I Just Want Them A Happy Ending!

I just want them a happy ending!

The reek of burnt flesh and smoldering corpses was heavy in the air despite the rain pouring down from unfeeling skies. There were easily a dozen bodies strewn amongst the rubble from what was undoubtedly caused by grenades, and half a dozen lay dead from bullet wounds beyond the destruction wrought by explosives.

Well, never let it be said that Spike Spiegel wasn't dramatic.

Vicious refrained from sighing as one of the syndicate brats that had tagged along on his mission became noisily sick at either the rank odor or the sight of dismembered White Tiger soldiers.

He had been ordered to investigate the disturbance at St. Jude's Cathedral and had gone to do so despite being well aware that he would not be able to recover Spike's body. The other man had done a bang-up job of ensuring that the battlefield bore no traces of anyone's survival, though Vicious could not believe that Spike had perished in the skirmish.

Odds had been against him, of course, but it's not like Spike had been required to attend to the infestation of White Tiger lackeys at this mournful edge of Red Dragon territory. Most would assume that he had gone out seeking notoriety because that is what they themselves were after. The Van would believe whatever Vicious told them about the matter since they didn't much know or care about Spike's character - he was merely one of countless pawns in their endless games of power over Tharsis.

Julia... well. Her reaction would be curious to behold. He had given her an assignment to end Spike's life - certainly not at the behest of the clueless Van - and it would be very telling to observe her response to his apparent death. Did she still plan to escape on her own now that he was gone? Had she ever truly wanted to leave? Would she be just as disbelieving of his fate? Had it all been part of the deception designed to hide them from the syndicate's watchful eyes and vengeful retaliation?

Deserters were not tolerated, after all. Spike and Vicious had eliminated a fair number of that type of doomed bastard over the years. They knew better than most what torture and demise awaited anyone who foolishly thought that they could elude capture.

The cormorant's talons dug into Vicious's shoulder for a heartbeat before the bird launched itself into the dreary sky with a horrible caw. Out of the corner of his eye, Vicious saw a different Red Dragon upstart flinch at the abrupt motion. It took everything in him to not draw his blade to end the lives of these inept oafs who had followed him to the ruins here. Their presence had not been necessary, the danger that had dwelt within these shattered stone walls and burial mounds had obviously been eliminated hours prior, yet they had been instructed to tag along anyway.

Perhaps the Van had less faith in the accuracy of Vicious's reconnaissance than he originally believed. It would not do to underestimate them, regardless of how weak-natured they were becoming as the years rolled on. That he had once revered those cantankerous fools... well, the past was the past and he was a wiser man now.

"Search the debris. Let me know when you find the eye." Vicious ordered. It was a futile mission - like seeking a needle in a haystack - and all the more impossible given that Spike's remains were most assuredly not present. But it gave him a perverse pleasure to send these spineless brats out into the massacre, a place they clearly found disturbing and would likely haunt their waking hours as much as their dreams. Good. Perhaps it would toughen them up a tad.

As for himself... it was time to track down Julia. Time to see what she knew, what she suspected, what she intended to do now...

Glancing boredly over the devastation one more time, eyes not taking in the brutality but rather sharply investigating the outskirts of the cemetery in case Spike was lurking nearby to oversee what sort of effect his supposed last stand had on his compatriots, Vicious was soon satisfied that there were no witnesses about.

A pity, that. He had been looking forward to letting his blade taste blood.

St Jude - the patron Saint of the hopeless and the despaired; also of desperate cases and lost causes; also of the impossible, of intentions that seem hopeless

@febuwhump prompt: You Lied To Me

***

"You lied to me!" Faye's voice drifted on the breeze, accusation strong in her tone. "You said you weren't going there to die."

-I wasn't. Dying hadn't been my plan. But then...my plans never went well. That's why I tried to avoid making any.-

Faye snorted, a wet sound thanks to the stuffiness of her nose and how choked her throat was from crying. She felt weak, wretched even. She had been floundering for weeks now...since giving up on the desire to recapture something - anything! - of the life she had lived before.

Her memories were back. Useless information. Vague recollections of friendships and school courses and how much she'd loved her parents... A bunch of emotional baggage that she alone had to carry. Everyone else she'd known was dead or else, like Sally Yung, had decades of living that Faye had missed out on. The naïve little girl they'd known was no more. Her optimism had been replaced with despair. Her wealth had been transformed into debt so massive it nearly gave her an anxiety attack any time she thought about it.

"I told you... I told you that I remembered. That I no longer had a home except... Except on the ship. With you." She whispered. Her heart ached in her chest like someone had clutched that precious organ in a crushing grip.

-You came back. Because the Bebop is home.-

A sigh slipped from her lips. "Is it though?" Fresh tears streaked wetly down her cheeks. Would she ever stop crying?

-You have Jet. He needs you. Hell, that's half the reason I called you back.-

"Jet doesn't need me. He's the only one of us who ever knew how to take care of his own goddamn self."

-Well, who else is gonna keep him from getting fleeced at the card table? Besides, maybe you need him.-

Faye closed her eyes. She was trying to ignore the sun setting on one of the worst days of her life. (of course the sunset was heartbreakingly beautiful, mocking her for being unable to share it - and one more smoke - with the asshole whose voice haunted her now)

Hours ago they had gotten the call from Bob. The update neither of them had wanted to hear. Until that fateful ring they had been able to pretend like Spike would waltz back in any minute. There had been hope. And then... and then they knew. Jet had merely nodded to acknowledge Bob's quiet words before turning off the video call and disappearing from the living room.

Faye had sat for a long time on the couch. What was the point in getting up? Her ship was busted, the Bebop itself crashed outside of any of Mars's crater cities (and thank goodness for that, they sure couldn't afford any bills for damages if they'd landed anywhere inhabited) and without the bounty show on air she had no clue where to go to find work.

Eventually her body had shifted into motion on some sort of autopilot. Her ass was numb from sitting so long on the place where Spike usually slept. She found herself standing up, dizzy momentarily from the change in position after so long. When the darkness receded from the corners of her eyes, she moved.

-Where are you going?-

But there had been no one to ask and so she had no need to answer.

Still, his spirit trailed along behind her just like he often had in life. A few steps back, lazily smoking, eyes observing everything.

Once she reached the deck, she stopped. That was when the tears had begun again. The night before she had broken down in the hall and woken up uncomfortably sprawled on the floor with a threadbare blanket tossed over her. For the first few hours of the day she had been dry-eyed and full of desperate hope. Part of her hated Bob for contacting them. For forcing her to acknowledge the truth.

-You can't linger in the past, Faye.-

"Oh, fuck you. You went running back to yours."

-Hm. Suppose I could have let Vicious come to me instead.-

"We didn't have to do that either! We could have just left Mars and never come back!" She yelled, opening her eyes to glare at... at nothing. There was only emptiness stretching out before her in the dusty Martian landscape, only emptiness sprawled out behind her on the flight deck of the grounded ship. Above, the first stars began to glimmer into view as the sun continued to sink below the horizon.

Faye inhaled sharply and then fell into a crouch as sobs racked her. Angrily, she slammed her fists onto the metal of the hull once, twice, a third time. She wanted to bruise the flesh of her hands. To feel something worth crying over. Physical pain would do. Emotional pain was... fucking bullshit. This was the kind of thing she had been trying to avoid this entire time.

Caring about others was uncomfortable. It made her feel feeble. It made her hesitant. It made her do stupid things. She had made the mistake of caring about this buffoon and he went off and...

"Dammit, Spike."

They could pretend it's all in the name of getting the bounty but we all know what's really up...

yea

@febuwhump prompt: obedience

***

Shame coursed through his veins, but damaged pride made him cry out in self defense.

"We are upholding the law of the Dragon! We are no betrayers, sensei. We are loyal men!"

"Your loyalty is not in question, Spike. It is your obedience we demand. These territorial disputes with the White Tigers and the Blue Snakes and the Golden Eagles! These - these... Pissing contests you and Vicious persist in participating in!" Mao's anger was sharp but even more cutting was the disappointment shining in his eyes.

Vicious, standing rigidly at Spike's side, kept his eyes fastened to a spot just over Mao's head. For his part, Spike could not look away from his mentor's stern face.

Embarrassment made his skin hot. To be held in such disregard... To be admonished as if they were children... Worse still, to have let down the man who had taken them in and given them a place in the Syndicate...

Mao sighed heavily. "You boys are far too brash, too bold, too disruptive. There was a reason you were removed from the Dragon's Teeth. You cannot be trusted to moderate your behavior or to adhere to the orders you are given."

"Sir, you don't understand - they started it this time! We caught them crossing into our turf by the harbor. They were setting up shop in one of the warehouses down there! We had to push back before they got the idea that this kind of thing is acceptable!" Spike protested.

Mao stared at him. "Why were either of you down there in the first place? You had no assignment in that area. There are no bars to cool your heels down on that wharf. Your... impetuous behavior was uncalled for and has set back the treaty talks that had begun between us and the Eagles. Worse, your attack on their men resulted in the death of one of their Capo's sons. They are demanding blood for blood."

Spike pursed his lips and shifted his glare to the floor. Vicious continued to stand silent beside him. Of course, Vicious never had much to say in their defense. He felt their actions spoke loudly enough and insisted that their words would only fall on deaf ears. Spike was beginning to realize the truth of that assumption.

"You cannot...seize opportunity... the way that you have. Neither of you are at a level to be trusted with making decisions for the Van. The Elders demand obedience even if you choose to not offer them respect. I will say yet again that I am ashamed at your wild behavior. It reflects poorly on more than just the two of you. It lowers me in their eyes as well. This type of thing cannot continue. Dragons do not truly exist so let us compare you to canines instead. You are curs, not men. You are to be on a leash of our control and to obey our commands. You bite who we say to bite, no others. If a dog cannot be trusted to obey, the dog is to be put down. Do not delude yourselves into thinking that the Van requires your skill set so much that this will save you from a death sentence."

Spike could hear Vicious grinding his teeth. He felt like doing the same.

There were so many arbitrary rules to follow in the Syndicate... So many hoops to jump through to keep the Elders happy... So many commands that made Spike's skin crawl. He craved the violence of taking down their enemies, fighting hand-to-hand or storming in with guns blazing. To be engulfed in the heat of battle with no time for second guessing your moves and to have only yourself, your weapons, and your bloodthirsty teammates standing between you and a painful death. He reveled in the thrill of beating someone in a fair fight and he took pride in the destruction he could cause with explosives.

He and Vicious were men of action. They were fierce and formidable and fought like devils. They deserved to be the Dragon's Claws, striking out and rending flesh! They were not made to act as the Dragon's Teeth, standing around like invisible shadows behind the puppet masters, quietly waiting for a chance to showcase their talents at keeping their lords alive. That had been belittling, to serve in such a boring capacity.

But now... To be told they weren't allowed to defend their own territory? To be made to sit idly by as rival syndicates encroached upon the streets that they controlled? It was galling. It was ludicrous. It was a mark of feebleminded frightened men.

They were Red Dragons. They had to prove their power, draw first blood, and demand respect.

Acting as delivery boys - as had been their missions lately - was embarrassing and annoying. It was pathetic work, something fit for children, not for some of the toughest men the Elders had at their beck and call.

"Sir," Spike tried again, speaking through gritted teeth. "Respectfully, we would like to be reassigned. We are being wasted as errand boys. It is degrading."

Mao's hard eyed stare made him gulp. Vicious shifted uncomfortably next to him when Mao glanced in his direction.

"You think you are important enough to make demands? You think you are worthy enough to have more responsibility? You arrogant children..."

Spike seethed at the censure from their mentor. It had hurt when he felt like they had let Mao down, especially since they had anticipated being rewarded for quelling that invasive maneuver the Eagles had tried to pull. He hadn't exactly expected rewards but this was absurd.

Outrage roiled in his belly, rising up his esophagus like heartburn. He was hard-pressed not to make matters worse for himself by adding anything else to the one-sided conversation.

Mao, clearly still vexed, gave a sigh and shrugged. "Well, fortunately for the pair of you, the Van has indeed decided that you are to be pulled from your current jobs. They were not impressed by your success rate anymore than they were pleased by your assault against the Eagles. In fact, it was decided that the pair of you shall be our offering to appease their bloodlust."

Vicious opened his mouth but said nothing. Spike physically recoiled.

"Don't look so offended, boys. It's hardly what you're thinking. In fact, it's exactly what you desire. We are sending you over there as a sort of Trojan horse if you will. They think you are a sacrifice. They do not realize that allowing you into their headquarters will mean offering their own necks to be cut. We intend for you to turn the Eagles' Nest into a slaughterhouse."

At that, Spike and Vicious glanced at one another. Smiles began to creep across their faces, hardly daring to believe their luck.

"You are to head to their neighborhood this very afternoon. Act contrite, express our condolences. They will likely bring you to the Capos themselves so you can go through with this sham of a trial they are insistent upon. This will place you near enough to the heart that you can stab it with ease. Be thorough." Mao advised. "Now, I have business to attend to. See yourselves out, if you please."

@febuwhump prompt: helpless

***

She'd been helpless before. Too many times, in fact.

Now she even has the memories of all the times she'd been helpless in her previous life...

Watching her grandmother waste away in a hospital bed.

Being forced to accept when her best friend moved across the world.

When she succumbed to the pressure put on her by her parents to achieve certain milestones of success.

That split second of confusion and terror that seemed to stretch on for an eternity... the blink of an eye time between the reinforced glass of the space ship's wink splintering before her, cracking the fullness of the moon's image into jagged pieces...

(who would have thought that the moon itself would shatter just a few short years later?)

The immediate horror that set in when she realized she was about to perish. There hadn't even been enough time to scream. There had just been that helpless moment as existence seemed to pause on the precipice of disaster and then... nothing.

Nothing until she woke up, helpless once more. Weak from decades spent in a cryo-chamber and with no memory of anything at all that mattered. Helpless in the face of scam artists who took advantage of her ignorance and set her on a doomed life path of debt that no one could ever hope to pay off or even pay down.

She'd been helpless too many damn times since waking up. She absolutely hated it and fought tooth and nail to escape that feeling. She swindled and she thieved and she gambled and always she ran. It was important to keep at least one step ahead of everyone else - more if it could be managed.

She had to be self-sufficient. She had to be ruthless. She had to keep herself separate from others to avoid falling prey to situations beyond her control or to emotions too deep to swim through.

The change had been so gradual she almost hadn't noticed. Then, when she realized what was afoot, she fled. Of course, it was much harder to escape yourself than debt collectors. And naturally it wasn't especially easy to get away from a man like Jet Black who had been a cop in a previous life and was adept at tracking fugitives down.

He thought she'd been helpless when he found her. Handcuffed on a rickety bed in a city of only men... well, she can understand why he had that misconception. But, though Gren had overpowered her... she could have broken free at any point after he left. It's just... the will had gone out of her for a bit. Life seemed built of injustice and tragedy and futile gestures and she just wanted to give up for a while.

Not, like, entirely or forever of course. That type of action required far too much work or pain. Besides, loathe it as much as she did, Faye was keen on surviving despite the despair and frustration of it all.

Someday she'd strike it rich. Someday she'd win big. Someday it would all be worth the struggle...

So anyway, Jet retrieved her like an errant child and Faye let him think she was helpless because it seemed to make him feel better about himself. Anyway it wasn't like she had anywhere else to go.

Not then at least.

For a while she'd felt helpless when watching that damn video. Unable to summon the memories to correspond with the images, but also inexplicably devoted to scouring the tape for details that might trigger something in her mulish mind. She had been helpless to stop herself from wearing that tape out with how many times she'd play it.

She had a moment of triumph when Spike faced off against that killer clown. He'd no doubt been joking about needing rescue, but she had taken his words to heart and had shown up to help out. It felt damn good to throw herself into action on someone else's behalf... to try and prove herself instead of letting the opportunity slip by.

The fact that her attempt had resulted in crashing her zipcraft was immaterial. She'd offered enough of a distraction to have had some effect, no matter how small, on the outcome of the confrontation.

And then she and Spike had worked together to try and protect that mafia man's daughter on her weird little quest to align the stars or some bullshit. Spike had teased then too, calling them fairies out to grant a princess her dearest wish. Whatever poetry he needed to add to their job was his own business, for her it was another chance to do something. To not sit idly by, helpless.

The terrorist on Alba City had been the next opportunity to prove her merit and to push back against being a victim of circumstance. She had been doing so damn well too... until that fucking gas... until she was, once again, helpless. Vincent had overpowered her so easily... had sent shivers down her spine with his nonsense promise of immortality and his intention of destroying everything around him. If he hadn't left on his mission, giving her the chance to finally free herself and race against time to save the whole fucking planet...

Fuck, she hated being helpless.

It had rankled and even though they'd achieved their goal and saved the day... it hadn't been enough. The echo of Vincent's words haunted her dreams along with the fear that had coursed through her body when he violated her clothing.

She was determined to be faster, smarter, stronger.

Going after that cult leader had been another of her schemes to showcase her own abilities. To bring down the bounty and rake in the dough. Perhaps she'd been wrong to go about it solo... having her head spin, seeing doubles of everything as she dropped to one knee, hearing mad whispers from all around as she strove to remain conscious... that had been like falling into a whirlpool of helplessness.

She hadn't had a chance to save herself. Hell, even Spike almost got caught in that trap while trying to find her... that was something of a boost to her own ego, truthfully. The fact that he'd come looking for her and also how he'd been just as weak, just as helpless. Thankfully Ed and Jet had done whatever needed to be done behind the scenes to end the charade of "uploading consciousness" to escape the world.

And then, weeks later, she'd been helpless to stop the torrent of memories from cascading over her at last. Helpless to ignore the pull of finding answers at last... of going back home, to a place she truly belonged.

Helpless to change the past.

She had lain in the dirt and stared at the stars while her eyes burned with the need to cry.

Discovering the Bebop had left while she spent... hours? No, it could have been days... while she lingered in the limbo of grief and outrage and apathy.

Spike's call to her was revitalizing. The fact that he wanted her back, that he claimed Jet needed her around... she would have made her way to the ship in her own good time, to be quite honest. But jumping into action with that golden haired woman up against hardened suit-and-tie criminals... that had been like jumping back into her true self, the Faye Valentine that had been forged from the soggy ashes of her frozen self, a phoenix reborn.

Having to relay those words, despite how casual they sounded, when she could practically feel the weight of the sentence like an anchor about to drag a man down down down into murky depths...

She'd been helpless to keep her mouth shut. How simple it ought to have been to just not tell him a thing. But events immediately got out of hand and like watching a show from afar she heard herself speak. And then she was fighting to be in control of herself again, fighting to have a chance at surviving.

And now?

The sound of his ship launching was like a slap in the face.

Here she was, a puddle of snot and tears and so - fucking - helpless yet again... helpless to stop him from leaving...

...but not, perhaps, helpless from chasing after him.

Inhaling deeply, scrubbing her face of tears as best she could, Faye staggered to her feet and set off on a mission of her own. Spike had his vendetta, that's fine whatever, but she had her own task now. She could back him up or scrape his ass off the concrete like after the cathedral fiasco.

Her ship was fucked but Jet's was fine.

This was no time to weep and moan. No time to feel bad for herself or any of the other players in this bullshit game. No time to curl into a ball and sob.

She was Faye fucking Valentine.

And Faye fucking Valentine would not be helpless again.