Spike Spiegel - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

Trust Issues

(amusement park / role reversal / "you got away with the crime while the knife's in my back"

***

It was somewhat tricky to get a read on Faye.

Spike prided himself on knowing what a person would do before they did it. Anticipating movements in a physical fight, reading their tells in a game of poker, sensing seconds beforehand the swoops and dives of their vessel in an aerial or space battle, cataloguing all the things he would need or say or do to charm a lady... the list went on. And typically Spike was right on the mark.

Faye however continued to bamboozle him. It made it exceptionally difficult to determine how she'd react to situations. In a life-or-death fight or flight instance she was right out there alongside him in her zipcraft. Typically that was when woolongs were on the line however. Money, or the dangling carrot promise thereof, tended to control her more than anything else.

But sometimes she did things completely unexpected. There had been bounties with hefty price tags that she'd simply ignored. Then there was her tendency to literally run away. The escape to Callisto was only one instance. She'd tried to run off with that scammer Whitney Haggis or whatever his name was... though that seemed to have been motivated by a personal desire for answers. Her craving for knowledge of her own past was insatiable and left him baffled but also curiously understanding. His own past was considerably checkered and he'd gladly purge the majority of it if he could. Nightmares haunted his sleep and his waking hours often felt like he was just biding time until his own demise, nothing to separate one day from another save for the occasional near-death experience.

Like the one that assuredly awaited him at Space Land.

Faye had teased him as though he'd invited the attack that left him banged up on the couch but scant hours later tried to keep him from learning about the disturbing invitation from the creepy killer he'd accidentally stumbled upon after leaving the bar the other night. She had known that of course he'd go. Had wanted to stop him from getting himself killed. She'd act like she couldn't care less and then prove herself wrong by caring quite a lot.

Did he want her to follow him? No.

Did he want to face this lunatic alone? Also no. But, also yes.

He had teased Faye before leaving. A thoughtless jape about going to his death. Could he trust her to turn up and keep him alive? Did he trust himself to win against this freakish mad hatter - a man who glowed green when bouncing bullets off some invisible impossible force field around his own body? What the fuck even was that?

The abandoned amusement park gave him the willies, quite frankly.

Fortunately, the pain radiating from his injuries from his first nearly lethal encounter with this guy was an adequate distraction from the tendrils of fear trying to take root in his mind.

If he had to hear those teeth grind again though... to see those haunted eyes staring at him...

It was a good thing he had flirted with Faye before leaving. Riling her up like that should have pissed her off enough to leave the ship for the race tracks and would therefore leave him to his own suicidal devices. And showing up here meant that Ed would be left alone on the Bebop. Two people kept safely out of the way. And who knew where Jet was? He'd trotted off after bandaging Spike up, muttering something about giving Bob a shakedown for intel on the attacker that had left Spike staggering out of the harbor in agony.

It was just him against this freak of nature. Someone more heavily armed than even Spike had ever been in his explosive Red Dragon heyday. Someone who repelled bullets and could literally fly. And who, despite his portly stature, had run Spike through the wringer previously.

His right cheek throbbed from the incredibly solid punch that the well-dressed fellow had landed. His back felt like it was on fire - almost had been, since he'd barely been able to outrun the blast he'd cause or that had resulted from the grenade launched from the mad man. His jaw probably should have been wired, it was a wonder that his teeth hadn't shattered or his neck broken from repeatedly being kicked while lurching through the air from the force of the other man's vicious attack. And the stab wound to his upper right arm certainly wasn't helping his odds of a participating in a fair fight.

A true challenge.

Climbing down from the Swordfish II, Spike landed in a crouch and immediately curled in on himself with a gasping shudder as all the accumulated injuries accosted him at once. Then, sucking in a painful breath, he summoned the resolution borne of years of being brutalized through one bad encounter after another. Fight clubs as a kid, training missions as a syndicate lackey, bounty hunts gone horribly wrong... pain could be shoved aside. Force it to the back of his back, file it away to give into later. Focus was what was required now. Focus and... well, some sort of plan would be nice but beggars can't be choosers after all.

He was sure some solution would come to him. That, or death.

The silence was ominous. And then, in a startlingly flash, everything lit up in front of him. The man took a bow and somehow activated everything surrounding them in the theme park.

Discretion being the better part of valor, Spike made to escape the volley of gunfire being launched from the cane the other man used.

Lost in a strange ice world that apparently served as some sort of ride, Spike reeled as penguins slide across the ground and blasted off into the air. This place was no good. He had to get out.

Making his way to a sort of mall space, he tried to follow the sounds of maniacal laughter in order to get a good shot at his target. Too many moving pieces, nothing made sense.

Fleeing, then advancing, then on the run again. Explosions knocking him about like a rag doll and it felt like all the rides themselves were against him. The other man moved supernaturally fast. He also did not hold still. There was no advantage that Spike could find. How do you fight someone impervious to gunshots? How do you land a hit on somebody ducking and dodging quicker than the eye could follow? How do you get the upper ground against someone that could float or fly?

Wave after wave of pain swept over his battered body as he crawled out of the pool that had caught his body when he plummeted from the roller coaster. Blinding lights helped the other man target Spike with grenade after grenade.

This was it. He was in over his head. Terror warred with frustration and exhaustion tugged at him as aggressively as the agony of his wounds.

Suddenly the air whooshed around him as a new contender entered the playing field.

The RedTail!

Faye that beautiful fucking lunkhead... she was gonna get herself killed! And probably him while she was at it.

Damn, he should have known he couldn't trust her to stay away.

Or perhaps he had known all along and it was his own self that he couldn't trust... sabotaging his own self-righteous standoff by inviting her to tag along and play hero...

His chest ached fiercely, his heart hammering as he watched Faye zipping around. Her indelicate attack on the maniac spurred the cackling man to turn his attention on her and soon debris - along with the RedTail - was raining down all over.

There was no time to check and see if she was okay. There was barely time for Spike to dodge being splatted by an enormous statue toppling down from above.

And then he was sprawled out in a damaged storefront, some novelty kitten toy tumbling out of the wreckage and putting the man into what looked like a horrified frenzy.

Screaming, the fellow opened fire on the toy and Spike staggered from the building while saved once more by a distracting feline. Saved for a moment at least because all too soon the man's wide-eyed stare was fixed back on him. A well-placed bullet sent his Jericho flying from his grasp... the noise of an oncoming parade kept Spike from hearing (but not from seeing) the man grind his teeth... and then something made the fellow gasp and gave Spike the opening he'd been hoping for. Diving to avoid the inevitable retaliation, Spike threw the ace up his sleeve - the knife behind his back - and thankfully that was not stopped by the peculiar force field that had saved the man from bullets before.

But he couldn't count on that keeping the man down for long. He was superhuman in speed, strength, and possibly healing as well. Surely the battle was not yet over... though the way the man was rolling about and crying out for his mother was something of a shock. It made a shiver run down his spine from where he sat trying not to give into his own relentlessly throbbing wounds. And then a very decided yet unexpected end... frankly a traumatizing way for any fight to finish.

What a hellish night.

And there was still Faye to find.

Trust a woman to be a bother when all a man wanted was to pass out from blood loss.

Self-Destruction

Usually it didn't bother him.

Life was shit. You did what you had to do to make it from day to day.

Sure, maybe he made some regrettable choices. Got tied into some piss-poor alliances. Set himself on a path of self-destruction.

The blood on his hands wasn't the blood of innocents. That was about all he had going for himself when he got into one of his dark moods. And it's not like he felt much remorse over the people he'd killed over the years, whether as a syndicate lackey or as a bounty hunter. Pretty much anyone he put a bullet or knife into (or beat down or blew up) had it coming to them.

Even so, he knew he wasn't a good man.

Faye would roll her eyes and remind him that nobody was good. (and then Ed would cartwheel by and Faye would grimace and Spike would raise his eyebrows like "you see? your argument is false." And Faye would throw her hands in the air and walk away because she had nothing else up her sleeve to deter his line of reasoning)

Jet would wax philosophical and Spike would tune it out because he was never high enough to hear all that and anyway he'd read books on Buddha and souls and all that jazz and none of it resonated enough to save him.

So he'd mope around the ship feeling like a shadow of a human, merely existing, and then some dangerous bounty head would be on the market and he'd take insane risks and maybe someone tough enough would mop the floor with him and he'd wind up on the couch in a state of drug addled pain filled misery that he knew he deserved.

Yeah, he was self-destructive. By force and by choice.

Getting hurt served him right.

Besides that, it made him actually feel alive.

Friendly Fire

"Shit!" Jet sworn as he vaulted over the bullet-riddled retaining wall that had safely separated him from the foggy seashore where Spike had been engaged in hand-to-hand combat with several dark suited mafia members.

"What the fuck was that?" Faye screeched, hot on his heels as they both raced towards the heap of bodies being gently tossed by the waves.

A cough came from the pile of limbs ahead of them and Spike surged upright out of the mess with one hand gripped tightly around his left upper arm. "Fucking friendly fire, Jet?" He rasped, glaring at the ex-cop.

Hastening to get to his partner's side, Jet scowled as he started to help the other man to dry land. "Look, between the fog and how much your suit looks like theirs thanks to the water... well hell, be lucky I only grazed you."

"Gonna make me be the one to haul the rest of these assholes out of the ocean here?" Faye grumbled.

Spike winced at the salty spray that managed to get past his white-knuckled grip on the oozing bullet wound. "I ain't about to bust my ass with all that." He muttered. "Leave me be, Jet. The bounty is more important. Dead OR alive was the stipulation, right?"

"For his sake I fucking hope so." Faye muttered as Jet waded out to help her. She glanced up at Spike and a worried look crossed her face.

Spike frowned back at her. "It's just a flesh wound, Faye. I've done worse to myself." He didn't want Jet getting all weird and angsty about something that wasn't really his fault - or at least, wasn't intentional on his part. The older man tended to hold himself to high standards and Spike was concerned that guilt would make him act weird and beat himself up.

"Yeah?" She mumbled, abandoning her halfhearted attempt at dragging a corpse from the surf to instead slog over to where Spike was standing hunched over on the thin strip of sand between the waves and the retaining wall that sheltered the spit of land on the other side. "Just gonna try to hide that one then or what?" She gestured curtly towards his abdomen with a furtive glance back at Jet struggling with three bodies at once.

Spike coughed again and couldn't hide the spasm or the bloody phlegm that he spat into the seawater.

Faye's worried look grew more intense, color washing from her already pale features. "Spike..."

"Leaving me to haul them all out myself?" Jet called up to them. "The water does half the job for you, Faye!"

"Priorities, Jet." She snapped back, reaching out to tug at Spike's clothes. "Got something to take care of here. I'll send Bob your way but I'm gonna bring this lunkhead back to the ship."

"For a graze?!" Jet's voice was incredulous.

"S'hard to fly one-armed." Spike offered as an excuse. His body was beginning to go into shock and he knew he didn't have much time before his condition was obvious to Jet. He was fortunate that the ex-cop was preoccupied with trying to get all the mob men rounded up before the ocean swept them out beyond reach. Faye gave up on checking his other, more critical wound, when he glared at her. She rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle push to get him moving. His body automatically began to take steps in the direction she had shoved him, accustomed to operating on basic instructions when he was truthfully too hurt to be in motion at all. The cold seawater was an agony of its own that somehow burned in a different way than the edges of the raw entry point of the bullet... the fact that he couldn't feel a corresponding injury on his back was disconcerting. Faye was nowhere near qualified to dig around for a missing bullet. Dammit. Either he'd have to reach out to Doc or let Jet know he'd been clipped worse than originally thought.

His shoes hit against the base of the retaining wall, which was only about four feet high, but he knew it was going to be nearly impossible to pull himself up and over the stack of concrete bricks.

"Faye..."

She gave him a hard look. "What do you need?"

"Gotta tell Jet... can't..."

"About damn time you saw sense."

Pain was blurring the edges of his vision. Unconsciousness was coming to claim him quicker than he'd expected.

"JET! Forget them for now! We've got a situation here!" Faye bellowed, the volume of her voice making Spike's ears ring.

His gut was a maelstrom of hurt. Trying to walk it off had no doubt exacerbated the issue. Having a waterlogged bullet wound wasn't exactly helpful either.

Mercifully, Spike sagged into Faye's arms and passed out before Jet arrived at their side. He didn't want to go into that great beyond with the guilt-ridden stare of his partner as the last thing he saw...

Casino / Luck / Escape

There had been no good bounties for weeks. They were down to their last 5000 woolongs. But Jet had had a dream and apparently the answer to all their prayers was... to risk everything they had left in the bank.

Spike wasn't exactly inclined to say no. For one thing, the only reason they had any money left at all was due to Jet's ability to squirrel away a little bit here and there. For another, it had been ages since Spike had had a chance to fleece a place like Spiders On Mars. For a third thing (not that he needed more than one reason to go along with Jet's idea) one of Spike's favorite things to do was to risk it all.

The last time they had been at an actual institution of gambling had been amusingly memorable... Jet had cottoned onto Spike's ability to count cards a few hands before the casino folks did as well. They'd been escorted off the premises about as politely as one can imagine... fists flying, feet kicking up a storm, heads knocking... it ended with a touch of grand theft auto (although could you even call it that when you leave the vehicle a couple blocks away?) and a lifetime ban from the Lucky Duck Casino on TJ.

This time he was gonna be good. He was gonna wander around and just observe. It was nice to simply exist in a busy place like this sometimes. Watching all the addicts throw money away... the well-dressed women, the hard-drinking men, letting the the melodic jumble of various machines ringing and chiming and enticing players with bells and whistles and flashing lights wash over him. So many high hopes, so many strikeouts, so much money changing hands...

It was a place of possibility... of potential... of ...surprisingly gorgeous dealers.

Well... it couldn't hurt to just take a seat at the table.

***

Luck was finally on his side! The jingle of chips pouring over each other in an ever-growing pile was like music to his ears. The stogie, clenched between his grinning teeth and burning slowly, was adding to the mellow high of a night on the town... it wasn't often Jet got to get all dolled up, as the ladies would say, and swagger around a place like this. Gambling wasn't usually his style, to be frank, but he was a man who believed in hidden messages and life having meaning that might not be immediately discernible. Sometimes it was good to follow your hunches, to chase your dreams. It was certainly paying off now!

The weight of the box of chips he carried was a welcome one as Jet made his way from the winning slots. He was also a man who knew to get while the getting was good... greed would lead to downfall, that was always the way of things. He'd won plenty for one night and was happy to call it and cash out now.

...his luck abruptly ran out when he ran into the commotion that would have been entertaining to watch had it not been the fault of his devil-may-care companion. When would he learn that he just couldn't bring Spike anywhere?

Winds of fortune were soon smiling on the pair of them again though! Their accidental savior was turning out to be a hot little ticket... A substantial bounty on her head, zip craft they could pawn for a couple hundred Woolongs, and before taking care of the girl they could make a bundle off this Gordon schmuck!

The fates were certainly taking care of the Bebop boys tonight!

***

Freeing herself from the stinking bathroom stall was an absolute breeze, especially after the man in the jumpsuit was convinced to lock just one hand to the bars on the toilet instead of both like the initial way they'd had her done up in there.

They'd claimed not to be weirdos yet were entirely too willing to hand her over to the police for a wee bit of cash. Fuck that!

Overhearing their hastily made plans, she was privately amused when Gordon rammed their ship with his own. What a perfectly distracting situation! It was time to make tracks and get far far away from both ridiculous parties.

But first... Neither side knew she was loose. Neither would be ready if she appeared out of nowhere and snatched the case of cash! She could grab the money and run... Escaping Gordon and these bounty hunters in one savvy swoop!

Opportunity knocked and Faye opened wide the door...

Blood

It's not the first time that this has been an issue.

As long as Spike survives... it certainly won't be the last time either.

Doc had given Faye, still clad in a provocative crimson dress that revealed more of her skin than it covered, a curious side-eye when she trailed into the small office after Jet. With very little heads-up as to their abrupt arrival, it was no surprise that Doc was wearing pajamas underneath his hastily donned lab coat. He gestured impatiently at the table for Jet to unload the bundle of bloody rags that he had carried bridal-style from the Hammerhead currently parked on the roof of the unassuming medical building.

"Kid's a real piece of work today, hey?" Doc muttered. "Well, first things first. What's your type, girlie?"

Faye, wiping at the dust on her brow and making her way to run shaky hands underneath the faucet of the sink to get rid of the blood that ran from her fingertips all the way to her elbows, scowled at the old man.

"Not short old men that's for sure!" She snapped.

Despite the dire situation, Jet found himself chuckling at Faye's misunderstanding. Doc huffed and gave a nod of his head towards a cupboard that Jet began to root through for the proper tools to draw blood from Faye. He already knew he was no match for Spike, but maybe it would turn out Faye could give a little. It would certainly make it somewhat worth it just having her bitchy ass on board if she could donate to Spike given how often he was in need of a transfusion.

Watching Jet approach her with a needle, Faye's eyes widened in understanding. "Ohh. Yeah. I dunno." She finished wiping her arms hastily, the skin still pinker than usual from the vigorous scrubbing and from the residual streaks of Spike's blood that hadn't washed off in her haste. Accepting the swab of iodine from Jet's other hand, she wordlessly began to smear it all over the inside of her right elbow.

"We'll know soon enough." Doc told her, apparently choosing to ignore the snub she'd given him earlier. "Once you're done there... you should grab some gloves and a pair of tweezers from the drawer under that far cupboard. There's a lot of glass we're gonna have to pick out of him once I get these major wounds closed. There should be some skin-grow in a bottle in the fridge by the window. Get me that and a bag of O as well. Even if she's the right type, he's gonna need more than we can pull from her. Not too worried about the entry point on this bullet wound but the exit is gonna be gnarly. You said he fell down a flight or two of stairs? That won't have helped matters. This gash here... clean cut but who knows how clean the actual blade was. Kid's gonna need some heavy duty antibiotics to fend off any infections. I don't have that type of shit on hand here. Anyway, c'mere with that sewing kit. Set it there. We'll roll him first to check the damage on the back side before we worry about these other issues - don't want him bleeding out while we're doing busywork on his front half."

Jet worked diligently to obey Doc's instructions while Faye flitted about in the background somewhat uselessly. Her task of retrieving shards of glass from Spike's skin was one of the last things down the list of a slew of more critical injuries that had to be addressed first. Fortunately, Jet had some background in triage. It hadn't been a mandatory part of his ISSP training but he'd briefly considered enlisting in the Ganymede Military before finally settling on a cop career instead. Before that, he'd taken some training courses with the military cadets that had included an extensive course on treating violent injuries. Being able to patch up a bloody hole was apparently more crucial than learning how to fire the gun that could make such a gaping maw in a flesh-and-bone body.

The issue with Spike was of course the blood type. It had been one of the very few pieces of information he'd willingly offered up to Jet after they'd first partnered up. Said he was something of a danger magnet and had a history of getting roughed up. Needed Jet to know that he could give blood all day long but that he could only receive from other O types. Which was naturally an issue given that Jet himself was an A type. So, being able to request the right life-saving liquid was something that Jet needed to know - or to tell the medics whenever he had to bring Spike to an actual hospital which had thankfully been a rare occurrence.

More frequently, if they were in the area, they'd simply drop in on Doc. It cost a pretty penny but it was easier than offering an alias to the hospital staff and then breaking out when no nurses could try and catch them in the act. It wasn't a great system but it worked.

"Ah, no good." Doc announced as he inspected Faye's blood. "B, for the record."

"So what, my blood isn't gonna work for him?" Faye demanded pensively.

Doc shook his head. "Figured as much to be honest. You don't seem the O type to me."

Her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared at the older man. "That feels like an insult."

Doc smirked at her and shrugged. "You do the research and you tell me. Anyway, we need more. The bags I've got on hand here aren't gonna be enough. There's a donation center down on the first floor of the building... if you think you can handle a little B&E then perhaps you can be a help."

Faye frowned. "What am I even looking for?"

Jet, busy helping to apply the skin-grow salve around the neat needlework Doc was using to close up the exit hole on Spike's back, sighed. "A freaking label that says O type blood, Faye."

"Look at the one in the trash over here." Doc said. "Take my ID card, you can swipe it to gain access to the center and the refrigerator room. I'll just say it got stolen if anyone asks. You'll owe me for that too, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, Doc. Add it to the tab, wouldya?" Jet already knew this visit was gonna cost them an arm and a leg. Poor choice of words, he reflected, considering his own substituted arm. Spike wasn't really at risk of any limb loss but it would be kind of touch and go for a minute just due to the severity of the wounds he'd received and the ways he'd made them worse by doing whatever the hell he'd been doing inside the smoldering wreckage of the cathedral. Jet had arrived after all the action so he missed seeing any of the excitement - thank fuck, syndicate business was no mess he wanted any part of. Undoubtedly though, Spike had made things worse on himself the entire time he was there.

The kid was always pushing his buttons. Choosing laziness over action more often than not. Picking fights with Faye that made Jet's ears ring with the volume they'd both reach with their shouting. Bringing back flea-covered dogs instead of bountyheads. Destroying bridges and buildings and vehicles during chases that negated any sort of money they'd hope to bring it anytime they actually did bag a bounty. It was a hassle and a headache and he was getting tired of it.

Tired of the worry. Tired of Spike's overconfidence paired with a casual indifference about his own life. If this is what it would have been like having a teenager then frankly Jet counted himself lucky to have not sired any offspring. This one adult was enough of a troublemaker to contend with!

But... Spike was also willing to throw himself fully into their missions when it suited him. He'd get down and dirty and be the one throwing punches or racing after enemies trying to flee in the zipcraft that could outmaneuver Jet's own with ease. Honestly, between the two of them, Jet wasn't entirely sure which of them was the brawn, the muscle, the tough guy. Jet himself was one hundred percent the brain but he was pretty tough too. He'd been knocking heads and choking folks out on the force for years while Spike was probably stealing beignets as a brash little asshole living on the streets. Not that he'd ever told Jet about his past but, well, some things just made sense.

Well. So what was another medical bill anyway? Doc was good about giving them time to pay him back - steady business was steady business, after all, even if the cash from taking those jobs trickled in over weeks instead of getting pulled from some insurance account and probably taxed and whatnot. Jet wasn't exactly sure how medical professionals got paid out, truth be told. A periodic deposit from an anonymous benefactor was just what the doctor ordered and it made Jet's life much easier.

Or as easy as it could be when one had a human wrecking ball for a partner. And a newly acquired foxy little mischief maker like Faye Valentine for that matter.

Between the two of them, he'd be entirely gray in the hair if he wasn't bald to begin with!

Hallucinations

(hypnosis / sensory deprivation / "you're still alive in my head")

***

She's tried everything.

Hypnotism was a sham, of course. You can't shit a bullshitter and Faye was one of the best con artists out there when it came to misdirection and leading someone along to behave or respond a certain way. So no, she wasn't surprised at the inability of the hypnotist to even relax her racing heart rate. What a bunch of woolongs down the drain.

Grief counseling was an exercise in empathy and as it turns out she didn't have much to offer. It seemed to help Jet so kudos for that she supposed but to her it was just a group of strangers crying on each other's shoulders and telling one another that it was okay to feel this way and someday it would get better.

Obviously it was okay to feel this way. Grief was enormous and unwieldy and made her feel like a piece of flotsam being tossed around an ocean. The depths were dark and scary. The glimpses of land she thought she could see seemed more like a mirage than anyplace she could eventually reach. Some days it was like she floated on top of the happy memories, few and far between as they were. Other days she was drowning in a storm of guilt and confusion and rage and loneliness. The waves of grief would crash over her head and suck her down into a spiral of not eating and not sleeping and not doing much of anything at all.

In truth, those were the days that she felt most like him.

Plastered to the couch as if she was another layer of the fabric itself. Stomach emitting growls and groans and otherwise begging for food that she refused to eat despite Jet's attempts to encourage her to it. Well okay Spike would have eaten anything and everything offered to him but her misery stole her appetite in a way that her body didn't understand any more than her mind did. Food just had no appeal. The very thought of eating was sometimes enough to make her nauseous.

It was nicer to just drift in discomfort...

The sensory deprivation tank had been a thought after one of those episodes. Why not drift in reality? Immerse herself in a little bubble of regret and frustration and perhaps purge herself from the ghost that hovered over her shoulder constantly.

But being locked in that tight enclosure... bobbing gently in the temperate water... darkness swallowing her up...

It unlocked a previously unknown fear.

It wasn't exactly claustrophobia. Her zipcraft was scarcely larger and didn't bring her to a hyperventilating nervous breakdown. She had screamed until her throat was raw, screamed until the technicians had hauled her own and toweled her off and finally injected her with something to knock her out. She had screamed until she was unconscious, dragged into the black void of insensate stupor that the drugs in the needle provided.

That was a dead end too. Drugs. She hated the loss of control. The sickness in her gut. The haziness of all her emotions.

She wanted to feel, dammit.

She didn't want to be wrapped in cotton... didn't want to be out of her mind.

She was already out of her mind.

Seeing ghosts.

Hallucinations, assuredly, but no less real despite being not real at all.

The only thing that seemed to help, in fact, was talking to him.

Not that he ever had a response.

Was that because she didn't know him well enough to know how he'd reply? After all, he existed only in her mind's eye... he was only real because her brain conjured him up and spat him out into her vision like a stringy little mote that swam in the corner of one's eye.

"You're still alive in my head." She admitted to him one night, hours after Jet had gotten back from his grief group and tried but failed to get her to eat dinner.

The ghost gazed back at her with mismatched eyes and seemed to shrug.

She snorted. "Of course you wouldn't care. You never even cared in life."

The specter pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

Faye sighed. "You could at least offer me one, you know. Sometimes you did share."

She could practically smell the burn of the paper and tobacco. It made her crave one of her own but she'd been out for days.

She stood from the chair in front of the navigation console and made her way to the windows to stand beside him. She wanted to feel the burn in her eyes from the smoke wafting from his smoke... but the only burn was the sting of tears that welled up to drip down her cheeks. She pressed a hand flat against the cool glass and stared defiantly out at the night sky. Stars glittered far above and, out beyond the hull of the ship, dark waters reflected back the various streetlights and ship lights from other vessels moored nearby.

Surrounded by humanity yet all alone.

Except for the ghost.

Maybe it wasn't so bad... being haunted by the memory of this man.

If it wasn't for the ache in her heart, that is.

Virus

"You look like shit."

A flutter of tired eyes, a forehead creasing into a frown, a glare that at least packed some heat and showed that Faye wasn't entirely down for the count.

Spike shrugged carelessly. "What can I say? It's the truth. Maybe if you hadn't stolen everything that wasn't bolted down and tromped around Callisto in that ridiculous outfit then you wouldn't be taking up valuable space on my couch like this."

He was sitting on the table, hands gripping onto the corners of it behind himself so he could lean back, and trying not to remember how she'd been laid out on this very surface only a few short weeks ago when that mutated lobster had bitten her leg. She'd been sickly pale then too... completely unresponsive just like Jet and later Ein as well. So it was something of a relief that she was semi-conscious now.

It was fun to banter with Faye when she was feeling well. It felt more like beating a puppy when he poked at her when she looked like death warmed over.

To be fair, she constantly teased him whenever he was laid up on the couch, more pain than person. So it's not like his words now were entirely undeserved. Besides, she ought to have known better than to go to an ice world in booty shorts. Hell, she'd made off with his jacket when she bailed... she could have easily snatched a pair of his sweatpants or a spare suit jacket too.

"Faye-Faye caught a bug! Now she's a slug on the rug!" A young voice declared in a joyful tone as Edward appeared behind the couch and peered over the edge. "Weeeeeell... a slouch on the couch?" The hacker amended as Faye's put-out expression transferred from Spike to the teen instead. "Jet-person says you're not allowed to puke! Ed has brought you a barf bag in case you have to blurg, blarg, borrrph!"

Spike noticed as Faye's forehead pinched further, her eyes shutting as if in self-defense, and decided to save her from Ed's overly loud and overly accurate puking noises.

Standing up, he made his way to the back side of the couch to take the air sickness bag from Ed and snickered when he realized she had found one of Jet's old ISSP dufflebags to offer as the answer. Probably better than emptying out the soil and roots of a bonsai tree and making off with one of the pots to use as a vomit pail but still it would not make Jet happy. The virus Faye had didn't seem to be making her very nauseous though so it might be a moot offering in the long run.

"Thanks, Ed. I'm sure she'll appreciate it when she realizes what you brought. I think Faye could use a little break though... hey, why don't you go hop on your computer and find some lullabies or something to play for her?"

Ed's eyes sparkled with delight. "Oh my my, yes yes yes! Sleepy eepy tunes because rest is best! Ed shall return with an audible cure!" Giving Spike a smart salute she was soon dashing from the room.

He watched her go with a half smile tugging at his lips. She'd tricked her way onto the ship to be sure but that was pretty much standard practice for incoming strays at this point. At any rate, it was kind of nice having someone capable of laughter living on the vessel. The rest of the crew were some sad sacks quite often or else bitchy (himself included) and sometimes it seemed like none of them could remember any other emotions beyond Mope and Rage... Ed was a breath of fresh air.

Speaking of, that was likely something Faye could actually use.

He glanced down only to find her looking at him with a strange expression on her face. Thoughtful. Maybe even touched.

Clearing his throat, Spike plopped his ass back onto the tabletop. "Should be nearly to Mars soon. You should think about getting out on deck. Some sun would do you good."

She blinked at him.

"What, cat got your tongue?"

Faye smirked, a welcome expression to see despite how sweaty and ashen her complexion still was. "Why Spike," she rasped in a voice he could barely hear, "didn't know you cared."

He pursed his lips as he looked down at her. It was exhilarating to see how she refused to pull back despite the way he was looming above her given the difference of their positions in the living room. Other people would be intimidated by being in a supine pose while someone else sat above them nearby. Faye, even wracked with shivers and obviously unable to do much for herself in her weakened condition, held her own.

There was a blanket on the floor between the table and the couch. She'd kicked it off at some point previously before he was in the room. Leaning over, Spike grabbed at the fabric and stretched it out to spread over her trembling form.

"I don't." He lied, smiling crookedly at her.

Cathedral / Captured / Falling

She's never been religious.

(or has she? hell, she could've been a nun before... in a life she can't remember)

She's never had reason to turn to religion since waking up.

That at least is true and certain. So much of her life is up in the air (sometimes literally) and out of her control.

Being captured by a syndicate creep was certainly not on her To-Do list when she brazenly waltzed into the opera house.

Being held hostage in the crumbling glory of a House of God (was it a church? a cathedral? a chapel? a temple? a mosque? a tabernacle? ...which deity was this place giving homage to? whose version of the Big Man in the Sky?) ... that had not been in her plans at any point.

But who could plan for such a crazy turn of events?

How was she to have known that this bounty wouldn't be easy breezy and would instead be a tortuous experience potentially leading to the death of her comrade?

(the fact that he came for her, despite the way he'd claimed it wasn't for her, had twisted something in her heart...)

Then again Jet's attitude - so cranky about Spike's departure - should have alerted her about the danger of pursuing Mao.

She'd been bewitched by the dollar signs... and anyway their targets were always a hassle and a hazard to some degree...

And now she was stumbling along the broken path leading to disaster, well, SHE was stumbling AWAY from disaster but Spike was fully entrenched in the whole rotten business. With her hands cuffed behind her back and no weapon on her person (she'd have to search the zipcraft she'd been brought her in to recover her own gun) it's not like she'd be a lot of help. Given the ease with which Spike had dispatched the goon holding her... well, he was probably fine. One man versus... shit, how many had there been when she was trundled inside?

Explosions behind her gave her pause but only for a heartbeat.

This was a job too big for her on her own. She had to find her stuff! Racing as best she could down the stone steps to the craft she'd been brought her in, she hurriedly sat down to pull the chain of the handcuffs underneath her heels up and in front of her body to more easily get herself free of the simple device. Soon she was scrambling around the floor of the vehicle searching for her Glock, her COMM device, and anything at all to cover up with. In no time she was scrambling back towards the haunting structure looming at the top of the street, intent on offering some sort of aid for the man who'd risked his life (obvious issues with her kidnapper aside) to save hers.

She was only partway back up the steps when a smashing sound made her look up to the great circular stained glass window that had certainly been the jewel in the crown of this once-magnificent building. Something was shattering its way out of the beautiful artwork... something with a mop of familiar messy hair and a blood-soaked trench coat... something, no, someone... her someone... falling, falling, falling...

It felt like slow motion as she stood helpless on the ground so far below... no way to catch him, no way to break his fall, no way to even know if he was alive at this moment.

Fragments of colorful glass danced in the air around his body, descending alongside his battered form, and suddenly an intense blast of fiery light exploded out of the remainder of the window above... smoke and more wreckage and flames licking at the cloudy sky... the blast seemed to propel Spike into real time again as she watched his body hit the uncaring stone.

He couldn't feel a damn thing.

It was a mad thought. He could literally touch his own body - poke, poke, flick, pinch! - but it was like touching a mannequin. Like he was touching someone else or something else. He could feel the smoothness of the skin, the hairs on the back of the hand, but it wasn't like himself.

It made no sense.

It was numb. Or he was numb. Or something was askew anyway.

It was his own hand, right? Yes, of course. The finger bones connected to the hand bones, the hand bones connected to the wrist bones, the wrist bones connected to the arm bones...and it all connected back to his own shoulder and breastbone and abdomen and all the rest. His right hand verified each and every juncture as he catalogued the trek across his own body, yet it was like he was merely observing from a compartment within his own skull.

His joints were all flexible like normal. Fingers curled into fists as responsively as one could hope. Fists punched into air with speed and feet pattered appropriately through steps on the ground and waist high kicks when he attempted those too.

Everything worked.

But nothing felt real.

That was an even madder notion.

For years now he'd complained that life was but a dream... One foot stuck rooted in the past, one foot unable to step properly into the future...an uncomfortable existence in a present time that always felt sort of unreal.

But this, now. This showed him what a lie that was.

The bittersweet nostalgia for the emotions that once ruled his life... The arrogance, the avarice, the yearning... All these things attached to the milestones of his youth and to the people his very soul was tied to...

That wasn't truly holding him back from total immersion in the present.

All the before times gave his life meaning but there was still more to uncover...

It was a novel idea for some reason. Something he'd inherently known yet struggled to accept. Why shouldn't he invest himself in the now? Why keep reaching towards a time he could never return to? Why not live?

He was giggling like a maniac. He couldn't stop.

Faye was looking at him as if he were a stranger.

Well, he was strange. Everything was strange. Why could he move his body yet not feel anything he touched?

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Her voice was a mixture of irritation and concern.

He tried to stuff some fingers into his own mouth to stop laughing. It felt funny to gnaw on them.

"Where's all the blood coming from?!" Jet's voice sounded in his ears suddenly. The ex-cop appeared out of the shadows alongside him.

"Blood? S'not my blood." Spike explained. He had a vague recollection of fighting someone recently. Clearly, as he was obviously the victor of the altercation - if he hadn't been, he'd be the one lying on the ground somewhere instead of out with friends walking around - clearly that meant someone else had gotten their blood all over him. How messy.

He briefly doubled over with laughter. Messy. Of course fights were messy. Messy and fluid and fun! Dancing with an opponent was only clean until the first hit connected. Was he also wearing someone else's spittle? Their brain matter? How messy had the combat gotten?

"What is wrong with him, Jet? Is he delirious? The giggles are freaking me out." Faye had come up by him also. She was looking him up and down with a nervous expression on her face.

Jet had stopped Spike's progression down the alleyway and was holding his head in between his hands as he felt around Spike's skull.

It was weird being semi-restrained like that and unable to actually feel the contact. He knew from past experience that Jet's real hand was usually quite warm and his prosthetic was always cool to the touch. He could discern neither temperature. He wasn't even sure if Jet was actually touching him except for the fact that he couldn't move his face anymore.

"There's a significant lump back here." Jet announced eventually. "Gashed up pretty bad too, hence the waterfall of blood. This isn't good, Faye. He's definitely got some shit going on with his brain. Ah hell, we're gonna need to go see Doc."

"Gotta start buying apples, man." Spike decided. "Cheaper than doctors."

Both his companions stared at him as if they didn't get the joke.

Well, whatever.

"I gotta numb skull." He mentioned then.

"Yeah, you're a real numbskull." Faye muttered as she rang up Doc on her COMM to advise him that they'd be headed his way.

"Loss of feeling?" Jet fretted. "You dizzy too? Vision impaired? Balance off?"

Spike blinked at the rapid-fire inquiries. "Weeeeeell." He paused. "It is night, right?"

He watched as they exchanged a look that he couldn't quite interpret.

"Ehhh never mind. It's all fine. It's just a bit mad is all... But I mean... I'm mad, you're mad, we're all mad here..."

"Okay, Doc. Yeah. Be there soon." Faye hung up. "Let's fucking go, Jet. He is freaking me right the fuck out with all this Ed-babble."

Jet nodded to her and moved to stand behind Spike with his hands on Spike's shoulders to guide him. Spike couldn't feel the weight of the hands but he could see the fingers if he glanced down out of the bottom corners of his eyes. Heh. Eyes weren't made to have corners, especially not the false one he boasted.

Language was a silly, silly thing.

The frantic antics of his friends made him a little uneasy. He felt no pain - he felt no thing... hehehe... No-thing! - but their urgency was undeniable and so he shuffled along as fast as they insisted.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall..." He remarked.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Faye snapped from ahead.

"Don't listen to her, Spike-o. Talking's good. You go ahead and babble away, okay?" Jet's voice offered reassurance from behind.

Spike needed neither of their opinions or advice. He was a consciousness within a shell that he was currently disconnected from. It was a fucking trip, man, and boy it was something else.

Names

The two boys, as disparate in appearance as possible, stood facing one another with their thin chests heaving and a nasty mixture of snot and blood dripping down their faces. Neither was willing to show their pain or their exhaustion in front of the rest of the kids and the exacting trainer who had separated the brawlers just a bit ago.

The boy on the trainer's right hand side had a mop of messy dark hair that was impossibly snarled and tangled. Bits of detritus from the outside world stood out brightly... the majority of an autumn leaf, a smear of mustard, and a few other solids or liquids or goops that no one cared to identify. His brown eyes were nearly squinted shut - well, one was almost swollen shut already - but still full of anger directed at the other boy. There was dirt and dust and splatters of blood on the ragged too-big shirt that the youth had clearly appropriated from someone else's closet. The pants were threadbare and equally stained and barely reached to cover his scrawny shins. The shoes, a size too small, had holes where the big toe and pinky toes could peek out of, but he still stood confidently toe-to-toe with his opponent.

The other boy, on the trainer's left, was a study in contradiction. Sleek silver hair now fell in tangles against his narrow cheekbones and one clump covered a pale eye that was bruising up darkly. It was hard to discern what color the boy's eyes were... bluish one moment, grey the next... but very much shooting arrows of animosity towards the boy who had left him so disheveled. The boy's wardrobe consisted of an outfit more suited for a prim and proper businessman, though the way it fit him indicated it was bespoke. The suit jacket was torn, one sleeve hanging almost completely down the boy's left arm, and marred with just as many blood droplets as the other boy's scraps of clothing. The pant legs, once pressed, were now rumpled beyond redemption and his pristine polished shoes were scuffed to the point where they looked as grey as his complexion.

"Leave off or you both get the boot." The trainer growled. "Drop and give me twenty push ups. Then run the perimeter of this room forty laps. Then climb that rope in the corner. Twice." He glared around at the other gathered youth. "The rest of you, piss off to the weight room. Whoever can spit on these two from up there," a lazy wave indicated the area where the weight room was open to overlooking the gym, "will get a five second head start on dinner. MOVE. NOW."

Later, the pair of fighters lay on the floor of the gym, panting. The jeers and spittle of their fellow recruits had been absent for long minutes now as the others had rushed off for the chance of food. There would be no meal for these two, something they knew instinctively despite no one informing them of this risk. Eventually they climbed to their feet and began the long walk towards the dormitories where recruits were housed. Kids their age were kept in the basement, which was accessible only through a cellar entrance at the end of a dark path through the limited green grounds of the housing sector they were in. A handful of scraggly trees had managed to push up through the dry cracked earth and there were a few patches of yellowed grass that was damp now from rain earlier in the day. The dry snap was ending, though not soon enough for the grass here.

"Well," the dark haired boy said slowly, chewing on his words thoughtfully before continuing to give his reply to the other kid on the question of his name. "My ma always said I was a thorn in her side. So I'm gonna be Thorn. I'll rip people up!"

The silver-haired boy scowled. "Don't be stupid. You can't give yourself a nickname! Thorn is a dumb name anyway. Might as well call you Rose. Rosy Spiegel." He hmmmed for a bit and then snapped his fingers. "I've got it. You can be Spike. It's sorta tough, like a pitbull's name. And I'll be... Calamity. No, wait... Ruthless! Merciless!"

A snort came from the other boy. "Now who's being dumb trying to give himself a name?" They carried on quietly for a few steps as the dark hair boy mulled over the matter of names. Spike. He rolled it around on his tongue in my mind. Kinda sharp. Kinda edgy. Kinda punk. He decided he liked it. Glancing now and again at his companion, he wondered at the ideas the other boy had thrown out. He clearly held himself to high standards and craved some sort of dangerous intensity. His home life prior to this was something Spike couldn't fathom but it seemed to have left some bitter marks on the other boy.

Spike watched as the boy carefully and deliberately brought his shoe down on a worm that had emerged into the wetness of the night. He crushed the creature with a callous air that gave Spike an idea.

"No, I know the name for you. Vicious."

The boys shared a devilish grin.

"No one will mess with us with names like these." Vicious declared.

Spike nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, we show them who we are. Tomorrow, we get to eat!"

Waltz

He leads her slowly up up up into the sky, past the wispy clouds, out of the atmosphere entirely and soon they are circling one another in a carefully executed dance.

A waltz in the stars... he in his zipcraft and she in hers, spiraling so close to one another that they can just glimpse each other through the thick plexiglass domes of their cockpits.

She takes one hand from the controls, risky business when they are so dangerously near and moving so recklessly fast, and she blows him a kiss with a wink.

Then abruptly she dips out and away, spinning out and encouraging him to give chase.

Round and round they go, climbing a vortex together and then dashing apart, instinct rather than choreography guiding their movements.

Pursuit, pivot, reverse, twirling twirling twirling.

They drift intentionally towards the congestion of Gate traffic... large shipping vessels, personal zipcraft like their own, pleasure yachts, interplanetary transport ships, and more.

Now they zip and zoom in between obstacles. It is more than just their own lives on the line now (it's also incalculable woolongs down the drain if they should cause an accident that anyone can trace back to them) and the challenge brings them both heady delight.

Back and forth, up and down, banking hard to the left and then hard to the right, flipping around to come back upside down so he can give a jaunty wave to her below him.

The radio chatter is alive with profanities spewed in their direction. Vehicles slamming on brakes or swerving needlessly to avoid the wild pair who are dauntless in their daredevil game.

And then they burst out of the crowd into the wide open star space outside of the shipping channels and standard fly zone... out into that great good night.

Stars twinkle distantly, lightyears beyond even the reach of the Gates.

A ship hums in the vastness and draws them like a homing beacon to the welcoming deck and the relative warmth of the hangar (once the door is closed and air is pumped back in)

Spike is there at the base of her ship when she opens the hatch and gives him a grin.

He takes her hand, tumbles her down into his arms, and dips her down to the floor to ravish her willing lips with a kiss.

Reblog and put in the tags the character death you’re still angry about.

masterlist! (- hiatus)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

jujutsu kaisen -

{taking requests for: toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna, shoko ieiri, choso kamo, uraume}

ryomen sukuna masterlist

toji fushiguro masterlist

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

other -

{taking requests for: shota aizawa (MHA), will graham (hannibal nbc), spike spiegel (cowboy bebop), henry marchbanks winter (TSH)}

henry marchbanks winter masterlist

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★