anyone interested? Send me a message and I'll be sure to get back to you.

On a related note, I was wondering if anyone would be interested in starting a writer's forum for Cowboy Bebop. It really is a shame to have so many talented writers all in one place, yet to not have any sort of critical discussion about people's fics or just the art of writing in general – you know, dos and don'ts, that sort of thing. I thought I'd just throw the idea out there to see if it generated any sort of interest.

Finally, as always, stay tuned for the next riveting installment of Tuesday's Gone!

Rock on kids!

Nevi