Dear Spike
Dear Spike
What a task it must have been
Dear Spike
Dear Spike
I'm so glad to know you didn't forget me – the aquabats

Again.

Spike grimaced with concentration. "M-mm-my nnn-name ish Ell-mer J. F-f-f-fudd, mmm-million-aire. I o-own a mmm-man-shun and a . . . yacht."

Again.

"M- -my nn-name is Ell-mer J. F-fudd, mm-million-aire. I o-own a mman-shun and a yacht."

Again.

Who the fuck is Elmer J. Fudd?

It's an old Earth reference. Say it again. Exaggerate your jaw.

"M-my name is E-elmer J. F-fudd, millionaire. I own a m-mansion and a yacht."

Much better. Do the other one.

Are you sure Jet and Faye can't hear me doing this?

Yeah, I'm sure. Do the other one.

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. "Bb-bb-b. B-b-belvedere. C-come here, b-boy."

Again.

The 'b' sound is hard.

I know.

Can I at least take a break? I'm hungry. And I have a headache.

Use your words.

Spike sighed again. "C-can I t-t-t. . ."

May I?

"M-may I t-t-take a bb-bb-break? Fff-fucking dog."

Yes, you may, despite your insult. I've been called worse.

Spike rose from his bed and ventured into the corridor. His balance had improved greatly, and his fingers trailed along the wall, mostly out of security. His steps were slow but steady, and his limp was slowly going away. After only six weeks of being back on the ship, he was feeling a little more like himself. If only I looked more like myself. Spike was filling back out a bit, but his clothes still sagged on him, and his hair looked as if he had mange, as it kept growing back unevenly in patches. Lately, Jet had been trimming it evenly but close to his head for him, and Spike wore a watch cap he'd found in the bottom of a dresser drawer. Faye had offered to find him a bobble to sew on top, and he'd thumbed his nose at her, using his weaker left hand. She then flounced out of the room in a huff, leaving Spike grinning to himself, happy that he was still able to get a rise out of her, something he realized he missed greatly.

Spike smelled something familiar and pleasing as he approached the kitchen: beef with peppers. It actually smells like beef. Jet's getting better at cooking. Spike turned the corner. "J-jet."

"Spike. How's it going?"

"P-pretty good."

"You hungry? I got beef and peppers. Here's a bowl. You got that?" Jet thrust a bowl into Spike's hands, full and fragrant.

"Jet? There's b-beef in this."

"I said beef and peppers, didn't I?"

"Yeah, b-but. . ." The two men grinned at each other, remembering all the old times when beef was hard to come by. Spike sat at the table and began eating, using his left hand for the chopsticks. Ein was right; using his weak hand for everyday chores made the recovery go faster. He didn't drop the food as much as he used to, and Spike smirked at that realization.

"Hey, Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's Elmer J. Fudd?"

Spike shot a glance towards Ein, who was sitting in the doorway and grinning at him. Damned dog. "I-It's an old Ear-earth ref-f-ference."

"Part of your speech therapy?"

"Yeah."

"It's weird, hearing you do that. You've been talking more during that speech therapy than I've heard you say in all the years I've known you."

"Once I-I'm ab-ble to sp-peak p-prop-perly again, I-I'll shut up ag-gain. J-Jusht f-f-for you."

Jet grinned, and then looked distracted for a moment. "I wonder what's keeping Faye."

"What ab-b-bout her?"

"She's been working her ass off, collecting bounties, that's what. She's been paying back what she owes us, and adding a bit besides, keeping us in groceries and all."

"Sh-she hash?"

"Well, yes, the stipulation of the money in Mao's will was to be used only for your hospitalization and subsequest medical bills, but not for daily expenses, which I thought was odd. But I didn't know Mao like you, and you never questioned it, so . . ."

"M-mm-ao?"

Jet turned back to the stove. "I thought it was kind of funny, when the paperwork showed up. It was like Mao knew you'd end up in big trouble one day. It looked like that once he died and you had . . . taken care of Vicious. . .that the Red Dragons would be dissolved and you'd be the sole beneficiary. I have no idea how he managed to do everything above board like that."

Spike's mind whirled. Barleigh had made noise in the hospital about how Spike had been the heir of the Red Dragons. At the time, Spike had simply figured that Barleigh was doing one of his usual bastardly kind of moves, so he'd put it out of his mind. But then, Jet had mentioned before how Spike had placed him as a power of attorney, which Spike knew for a fact he'd never done. Furthermore, Spike was fairly certain that Mao hadn't thought that far ahead as to set up the dissolution of the Red Dragons upon his death. It doesn't make sense, Spike thought. Who could have set something up like that? At the time, the Dragons knew shit was going down, but the elders had already been taken out. The only ones in a position of power would have been Vicious and his cronies. And while Vicious lived up to his name, Spike also knew that he didn't have a head for business. Only a very good hacker could . . . But Ed is . . . Spike turned to Ein. What the hell did you do?

I covered your ass, that's what I did. Do you have any idea what kind of shitstorm you caused, going after Vicious like that? If the ISSP hadn't finally shown up . . .

Look, dog, I didn't ask to have my ass covered.

The fuck you didn't, Spiegel, that's what you do. You create chaos and leave others to mop up after you. I come back here to find Faye and Jet in a state, because you have to go off, thinking you need to die in some blaze of glory, because of your failures in the past. But you lived.

That wasn't my intention!

Whether or not it was, you still survived, but I fixed it so that you would actually get better . . .

You call this BETTER?

. . . You will get better, Spike! I'm the one who found the nano-technology and put it right in front of Barleigh and his crew. So you actually have a chance to regain your full faculties and strength instead of drooling anonymously, half-paralyzed in a third-rate mental ward somewhere! Is that how you wanted to live the rest of your days?

I didn't want to live at all!

Oh, spare me the fucking sanctimonious bullshit, Spike.

You . . . A hand dropped on Spike's shoulder. Spike jerked and turned to see Jet frowning down at him. "Spike? Are you okay?"

Spike was aware that his hands were clenched into fists, and he was breathing hard. "Yeah, m'okay."

"You keep doing that. Staring at Ein. It's almost like you're talking to him."

Spike sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. "I am t-talking t-to him. We c-com-mun-ni-cate with our m-mindsh. We were j-jusht having an arg-gument."

Jet raised an eyebrow, then clapped Spike on the back. "You always did have a strange sense of humor."

"Yeah." Spike returned his gaze to Ein, but the dog snorted, and walked away.

Faye was walking down the steps of the police station, sliding a card through her credit book that would transfer some funds into Jet's account. Jet must have found his percentage to be fair, as he had yet to complain about it.

But Faye was so tired. It felt like she hadn't properly rested for weeks. But she didn't want to hang around the ship watching Spike struggle through his endless physical therapy. He is still so different, Faye thought. He's nowhere near as obnoxious . . . more like he's just . . .given up. Complacent. But, sometimes . . . The other day, he'd thumbed his nose at her, which sent her heart soaring, because it seemed like the old Spike. Yes, she remembered how he'd work his katas everyday, but there had been a languid laziness about it in those days, as if Spike had only been going through the motions to keep his muscle memory alive. And now, he had to retrain his muscles entirely.

Her comm. chirped. "Yeah?"

"Faye. You want to go after another one?"

Faye sighed at the image of Jet. What she really wanted was a drink, a new deck of smokes, a massage, a pound of chocolate, and a gorgeous well-hung naked man with sharply cut abs giving her all of the above. And then some. "How much?"

"Three-fifty."

"Thousand?"

"Of course."

"Of course, nothing. I only trust you as far as I can throw you."

"Tsk, tsk, Faye, I thought we'd gotten past that point."

Faye never knew what to make of Jet when he made little comments like this. He was easier to handle when he was mad. He gave her the coordinates and other pertinent information and chirped off. The point of reference wasn't far, and she was still fairly flush with ammo, but it would probably behoove her to take the Redtail and move it closer, just in case. Behoove, she thought to herself. There's a 20-woolong word. She knew that Spike would simply mosey down the twelve blocks or so, but then she wasn't Spike. And Spike wouldn't be wearing the boots she was. And Spike can't walk like that anymore, she thought idly, and then she squashed that thought like a used cigarette butt. He will get better, he will!

Faye had moved her Redtail from one parking lot to another when she saw her target. Once again, he fit the hacker/gamer type she'd been picking up lately: a total dweeb with bad skin and ill-fitting, all black clothes. Idly she wondered why they ever ventured out and away from their computers, if they loved them so much. Faye had a fleeting thought about Ed when a bullet whizzed past her ear.

"Gah!" Faye shrieked as she ducked and covered behind a postal box. These damned kids usually didn't carry a gun. She took a peek from behind her cover when she saw the back of her target as he ran down the street, his black trench coat fluttering behind him. Faye hopped to her feet and ran in her high heels with the exotic grace taught to her by a long-dead drag queen, a 300-pound she-male named, oddly enough, Pixie. She could almost hear his/her shrill voice in her ear, Shake it, baby girl, shaaaaaaaaake it! And then, as Faye had closed the distance to about 15 feet, the unthinkable happened.

The heel of her right boot came off.

Faye's knee and ankle twisted painfully, but in a move that Spike might have envied, she launched herself into the air like a combination of Wonder Woman and Supergirl, firing her gun into the left buttock of her bounty. When Faye was sure that she'd hobbled the kid, she tucked herself into a ball and rolled into a somersault, scraping hell out of every bit of skin exposed by her abbreviated outfit. Both knees of her stockings were ripped out, taking a good bit of her actual flesh knees with them. Faye skidded to a halt near her bounty, who was lying on the ground, howling in pain.

"Jesus Christ, lady! What is your problem?"

Faye wobbled to her feet, keeping her gun on her target. "My problem? I just blew out my last pair of stockings." She waved her gun at the kid. "Get up. And give me your boots. I hate having lopsided heels."

Spike was sitting in his room, his eyes closed. Ein was nowhere to be found. Spike was glad for the respite in therapy, but he found that he missed talking to the little dog. He kept thinking about what Ein told him, how he'd set up all the paperwork regarding Mao and Jet. He hadn't even known that the dog was capable of such things. When they'd first found Ein, he was collateral in a bounty hunt, and Ein then became the only reward out of that bounty when Spike had to make the choice between catching Ein as he fell from the sky, or nabbing the bounty. At the time, he'd snapped, "This is why I hate critters!" feeling like he'd gotten the short end of the stick.

These days, he felt like he'd made the better choice.

Gads, his head hurt. Spike pulled off the watch cap and absently rubbed his head. His fingertips trailed over the network of scars. Barleigh had taken great pleasure in telling Spike about the brain surgery to remove the initial hematoma, where they'd not only put a probe up his femoral artery in an attempt to blast it from one direction, but also cut his head open from ear to ear and pulled down his face like a ski mask ultimately removing a portion of his skull and temporarily housing it in his own abdomen. Sometimes Spike gently touched his skull to make sure they actually put the damned bone back. Just thinking about it made the pain worse, but Spike was reticent about taking the Percoset he had. First, he didn't want to be beholden to the painkillers, the way that lame doctor seemed to be, and secondly, Spike felt a little justified in punishing himself. He had a lot of things to punish himself for, and the list grew longer and longer every time he thought about it.

And add pissing off a dog to the list. Christ, man, what kind of person pisses off a dog? Especially one that . . .Spike's train of thought was stopped by the thud and clang of Faye returning to the ship. He hadn't seen her in a while, and he figured that teasing her a bit would cheer him up. He took one of his sticks and stumped out to the common area. Before he arrived, he heard Jet exclaiming over something.

"What the hell did you do to yourself, Faye?"

"Caught a bounty."

Spike rounded the corner to see Faye looking like she'd been dragged a couple of miles down a gravel road. She had abrasions and bruises all over her legs and arms, and was bleeding from both knees and elbows, and had a good case of road rash on her forehead. Faye looked up at Spike, and her expression turned to dismay. Forgot my cap, thought Spike. Stupid.

"You need to be patched up."

"I'm fine."

Spike spoke up. "T-take a shhow-rr. G-get c-cleaned up."

Faye glanced away, but she said, "That sounds like a great idea."

Jet concurred, saying that he'd get the first aid kit and help her dress her wounds once she got out. Faye began to stomp down the hallway towards her room, and Spike looked down at her feet, which were shod in the bounty's oversized hob-nailed jackboots. "N-nice b-b-ootsh."

Faye came up short, and it looked like she caught her breath. Spike was giving her a lopsided grin. She returned the smile, and said, "Thanks," and continued down the hall.

Jet had found the first-aid kit and was pulling out items when Spike said, "Ll d-do it." Jet looked up at him, and Spike waved his left hand a bit.

"Um, yeah. Need to work your left hand? Well, okay then," said Jet, rising from the couch and rubbing his head. "It looks well-stocked, so you should be set." And Jet turned and walked out of the room, and Spike, puzzled, watched him go. Spike then sat on the couch and waited for Faye. He must have dozed off – something he now did with regularity – because the next thing he knew, he felt someone sit on the couch next to him. He opened his eyes to see Faye trying to twist her arm over so that she could put antiseptic on her elbow.

Spike gently took the bottle from her fingers and turned her arm so that he could put the ointment on. She hissed when he applied the ointment to her injured elbow. His eyes flashed up to hers, and he said, "Shorry."

"It's okay. I can do this, Spike."

"Sho c'n I." He carefully bandaged one elbow, and started working on the other. "T-tell m-me . . ." Faye had to fight to not finish the sentences for him. She waited in silence, willing Spike to get out the words, because she knew that he had to relearn how to talk, and she couldn't do it for him. " . . . b-boun-t-ty."

Faye smiled, and she told him all about how she had to chase her perp down the street and her heel coming off her boot. Spike laughed at her story as he continued his ministrations. When he's laughing, he sounds like himself. I must remember that, thought Faye sadly. Soon, he was carefully making sure that the abrasion on her forehead was clean. "D-d-on't w-want shh-c-carsh."

Faye bit her lip. "No scars, no." She closed her eyes for a moment and said softly, "I'm glad you're back, Spike."

She could feel his cool hand on her face as he applied antiseptic. "Me t-too." After a few more minutes, he said, "Lll d-done."

He began to put away the leftover bandages and gather up the trash, when Faye said, "Spike?" Spike looked up at her. Faye leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, and for a moment, he could smell her soap and her shampoo, and the scent of fresh antiseptic. "Thanks," said Faye.

Spike, with a small smile, nodded in return.

Back in the shadows of a corridor, Jet turned away, looking for cigarettes.