Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  “Oh come on, you’re not going dressed like that, are you?”

  “What do you mean?” Spike asked.

  Faye sighed, she didn’t think she’d have to explain this to Spike of all people. “I mean you don’t look gay enough! It’s a big city club, you should at least dress the part.”

  “Well- how are we supposed to look gay then?” Jet wondered, “I’ve met gay people and they didn’t look any different.”

  “Back me up here, Spike. You’re not straight either, you should know better than me.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope. What of it?”

  “Nothing,” Jet said, “I just thought I’d notice if you were into guys, that’s all.”

  “You never asked,” Spike shrugged.

  “Anyway, you two already make a convincing couple,” Faye walked past the suddenly flustered pair, “we just need to do a little shopping.”

  The man in the mirror was another person. Someone who had Spike’s eyes, his face, and his body, but it wasn’t really him, was it? Faye sighed when she realized she’d have to poke another belt hole.

  “Would it hurt you to eat a little more? Nothing we’ve found fits you right.” She complained, and slipped the belt out of the loops of the black leather chaps that fell to Spike’s ankles. The silver spurs of his cowboy boots caught on their rhinestone-encrusted fringe as he stepped out of them.

  “Don’t give him ideas, we already have problems keeping food in the fridge.” Jet grumbled from down the hall. Spike adjusted the- well, he wasn’t sure what to call it. It covered everything it needed to, but little else.

  “Faye, is this really necessary?”

  “You’re far from unattractive, Spike, no need to be shy,” Faye threaded the modified belt through the loops and fastened it around Spike’s waist once more.

  “It’s not that, I just feel like I’m one slip away from a public indecency charge.” Spike grumbled, “And aren’t we supposed to be blending in?”

  “Yeah, what’s your point?”

  “My entire ass is out.”

  “You decided to dress as a cowboy, what’s the point of assless chaps if you don’t show your ass? You’re not supposed to be fighting anybody just yet, anyway.”

  “That doesn’t mean a fight’s not gonna find us first,” Spike shrugged on a little fringed vest as Faye placed a cowboy hat atop his head. At least he could wear his holster on him without attracting too much attention. Not any more attention than he would get from wearing as little as he was, anyway.

  “I don’t think these are going to fit Faye!” Jet shouted.

  “Like hell they won’t, I’ll make them fit!” As Faye left to help Jet, the metal floor clanging from her footsteps, Spike couldn’t help but check himself out a little. The man in the mirror bore a long, fluidly-cut scar across his body, the line only disturbed by the presence of muscle underneath. It divided his torso. Above, his chest embellished with dark hair, while below a thin trail of it led one’s eye down the center of his abs towards the V of his hips. The cropped vest accentuated his broad shoulders and slim waist, exaggerating any movement of his hips. Turning around and looking over his shoulder to see his backside, he couldn’t help but feel a bit more confident. That wasn’t often something he showed off, and Faye was right. He was far from unattractive. He knew he was, of course. If not, he wouldn’t get away with nearly as many of the less socially acceptable stunts he pulled over the years.

  He wore what he found comfortable. Whether anyone else liked what they saw didn’t matter. What he was wearing now though, it meant one thing. A huge neon sign that said I wanna get fucked tonight. Much as he found other men attractive, he didn’t actively pursue them. It was the same with women, however, women came to him, and he couldn’t blame men for not taking the risk. He was an old fashioned kind of guy after all, and found the subtlety of a handkerchief in the back pocket a preferable alternative to the openness that was expected of him in the majority of bars and clubs. Such was still the norm in the wilder places in the solar system, but nearly extinct on Mars, where he’d grown up too concerned with finding enough to eat to end up experimenting much. Then, there was Julia. Then, there was his first death and a roulette wheel of no-strings hookups and hookers followed. Then again, there was Julia, and then there wasn’t. At times he couldn’t tell if he was more attracted to the thrill, but the thought of a man having eyes for him, sauntering up to him at the bar with intentions that involved the sinewy, lithe body he was showing off… well, there wasn’t any other way to put it. It excited him.

  “See, I told you they would fit.” Faye said.

  “Barely. I don’t know how I’m gonna get out of these, my keys won’t even fit in the pockets,” Jet adjusted the military-style cap on his head as he appeared in the doorway. The moment they saw each other, they froze.

  Jet, like Spike, was clad head to toe in black leather. The boots he wore wouldn’t have looked out of place if it weren’t for the straps, chains, and studs that adorned them. His broad chest was exposed beneath the popped-collared jacket, and the tightness of his pants left little to the imagination. They were caught in each other’s gaze, their eyes meeting after taking in the other.

  Spike blinked. A shiver ran up his spine as he realized he was blushing with parts of him he didn’t know could. Jet’s complexion mirroring his own was a small reassurance, but he suppressed the warmth of arousal growing deep in the pit of his stomach as best he could, lest the tiny scrap of fabric that was his only shred of modesty fail to contain him. Both of them “hmph”-ed in amusement, and Spike put on the cockiest grin he could manage.

  “Looking good, partner.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  “Come on, boys, while the night is still young,” Faye grabbed them both by the shoulders and pushed them towards the door. As they hopped into their respective ships, she teased enthusiastically, “have fun on your date!” Spike smiled to himself while Jet wondered what he’d do if anyone actually flirted with him. That was a big if, as far as Jet knew, but being cautious never hurt anybody. By the time they were in the air, he decided on a solution.

  “Hey Spike?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you mind, I mean if anyone-” he paused after stumbling his words, “would you mind if we pretended to be together tonight?”

  “Why, is it easier than pretending to be into other guys?” Jet could hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

  “I just don’t know how to talk to guys like that, that’s all,” he replied sheepishly.

  Spike laughed, “don’t worry about it, I’ve got you.” Truth be told, he didn’t know how to flirt with guys either, not when he wasn’t also fighting them, he just didn’t want to admit it.

  For once it didn’t help that Spike was easy on the eyes. The skimpy outfit helped even less, especially when Jet was walking behind him. He couldn’t ignore it anymore, but this was a terrible time to start having those feelings for Spike. It had been a long time since he thought about anyone that way, so why did it have to be now? Why Spike, with his unreadable eyes and easy charm? Why, when they had spent three whole years alone on the Bebop together? Maybe it was just the guilt. He still had Alisa on his mind, and Spike had Julia. Spike however, had no such reservations about sleeping around in the meantime, at least not until Faye had run off and got herself captured by Gren. Every once in a while he’d disappear for a night and come back with lipstick stains on his collar, or hickeys, or some other similar clue alluding to his activities. If Spike was into him, he surely would have made a move by now. So what was that look on his face about then? They spent most of the walk in silence, until Spike turned to offer him a light. He tore his gaze away from Spike’s ass so fast he barely even realized he was staring in the first place. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Well, if we don’t see her, we can at least plant these,” Jet unzipped his jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of fake cigarettes. “That way, Faye can listen in with the voice identifier and call us if she hears anything. You should take some, you’ve got quicker hands.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to put them, though.” Spike thought for a moment, “wait-”

  “You can’t swallow them, they’re not waterproof.”

  “Shit.”

  “Wait a minute, how many you got left in that pack?”

  Jet couldn’t help but notice Spike perk up when they finally got into the club. After flashing their hunters’ licenses at the door to explain their firearms he headed straight to the bar with a swagger in his step. The room was too thick to traverse easily anyway, the bar would give them a better vantage point. He took his seat next to Spike just in time to hear him order whiskey for both of them.

  “Easy, cowboy.” Jet nudged him, “we still have to fly tonight.”

  “We should at least act like we’re having a little bit of fun.” Spike leaned in close to remind him. It might have looked awfully romantic on the outside, but it was the only way they could hear each other without yelling.

  Once their drinks came, they began to look around the room, assessing the layout. The lighting made it difficult to pick out anyone specific. The identification glasses they usually relied on would get scrambled by the fog machine. Glow-sticks whirled in the gloom, blacklit neon blurs cutting through the night. Sequins, piercings, and jewelry glinted everywhere, a far cry from the more familiar gleam of blades and bullet casings; just men, women, and some that were neither or in between, dancing and talking and having fun. Something Spike… missed? No, he couldn’t miss what he never had. This was what normal people around his age who weren’t straight were doing. They were still having their wildest nights, and the fire hadn’t gone from their eyes.

  Jet looked back at Spike, only to find him staring wistfully into the haze. “Go on,” he gave Spike’s shoulder a reassuring nudge, “you’re right, we should at least look like we’re having fun.”

  “Yeah.” Spike planted one of the fake cigarettes in the ashtray on the bar, “You take the left side, I’ll take the right.”

  The moment they parted, Spike could feel the eyes on him. There had been eyes on him since they got here. Out in the open, he was watched from all angles. It would make his job more difficult, but he never minded a challenge. So much for blending in, not that he minded the attention, it made things more interesting.

  Faye filed her nails as she watched the collection of dots travel across the screen, tracking each individual device. As they were dispersed, she applied the background noise filter and started listening in. Plenty of yelling, plenty of flirting, and plenty of conversation. Nothing relevant, so far. It was going to be a long night. At least her autopilot system had finally been fixed so they wouldn’t be able to police her coming and going. As soon as they got home she hoped to finally get some fresh air and social interaction.

  Ever since Spike slipped away into the crowd, Jet started feeling less and less confident about this whole thing. It really was smart to disappear into a scene like this, and that was assuming they were looking in the right club on the right day and time. He wasn’t used to all this attention either. There were eyes on him, his steely gaze and the scar across his eye, on his arm, and other parts of him women weren’t usually so excited about. As he’d lost more hair he lost more of the ability to give a shit about what other people thought of him. He wasn’t that good looking to begin with, not like Spike was, and he had the charisma to match. Jet had neither. He had his scars, and his stubbornness, and if he had a nickel for every time someone assumed he was a dad he wouldn’t be in this line of work. He was just lucky he was a fairly decent cook, or Spike and Faye may not have stuck around this long. The two of them were like a couple of stray cats, but the closest thing to a family he would probably ever get. Everything was set up now, and he could finally go back to the bar to meet back up with Spike.

  “Hey there, handsome, you looking for company by any chance?” Just like that, another new obstacle approached in the lull between songs. The man was hardly intimidating, but the situation was. Jet froze. He didn’t notice Spike sidle up behind him until he slipped a hand around his waist, thumb catching on his belt loop, and leaned on his steel-plated shoulder, so casually as if it had always been that way.

  “Sorry,” Spike gave him a peck on the cheek, “he’s already taken.” He was close enough for Jet to get a whiff of the out-of-place old west cowboy, whiskey on his breath and the cigarette hanging from his lips and the new leather smell momentarily piercing through the fog machine and perfumed club sweat.  

  “Oh well, it was worth a shot.” The guy shrugged and turned to leave, “you’re a lucky man.”

  The tension in Jet’s shoulders subsided as Spike’s hand slipped back to his side, “any luck?”

  “Nope.” Spike led the way back to the bar, “what about you?”

  “Nope, I hope Faye hears something, it’s impossible to pick out anybody in this crowd.” Just then, Spike’s phone rang.

  “Speak of the devil,” Spike answered, plugging his other ear so he could hear better. “Yeah? Alright, let us know if you hear anything else.” He clipped it back onto his belt and turned to Jet, “booth on the north side, in the corner, come on.”

  “I don’t care, go find someone else’s couch to sleep on!”

  “Whatever, bitch. Good luck finding someone who puts up with your bullshit for more than a week!” The red-mohawked individual of ambiguous gender yelled over the music after a woman in tall platform boots.

  “You’re hopeless!” The woman stomped away, leaving their bounty head sitting alone in the corner booth to sulk over his drink. Spike and Jet sat nearby, waiting for the tension to dissipate before they made their first move. If the music hadn’t been so loud, the lone figure would have looked up at the jingling of the spurs that signaled Spike’s approach.

  “All by yourself in a place like this, huh? Must be lonely.” Spike slipped into the booth.

  “Oh, yeah I guess so. Why, you interested in a ride, cowboy?” A snaggle-toothed grin carried a hint of hope and a few too many shots of liquor. Spike leaned back to let the light catch the definition of his bare chest and tipped his hat, keeping her gaze pinned while letting his other hand drift down to the gun on his hip. Jet waited on the other side to block the other way out.

  “Sorry, I’m more into money. Wanna know what you’re worth, Sue Elliott?” By the time she noticed the gun pointed at her, she had no way out, just the way they’d planned. “Now, if you come quietly miss-” He’d barely gotten the word out before a swift punch to the jaw interrupted.

  “That’s mister to you, asshole. If you’re gonna bring me in you can at least not be a dick.” Sue didn’t seem to care, about the gun or the consequences of choosing violence. Luckily, Spike just seemed to be caught off guard.

  “Shit- uh… sorry?” Up close, he finally noticed, it was far harder to mistake him for a woman, from the thin, scruffy facial hair to the way he carried himself. He even had a few pins that specified. Yeah, he deserved that.

  “Well, you’re lucky you’re cute. In that case I don’t mind, really.”

  “Huh?” Jet eyed him suspiciously, this seemed way too easy.

  “On one condition. I’ll come quietly, but first I gotta kill that fucker that named me Sue!” He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, and slammed it down on the table. “How about it, I can’t go anywhere his cissy ass would hang out, I’d stick out like a sore thumb. But a couple of tough guys like you might be able to keep the other bounty hunters off my ass, hm? And after, I’ll let you hand me over to the pigs, and you’ll get payed before I disappear again.” He continued, “Hell, I’ll even sweeten the deal, you can do whatever-”

  “That… won’t be necessary,” Spike interrupted.

  “If you hate the name Sue so much, why don’t you just change it?” Faye asked as she watched the him attempt to roll a joint that ended up looking like a toe. “Hey, you better share some of that if you’re gonna smoke it in here.”

  “Look, I know I’m an asshole but I’m not that bad. Anyway, I can’t. Not ‘till I kill the fucker that named me Sue.”

  “Yeah… I kinda got that part.” Faye knew he wasn’t just gonna run away, she couldn’t believe they had just left her there to babysit after all the effort she put into this plan.

  However good he looked in it, Spike was happy to finally be out of the cowboy outfit. He considered just climbing into bed and going to sleep but Jet would come and pester him to eat either way, and he wasn’t about to sleep without working all this frustration off. As much as he tried to keep his eyes at a respectful level, the image of Jet in those tight leather pants couldn’t leave his mind. He knew better than to entertain his fantasies now, especially while Faye was still very much awake and more prone to walking in on people now that they didn’t have a kid and a dog to worry about. At this point and he honestly didn’t have any more fucks to give, but fantasizing about Jet surely warranted some further level of privacy even if the walls were paper thin. He couldn’t deny anymore that Jet was pretty damn hot, being a big guy in more than one sense, but it was never so apparent to a mostly sober Spike for such a significant amount of time. It was a small part of the truth he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to admit, even to himself.

  The truth was, Jet had done everything for him short of wiping his ass. Hell, he might have done that too, now that he thought about it. He never really knew what happened in those gaps, those hours or days at a time he lie unconscious or barely lucid, only to wake up bandaged and dressed comfortably, alive, staring up at the ceiling of the Bebop from that ugly yellow couch. He didn’t know, he just trusted Jet to do whatever was necessary for him. He had to. Living in close quarters and being in such a dangerous business made them comfortable with each other in a way he couldn’t quite describe. It was a closeness that started with Jet getting used to him walking around in a towel and nothing else on occasion, and continued growing with every hit, stab, and bullet he took. Good first aid knowledge is required of any successful bounty hunter. Doesn’t matter how lucky you are, some day you’re gonna get hit. That’s what made hunting with a partner far safer. That’s why he teamed up with Jet. He expected Jet would know every inch of him for the simple practicality of it all, know his unconscious, injured, even vulnerable self. He’d do the same for Jet in a heartbeat, but he was tougher, and far more careful, so more often than not it was him taking care of Spike and not the other way around. It was a strange way to call him a friend.

  There was one other thing about living in close quarters. Porn did it for him most of the time, sure, but he could only flip through the same few volumes he owned, even the kinkier ones, for so long. A mere photograph never compared to the sight of the real flesh-and-bone movements of another human body. When the memories of his nights with Julia resurfaced, he was more depressed than anything. It felt wrong, on some fundamental level, to be depressed and horny at the same time. Arousal quickly snuffed, he’d end up crying instead. Just fucking crying, which he’d forgotten he was even capable of. He couldn’t think of her that way anymore.

  That left Faye and Jet. He could at least admit he found them both attractive on some level. Faye was just as hot as her attitude, but he wouldn’t touch that sort of relationship with a ten foot pole. She was a walking disaster, and so was he, and something about not sticking your dick in crazy. She was far more tolerable as a friend anyway, and she wasn’t the same type of attractive he found Jet.

  Herculean in stature, Jet, even with his mere inch in height above him, carried with him a presence that was impossible to ignore. They hadn’t had a fight that got physical, but if they ever did, he could do some serious damage to Spike. Not that he ever would, that’s just the way he chose to think about it. Jet was pure muscle. He could hold Spike so seemingly effortlessly, and the immense plane of his chest made an amazing pillow, a fact he discovered after a night of drinking a couple years ago.

  He’d awoken only briefly to throw up a stomachful of booze when Jet was trying to carry him to bed. At some point before he was so completely trashed, they ended up playing strip poker with two women he picked up after a successful catch, in an attempt to not squander the reward, of course. It was a good thing too, because they lost, and in the end everyone got to see just as much as they bargained for. It was a situation borne entirely of whiskey and desperation, but it was the first opportunity he had to notice Jet’s powerfully built thighs and ass, apart from the obvious. The flight suit didn’t do him any favors there. He must have made some sort of face that Jet never forgot, much as he tried to act like it. That, and the fact that the women looked a bit more intimidated than excited by his size didn’t help.

  They didn’t talk about it, any of it, that night or the following morning. Jet just sat Spike down on his bed, helped him out of his shoes and vomit-stained clothes, and left him to sleep it off. It took him a few days to get motivated enough to iron things out. The awkward tension between them was driving him insane. There were only so many days they could go on avoiding each other, so finally he just admitted he was impressed. That’s the best way he could put it. For some reason, Jet got it in his head that Spike was freaked out by it, or maybe just thought of him as a threat? Spike wasn’t smaller than him by much, but he honestly struggled to understand why Jet was so bothered. It wasn’t ugly or weird looking, just really fucking big. In fact, he wasn’t above admitting that it made him a bit jealous. Thankfully, Jet took the compliment as well as any self-respecting man could and replied with one of his own.

  “You’re not bad yourself.” It stuck with him even when he knew all it meant was no hard feelings.

  Jet had truths of his own that went unsaid, and when they finally came out, it hurt. They were far more than roommates, long before Faye barged into their lives, and he knew Jet really meant it when he begged Spike to let go of his past that quiet martian evening. It hurt even more knowing what prompted Jet to pour his heart out to him in the first place. All he asked was “are you still in pain?”

  Every truth came out eventually. It was only a question of how and when. It wouldn’t be tonight. He picked up the first pair of sweatpants that passed the sniff test, dusted off the ash, and slipped into them.

  “-and then, I sent her gorilla shit.”

  Faye burst out laughing at that, and before he even rounded the corner Spike knew why. It was no mere coincidence that broke Faye from her months-long sour mood, evidenced by the citrus-y stink that hung in the air.

  “Yeah, there’s this company- oh, hey there, cowboy.” Sue finger-gunned at him with a wink.

  “I have a name, y’know. It’s Spike.”

  “See? I told you, you have nothing to be shy about,” Faye teased, passing him the joint. He took a drag as he slumped down onto the chair opposite, before passing it on. The edges of existence faded, and the dull ache of the bruise on his jaw subsided.

  “I never said I was.”

  “Well then, I’m surprised you’re not bringing girls- or guys -home every night. You should be very popular.”

  Spike shrugged, “I just prefer not to bring random people in, and anyway, I hope you realized by now how easy it is to hear through the walls.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Faye’s eyebrow twitched.

  “Spike, huh… cool name, you pick it yourself?” Sue asked.

  “Nope, my mother was a drug addict,” he mimed the action, eliciting a somewhat disturbed cough from Sue. It took Faye a little longer.

  “Oh…” Faye gave him a look as she tried to read his expression. It never got any easier, no matter how hard she tried. She knew a lot, and at the same time nothing at all about Spike, having lived with him a while. She knew enough to know he was being honest, but next to nothing else. That’s just how Spike is. She didn’t ask, so he didn’t tell. Simple as that, but it could make him an awkward conversation partner sometimes. Still, his blank stare betrayed no care in the world, as usual.

  “I never gave much thought to it.” Spike leaned back in the chair, propping his feet up on the table, expression only cracking when hunger started to gnaw at him. “What’s taking him so long?”

  “Maybe he got stuck in those leather pants,” Faye gladly accepted the change of subject, “might just be busy cutting himself out of them.”

  “I hope not,” Spike muttered to himself and shifted in his seat to accept the joint from Faye again. “I’m starving.”

  “Quit complaining, you two act like you’ve never been fed in your life.” Jet finally appeared with their dinner in one hand and a stack of plates and cutlery in the other. As he placed them down on the table, Spike placed the joint in his mouth, the joint that had just been between his own lips. The lips that had grazed Jet’s cheek hours earlier. With his fake eye gleaming with mischief and real eye bloodshot and glazed over, Spike’s expression looked even more lopsided, which made it even harder to tell if he meant anything by it. Jet didn’t have much time to ponder the gesture though, if he wanted more than scraps on his plate.

  “Ivan Grier Elliott, con artist and thief, owes child support to seven different women… That sound like him?” Jet asked.

  “Yep, that’s him alright.” Sue confirmed.

  “Looks like we aren’t the only ones looking for him. Got a bounty on his head, not much though, he fled after unsuccessfully robbing a gas station on Mars two weeks ago.”

  “How do you fuck up robbing a gas station?” Faye scoffed.

  “By being desperate or stupid, or both,” Spike mumbled drowsily, setting his empty plate on the table. He settled back in his seat with a stretch and a yawn.

  Sue shrugged, “He’s just an asshole, doesn’t matter to me.”

  “You have any idea where he might have gone?” Jet asked as he switched to another tab to look for information.

  “Nope, as soon as I was able I got the hell out of his house and never looked back. I do know he likes to be somewhere hot and sunny, anywhere really as long as there’s women and booze, maybe a church, or a cult nearby? Last I heard of him was from my uncle, apparently he was recruiting for Scratch.”

  “Well, it looks like there was a recent sighting of him on TJ. You think he stuck around?”

  “How long ago?”

  “Two days.”

  “Yeah, we’ll have to hurry though, he never stays in one place too long.”

  Faye sighed, “…and I was planning on going out tonight.”

  “We don’t have to leave tonight,” Jet informed her, “early tomorrow should-” Faye was up and almost out the door faster than he could finish his sentence. “-hey, just because it’s on autopilot doesn’t mean you can’t still get a DUI!”

  “Whatever, mom.”

  “Goddamn it,” Jet grumbled, “I’m going to make sure she gets back safe. You coming?” He turned to the other two.

  “I’m game.” Sue popped the collar of his leather jacket to cover the ID tattooed on the back of his neck.

  “I’m not feeling it,” Spike said.

  “You sure?” Jet asked. Spike never turned down an opportunity for a night out.

  “I’m just tired.”

  “You’re always tired.” Jet replied, “don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

  “Don’t get robbed or murdered.” With that, the door closed behind them. Finally, peace and quiet, but more importantly, privacy. Privacy he was going to make the most of.

  Jet almost felt like a dad at the park, watching Faye dance with total strangers and Sue make a complete ass of himself at the karaoke mic. It wasn’t all that different from drinking with her and Spike, but at least Spike made some attempt at dragging him into the fun, even if he had the tendency to get a bit handsy. It wasn’t anything he minded, really. Spike wasn’t at all an unpleasant drunk, in fact he found just about everything a huge joke, though he could be a pain in the ass when he had his mind set on some kind of mischief. Even if he’d lost count of the times he had to drag Spike back to the Bebop, been used as a point of stability for his drunken swaying, carried him to bed, been stepped on, drooled on, puked on, passed out on, or just rescued him from his own temporary stupidity, he had fun drinking with him. Whatever Spike did or didn’t remember was often a mystery, but he never got the impression he was bothered by any of it. Not that impressions mattered when it came to Spike, but at least he would push back if he needed to. He had no problem communicating that he wasn’t going to do or talk about something, he just had a problem with talking about anything that mattered.

  Jet should have suspected Spike’s attraction to him far sooner. Well, potential attraction. He still wasn’t completely sure. What else could possess Spike to act the way he did? It wasn’t just the alcohol. Though it caused his whole facade to fall apart, it never made him any less honest. Even when Spike lied with his eyes and tongue, he never wasted too much energy on one. There must have been a reason then, that Spike never put his hands on anyone the way he did to Jet, even if they never intentionally went below the waist. Still, even then, Spike was drunk. That was the explanation. All the affection he got was from drunk Spike, at least until tonight. He was sober, when that downward glimpse flushed him redder than the Swordfish, only buzzed when he kissed him on the cheek, as if they had been together for years. He wasn’t going to forget the feeling anytime soon, of Spike’s soft whiskey-numbed lips, and he was utterly unable to tell if Spike was actually flirting with him or if he was just being Spike. That’s what frustrated him the most. He never really considered Spike a potential partner in that way, worried that he’d not only gain another ex, but lose his closest friend in the process. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give it a shot if for once in his life Spike could admit what he really wanted, even if Jet didn’t like to entertain those thoughts too much. Even now that he knew for sure Spike was into men, he wasn’t about to make it weird between them. He needed solid, clear proof that Spike wanted him, and he wasn’t getting it anytime soon if the past three years were anything to go by.

  Maybe being with a man would be easier, or at least different, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Spike was still trying to cope with Julia’s death. Even if he seemed perfectly fine on the outside, he knew better than to take Spike’s emotional state at face value. There was a deep, ugly sadness in him that was there far before they had even met. It was too much a part of him, he might have been born with it. The last thing he needed right now was any other potential heartbreak.

  What Jet needed was somewhere else, anywhere else, to put these thoughts. The ones that whispered of Spike and his lean, athletic form. He wasn’t quite ready to admit how much it drove him up a wall to think of Spike as hot even if that was exactly the word that fit. If Spike was hot he’d have to try and keep his eyes from wandering at every instance of exposed skin, or marveling at the flexibility and skill he fought with. Handsome was perhaps a better word for Spike, with his thin, angular face, straight nose, and stylish suit. Spike, who also never put the toilet seat down, didn’t know how to sit with his legs closed, or sit normally at all, ate all the food, picked earwax out of his ears with his fingers, and acted in general like his farts didn’t stink. Maybe that wasn’t the right word for Spike.

  Cute, that’s what Sue said he was. Jet wasn’t quite sure about that one either. Cute implied an endearing quality, and Spike was a complete pain in the ass. A likeable pain in the ass, with fluffy hair, big brown eyes, and a laugh that was contagious. Maybe it wasn’t too far off, but good-looking would have to do for now.

  Faye giggled as she slumped into a booth with the guys she’d been dancing with. Jet abandoned his place at the bar to interrupt before things got too out of hand.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” Jet growled at the two just loud enough to be heard over the commotion.

  “Who the hell are you?” The bolder of the two shouted.

  “A friend of hers.” Jet glared down at them as Faye greeted him with a lipstick-smeared smile and a wave.

  “Lay off old man, you’re not like, her dad or anything, are you?”

  “Get the hell out of here.”

  Faye rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest, “you better not push ‘im boys, he could fuckin’-hic- he could… I dunno, something. I’ve seen ‘im snap a dude’s neck with one arm!”

  “Whatever, come on man let’s just go.” The quieter of the two men seemed unnerved by Faye’s casual bragging, and the other would have to be a colossal idiot to think he could take on Jet. As they hurried past, Faye fixed him with as dirty a glare as she could manage.

  “I kinda liked them, you didn’t need to go all white knight and save me.” She grabbed a couple napkins and tried to clean her face up. He decided he was too tired to notice the expensive looking watch she’d swiped.

  “It’s about time we head back anyway.”

  “You need to lighten up, you’re never like this when we go out with Spike.” She squeezed his arm as she got her footing, “aww is that it? Do you miss himmm?”

  “Can it.”

  Faye could barely hold back her laughter, “How’d the date go, did you two have a fight or something? Is that why he didn’t come with us?” He ignored her incessant teasing long enough to signal Sue to follow them out once he finished his off-key rendition of Poison by Alice Cooper. The nighttime breeze was refreshing, though Faye found it difficult to gain purchase on the old cobblestone walkway. She bent over to take off her heels. “I’m not blind, y’know, I saw that look you and Spike gave each other-”

  “-I said can it! You have no good reason to make this weird, so don’t!”

  “It’s not weird to be gay, y’know.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Bi, then?”

  “...I don’t know.” Jet stared off into the distance, the martian sky deep black above, just like it was everywhere else. Great observation, Einstein. Next you’re gonna tell me Swordfish is red.

  “You two act like a married couple.”

  “Well, we’re not.”

  “Why not?”

  “You really don’t get it, do you?” At that, Faye finally shut her mouth, willing the gears in her brain to turn but staying silent. “We’re partners, Faye. We’re comrades. When he’s in trouble, I go out and save his ass. When he’s hurt, I’m the one who brings him home. I’m the one who tends to his wounds, cleans him up, and feeds him. I do all that because he’d do the same for me. We can’t afford to throw that away.”

  “So that’s it, huh? You’re just afraid to ruin your friendship. You can’t tell me you haven’t caught any hints from him, you know, like the way he looks at you when you get a couple drinks in him? And by now he knows how much you like old westerns…”

  “Well,” Jet sighed, “if any of that was a hint, he’s going to have to hint a little harder.”

  “Men are such babies.”

  Sue stumbled out the door behind them, unhurt but shaking broken glass out of his hair and clothes.

  Aside from the extra stress that came with having another mouth to feed, their journey to Tijuana went pretty smoothly. Aside from the fact that this extra mouth also slept on the yellow couch, the only practical place for Spike to get any sleep. Maybe after all this time he would finally get a good night’s rest in his bed on the Bebop. He was kidding himself. All he got were memories.

  The first time he hoped it was a fluke. The fifth time just pissed him off. If he wanted any sleep at all, he would have to do it between nightmares, during which he’d wake up, heart pounding with adrenaline from an unknown trigger. He wasn’t getting any sleep. Luckily none of them were light sleepers. As long as he was quiet, he could wander the halls, the floor cooling his bare feet, until he finally felt like sleeping again. If they didn’t have that extra mouth to feed, disturbing the atmosphere with an extra pair of eyes and ears. Spike swung both his legs over the edge of the bed, and peeled off his sweat-drenched shirt, and then everything else.

  “Fuck,” he muttered to himself in the still air. His sleepless brain could think of no better word to voice his frustration. Jittering from the nervous energy coursing through him, he opened the drawer of his nightstand to find the only other solution he could think of. He dug past a layer of pens, dead lighters, condoms, aluminum can tabs, and other miscellaneous junk, pulling out a bottle of lube and an about average-sized dildo from the back. It was nowhere close to the size of the man he had his mind on, but with anything bigger he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet. For a moment or two as he got comfortable, he begged his brain to come up with someone else, anyone else, but as always it wandered back to Jet. What the hell, fuck it, he needed sleep and he’d do anything to get it.

  As Spike went through the motions of preparing himself, the newest fantasy that had been writing itself in the back of his head for the past three days came to him. Graduating from simple mind’s-eye images to full-on fantasy shouldn’t have felt so natural, but he was out of fucks to give.

  Jet Black, bounty hunter and ex cop, sat in his usual spot with the computer. He stared through the screen, pretending not to notice Spike showing off for him a little as he battled an imaginary opponent. He could feel Jet’s eyes on him. Shit, this wasn’t going anywhere. He probably would just sit there, pretending not to give a shit.

  Finally done with his shadow boxing routine, he made eye contact with Jet through the web-page of their current target. The harsh light glinted off the plate of metal on his cheek that interrupted the scar across his eye. He looked mean, like he really would kick Spike’s ass if he pushed him hard enough, and Spike loved the kind of man that could kick his ass.

  “Like what you see, big guy?” Even if the words would never leave his lips, they materialized as a cocky grin as Spike teased his entrance with the toy. As Jet stared up at him with mixed emotions, Spike sauntered over to sit on his lap, feeling the huge dick shift beneath him.

  “What the hell is all this about, Spike?”

  “You know,” Spike said in the deep, low growl that was usually reserved for taunting his especially skilled opponents, “you’re a terrible liar, Jet.” He pried Jet’s hands from behind his head and guided them to his hips. They stuck like magnets.

  “So are you,” Jet’s cool metal thumb hooked onto the waistband of Spike’s sweatpants, his other fingers reaching far enough to grip his ass. Spike leaned in close, enough to breathe in the cigarette Jet was smoking. Suddenly, he pressed his lips to Jet’s, who leaned forward into his touch. He nipped Jet’s lower lip as he stole the cigarette from him with his teeth. He pinned him back in his seat, pressing himself off of Jet enough to hold the cigarette in his other hand.

  “Aahh-! …nnnnh.” Spike bit his lip. Goddamn it, he wasn’t even to the good part yet. Time to speed things up. With a sigh, Jet pushed Spike off of him, and stood, “well, why don’t we move this somewhere else, then?”

  Almost as soon as he crossed the threshold into Jet’s room, his already minimal clothing was off, and he lounged on the bed, waiting for Jet’s layers to follow. The muscles in his back shifted as he pulled the shirt over his head. Now he was getting impatient. What the fuck was he afraid of, this wasn’t going anywhere but his own head so why should he be constrained by the laws of reality? As if any of this was realistic in the first place. Jet would neve-

  Jet, with his massive arms, pinned Spike to the bed.

  “Kkhhhhhhhfff-” Impatiently, Spike pushed the toy inside him, swallowing the whine in his throat. It wasn’t even comparable to the cock he imagined being thrust inside him, but it would do the job. The fantasy was devolving now, shifting his hypothetical position to the one he was in currently. He lie on his stomach, gripping the corner of the bed with one hand, the other being used to pleasure himself. His hips jerked forward, seeking, every inch of his body begging for contact. Jet was no longer a fantasy in whole, but fragments of phantom sensations; the calloused hands holding him in place, the heaviness of Jet the moment his hips pressed fully against Spike’s ass, and the low, animalistic tone of his breaths. There was only so much he could assume, but he was desperate. He gripped the edge of the mattress, the pillow muffling the moan that wrenched itself from his throat. His dick throbbed between him and the bed, almost painful from neglect. Pushing up with one arm to roll onto his back, the fabric slipped underneath him. With a hard, wooden clunk, his elbow made contact with the nightstand, “rrrrrgh,” disturbing the contents of its’ cluttered surface. A few aluminum cans clattered noisily to the floor, and as he pushed back onto the bed, the lampshade caught on his arm. It fell over, its’ cord bringing the alarm clock, ash tray, and incense burner down with it.

  -CRASH- “Shit!” 

  The alarm clock and the ashtray were fine. The incense burner, made out of an old whiskey bottle, wasn’t. Spike, more irritated at being interrupted than anything, rolled onto his back. Taking the base of the toy in one hand and his dick in the other, he needed to finish before someone banged on his door to make sure he was ok or tell him to be quiet, one of the two. If he was lucky, no one else was awake enough to have noticed, but insomnia was a given in the endless dark of space.

  He struggled to contain a whimper from the overstimulation as he angled the toy just right. The resulting shudder from his fried nerve endings elicited a gasp from him that kept his mouth frozen open as if from an invisible ball gag. Maybe if he had one he wouldn’t have to be so careful. He ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, careful not to throw himself over the edge too violently lest he make a sound that was too loud or just plain embarrassing. With a few more strokes, his hips jerking uncontrollably, he threw his head back into the mattress, thankfully having the foresight to clamp his mouth shut. The scream he gulped down resonated instead as a low grunt, not only days but weeks and months of frustration releasing in a jet of white fluid that dribbled down over his fingers.

  He was still catching his breath, right hand resting in a sticky puddle on his stomach as the other pulled out the toy with an unceremonious thump, when suddenly the door opened. The bright fluorescent light of the hallway exposed him, still naked, his legs spread with the recently-used toy sitting between them. The beads of sweat rolling down his body reflected it coldly. His ruffled hair and flushed cheeks only added to the look on his face. Pupils pinpricked in shock, his eyebrows only hinted at his anger and instead conveyed the shame he kept under lock and key.

  “Hey, are you ok? I heard a- uh…” Faye leaned drunkenly on the door frame, a bottle of liquor in her other hand, likely the real source of her sudden compassion. Her eyes flicked over Spike, puzzled to find a look on his face that wasn’t one of minor-to-moderate annoyance. “…haha, sorry.”

  “Get out.”

  Once the door shut behind her, Spike grabbed his shirt from the end of the bed to clean himself up with. He rolled onto his side, pulling the sheets over him, and tried to utilize the final dregs of post-orgasm drowsiness. It was no use with the harsh light from the previously open door still haunting him. The subtle reminder of a witness sloshed in its’ bottle in the hallway. Was it really worth it to risk a moment of pleasure for himself, when he couldn’t be sure who might be listening, watching? A pleasure that wasn’t meant to be shared with anyone, one he wasn’t meant to enjoy in the first place. What would Faye, Jet… no, they didn’t give a shit, what would Julia think? When she disappeared that day, he could be sure at least that she was far enough not to catch wind of his non-monogamy, not to mention bisexuality, or alternative tastes. When she was alive, it didn’t matter which way he swung to sate his appetite, as long as she was his top priority if he ever found her. It wasn’t like she had eyes anymore, but something in him was deeply unsettled by that unknown implied by her death. In the time that passed since, it had thoroughly ruined what was an otherwise completely normal and natural thing to him. Remember what happened before, do you really want to go through that again? A thing that wasn’t at all wrong or something to be ashamed of. That should be an exit-only hole. A thing that started to make his cheeks burn with shame regardless. Think about the people you’ve killed, the people who died for you, and you’re doing this with your life. They might be listening, watching right now, and you know you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve even the basest of pleasures. Did you forget? You’re not a beast anymore. You’ve lost, bled your last. There is nothing in this world to love or take pleasure in, so why are you still looking? Why are you still alive?

  Spike swallowed his pain, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep his jaw from trembling. He wiped his watery eyes, and sat up. -sniff- “..ugh.” He tip-toed to his dresser, hoping no shards of glass could have made it that far, slipped on a pair of underwear, and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

  When he stepped out the door, Faye was slumped in the hallway, shuffling her cards. “Oh hey. Were you thinking about someone special?”

  “None of your business.” Spike grumbled, “and take it easy with that,” he looked from the bottle by her side back to her, “it’s four in the morning.”

  “You smoke like a chimney, but you never hear me bitch about it.”

  “I just meant you should stop before your lips get too loose, don’t take it personally.”

  Faye stood, “what do you mean, that I’d tell anyone about-”

  Spike shushed her with a glare, and started to walk away.

  “Hey,” to his surprise, she actually sounded hurt. “Do you really think I’d do that?” He didn’t answer. “Well, what the hell do you want from me, I worry-”

  “I just want some goddamn space.”

  She let the air settle a moment, “well, you could’ve just said that, no need to get all salty.”

  “And could you learn to knock once in a while?”

  “I’m sorry…” she huffed, “didn’t know it was such a big deal to you.”

  “It’s not if I’m just changing or taking a shit, but what the fuck, Faye! Ever heard of privacy? I can’t even jerk off in peace.”

  Faye nodded. “Sorry,” she whispered to the ground. Spike took a few steps down the hall.

  “Hey,” Spike said softly, the edge of his tone completely dropped, “have you been sleeping on your side?”

  “Yeah,” Faye answered, somewhat reassured but not quite sure what else it was she felt. Her jaw ached.

  “Good.” At that, Spike left for the main deck.

  “You too, huh?” The room was dark except for the lights of the controls and the glowing cherry of a cigarette. Jet was leaning back in his seat, hands behind his head. By the look of him, with a dead expression and in a similar state of undress, he wasn’t getting any sleep either.

  Spike, tired-eyed, sat opposite Jet, leaning forward on the back of the chair. “Mhmm.”

  Jet took the cigarette between his index and middle fingers and held it towards Spike in a silent offer.

  “No thanks.”

  Jet leaned back in his seat, returned the cigarette to his own mouth, and chose his next words carefully. “How you holding up?”

  Spike stared past him into the star-speckled expanse, his face half hidden behind his folded arms. He sunk into them as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, “I’m not.”

  Jet studied his expression for a moment, as if Spike could possibly have the energy to look anything but tired. He blinked slowly at Jet, a slightly pained look in his eyes as they opened. “I know you don’t wanna hear this, but… there’s plenty of people out there.”

  “The only woman I ever wanted is dead.”

  The next question hung unsaid in the air between them. After too long a pause, he began, “I won’t force you, but, if there’s anything you wanna talk about -anything at all- I’m here…” Finally he looked at Spike, whose eyes were closed. His arms were propped up on the back of the chair in a position that couldn’t be comfortable, and he snored softly. His face was serene in a way that was rarely ever seen by anyone who hadn’t lived with him a while, like a sleeping animal. Jet hoped he had actually heard him. “Goodnight, Spike.”

  By the time he awoke, the sun was beaming in through the windows. Spike cracked the stiffness from his neck and struggled to open his eyes.

  “Morning, sunshine.” By the look of it, Jet wasn’t much more awake. He just had coffee. After a few more stretches, Spike finally noticed his own cup, still warm, on the table.

  “Morning,” his voice crackled. He sipped his coffee and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His stomach grumbled audibly. “Food?”

  “Not yet,” Jet sighed, “Faye got really sick last night- well, I guess technically this morning.”

  Now Spike was awake, “she ok?”

  “Yeah,” Jet said, “she’s gonna sit this one out.”

  “So we couldn’t really have gotten an early start, huh?”

  “And have to deal with your bitching all day? No, thanks.”

  Spike swallowed a mouthful of coffee, his stomach still complaining about the lack of food. “I’m about to start bitching already.”

  “You’ve done nothing but bitch and sulk lately, what’s up with you?”

  Spike, upon realizing he had no pockets to dig through, reached over to steal the lighter from Jet, “can we not have this conversation right now?”

  “Alright,” He leaned on the table, “but Spike, I meant what I said last night.”

  Spike stopped in the middle of lighting a cigarette, “some other time, Jet…” A flick of the lighter, “…I’m not…” he breathed out a puff of smoke, “yeah.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.” Jet said. At least this problem couldn’t be killed. If it could, he wouldn’t have gotten that much out of him. Pushing Spike for answers never worked. Finishing his coffee, Jet stood, “Alright, I’m making uhh… lunch, I guess?”

  “Sounds about right.” As Spike watched him walk away, fully clothed, he remembered the broken glass he still needed to clean up. Had Jet been up all night? It was already four-ish when he wandered out here, and sometime after he’d fallen asleep Faye must have gotten sick, and then they had to land… He hoped Sue wouldn’t attract too much trouble on their search.

  The weight of consciousness crushed Faye’s head. She still smelled vomit, though thankfully this time it was from the bucket sitting by the edge of the mattress, and not from her sheets, and clothes, and hair- she should’ve been embarrassed, probably, but felt too much like shit. Shuddering, she drew the borrowed blanket around her as she heard the sound of broken glass being swept into a dustpan across the hall. She remembered the incident with Spike pretty clearly. He had a point, but still, she couldn’t understand why he was so uptight about anyone knowing he likes to take it up the ass. Maybe it was some weird guy thing. Unless he meant… Whatever. It wasn’t her business. She just wished he and Jet would get over themselves.

  She’d gone to bed shortly after. She didn’t remember actually throwing up, it must have happened in her sleep, but her memory was hazy around the time Jet woke her up. Her response was immediate, to the cold hand on her shoulder and the taste in her mouth. Jet didn’t say anything until she’d gotten it all up.

  “Is that everything?” He’d asked. She nodded as he helped her sit up.

  “Is Sue asleep?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Faye took off her shirt, which was entirely ruined, and used the clean side to wipe the rest of the puke off of her as Jet averted his gaze. “What, just because I’m a woman, you’re gonna act like that?”

  “I’m still attracted to women, you know that, right?”

  “So? You don’t act like this when Spike takes his shirt off, and you’re attracted to him.”

  “You shot at him the last time he walked in on you.”

  “That was also the first time. I didn’t know if I could trust either of you. Really, Jet, we’re adults here. Just don’t pop a boner. Think you can manage that?” With a half-sigh, half-shrug, Jet helped her up. She was weak, and felt not too far away from just collapsing, but Jet helped her get to the shower and stood guard in case she slipped and hurt herself. When she was done, he made her eat bread, even though there wasn’t any alcohol in her stomach to soak up at this point, and she found her mattress bare save for a blanket she didn’t recognize and a coverless pillow. He must have put her clothes and sheets in the wash. He really takes ‘protect and serve’ far too seriously. If Faye had any room in her heart she’d probably be grateful, that she was right in trusting her gut, trusting that feeling that made her return to the Bebop. At least someone was there for her, even if those someones were a pair of emotionally constipated bounty hunters hopelessly in love with each other. She remembered the water and painkillers he’d left. Her head felt heavy as she sat up. She swallowed the pills with a gulp of water, which she barely kept from spilling in her jittery hands.

  For a moment she just sat there, not having the energy to do much other than stare at the old TV at the other end of her bed. Beside it was a stack of beta tapes, most of which Ed had fished out from god-knows-where, and to her surprise they weren’t all complete shit. Some she recognized, Labyrinth, Back to the Future, A Christmas Story, and a bunch of sci-fi, action, and slashers. Others she only watched once because Ed insisted. Maybe the bright screen would just give her a headache, but it beat sitting in silence with only her hangover for company. She switched on the old TV and picked the tape from the top of the stack, which she’d thankfully remembered to rewind, and played it. She moved the bucket a bit further, still within reach, but not close enough to spoil her breakfast. Jet was cooking something, if her nose was to be trusted. If she was lucky, Spike wouldn’t be in a mood to fight her over what constituted a fair portion size.

  Sometime later, just as she was starting to wonder when Jet might yell at them to come eat, there was a knock at her door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Just me,” Spike opened the door, holding a still warm plate of food. Handing it to her, he explained, “we’re heading out soon, might be gone a while. You’ll be alright?”

  Faye nodded with her mouth full. She swallowed, “yeah, don’t worry about me.” Spike stared at her, with something that wasn’t quite demeaning enough to be pity. “What?”

  “Be careful, Faye.”

  “I am-”

  “You’re not looking so good lately.”

  “Spike.”

  “Please.” His left eye pleaded with her, while his right more closely matched his stern, even tone. She dropped her fork. “We can’t afford to be down a good fighter all the time.”

  She nodded, “Sorry about last night. I don’t know what else I expected.”

  “Wasn’t on purpose,” Spike mumbled with a shrug. He stepped towards the door. “We’ll be back by tomorrow, hopefully. Don’t die.”

  Faye smiled, almost laughed, at the morbid comment, “hey, I should be the one saying that-” The door closed behind Spike, and with him went the light from the hallway. She leaned over to turn her lamp on. The bulb flickered, and then burnt out.

  “I’ve narrowed down the search area, apparently we aren’t the only ones looking for him.” Jet led the way in the Hammerhead, Spike following behind.

  “Damn, I don’t think we’ve ever been that broke.” Spike’s annoyance was clear as he and Sue struggled to find a comfortable position in the seat meant for one person. Sue eventually found an unobtrusive position lying across his lap. Spike still seemed annoyed at the boot print on the glass but wasn’t in the mood to argue.

  “We’ve been pretty close,” Jet pointed out.

  “Well, let’s get to him before they do,” said Sue with a nonchalant glance at Spike. He’d been trying to figure them out. Spike, especially. It was common for bounty hunters to show up in disguise in queer spaces, but for them to have good ones, that approached and even surpassed sexy, that was a rare treat. That could only mean one thing, it was so obvious, but significantly lacking evidence. Jet was easy, a classic case of repressed homosexual feelings that he stuffed too deeply under the rug to notice until it was too late. Spike wasn’t so easy to read. He was clearly something. No straight man had the style, the vibe and not to mention the body he had. No straight man could blend so seamlessly into the crowd of dancers, coolly shrugging off or rolling with the advances that were made on him without arousing suspicion. To anyone with eyes, he was like candy. Not anything that approached delicate or sweet but in another sense entirely. He was like pop rocks, or the sour dust that coated various shapes of gummies. Electric, bold in his presentation, but entirely unsatisfying without the sweetness of the gummy or a mouthful of Dr. Pepper. That’s what he was missing, the substance. If Faye was to be trusted, and he trusted her insight far more than what two cis guys built like Atlas and Achilles projected, Spike at the very least had it in him. It was clear in the way his leather-gloved hands gripped the controls, or the way he reached for his gun. He knew how to give into his desires, he just didn’t, even with ample opportunity. Maybe he just needed a little more encouragement. All violent men had a hint of sexual deviance in them, he knew that for a fact. He just needed to push the right buttons.

  “You know him, where’d he be this time of day?” The glare from the sunset caught in Spike’s right eye. It pierced his otherwise subdued expression enough to startle Sue out of his daydreaming.

  “Uh… Drinking, gambling. He tried to teach me to play poker when I was six, went on this whole speech about how it was the only way to gamble that wouldn’t send you to hell, or something like that, I wasn’t really listening.”

  “So we’re looking for bars with open poker tables at 5 in the afternoon, that’s specific.”

  “That actually helps,” Jet noted. “There’s only a few places to play poker where we’re headed.”

  “Yeah?” Spike asked.

  “A tourist trap, a biker bar, and the rest of them run-down old saloons.”

  “So, where should we start?”

  “I know the biker bar, plenty of people I could ask,” Sue offered, “made sure they all knew his face before I had to leave.”

  “You’ve been to TJ?”

  “I’ve been everywhere, Cowboy.”

  “Everywhere, huh?” Before Sue could reply, a dark shadow swooped overhead, barely avoiding the Swordfish. It was a testament to Spike’s skill as a pilot that he didn’t immediately jerk into a nosedive to avoid it, “Hey! Watch where you’re going, asshat!”

  “The hell was that?” Jet hadn’t seen the ship that nearly crashed into them, but he could guess.

  “Some dickbag just scraped past me, I oughta-”

  “No time, we’re landing.”

  The clouds were pink and fading to purple with every passing minute, reflected in the chrome of the perfectly lined bikes. They resembled a firing squad in all but personality, their flashy paint jobs giving Spike pause. No, it wasn’t that. It was the underlying possibility.

  “How do we know you’re not leading us into a trap?”

  Sue threw his head back with a snort, “please, you? Tall, mysterious, pretty, nobody’s gonna lay a finger on you, unless you want that of course.” Spike bristled at the comment, and Jet didn’t seem convinced. “Should’ve worn that leather again,” he said to Jet, “you’ve got a lot to show off.”

  “Yeah,” Spike agreed with a smirk that was uncharacteristically meek, “better be careful, might make everyone jealous.” He couldn’t help looking back to catch Jet dropping his keys and trying to not look flustered as he picked them up.

  “Scorpio! How the hell are ya?!”

  Sue turned to them, “don’t try and play dumb, you’re pretty recognizable. Just don’t say any dumb shit.” He then sprinted towards the other man, nearly twice his size, “hey, Mav! Told ya I’d be back!” The two embraced and the other man, with the name MAVERICK emblazoned on the back of his leather jacket, planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “You dumb son of a bitch! I thought I’d never see you again!” He then whispered something that Jet and Spike didn’t catch the beginning of, “but are they…?”

  Sue nodded, “well, they’re not straight…”

  “You brought us a project, huh? They been taking good care of you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” 

  The Hanged Man looked larger on the inside, or maybe just more imposing. Every wall was painted black and the bar was a similarly dark shade, with silver-markered words cluttering its’ surface. The bar stools were the biggest shock of color, cherry red, as if they had just today been stolen from an idyllic 1950’s diner. Some of the leather-clad patrons sported colorful handkerchiefs in their pockets, or around their necks. Many had equally colorful hair, or makeup, or decorative elements attached to their clothes. Everyone there had one thing in common, they had their names on the backs of their jackets, but they weren’t normal names. Loki, Taurus, Hermes… Names Spike had never heard referring to a human. Another thing was strange, there was no smoke. No cigarettes, not even the electronic ones that tasted like sugar-coated whatever-the-fuck and made him wheeze like he was having an asthma attack. He could see clear across the bar to the other side, where a pale redhead with shoulder-length hair peered at him from behind silver mirrored aviators. He was shockingly thin, dressed in all black, almost completely invisible save for his pale freckled hands and face, red blazing hair, and the green handkerchief in his right pocket. As he turned to the restroom door, he tipped the brim of his hat up, and in thin rhinestone lettering a name glittered on the back of his jacket: Nobody.

  Sue grabbed them each by the shoulder, and dragged them up the stairs to the balcony that extended around the entire edge of the second floor. “it’s a pretty special night, there’s an initiation ceremony.” He guided them to a table in the corner, “So… just chill out here a bit, I’ll see what I can find out. Val’s gonna take care of you tonight, on me. Oh and uh… feel free to watch. Or not, if it’s not your thing, don’t matter.”

  “Ceremony? Wait-!” Before Jet could get his attention, Sue disappeared into the crowd. He turned to Spike, who looked far too relaxed, “think he skipped out on us?”

  “Nah,” Spike shrugged, “he still has a use for us, besides, he couldn’t have planned this.”

  “You sure?”

  “He’s an escape artist. The loose handcuffs type, not big into planning.”

  “So we’re just gonna keep playing along.”

  “Don’t underestimate him, you didn’t see what he did to those guards. We piss him off, we’re fucked. High security prison couldn’t hold him, we can’t either.”

  “That’s why he’s worth so much?”

  Spike nodded.

  “Gentlemen,” a waitress arrived with two glasses of water and menus. She had a pleasant, smiley face with rosy cheeks and a cheerful disposition, despite having the muscle to beat any man in the room in an arm-wrestling match. “Hope you’re not picky, the only drinks we got are coke, beer, and whiskey. I’ll be back to take your order shortly.” As he watched her walk away, Spike noticed the name “Valkyrie” embroidered on the back of her jacket.

  As he studied the menu, Spike couldn’t help but notice Jet glancing over his shoulder. He was clearly on edge, though the patrons seemed to be mostly ignoring them by now, “you see something?”

  “No, I was just thinking.”

  “You think too much.”

  “What if we’ve stumbled into some sort of cult?”

  Spike shrugged, “as long as they don’t mean us any harm I don’t really care.”

  Their food and drinks arrived in no time. Not many people were there to actually eat, and a few were calmly arranging things on the platform that had been lowered to cover the gap in the second floor. On its’ surface a magic circle was painted, and a waist-high table was placed off-center. It would have looked like any ordinary neo-pagan ritual space, if it weren’t for the big Harley, with its’ gleaming chrome leaning on its’ kickstand in the center. It was well-maintained, spotless even. It looked as if it may have never been ridden, and lacked the customization of the bikes out front. There were also leather straps attached to it for some unknown purpose. That was the first truly strange thing Spike noticed, as the scent of dragon’s blood incense filled the air. He swallowed his mouthful of burger, which left a smear of sauce on the corner of his mouth, and gave Jet a nudge under the table.

  “Hm?” Jet looked up at Spike mid-bite and followed his gaze to the ritual platform, and the implements of… something upon it. There was a hint of anticipation in his vaguely worried look. They silently agreed that it would be a good idea to eat as fast as possible. Something weird, if not outright disturbing, lurked in the immediate future of the dark second floor beyond the railing of the balcony.

  The whiskey was just starting to numb Spike’s lips when the room went quiet. On a turntable in the corner, somebody lowered the needle onto a record.

  “I remember everything! I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday. I was barely seventeen and I once killed a boy with a Fender guitar.” A hulking hooded figure picked up the wand from the altar and started drawing in the air, speaking unintelligibly but not daring to speak over the volume of the record.

  “I don't remember if it was a Telecaster or a Stratocaster, but I do remember that it had a heart of chrome and a voice like a horny angel!” The initiate, or who they assumed to be, was guided to the center of the circle, and sat side-saddle in the Harley, facing their side of the balcony. They too, were robed in black. However, while the bottom half of the wand-bearer’s face was visible, the initiate’s was completely covered. A layer of black shiny latex with mesh over the nose to breathe through covered their face.

  “I don't remember if it was a Telecaster or a Stratocaster, but I do remember that it wasn't at all easy.” The dark priest, along with two others, stood in front of them. They each gripped the outer robe-like garment.

  “It required the perfect combination of the correct power chords, and the precise angle from which to strike.” The sharp ripping of seams, then the rubbery sound of the mask being peeled off the initiate’s face. Glimmering blonde hair spilled out of it in soft waves. Spike froze in her icy blue gaze as it washed over them. Her features were delicate in the lamplight, and the dark priest stepped aside. The latex revealed much more than it covered. She possessed a pair of tits that reminded him, along with the other elements of her appearance, far too much of someone, and then as his gaze followed the line of the zipper downward, he realized something else. It made him quickly avert his eyes, then he noticed there was blood leaking out of the neck hole, and from here he couldn’t tell whether it was hers or not. It looked real. His jaw hung from its’ hinge. Jet reached over to lift it back into place before turning away, and pretending to read the ingredients on the ketchup bottle.

  “The guitar bled for a week afterward and the blood was - ooh - dark and rich like wild berries.” Slowly, and with a growing prideful grin, the woman unzipped the latex suit, peeling it away from her skin and exposing herself in full bloody glory. It ran, dark and viscous down her body and the side of the bike. The white paint illustrating the circle was stained by her footsteps.

  “The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry red.” The metallic tang of blood filled the air. The breath he had been holding shuddered out of him, though not from horror, at least not entirely. The blood wasn’t hers. It was all a performance, he reminded himself, A strange bloody ritual in a strange dark place which he had chosen to witness. That wasn’t entirely true. He couldn’t look away. She was like Gren, at least how Faye described him, but entirely woman. In truth, all of it wouldn’t have horrified him if it weren’t for who else she resembled. 

  “The guitar bled for about a week afterward but it rung out beautifully, and I was able to play notes that I had never even heard before.” She, the ghost with the cupid’s bow that was so achingly familiar, paced the circle naked as eve. Her bright eyes commanded the room uncannily. For how grim and serious her expression was, the spark in them was electric. He shifted in his seat, only faintly aware, and yet afraid of what he was starting to feel. The man, previously clothed in a matching robe, was offered to her, bound and on his knees. He was guided forcefully to the bike, and she clipped the straps to his harness.

  “So, I took my guitar and I smashed it against the wall!” The smack of palm on flesh drew a curious glance from Jet. Not all of the audience were idle observers, a fact which was partly unnerving and partly reassuring, for Spike’s sake. His eyes were fixed firmly on the golden-haired beauty before them, and it was clear from the hue of his cheeks that the brain in his head had already turned to mush, and he wore a concerning mix of other emotions Jet couldn’t pin down. Great.

  “I smashed it against the floor!” With a pitiful whine from the man, a butt plug was pulled out of him and replaced with the woman’s still bloodied dick. It made Spike’s skin crawl a little, all he could think was, this can’t be safe. Whatever curiosity Jet had swiftly vanished, and he studied the wood grain of the table.

  “I smashed it against the body of a varsity cheerleader!”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Sue said as he passed by, “all the blood is tested.”

  “I smashed it against the hood of a car!” Did I say that out loud? He still couldn’t look away from her, as if she moved with all the stars in the universe. He didn’t know why, because she didn’t. She was just an ordinary flesh and blood human. Kissed by starlight, perhaps, but ultimately in his mind, loosely stitched together details of memories, and other things he wanted. A cobbled-together illusion of people he lost danced in her shadow.

  “I smashed it against a 1981 Harley Davidson!” Spike took a deep breath, silently begging for mercy, that the sorceress before him would allow him a moment’s peace.

  “The Harley howled in pain. The guitar howled in heat.” He shifted in his seat.

  “And I ran up the stairs to my parents' bedroom. Mommy and Daddy were sleeping in the moonlight.” More robed figures, mere shadows, poured something around them in a circle.

  “Slowly I opened the door, creeping in the shadows, right up to the foot of their bed.” the lights went out. Pitch black swallowed the woman, the bike, and their sacrifice, leaving him with the pieces of her ghost.

  “I raised the guitar high above my head, and just as I was about to bring the guitar crashing down upon the centre of the bed, my father woke up screaming:” The sounds they were making carried in the dark.

  "Stop! Wait a minute! Stop it boy! What do you think you're doing?” Otherwise, it was silent.

  “That's no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!" He was a prisoner of his senses, there, unable to see, hear, or smell anything but sweat, blood, nothing, and fucking.

  A match fell somewhere in the room. “And I said "God dammit Daddy! You know I love you, but you've got a hell of a lot to learn about rock and roll!"" The encircling flame captured their orgasm in its’ bright red glow. As the lights slowly came back on, Spike felt himself come back to reality a little.

  He blinked. She really didn’t look all that much like Julia, she who had recently separated from her bound partner, whose binds were being cut. Her lips, figure, hair, and- certainly from behind, she could be easily mistaken for Julia -but the rest of her face was wrong, and instead of roses she smelled of danger, honest and unconcealed… and she was like Gren.

  He hadn’t thought of Gren in a while. A while. Apparently, his idea of a while was about a day and a half. Given too much silence and monotony, his sad, sweet smile and tired eyes often came to mind. The way he peered, one battered soul into another, behind his mask as if she’d left him the key haunted him. You’re him, aren’t you? You’re Spike. Your eyes are different colors. It seemed Julia had a habit of haunting men she’d come across even before she died.

  A leather jacket eased onto her shoulders, brandishing the name Circe. She was given a robe and welcomed into the group with food and whiskey and open arms. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the whole thing, but one thing he was sure about was that he needed a cigarette. A cigarette, and maybe another whiskey.

  Jet hadn’t watched, but his face was an obvious shade of red as well. Spike guessed that maybe the sounds had gotten to him. He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and held it between his lips as he pat himself down for a lighter. Jet finally composed himself, and reached for the pack of lucky strikes, disappointed to find it empty.

  “Um, excuse me sir. There’s no smoking in here.” Spike flicked his lighter closed with more than a hint of attitude. Without a word, he got up and started towards the side door.

  “Spike!” Jet called after him. He turned to the waitress, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” He started after Spike. He found him leaning on the railing of the fire escape, one of the few pockets of solitude for miles. They had to stand shoulder-to-shoulder on the narrow balcony, “what’s going on, Spike? Talk to me.”

  After a moment, he replied, “it’s a.. bit personal, you sure you wanna know?”

  “It isn’t doing you any good as a secret.”

  “Uh… how do I put this,” Spike thought. He fumbled with his lighter as he tried to find the words. Finally he sighed a cloud of smoke into the cooling desert air, “a man’s wife dies. She was beautiful, could cook pretty damn well, sweet as an angel, voice like a siren, fantastic in bed… He um. He gets really frustrated, lonely, without her around. But whenever he tries to-” he cleared his throat, and the lewd gesture he made with his free hand gave Jet the exact idea of what he was talking about, “-y’know, he can’t help but think of her. Even other women, they remind him too much of her, morph into her in his mind’s eye. It feels wrong, like she’s no longer real when he thinks of her like that, like she was just another double-page spread.” He took another drag, “but when he tries to get off to men, he feels guilty. Like he shouldn’t even be thinking about it when his wife might be watching from beyond.” The air stilled between them. “What would you do, if you were him?”

  Jet’s breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t something they talked about. The most they said on the subject was in the effort to stay out of each other’s way. Whatever and whoever Spike did, he did in the relative anonymity of motel rooms. Never once did they ever catch each other bringing random hookups back to the Bebop. It was never a rule, Jet didn’t care that much, but the ship held a sacred level of solitude between them that was never to be broken if it could be helped. The question wasn’t all that odd though, not really. In his time with the ISSP, he’d encountered many different expressions of grief. It just caught him off guard, which was why it took him so long to formulate an honest response, too long. “I don’t know… Jesus, no wonder you’ve been so moody.”

  “Hey, Jet… Is this…?” Spike’s shoulder shifted against his, and he decided, “this is weird.”

  “No, it’s not.” Jet said. “You’re grieving, Spike, and you don’t have to act like you’re not in pain, I can tell. You can’t be so hard on yourself all the time.”

  “I’m not trying to be.”

  “Well, whatever you get up to on your spare time is your business and no one else’s. Not even the dead.”

  “I know that. I just can’t shake the feeling. I don’t even know if there’s an afterlife, but I feel like I’m being watched.” Spike looked up to the starry sky. It was an odd thing, to regard the heavens in reference to the night sky, when they traveled through it constantly with no second thought. He supposed people needed something to hold on to when even the very planet that made them became uninhabitable.

  “If she were watching, what would she want for you?”

  Spike had to think about that. He knew she intended to go with him to the end, but once again, she sacrificed himself so he could live, and he knew she would do it again if she could. It broke his heart. Surely he wasn’t worth all that, was he? Still, she had done it once before, on that day when they were supposed to run away. In a way, she succeeded, and yet in another, she didn’t. He had to die, that day, abandon everyone he loved so they would be safe, but they were innocent. They deserved to be set free. Spike was a killer, and still Julia found it in her heart to spare him the pain of death, even if he longed for it deep down. The same woman who had taught him how to feel alive had unknowingly taught him how painful it could be to exist in a world without her, but that’s what she wanted, right? She wouldn’t have died for it otherwise. “...To be alive, I guess.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  “I don’t know. Right now I just wanna be able to get off without having a fucking breakdown. Get back to a somewhat normal sex life.”

  “Give it time, you’ll get there.”

  “Yeah, if I can afford to pay for ‘em.”

  “You can do better than that, y’know. Someday you might meet someone you’ll never want to let go of.”

  “You don’t know that,” Spike scoffed.

  “No,” Jet paused, “you’re right, I don’t, but… I believe it.”

  “I don’t even think there is another right woman, or man, for me out there. Even if there is, I don’t know if I have it in me to be with a woman again. Long term, I mean.” His toe tapped against the metal, “I haven’t been with a man long enough to know what it’s like.” He almost laughed at himself. He’d fucked men, certainly hadn’t been with. “Not that you would know either, but… I guess there’s…” he fell silent, and shrugged. “There’s things I want to do, things I want to try with another man that I wouldn’t do with anyone I didn’t trust. Gay men don’t exactly look at me and see someone they’d get attached to, not like women do. They all get bored of me eventually.”

  “I may not know much about being with a man,” Jet began, and hoped it came off as genuinely as he felt it, “but I know a good looking man when I see one.”

  Spike turned to look directly at Jet, smoke drifting in the uncomfortably close space between them. The cigarette drooped between his slightly parted lips. His left eye revealed disappointment. He didn’t believe him, not in the slightest.

  Jet fought to keep the sting of guilt from showing on his face. He said too much. For a moment he didn’t care anymore whether Spike could intuit what exactly he wanted to do that would make him believe he could be loved. The only thing that stopped him, ironically, was knowing how hard it was to even get this far. Spike rarely bared his soul so openly to anyone, but who else did he have to talk to now? With a heavy heart, Jet realized he was one of an already short and dwindling list of people Spike trusted. He couldn’t fuck this up, not for all the woolongs in the galaxy. “I’m not just saying that.” He placed a hand on Spike’s shoulder, half expecting to be shoved away, “you’re really something Spike, anybody would be lucky to have you.” The actual word he wanted to use ached in the back of his throat. Beautiful. God, he was beautiful, the sort of beautiful that was made of the bite of whiskey and the sad, sweet wail of of a saxophone solo, of blood and the blues and the swagger of a gunslinger, of the edge of a newly-sharpened knife, and of the fire in his eyes and the danger they spoke of. He was so close, just inches away, but Spike was so infinitely far, a star shining in the sky impossible to reach.

  Spike closed his lips, breathing in a lungful of smoke, before passing the cigarette to Jet. He turned back toward the empty alley before he spoke, “thank you.” At least, if Spike didn’t believe him, he appreciated the effort. That was something.

  “Hey, if nothing else, we can finally turn this guy in after tonight, finally have the place to ourselves again. He’s wanted interplanetarily, we won’t have to fly all the way back to Mars.”

  “If we can keep him alive, and keep him from skipping out on us once he’s accomplished his goal.”

  Jet nodded, and as he smoked the last of the cigarette, he spotted a lone figure walking the street. He was hard to make out beneath the hat and weather-beaten coat, and with the storm rolling in, but he reeked of suspicion. Jet nudged Spike out of his brooding.

  Spike leaned in close, “you think that’s him?”

  “Maybe,” Jet wiped the lenses of the identification glasses, and put them on. Luckily he was able to get a clear view of his face as he stumbled into the porch-light of an old-timey saloon down the road. It was a match. The door behind them screeched on its’ hinges.

  “Where the hell- mmph!” Jet grabbed Sue’s face, covering his mouth and turning his head to see exactly who he was looking for. He let go when Ivan Elliott disappeared behind the classic swinging wooden doors.

  “Holy shit.” He broke into a wide grin, “we’re in luck.”

  “What’re we waiting for, then?” Spike asked as he awkwardly squeezed past Jet.

  “I still gotta pay-”

  “Hurry up then,” Jet said with a sigh, “…you two catch up. I’ll follow him.” Spike didn’t bother expressing his minor anxiety at going back inside that building. He followed Sue back inside, down the stairs and into the crowd, most of them also trying to get the attention of a bartender. Whilst Sue stood on a chair, obnoxiously waving his arms, Spike quickly found himself the subject of someone else’s attention.

  “Hey there, cowboy.” Her voice was smooth and sweet, and it made Spike almost drop his lighter as he shoved it back in his pocket. “I’ll spare you the ‘ride’ pun. From how far your jaw had to fall before it hit the ground, I bet that mouth of yours is good for more than just gawking.”

  That statement nearly knocked the wind out of Spike. He leaned on the bar, and tried his best to look her in the eyes. “I bet you’re right about that, but…” he replied, “you kinda caught me at a bad time.”

  “I’m here all night, handsome,” she said with a smile that landed just shy of saccharine, looking him up and down. She passed him by, the scent of new leather, dragon’s blood, and cherry perfume drifting behind. She was a different woman, from her no longer bloodstained hair spilling down her back to her leather-clad ass and the iron tips of her boots.

  As soon as they could, they met Jet by the back of the building.

  “What’s it look like in there, you get a look?” Spike asked.

  “Quiet, couple people at the bar, and some old guys, nobody who looks like trouble.”

  “I’m going in.This whole thing has been too easy.” Sue loaded his old, out-of-time revolver, “I have to get him before trouble catches up.”

  “You sure? If we wait you can get the jump on him.” Jet pointed out.

  “I ain’t a coward,” he spat, “I want an honest fight.” Sue bolted out of hiding before they could say a word. Spike pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the headache that was creeping up on him.

  “Come on,” Jet sighed, “we’re getting paid for this.”

  “We better.” Spike followed him to the side door, slipping into the hazy interior. Aside from the jukebox, it was quiet. The bartender stood sleepily polishing a glass. At the poker table, two old men bickered.

  “This again! Goddamn son-of-a-bitch! Taking my money like that, ya cheatin’ dog! Why, the only reason you can even eat here is ‘cause of what I done…”

  “Gentlemen,” Ivan Elliott approached the table with a spring in his step, sitting across from them at the table, “maybe I can turn your luck?” The two old men nodded to each other with a look of pride. One of them shuffled the deck, and dealt the cards.

  There was a murmur of thunder in the distance, and the storm’s first raindrops tapped on the roof as the main doors swung open. Ivan turned at the interruption, his scarred face twisting in annoyance. “Who the hell are you?”

  “You’re the motherfucker that named me Sue,” he growled, “and now you’re gonna die!”

  He threw the first punch, stamping the impression of his spiked ring between the old man’s eyes. He and the chair went down with a thud. As Sue reached to grab him, a blade slashed past his eye and sliced off a piece of his ear.

  Sue sprang back and grabbed a chair, keeping his distance, and swung it at him. The cheap thing broke without much force, and Sue’s arm was grabbed. He squeezed his eyes shut as he crashed through the window into the street. The old man vaulted through the window after him with a cackle.

  Sue, with his knife drawn, launched into the fight. They were matched, punch for punch and stab for stab. Meanwhile, tires squealed in the distance and other bounty hunters scuttled out from behind the surrounding old wooden and brick buildings. Spike and Jet managed to keep them busy as they arrived on the scene.

  “Hope you don’t mind if I borrow one of these,” Spike said to the unconscious man before him as he stole a cigarette from his pocket. He barely dashed out of the way in time, pressing his back to the side of the brick fireplace as the bullet grazed his shoulder. Jet quickly disarmed the attacker, while Spike shot through the window beside him at someone getting ready to jump through it. As they ran to peek from below the windows, handguns ready in case any more showed up for the outlawed pair, another shot rang out. The dead night remained still but for the rain, and Sue, blood running down into his grimace, cocked the hammer.

  “You shot me.” The old man clutched the wound on his shoulder, and dropped to his hands and knees. “You shot me real good, son.”

  Sue, wild eyed, with his finger on the trigger, hesitated. He almost didn’t notice the old man reach for his own gun, until he finally pulled the trigger. The echo was drowned by the rain, and the mud, and the last word the old man said. Son. He rolled the tooth he’d lost in his blood filled mouth, and spat into the growing pool at his feet. Spike bumped open the saloon doors, lighting a cigarette.

  “So, what do we call you now?”

  “I don’t know, Bill, or George, or something. Anything but fuckin’ Sue.”

  “Don’t worry, you boys will get paid. They’re gonna pay for my surgeries.” After making a big show of detaining Sue for the spectators as if they didn’t just help him commit murder, they left him cuffed, keeping a close eye on him once they got back to the Bebop. They’d let him shower at least, but as soon as he was dressed he was again cuffed, something he resented though he completely expected it.

  “Why didn’t they before?” Spike asked, making a noise of discomfort as Jet tended to the scratch on his shoulder.

  “If you come out in prison, it’s not considered ‘medically necessary,’ but if you come back with a hormone implant and stubble, it is. It’s the least the bastards can do, and I don’t have the money to say no,” he explained.

  “You wanna shower first, or?” Jet asked Spike.

  “You go, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Spike didn’t care that much for small talk, it was just something to fill the silence. “You escaped before, what were you in for?”

  Sue glared indignantly at Spike, his unstyled mohawk hanging limp in front of his face. The handcuffs clinked behind him as he shifted against them. His cut ear was already bleeding through its’ bandages. “What happened to your eye? The fake one.” He chuckled darkly, “you’re not so different from the pigs, y’know. People don’t matter, they’re just a paycheck. D’you ever wonder whether the people you’re after deserve to be locked up? How does it feel to suck the government’s dick?”

  Faye sat on the nearby couch and started flipping through channels.

  “You’re lucky you’re worth the money,” Spike warned, before leaving to wait somewhere else for Jet to get out of the shower.

  The sound of the shower running came into earshot. Beneath it, something he didn’t expect to hear. It was only a quiet grunt, but of a tone he had never heard out of Jet. A ragged breath followed. Was he…?

  “Spi-!”

  The mere stifled syllable made him freeze before its’ implication sunk in. He had to take a deep breath. He didn’t mind, he did feel a little bit better about having done the same thing though. It was more than a little reassuring, actually. He’d even go as far as to say he was flattered if anyone asked, and thankfully no one was around to. Careful not to make any sound with his footsteps, he walked away. One day he’d be sure to tease Jet about it a little, and one day he would know the truth. It wouldn’t be today.

  “What’s the matter, you get hit on by some pretty blonde?” Spike stopped to glare at the end of the hallway, but refused to dignify that comment with a response. “What was she like?”

  Spike’s gaze lowered in thought, trying to make at least a minimal sense of what he should even say, though he didn’t really know. He could only recall fractures of her appearance, “she was like Gren, but she was a woman.”

  The sound of nail-filing suddenly stopped, “…was she hot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You should’ve gone for it.”

  Spike looked back at her with that annoyingly smug and deliberately enigmatic smile of his. “Maybe I will… and maybe not.”

  “We’ve got time, gotta wait a few hours to turn him in.”

  “We’re out of cigarettes,” he told her.

  “I’m just saying-”

  “You want anything?”

  “Whiskey.” She had him there, he’d be buying it for himself anyway.

  “Just… whiskey, nothing else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ok then…” he shrugged, “hope you like Fireball.” She hated fireball.

  “Wha-! Spike! You’ve gotta be kidding, you don’t even drink that shit, and it’s not even close to the nastiest thing I know you’ve put in your mouth.”

  “That’s all you’re gonna get, Faye.”

  “I’ll pay you back-!”

  “You already owe me,” he interrupted, “I’m leaving.”

  “Fine.”

  As he continued down the hall, Sue’s venom-dripping gaze followed him past. “Cocksucker,” he hissed.

  Spike couldn’t help a wry smirk, “yeah, guess I am one of those, aren’t I?”