Chapter Text
It wasn’t something that happened often on Mars. Usually it was reserved for the week of Christmas, being more of an inconvenience than anything in the eyes of the residents, who were used to the carefully controlled climate. The skies of Ganymede were white with cloud cover, the visibility below them low enough to keep anyone from flying if they could help it. As the Swordfish pierced through the layer of clouds, a call came in from Jet.
“You better hurry back, we’ve got a snowstorm coming.”
“Already?”
“Yeah, supposed to last all night.”
By the time he got back to the Bebop, there was already a layer of snow covering the deck and other flat surfaces on the ship. Spike shivered as cold air rushed into the cockpit, his fingertips going numb before he even hopped out, slipping a little on the ice stuck to his boots. Jet was there to greet him with a kiss, and to help him with the groceries. Ein followed them in, sniffing intently at one bag in particular. With everything inside, Spike flopped down onto the couch while Jet took on the task of unpacking and organizing everything. Food and drinks in one pile, Ein’s dog food and cat litter in another, and on the steps toilet paper, toothpaste, tampons for Faye, and extra first aid supplies.
A sneeze caught his attention. As soon as the numbness had gone from his fingers, Spike removed the coat he’d borrowed, as well as his pants, socks, and shoes, all of which were wet from the snow. His nose and cheeks were flushed red, and Jet could hear the shivers on his breath.
“You aren’t gonna catch a cold, are you?”
Spike laughed with a sniffle, “I’m alright, just give me a minute to warm up.”
“I can warm you up.” That sly mumble and all its’ implications drew a content sigh from Spike. That phrase though, it brought far colder memories. “Just give me a minute to help put this stuff away.” He handed a bag of fresh vegetables off to Ed while Faye wandered in to collect a pack of cigarettes and put away whatever didn’t belong in the kitchen.
It was the only time he could recall Vicious showing anything that even approached kindness. A deal had gone wrong, and for better or worse they were stranded on Callisto with nothing to show for it. Being short on cash, the only room they could get on such short notice amounted to little more than a drafty closet with a threadbare mattress and a tiny wood stove. Spike had slept in worse places, but that was a long time ago, at least it seemed like it at the moment. The only choice they had was to sleep side by side under their coats, hoping their wet shoes and socks would dry before morning. The room held no heat, and soon he was shivering too violently to get any sleep.
“You’ll die faster like that, you’re wasting energy.” Vicious stated things so flatly, it was often hard to tell what he meant by it. He was probably right, though. They hadn’t eaten anything.
“Well how do you expect me to warm up, then? It’s fucking freezing.” A few shuddering breaths. His ears hadn’t stopped hurting from the cold, but he was sure he caught those words.
“I can warm you up.”
Spike had no mental capacity to answer, too occupied with keeping his teeth from chattering in an attempt to not seem so desperately cold. Vicious didn’t wait for one though. He moved closer, so his back pressed up against Spike’s.
“Fuck. You’re freezing.” Vicious hissed just as Spike was getting over the sudden shock of warm flesh against his own. He froze. A minute or two passed in silence, save for the usual raspy breaths of his partner, as well as his own shuddering ones. Only then did he tentatively press closer, flattening his back and shoulders to maximize contact to the warm body beside him.
If that didn’t warm him up, the growing anxiety did. He wondered for a while, even after, if Vicious had some sort of ulterior motive. He thought of him as a brother, sure, but this wasn’t a level of contact the two had. Ever. In fact, he’d gone so far as to put it completely out of the question that Vicious would show any sort of care towards him, or anyone, beyond a half-sarcastic “don’t die,” and he wasn’t worth all that to him, was he?
Was he? That question stuck far deeper and more secure than Spike ever expected. Even now, he didn’t have an answer. Something had to have motivated his relentless bloodlust, since Spike left the syndicate. He couldn’t deny, even with the heartbreak, that his plan, the one that had nearly killed him for good, had a level of cunning that skill alone wouldn’t suffice. Of course there was Julia. Vicious didn’t love her, and he didn’t need the man himself to confirm. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have let her die. If he loved her, and if Spike’s transgressions were so vile as to ruin that for him, he would’ve done the job himself. Not hired some lackey, some unnamed crook, hoping he’d get a lucky shot. The funny thing was, Spike wouldn’t at all have minded sharing her. If he was jealous of Vicious he would’ve just said so. He just didn’t want her in danger anymore. More than anything, all he wanted was to not worry about her safety. A woman like that, she could give infinitely. That’s what made him wonder. Clearly, his loyalty to the syndicate had never been an issue. What exactly was it that he hoped to gain?
Was he enchanted by Julia, just as Spike had been? Was the thought of sticking his dick in the same person as Spike such a revolting idea, or was he just afraid? For all his resentment, Spike couldn’t accept the possibility that Vicious was completely incapable of love. He just couldn’t show it. He didn’t know how, and that was a feeling Spike was all too familiar with. He really, with all his heart, didn’t know what to do with those memories anymore. Wether to pity Vicious for being so utterly afraid of intimacy that he couldn’t even start the conversation, or to be just as violently wrathful as he had been. Vicious hated pity. He detested it so much that it wouldn’t be long before any cop with a conscience that came across him lay disemboweled in front of their family by the time he was done with them, and Spike respected him enough not to let that emotion take hold. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right about that though, that all Vicious really needed was some uncomfortable, yet sound reassurance that love didn’t make one weak. He would’ve done that in a heartbeat, if he knew at the time. If only it was that easy.
It was never an easy thing to explain, that he could do that sort of thing. Love one person and fuck another for fun, even love multiple people in a way that was usually reserved for one person in polite society. It was even hard for Jet, so sweet and understanding as he was, though he couldn’t blame him. The man had been betrayed too many times. Thankfully the fact that Spike would come home, snuggle up to him in bed after getting his sick kicks from whatever leather-clad person whose services he’d paid for, was enough when Jet wasn’t in the mood. Sometimes he’d even ask him how it went. How much he enjoyed himself, what Jet could do next time they got some time alone. That, he could handle. Vicious was just as his name implied. At best, a gently falling powder that would coat the ground, diguising the deadly layer of ice beneath no matter how beautiful.