Chapter Fifteen:
Bird in a Gilded Cage
The ballroom was filled with fashion's throng,
It shone with a thousand lights,
And there was a woman who passed along,
The fairest of all the sights,
A girl to her lover then softly sighed,
"There's riches at her command;"
"But she married for wealth, not for love," he cried,
"Though she lives in a mansion grand,
She's only a bird in a gilded cage."
--Arthur Lamb
She was in the shower.
Well, he assumed she was, anyway. The water had been running for over an hour, and she still hadn't stepped out of the bathroom. The sound of water raining over porcelain filled the quiet hotel room.
It was an empty, lonely sound—and hollow, like the casing of a spent bullet falling from her glock.
Which didn't really surprise him. Everything about Faye was hollow and lonely.
He rose from the bed, deciding that as long as Faye was in the shower, he may as well take the time to pick her things up from the floor. In his quest to uncover any and all surveillance devices that might (or might not) have been planted in their hotel room by parties unknown, he'd overturned her open suitcase, and its contents lay scattered over the bedroom floor.
He sighed as he lifted the suitcase from the floor and tossed it back onto the plush chair and began to gather her clothes in his hands. A few sheer underthings—all black, of course. He swallowed the lump in his throat, quickly stuffing the clothes back into her suitcase. He happened over a short skirt, some tank tops, a pair of socks—before his fingers trailed over something cool and hard.
His brow furrowed and he pushed the random items of clothing aside.
Fuck. His fingers closed around metal and he didn't even have to look to know what rested in his hand. It was his Jericho.
He lifted it from the ground, unable to recall a time when it felt so heavy and cold.
It hadn't changed. He traced the familiar nicks, scratches, and scuffs. It still smelled like blood and gunpowder.
How the hell had Faye gotten her hands on it? He had left it at Red Dragon headquarters—dropped it, actually—after nearly being eviscerated by Vicious. And, given the circumstances, he'd decided getting to a hospital after he came to was more important than hunting for the Jericho. Which isn't to say it wasn't a tough call.
She'd probably gone hunting for him after he left and found the Jericho instead. She had a way of sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. At the very least it would explain how the hell she knew he was alive. He wasn't buying her freckle story for a minute. After all, she was trashed off her ass. And probably horny to boot.
He stood and tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants, making his way toward Faye's nightstand. Her glock rested on the smooth marble top and he took it in his hand and released the magazine.
"Get out."
He opened one eye and found Faye hovering over him, her damp hair wrapped in a large, white towel. A long, violet strand, plastered against her warm and wet skin, snaked down her neck and across her collar bone, disappearing into her cleavage. He enjoyed the view for a moment before averting his gaze.
"What?"
"I said get out," she repeated more firmly. She emphatically pointed toward the door as if to illustrate her point.
Under different circumstances, he might have taken the time to enjoy the situation by seeing how many of her buttons he could push at once. The sudden tightness in his pants, however, suggested he get the hell out. And fast.
He sat up on the bed and shrugged his shoulders simply before rising and slipping out the doorway, making sure to pull the curtains completely open as he did so.
She didn't sigh, curse, or throw the object nearest her hand toward him, and he took this as a particularly bad sign. When he reached the couch he turned toward the bedroom, noticing she hadn't even bothered to close the curtains.
He swallowed and continued to stare in her direction. Her back was toward him, and he noticed the almost graceful way her shoulder blades slid beneath the delicate skin of her back as she moved. Then the towel around her body dropped to the floor and pooled around her feet.
"Fuck—" he muttered, closing his eyes and turning toward the couch as quickly as he could manage. He gripped the wooden detailing on its back firmly with his hands and watched as his knuckles turned white. All right. Something was definitely wrong with Faye.
Once the blood returned to his head and he could feel his legs again, he turned toward the bedroom to see Faye, now wrapped in a sheer robe, walking toward him. She passed him without so much as glancing in his direction before she sank into the couch. He sighed and sat at the other end, making sure to stay as far from her as possible.
He placed his hands in his lap and laced his fingers together tightly. His palms felt cool and clammy, and he found that, suddenly, he had an all-consuming interest in the pattern of hair on the back of his hand. Thin, dark hair, just along the edge of his hand near his pinkie finger. And--was that mole shaped like a heart? Well, damned if it-
Faye's exasperated sigh finally prompted him to speak.
"What--" he took a moment to return from his hand-hair inspired reverie to gather his thoughts. "Fuck, Faye, what is it?"
She tilted her chin higher, tossing her head to set an errant lock of hair right. "I was hoping you'd tell me."
"Am I under suspicion, officer?"
The look she shot him wiped the smug grin from his face. "I'm not in the mood to play games tonight, Spike."
"Good. That makes two of us."
"Tell me why you did it. Why were you going through my things?"
He awkwardly attempted to avert his gaze. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." At least, that was his story for the time being.
He felt her weight shift on the couch, and he guessed she turned toward him in some bizarre attempt to stare the truth out of him. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, Faye. Really."
"Fuck you, Spike."
He swallowed and closed his eyes. Fuck. He desperately racked his brain for some kind of explanation as to why he'd been shuffling through her personal effects. Well--anything besides the truth, anyway.
Before he could respond Faye slammed something down on the coffee table. He opened his eyes and found a small, broken water globe before him. A tiny yellow bird was perched inside, and the outside of the globe--what was left of it, anyway--was decorated like a birdcage. A large piece of glass near the top of the object was missing, and an angry crack extended toward its base.
Great. He was in a hell of a lot more trouble than he initially thought. He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt very dry. "And?"
"How do you explain this?" she yelled, motioning frantically toward the water globe. "I mean--is this some kind of sick joke? Do you think this is funny?"
He wanted to shake his head--shrug his shoulders--anything. Instead he stared blankly at her face.
"Answer me, goddamn it!"
"It's a water globe," he said dumbly.
Faye's scowl deepened and it was all he could do to sit still in his seat. He noticed the way her lips parted when she was angry, and the way her eyebrows arched and bristled like the back of a cornered cat. When he felt his skin prickle under her gaze he knew there was no way she'd let him get out of this one alive.
"I--it was on your dresser the night I left."
"You stole this from me?" she said. Faye was the only woman he knew who could sound incredulous and accusatory and apologetic all at the same time.
"I guess that's one way of looking at it."
She dropped her head and stared into her hands, becoming uncharacteristically quiet for a few moments.
He had no idea how she'd even gotten her hands on the water globe, anyway. If he remembered correctly, he hadn't taken it out of his coat pocket since the night it was broken. Funny that she was getting bent out of shape over him rifling through her things.
Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, and he took this as a sign that it was safe to continue. He scratched the back of his neck and managed to say, "I'm sorry."
"Don't you get it?" she began slowly, "This is all I have left! This is all that remains of Faye Va--" she stopped herself and picked up the water globe. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped it, waving it angrily in his face. "This and some fucking tape are all that remain of--of some woman that I am and I'm not. And all at once. Some woman whose name I don't even--"
Her eyes settled on his, all hardness and cold, and he felt something catch in his throat.
"Don't you fucking get it, Spike? Don't you--"
"No. I don't. I mean--I didn't mean to break it." It was the only thought he could muster and the time, and by the time he realized that it wasn't what she wanted to hear, the words had already slipped off his tongue.
Faye laughed--the low, bitter laugh he'd become quite accustomed to. He wanted to wince or turn away but found he couldn't.
"Oh, Spike--only you. Only you--" more laughter. She threw her head back, her dark hair catching the sunlight as it fell from her face, and he thought under different circumstances she would have looked beautiful. "Only you could take something from me that I never had in the first place. The only thing--the only thing that's left, and the only thing that is--was--rightly mine."
"I didn't know."
"Exactly."
I didn't know. He wanted to repeat the words to her until they made some sense--both to Faye, and to himself. I didn't know. I didn't know you'd miss it. I didn't know it mattered. I didn't know what it was, just that it belonged to you. I didn't fucking know I'd hurt you. Christ, Faye, I didn't know.
She stared at the broken water globe, turning it over and over in her hands. Her thin fingers occasionally ran along the edges of the broken glass ball, and he briefly thought about taking the globe from her hands and lecturing her about broken glass and skin lacerations and emergency room visits--
"I'm sorry," he said. Well, at least that was better than, 'I didn't know.'
Faye huffed. "You're sorry? You have no idea what this means to me! Hell, I have no idea what this means to me. Did I just have some uncanny love for songbirds? Did I collect water globes, for Chrissake? What the hell is this thing supposed to mean, anyway? Why this? Why not--I don't know--a photo album? An article of clothing? I haven't the slightest clue what it means about me or my past, so don't assume that you have any idea--"
"Yeah, Faye, you're right. I have no idea. I have no idea because you've never told me. You've never told me one goddamn thing about your past, so how was I to know?"
"If I recall correctly--" she drawled dangerously, "I did tell you 'one goddamn thing' about my past. But you were too busy playing 'suicidal cowboy' to notice."
And there it was. Match point. No use fighting back now. Talk about 'not knowing.' She never missed the chance to tell him that his leaving the Bebop was just a glorified suicide mission. That he was selfish, careless--as if she fucking knew. And it wasn't as if explaining it to her would do any good, anyway.
So he shrugged, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. "You're right, Faye. You gave me enough rope to hang you, and damn it if I didn't enjoy watching the show."
Her eyes softened for a moment--just a moment--and they soon returned to the narrow slits he knew and loved. The enigmatic Faye Valentine. He seemed to have a way of pushing her past hurt and straight into revenge mode. "Doesn't surprise me," she said. "You know, it was never a question of how you were going to go, but how many people you were going to take with you."
"At least one, evidently."
"No," she said, shoving the water globe into his hands. "Two."
He bit hard on his bottom lip and swallowed the words that threatened to spill past his lips. "Faye--"
"Why did you take it?" she asked. "Just tell my why you took it."
He felt a sinister smirk tug at his lips. He leaned toward her, stopping when he was just close enough to smell the scent of the cheap hotel soap in her hair. "The more rope to hang you with, my dear."
A/N: Okay, so…maybe this chapter wasn't as exciting as I promised before. Sorry. My original plans for this chapter changed, and I decided to just push the material that was supposed to appear in this chapter back a bit. Not only that, but including everything I had planned would have made for an incredibly long chapter, and it would probably also mean another month would go by before I updated…and I just couldn't do that to you lovelies. So, I hope you enjoyed it anyway, and I will really try to get the next chapter up ASAP--however, with school right around the corner, I can make no promises as to when it will be up. Sorry.
Lots of love,
Nevi
