Flare / Water Inhalation / Just Hold On (feed Me Poison, Fill Me Til I Drown.)

flare / water inhalation / just hold on (feed me poison, fill me ‘til I drown.)

The flare was merely a distraction, and one that Jet felt doubly incensed about falling prey to given the fact that he'd been blinded and blindsided in a situation many years before. Of course, everyone with sight was vulnerable to bright lights so it's not like this bounty had gleaned a weakness about Jet specifically. The fact that his arm was already artificial was surprisingly a saving grace even if the flare going off at his elbow had unhinged the joint to a point where his arm was entirely useless. If he'd been flesh and bone there, he would have been a mess of blood and pain writhing on the dock. As it was, he was furious as he tried to blindly fight back with his good arm. The bounty had the benefit of sight and all his limbs working, so Jet wasn't entirely caught off guard by the way a strong blow landed across his jaw and knocked him reeling backwards.

Reeling backwards and suddenly without anything under his feet.

The water closed overhead as he dropped into the sea with flailing limbs - all the ones that could currently flail, that is - and tried to close his mouth as soon as he registered the fact that he was being submerged. His brain had caught up to the situation a moment or two after his body was embroiled in it, though, and that meant that he sucked in a hearty surge of sea water in his hasty attempt at drawing a breath of air before going completely under.

Normally he was a strong swimmer, but normally he had the full use of both limbs even if one wasn't real. Normally he wasn't disoriented and unsure if he was right side up or upside down. Where was the surface? Where were the pilings of the dock? How long could he flounder here in the dark depths while simultaneously choking from water inhalation?

His vision, only barely returned and blurry, was beginning to dim by the time he felt something grabbing hold of the back of his collar and yanking him. It could be a siren dragging him soundlessly out to sea for all he cared at that point. Feed me poison 'til I drown... Water, one of the cornerstones of life itself, could be just as lethal as anything else.

A voice - a man's voice, though he supposed sirens could be male too - was shouting at him as they broached the choppy surface of the harbor.

"Just hold on!"

Hold on to what? Hold on to who? Maybe the man was talking to himself. Jet coughed and choked and spluttered and waited to die.

And then there was someone above him - he was ashore somehow - and a bedraggled toothpick of a man in dark waterlogged clothing was repeatedly bringing his fists down on Jet's chest. What was this? What was happening?

Forcibly, he was rolled onto his side and the man smacked his back with just as much ferocity as he had banged on his chest. Jet would have bruises on both side for days if he survived this assault. And then suddenly he was vomiting forcibly. What felt like liter after liter of salty water poured from his mouth and nose. He spewed and gagged and eventually drew a ragged breath and then the man was laughing. Hell, Jet felt like laughing too.

"You put up a good fight, old man," The man said. "Even though I saved your life... I'll still split that bounty with you. Seventy-thirty, in my favor. I'm the one who bagged him after he knocked you in the drink after all. Team effort though, you tired him out initially. He was easy pickings after that. Good thing too, or I might not have gotten to you in time."

"You... little... braggart..." Jet rasped. "Fifty-fifty." He countered then, coughing weakly.

The man grinned down at him and pushed a hand through his sopping wet green hair to get some of the curls plastered across his forehead out of his eyes.

"Sixty-forty for this one. Fifty-fifty for whatever ones come next?"

Jet laughed then, painful as it was with his lungs still trying to recover. "All right... stringbean... got yourself a deal."

The man chuckled too. "Better than that. Got myself a partner. Name's Spike by the way. Now shut up and concentrate on remembering how to breathe, old timer."

makeshift bandages / suppressed suffering / I'm fine (I don’t need you to help me, I can handle things myself)

The sweater worked well as a makeshift bandage - the rich red color hid any blood that seeped out. It wasn't the only reason she wore it but it had certainly been useful as a tourniquet a few times since her revival.

The fabric chafed at the burns on her back but it was a better alternative than having those scorch marks visible to onlookers or exposed to the pollen-thick air of the Venusian city she was trying to escape.

Her hips and lower back still felt like they were on fire. She didn't want to get back to the Bebop and have to see in the mirror exactly what her skin looked like. If the pain was this bad, the flesh was no doubt beyond blistered.

Angrily drawing in a deep breath, hastily blinking back the tears that threatened, she tried to push all of the agony out of her mind. Suppress the suffering. Deny the vulnerability.

Judging by the carefully blank expression on Spike's face after he gave her a once over when she reached the ship… her efforts were not exactly succeeding. Then again, he was fairly perceptive and quite used to seeing her sweater looped over her arms and hanging loose, not knotted tightly across her waist.

He'd been gone on a different bounty when she'd left to tackle hers. Nothing unusual about that - they didn't team up often on small fries. Hell, they didn't often team up on high-dollar bounties either. Competition was a healthy thing, after all.

But maybe if he'd been there she wouldn't have been caught so close to the inferno as the building went up taking her measly bounty head with it.

Furious for the loss of cash as well as the sting of her overheated backside, she stalked down the hall towards the bathroom. Spike didn't bother trying to hide the sounds of his footsteps as he followed in her wake. For a bit she was able to pretend that he was simply headed to the couch for a nap but when he bypassed that comfortable piece of furniture his intent became clear.

Her temper flared.

"I'm fine." A lie. "I don't need you to help me. I can handle things myself."

He made a thoughtful noise. "Maybe I'm just trying to take a shower."

She snorted, stepping into the bathroom and attempted to shut the door in his face. A round-toed shoe blocked her effort. Giving up, she turned her back on him and began to gingerly peel her sweater from her body. Her jaw ached from how hard she had to clench her teeth to keep from whimpering at the surge of pain from tearing at the scabs that had formed in the time it took her to get back to the ship. She kept her eyes screwed shut to avoid crying.

"I'll give you some privacy to rinse off." Spike spoke from somewhere behind her. "Jet fixed that skin graft device. I'll track that down for ya." He was gone before she even had time to turn around.

cold compress / infection / I don't feel so good (it comes and it goes like the strength in your bones)

He wondered how long she could have made it if he hadn't thought to check in on her.

Her casual and typically unannounced departures had made the others accustomed to not seeing her for days without feeling a shred of concern. He had tried to portray the same insouciance but there was something telling about the half-smirk Jet sometimes wore and the amused cackle that Ed made when she'd catch his eyes absentmindedly following Faye's movements on the ship.

Usually it was every man or woman or dog for themselves on the Bebop except whenever a top dollar bounty was in the mix. Everyone came and went at their own pace and without answering to anyone else since no one bothered to make inquiries anyway.

But the Brain Scratch incident was fresh in his mind. Seeing her sprawled insensate on the cold ground of the abandoned building, a precarious tower of defunct televisions looming large over her small form. It was odd seeing Faye so helpless, so completely vulnerable. It had made his skin prickle and had made him irritable when talking with the figure on the screens. Even hearing that she was merely asleep was no comfort since Londes confided to having killed the other bounty hunters in the room by putting them into a never ending slumber.

The relief he'd felt when she began to stir and then sat up as if nothing had happened... He couldn't keep the smile off his face. And her own timid smile in response, the bashful way her gaze had dipped away from his own... It made his heart skip a beat. She'd run hot and cold with him lately, ever since getting back from Callisto - or possibly before even?

Her skittish behavior had doused the flame of arousal he'd felt for her - the attraction he'd finally begun to feel like he was justified in feeling. The insatiable desire to find answers about Julia had been extinguished by the hard truths he'd come to accept after facing Vicious again, and he was just beginning to think that perhaps he could love again. Perhaps he was at last free to pursue someone else, someone more willing to stand at his side against the odds and who'd have his back in life-or-death situations. Giving in to the chemistry that had existed between Faye and himself since originally meeting her across the card table had felt like the first step in taking back control of his own future.

But while he had been ready to tentatively move forward... she apparently was taking two steps back.

Curiosity burned in his mind. What had happened to her on Callisto to change her flirtatious ways? What made her stop teasing him and start to regard him as just another lost soul on a ship of fools?

Here, now was a chance to find out her reasoning.

He replaced the damp washcloth on her forehead and adjusted the cold compress he was holding to the shallow slash across her right hip. It wasn't a deep cut, thankfully, though stitches and an antibiotic would have been a wise move days ago. Too late now to avoid an infection. Jet had come running when Spike had called out to him, alarmed, when he'd gone to bang on the shower room door after Faye had taken far more time than even she normally did.

Her skin had been flushed with color, her eyes shining with a feverish light, and her entire body quaked as she answered the door in her robe. Steam had billowed out from the room and at first he'd attributed the pinkness of her face to the heat and humidity of the bathroom, but then she'd stumbled backwards and he'd moved instinctively to catch her.

Faye had hissed in pain when he brushed against her hip. Had lain resignedly in his embrace as if the effort of trying to regain her own footing was beyond her.

In a small voice, one that reminded him strongly of the young Faye in the betamax video, she spoke... not to him, but to the world. A child's helpless plea.

"I don't feel so good."

And then she'd become dead weight in his arms as her eyes fluttered shut. And then Jet had been there in answer to Spike's shout of summons.

Together they'd trundled her out to the living room and had Ed fetch one of her pajama tank tops and shorts to dress her in since they couldn't protect her modesty and also treat her wound if she was just wearing a robe.

Jet had pronounced the wound clean but infected and had liberally applied a healing ointment designed to reduce scarring as well as inflammation before he carefully stitched her up and then told Spike to take her to her room. While he himself tended to spend his convalescence periods laid up on the couch, it seemed likely that Faye would prefer the calm and darkness of her sleeping space.

He had lain her down on top of the blankets since her skin was hot to the touch and he figured the cool air would help to soothe her fever. Then Ed had shown up at the door with the damp washcloth and cold compress, offering both to Spike without any of her usual nonsensical rhymes and cheer. Thanking her for the items, Spike told her not to worry because Faye would be okay. And Ed, after staring for a long minute at Faye's unconscious form on the bed, took in a deep breath and nodded, then flashed him a smile full of confidence in his words.

For a while Faye had been deeply unconscious and resting peacefully despite how her body radiated heat. All too soon, though, she began to thrash and mumble despite Spike's ministrations. Her babbling seesawed from random words that seemed disconnected from one another to entire rambling monologues that made him shiver. It was impossible to say whether her speeches were truth or fiction, but he hoped they stemmed from things she'd seen in movies rather than experienced personally in life. A growing sense of ill ease in the pit of his stomach proved how little he believed in his own hopes.

But on the other hand, he could question her about her change in attitude and possibly be rewarded with the logic or motivation behind it. If he wanted to take advantage of her defenselessness. To exploit her illness, even if she was too out of it to be aware of what was happening or to remember any of this... the idea did not sit well with him.

Faye whimpered, whipping her head back and forth on the sweat-soaked pillow, and tried to twist her body away from the gentle pressure of the compress.

"Shh, shh, you're okay... er, you'll be okay. Jet got you all stitched up. We got some antibiotics starting to work on ya. Just take it easy, Faye..." Spike tried to cajole her into relaxing with his softest, kindest voice.

Her brow pinched together in confusion as she struggled to open her eyes. "A stitch in time, no, a wrinkle in time." She mumbled. Her eyes gleamed as they caught the light of the betamax player - which, while not currently playing a tape was the only source of light Spike had bothered to maintain in the room. She eyed him without seeming to recognize him. "Strange dreams, turbulent things, what agony can waking bring?"

Spike didn't recognize the poetry - if that's what it was - of her words. "What's that now?"

"Smoothed out, out of time and place and luck." Sounding more like Ed than herself, it was obvious that, despite regaining a semblance of consciousness, Faye remained disoriented. Whatever she meant was incomprehensible to him.

Still, it was good to hear her voice. "You'd be surprised how lucky you are," He told her in response. "Hopefully we caught this infection in time. Jet thinks the salve will save you from a scar too."

"It comes and it goes," She murmured then. "Like the strength in your bones. What imbues a soul with courage? What inspires a heart to love? What jargon leaves lips when you speak from that little place inside your chest? Break open, break free."

Spike gave a sort of snorting sigh as he took the washcloth from the bed where it had been dislodged when she shook her head earlier. "Jargon indeed." He muttered as he dipped the cloth in the bowl of ice water and gave it a twist to get most of the water removed. He tenderly placed it back on her forehead with his left hand while using his right hand to hold her chin in place.

"Ohh, bliss." She said then, blinking as if to clear her sight. "Spike?"

"Yeah, Faye?"

"...are you real?"

He chuckled and pressed both hands to her cheeks as he leaned over her to stare down into her befuddled eyes.

"I'm as real as you."

"I... don't feel real right now." She admitted. "I feel... hazy... like if I close my eyes I could drift off forever."

Her words spooked him though he kept his reaction from showing on his face. "Let's avoid that, hey?" He knew it was just the fever talking, but then again people had died from fevers before. "You stay here with me, okay? And I'll stay here with you."

Trembling lips made a ghost of a smile before turning down into an expression of discomfort. "I'm so warm."

Spike could feel just how overheated she was through the heat of her cheeks beneath his palms. "You may not like this idea... but I think it's the only way to get your temperature down. Hold tight to me, okay? I'm gonna dump ya in the tub." He eased his arms under her shoulders and under her knees and hoisted her into his arms with only one outcry from Faye as her wounded hip was tweaked.

"I don't wanna drown," She whined as he brought her back to the shower room where he'd first discovered she was ailing.

Delirium was evidently setting back in.

"Not gonna drown you, Faye." He assured her. "Hell, I'll even climb in the damn tub with you if that'll make you feel better."

"Sailors at sea, drowning in an ocean of love..." She replied, laughing hysterically at her own words.

He sighed. "No one is gonna drown, Faye." But he was glad she was still awake, still talking even if it was ridiculous things.

Orchestra

“So which one is the bounty again?” Spike queried, kicking his feet up onto the balcony railing.

“The oboe player.” Jet replied, swatting at Spike’s legs to get him to put his feet back down.

“And… which one is the oboe player?” Faye inquired next, puffing leisurely on a cigarette in a ridiculously long holder.

A pause. A sigh. “Are you familiar with the clarinet?” Jet figured he might as well start with something simple.

“Uhh…” Spike’s response was not ideal.

Faye pursed her lips and then pointed with her cigarette holder. “That’s it, yeah?”

Jet glanced in the direction she indicated and shook his head once, curtly. “No. That is a piccolo.”

Spike scoffed. “Now who's being ridiculous? That’s a character from the anime Ed has been watching late at night.”

Jet closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. “The one we are after is the one third from the right in the second row. Never mind the instrument, it’s the lady with the red hair.”

“Are you sure, Jet? I thought the target was older than that.” Faye looked doubtfully at the lady.

“My intel said that she was in her forties. That lady is definitely in that range.”

“Well, if that’s our gal… let’s go get her, what’s the hold up?”

Jet huffed. “Aren’t either of you interested in hearing the orchestra first? How often do we get a chance to be in a place like this? She’s clearly not going anywhere…”

Faye and Spike exchanged blank looks. Faye tapped her cigarette ash onto the carpet of their balcony box and Spike shrugged as he made to lean back in his chair and put his feet up on the railing again.

Jet studiously ignored them both. This was likely Spike and Faye on their best behavior and, since Jet himself wanted to stick around for the performance, well… he’d just have to make do with what he could get from them.

Not Over You

Julia…

Hearing that name was like touching a live wire.

Jet tried to convince him that it was a common woman’s name… true enough, but Spike felt in his gut that this was his Julia. A connection to the woman he’d fallen for hard and fast when he’d been nothing but a syndicate lackey, a beast valued for the damage it could inflict on the targets it was set upon. She had seen more to him than the destruction he could cause. She had seen a heart beating within his chest, something he’d denied possessing for years and years.

She had been the start of his undoing.

He’d been trying to convince himself since he left Tharsis that he was over her. What other choice did he have? She had left him hanging in the wind, forced to flee on his own. Her fate was entirely in question. Why hadn’t she met him? Why had she abandoned him?

It had hurt more than he thought possible.

And now suddenly a chance to find out what happened. A chance to rediscover a life with her.

The odds of her using her own name as a code seemed astronomically high. It was more than likely that this had nothing to do with her at all. But his heart was beating a mile a minute, his pulse racing, and he knew he couldn’t sit on his ass and do nothing while she slipped through his fingers here on this frigid moon.

Memories of their time together brought him a measure of warmth as he threw on the first jacket he could find in Faye’s shambles of a room. His own jacket had been missing and he couldn’t be bothered to look for it, there was no time to waste. Besides, if Faye was gone then she wouldn’t care about some coat she’d left in her own haste to leave.

There was nothing for it. He had to go and go now. Jet was putting up a fuss but Spike knew it was all bluster. The other man was angry about Faye being gone and about Spike bailing now too. Spike knew how much their presence mattered despite anything Jet might say otherwise. He was a man who formed attachments and cared about others even when he shouldn’t.

But Ed was still on board, and Ein too for that matter. Sure, Faye might never come back - and good luck finding her if she was trying to hide - and Spike himself didn’t know what the future held… but Jet wouldn’t be alone even so. That thought gave Spike all the assurance he needed that his own departure wouldn’t break the other man.

He had to follow up on this lead. Had to see where this led. He had no choice - frustrating as it was, he was just not over her.

We Close Our Eyes

When we close our eyes to the things we do not wish to acknowledge, we close our eyes to more than just those things. We close our eyes to our own chance to grow. We close our eyes to the chance to change our minds. We close our eyes to a potential future path and thereby restrict ourselves from living a life we could have never imagined.

When we close our eyes we deny ourselves possibility. We do ourselves an injustice. We trap ourselves in the only reality we allow ourselves to perceive.

Spike had closed his eyes to the idea of any sort of happily ever after when he was left to flee Tharsis in the rain and alone. He claimed to see past in one eye and present in another, a poetic way to miss out on the fact that the future was not in his cards.

Jet had closed his eyes to the uncertainty and unhappiness that Alisa was plagued with in their life together. He could not see the problem and was therefore blindsided when she left.

Faye had closed her eyes to the existence of a whole self if she did not possess the memories of another place in time. She tripped herself up from embracing all that she could experience and enjoy within this world as who she awoke as.

Ed lived with eyes wide open. She wanted to see it all, do it all, go everywhere and meet everyone. She chose to crash ships into her life, to traipse amongst the stars, to follow strangers.

Ein, clever as he was, was also just a dog. His life was within his own control to as much of a degree as he ever really needed or desired. He didn't close his eyes to anything but he preferred to follow his nose. Food was life, after all, and what was life without food?