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Febuwhump 2024, Day 2: Solitary confinement

I'm doing this one with my Vampire: the Requiem OC, Damien Velasquez (maybe I'll draw him soon)

CW: uncaring god, wishes for death, mention of gagging

Damien is a shuddering wreck. I still don’t remember what I did wrong, he thinks, but it’s not a mistake that I’m here. At least, that’s what he thinks whenever he can pull himself out of that animal part of his mind. It hisses, it growls, it keens pitifully, and while Damien is more alone than he has ever been before, he is sure of its presence. The room is so dark it’s as if no light has ever touched it. Damien feels twisting, gnawing pain through his torso, and he wishes he could die. Death, pain, heartbreak- all that he had feared must come and shield him from that slowly circling dread.

It is closer now. Maybe it will put him out of his misery. 

That is a foolish hope. He is the only one there. The slop behind him molders and attracts legions of flies. He can drink from these, the way a fish gasps in anything before it. Damien gags on the struggling insects. ‘Ayúdame, Dios’, he whimpers, as if God would look at him with anything other than contempt. 

If He would look at all.

Yet another Player fic, this time for Febuwhump!

TRIGGER WARNINGS IN THE TAGS!

Summary:

"A pleasant little blip sounded off from one of his devices, signaling that the decryption program had finished its job. “I’ve almost got it,” He reported, the smile on his face turning more genuine,” Just hold them off for a little longer, and I can finish-”

Player doesn’t get to finish his sentence. "

Alternatively, Player just wants to help his friends. But nothing's ever that easy,

i'm a february neutral, prompt rebel, whump rebel. i am a whump rebel because i am not sure what whump is, but i wanted to do the challenge anyway.

I had thoughts about the constituent elements of Febuwhump so here's this from my brain

February

February purist - does art for all the prompts on the exact day in February. does not premake art or write a single word before the day of (may preplan, but not always)

February neutral - posts all the prompts on the right day, but starts writing/drawing/making before hand to prepare

February rebel - writes whatever they want whenever they want. Will still be writing febuwhump in November probably

Prompt

Prompt purist - follows the prompt to the letter. interprets the prompt completely literally

Prompt neutral - interprets the prompt so it isn't necessarily it's exact meaning but keeps to the main idea intact

Prompt rebel - manipulates the prompt into whatever form they desire

Whump

Whump purist - writes whump and only whump

Whump neutral - write whump the majority of the time, but will also write other things if their idea works better as something else

Whump rebel - writes whatever the hell they want. may not write whump at all!

@febuwhump prompt: helpless

***

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

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

Watching her grandmother waste away in a hospital bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not then at least.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, she hated being helpless.

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

She was determined to be faster, smarter, stronger.

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

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

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

Helpless to change the past.

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

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

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

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

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

And now?

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

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

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

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

Her ship was fucked but Jet's was fine.

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

She was Faye fucking Valentine.

And Faye fucking Valentine would not be helpless again.

@febuwhump prompt: solitary confinement

***

He was enclosed in darkness. Trapped in a cushioned solitude that offers almost no room for movement. It is a worse confinement than the cage in the laboratory.

Well.

It is a smaller space, certainly. Less fresh air and no visibility which made the chaotic tumbling of his prison very confusing and very distressing. On the bright side, there are no injections. There was no monitor hooked up to his head. There are no lab coat wearing emotion-less employees scratching down information on notepads or inputting data into computer terminals.

There had been such a commotion in the night. He still wasn't sure what had happened... a gas had been released. He knew that because the air had taken on a cloying quality that made his nose twitch and had eventually tugged him into a state of unconscious.

When he awoke, it was to discover this new frightening form of solitary confinement.

It had been devastating enough to be taken from his mother and the others like him. To be chosen from his siblings for a dubious future just because he apparently seemed more cognizant than the others. How he wished now that he had not given off some appeal to these scientists.

It had been lonely, so lonely, in the lab. Hearing the ruckus of other animals - not canines like himself but all sorts of creature. At first it was nonsense. Shrieks and wails, howls and hissing. A lot of hoof stamping and wing flapping and attempts at accosting the coat-wearers whenever cages were opened and testing was conducted.

All of the animals had been kept separate, of course. Able to see one another and hear one another but not to interact physically. No cuddling up for shared warmth, no sniffing or licking or playing at all.

But one day he realized he could understand the others - some of them at least. And it seemed as if they could understand his yips and whines as well.

It lessened the loneliness a tad.

For a social creature like the dog he was... it wasn't enough. Even the times he was picked up and put on a medical exam table or strapped to a board to be put through a scanning machine... those weren't enough interactions to satisfy his desperate need to connect. His inherent desire for petting and to be able to snuggle like he had with his family before he was taken.

Sometimes he would shake from the despair of missing them so much. His mother, with her soft milky scent. His siblings with their rough-and-tumble play and their fast heartbeats a rhythm of familiar comfort and the gentle heat they exuded from their little bodies when they all lay together in a happy little pile.

Being cooped up was slowly destroying him. Even as his intellect grew, his energy began to drain. He was morose, his spirit flagging. The lab was no place for pups, no place for any of the unfortunate animals trapped inside those white brick walls.

But was this any better? Bonked back and forth within this little cage - some form of transportation unit? Being conveyed somewhere but by whom? For what purpose? Had he been rescued by one of the protesters they could sometimes hear shouting beyond the building? Had he been stolen by a competing team of scientists, the ones the lab coat wearers whispered about in uncertain tones?

It was a new type of hell. Being in this small space... being in the dark in so many ways. There were moments where he feared he might suffocate from a lack of new air. It didn't help that he couldn't stop panting from fear.

He was alone. He was lost. He was terrified.

He had to try and calm down. To think ahead and plan for what to do next. His prison would be opened at some point - that was inevitable. He would not be confined forever and when the brightness of the outside world peeked in on his trapped form... he would need to be ready to take stock of the situation.

Fight or flight, these were the responses a typical creature - even human - would jump to. But Ein refused to be guided blindly down either of those paths. He would take his time, at least at first, and ascertain his surroundings. Take stock of the life forms in his immediate vicinity to determine which were friend and which were foe. He would need to be smart to stay one paw ahead of the enemy.

He had to calm down. Relax his muscles so he could leap into action when it was necessary. Strain his ears to hear as much of the world around him as possible.

This was only temporary. This cage would release him into freedom... and from there? Who knew...

@febuwhump prompt: "bite down on this"

***

"This fucking hurts!"

Spike scrambled through the tool kit in the workshop and finally seized upon a tool that had a rubber sheath on it. In his haste to get back to Faye he nearly tripped over his own two feet before reaching her side.

"Here! Bite down on this!" He encouraged, offering her the tool.

Faye's mouth opened in disbelief and she had to quickly smack the proffered item from his hand before he could stick it between her upper and lower teeth himself. Despite herself and the excruciating agony tearing through her, Faye began to laugh until tears were spilling down her cheeks.

"What the fuck are you thinking, you goof?" She demanded through giggles once she was able to speak again. "You're not setting a fucking bone here, Spike!" She snorted, her chin dropping to her chest for a moment.

Spike sat back on his heels, expression crestfallen.

"I don't know what you want from me, Faye. I don't know what you need from me. I'm way over my head here..." He took in a deep breath and tried to let it out slowly though his heart was still racing wildly. "I just... you... what do I do?" His voice was plaintive and warbled slightly as if he was fighting to keep from breaking down.

Eyeing the distraught cowboy, seeing fear prominently displayed on his features for one of the first times in her life, Faye took pity on him.

"Just... hold me, you dolt. I'll take care of the rest for now. Don't worry, Jet will get back here with Doc in no time." She winced as another contraction took her breath away. Spike looked physically pained by her discomfort and she tried to suck it up and play it off as he tentatively settled in behind her so she could lean back against him.

"This is ridiculous, Faye. You should be in a hospital." Spike muttered quietly.

"I don't trust hospitals." She replied when she could focus on something other than the pressure. "I trust you. I trust Jet. And given how many times he's put you back together again, I trust Doc too."

She felt Spike shudder behind her as he exhaled. "I just... what if... I mean... if something goes wrong..."

"Shh, shh, shh..." Faye reached down to grab his hands in her own, squeezing his fingers between hers partially for his comfort and partially to deflect the discomfort she was feeling somewhere else. "Don't go borrowing trouble. Fuck the future. There's only now. There's only this. The present is where we are and what we have control over. I've got this. Do you believe in me?"

He sighed shakily, burying his face in her hair so he could lean his face down to press a kiss against the side of her neck.

"You're one of the only things in this world I have any faith in." He replied eventually.

"Damn straight." She breathed. Another contraction was beginning to crash over her. It was awful but it was endurable. And, since she'd familiarized herself with all the available text and videos on childbirth, she knew that they still had some time before their baby entered the world. She wasn't sure if her water had broken or not, but she wasn't yet feeling the urge to bear down.

"You sure you're okay? I can't do anything else?" Spike murmured, flexing his fingers against hers as her hands relaxed as the contraction faded away.

"You're doing everything I need right now. You are everything I need right now." She replied in a soft voice.

Their world was about to change for better or for worse... hopefully for better even if it took a lot of work to keep it on a good course. She understood his fears, his concerns, his helplessness. She could welcome those emotions, address them, and ideally soothe him a bit. Perhaps it was the mother already in her that was so patiently dealing with his anxiety in a time when she herself ought to be comforted, but she felt remarkably calm. She felt nearly invincible, truth be told.

Spike so rarely fell apart. He did not often display any sort of true uncertainty or worry. It made him all the more human to her, his panic, and it made her love him even more deeply. He would likely put on a brave front when the others arrived, but for now he was clinging to her like she was the only secure thing in a world of upheaval.

And realistically, she was.

The woman who had cracked open his heart after Julia left it weakened and exposed... Faye had reset it like a broken bone and nurtured it until it was no longer paining him. She had become his guiding light, his north star, the safe port where he could moor his soul and rest easy enjoying the days at her side.

But neither of them were truly capable of relaxing into a life of easy sailing. They needed challenges to thrive... and what better challenge than raising a child?

@febuwhump prompt: obedience

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@febuwhump prompt: rope burns

***

Her wrists stung painfully from where the rope had chafed her skin. It had been a pointless endeavor in the first place, trying to slowly and methodically adjust her wrists to get the synthetic fibers to loosen enough to tug herself free.

She had known from the first sight of the colorful coil that it was a material that would prove impervious to abrasion, which meant she wouldn't be able to use friction to deteriorate the fibers. That, coupled with the terrified obedience inspired by the silver-haired syndicate man and his suit-wearing lackeys, had led her to instead offer her hands willingly to be bound.

At no point had she been left on her own to try and use the scant centimeters of advantage she'd managed to secure by positioning her arms and wrists for the bondage they'd inflicted upon her.

And then they'd cut the ropes and tied her up anew once they reached their destination: a crumbling cathedral shrouded in darkness of several types. Shadows from the setting sun that stretched into every crevice, shadows which faded into deeper darkness as clouds covered the sky and began a merciless downpour. Then, a more subtle darkness, the sins of man that radiated from each of these well-dressed thugs.

Strung up with her arms behind her back - behind, indeed, a pillar against which her back rested - she had been helpless to attempt to free herself. More than that, fear kept her firmly in place.

At first, when she had realized they not only knew her ruse of familiarity with Mao Yenrai but that they were intent on using her for their own nefarious purpose, she had been relieved that they wouldn't be slitting her throat and tossing aside her corpse. She was also thankful that violating her - beyond merely trussing her up - was not on their agenda.

But it was difficult to pretend that she wasn't terrified. She had to draw upon every ounce of will power to keep her voice light, to keep her eyes clear of tears, to keep from trembling.

Seeing the boys on the screen when she was forced to call and beg for their help - something she frankly refused to do, choosing instead to be as nonchalant as possible - was such a relief that she sagged against her bonds. The rope burns on her skin made her straighten back up a heartbeat later, the reminder of the danger she was in even if Spike decided to show like he'd mentioned he might.

Hope threatened to rise in her heart and she angrily dashed it aside. He had claimed it wasn't for her and so she knew she could not truly rely on him for a rescue attempt. Whatever odd games were being played here - she wanted no part in them and regretted getting involved. She was a pawn here, not even a player, and that rankled as much as the fact that she was tied to a rough pillar that was most certainly leaving gouges against the bare skin of her back.

Between her wrists and her spine and her pride, she wasn't sure what hurt the most. It was better to focus on the pain than the horror of her situation though. The sharp memory of Mao's mutilated corpse sitting beside her in the opera box. The callous manhandling of her person there and here. The utter indifference with which Vicious gazed at her.

Well. At first his look had been considering. Sizing her up, judging her worth, trying to determine her merit. And then... following Spike's casual dismissal of interest in her... she was surprised that he hadn't killed her immediately. Her use to him was obviously null and void at that point, unless he intended to use her as a distraction if and when Spike showed up.

It didn't matter. She had to keep herself on task.

The grunt assigned to keep her in line was rearranging the ropes holding her arms together behind her back. She was being released from standing before the pillar - a minor improvement as now she could feel cool air blowing along the scrapes of her back - and the man was positioning her at his side in one of the darkest corners of the cathedral.

"Move when I move you. Say nothing. Disobey and die." He muttered to her when she dared to look in his direction.

Fresh fear spilled down her spine and she forced herself to stand straight and tried to give off an air of being entirely unaffected by everything that had happened and was going on around her. She summoned all the grace she could muster, determined to act as if her presence was by choice. These bonds might as well be ribbons, the gun pressed to her temple could be the weight of a crown sitting jauntily upon her head.

She was not a frightened woman, shivering internally at the prospect of her imminent demise. She was not a terrified prop whose abrasions burned with every brush of the rope against her soft flesh. She was not going to die here like a panicked animal.

She was going to control her breathing and continue to try and shift out of her bonds. She was going to stomp this man's foot with her stiletto heel while ducking and twisting to avoid the bullet he would automatically fire. She was going to use these rotten pews as a cover to manage an escape from this situation all on her own.

And then, over the sound of the rainfall outside the decrepit building, she could hear the repetition of steps that indicated someone was approaching at a steady pace...

@febuwhump prompt: You Lied To Me

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Where are you going?-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dammit, Spike."

@febuwhump prompt: suffering in silence

***

His grandmother had taught him that a good solid meal could fix just about any problem. Or at least give you the fortitude and energy needed to go out and handle whatever needed handling. It was important to eat well - or at least regularly - to keep your mind and body and spirit sustained.

There was an ache inside his chest. He tried to fool himself into thinking it was lower, deep down in his belly. Hunger was surely responsible. And while they hadn't snagged a big bounty today, they had been given a ton of eggs from Ed's fa...

At any rate, they had a ton of eggs. Boiled up and painstakingly shelled by yours truly and then stacked - nearly a dozen per dish - into four serving plates and one dog dish.

He and Spike sat across from one another in the living room, no words spoken.

The silence was massive. It was suffocating. It was positively unnatural after what the two men had grown used to over the past few months.

There was no clacking of computer keys, no humming or bursts of song, no childish gleeful giggles. There was no hot dog breath panting against their ankles, no random scratching of doggy claws against a furry body, no whines that somehow communicated the intent of a conversation so well. There were no playing cards being shuffled, no woman's voice bemoaning her boredom or slyly teasing, no sound of heeled boots wandering down the hall as the owner returned from a senseless shopping spree.

Hell, he had no fucking clue where Faye had disappeared to. He hadn't seen her since sometime before the girls reprogrammed the ship to land here instead of going to Mars. The dog being gone made some sense... no doubt he'd trailed along after Ed when she departed. Ein had been stuck to her side since the hacker had first boarded the ship - literally, he'd even been glued to her at one point.

It's not like Ed had been kidnapped either. He had a pretty good idea of where she'd gone given who they'd met that day.

So the kid had a father. An actual living breathing blood-related family member. An absent-minded easily distractible work-focused father who probably wouldn't remember to instruct her to bathe once a week, who wouldn't bring her along on general wellness appointments so she could see a doctor too, who wouldn't keep her adequately fed...

His heart twisted painfully.

Or maybe it was his stomach. Maybe it was the bellyache of having finished his own pile of eggs and having ruthlessly and wordlessly joined Spike in devouring the plates that had been set out for the girls.

They hadn't even eaten anything today...

Gone. Not even a goodbye from Faye, though why they ought to have expected one...

When she bailed on them on Callisto there had been a note at least. But that was because she had been secretly hoping they'd track her down. She'd never admit as much, hell, she'd deny it if she bothered to acknowledge the accusation but they'd never had a conversation about it after he'd brought her back.

So this... this meant she didn't want to be found. Didn't want to be brought back like a wayward child.

Another pang as he polished off the second plate and then looked up to catch Spike's troubled eyes before they both glanced at Ein's untouched dish. A growling rumble echoed in the strained silence - was that his belly or Spike's? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Silently, they both dove for the dish and scrambled to shove as many of the by-now repulsive eggs into their mouths.

It had to be done. He wanted no leftovers to sit in the fridge, mocking him that they had all chosen to leave. He wanted no evidence that he'd cared enough to try and provide for each of them.

Hell, he never wanted to lay eyes on an egg ever again.

Spike disappeared without saying a thing, leaving Jet in his apron in the living room all alone. Futilely trying to convince himself that the rawness of his battered heart was the food not sitting well in his stomach. Crossing his arms high on his chest, Jet closed his eyes and ground his teeth together, suffering in silence.

It would be easier to just go to sleep. No need then to be bothered by the lack of missing companions.

Instead, he opened his eyes again and forced himself to his feet. He made the climb to the bridge and stared hard at the words scrawled on the deck of the ship.

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Jet turned away and moved to the navigation panel. Programmed the ship to launch and resume course towards Mars.

There was nothing good from Earth to bother with anymore.

@febuwhump prompt: "why won't it stop?"

***

"I don't understand." Spike muttered, cradling his left arm with his right as he sat on the cold concrete bench of the bus stop.

Annie glanced over at him. "What is your problem?" She asked in a snotty voice. Mao fawned over the kid so much that it was hard to be around Spike without getting pissed off. It wasn't even jealousy exactly it was more... well, Spike himself was a brat. He mouthed off constantly, he drank and smoked and stole - and he was only 10!

Frowning, Spike shrugged and clutched his arm a little tighter as if self-conscious. The movement made him hiss in pain and his face screwed up like he was fighting back tears.

Annie was surprised. She'd never seen a trace of uncertainty or sadness in him before. With a long-suffering sigh she turned from her position watching down the road for their bus and grabbed his arm to yank the sleeve up before he could react by fighting her off.

He yelped as the dirty fabric of his stained sweatshirt swept over his blistered skin and Annie couldn't keep from wincing at the sight.

"It's a pretty bad burn," she acknowledged after inspecting it. "We'll have to put some ointment on it and cover it up so it can heal without getting infected. Ugh, you're so much work, kid."

Glaring at her, Spike wrenched his arm back and stared down at the disfigured flesh. "I don't understand." He repeated. She watched him grit his teeth before taking a deep breath and finally looking at her with as innocent and respectful of an expression as he could possibly make. "The steam only hit me for a minute. It still burns. Why won't it stop burning?"

It was Annie's turn to shrug. "That's just how burns work." Then she frowned at him. "Have you seriously never gotten burnt before?"

Spike rolled his eyes and tilted his neck back and forth to crack it. Eventually he huffed another sigh before replying to her, though his eyes were trained on the ground by their feet.

"Never been around hot food or nothing." He remarked quietly.

Well. He was an orphan, after all. He'd spent most of his years on the streets. When Mao had originally stumbled across him, it had been when Spike was reeling from a fever and did such a piss-poor job of making off with Mao's wallet that the older man had been able to follow him with ease to the alley that Spike called home. It was still the place they could typically find him whenever he ran off from the youth center where Mao had stuck him.

Annie's shoulders slumped. Somehow Spike's simple admission and his childlike confusion over such a basic concept had managed to deflate all of her typical irritation over being saddled with babysitting the kid. Annie's own childhood had been marked with misery and hardship of course - her mother had been a flake who just disappeared one day. That had left Annie with a junkie dad who occasionally was able to provide useful information to the syndicate. It was her uncle, Mao, who had eventually agreed to take Annie under his wing and bring her into the outer realm of his world.

She had discovered an appreciation within herself for weapons and threw herself wholeheartedly into learning everything she could about guns and bullets and grenades and knockout gasses and brass knuckles. Self-defense was such an important skill to hone, but perhaps equally useful was merely having access to things that could hurt or kill someone else. She spent hours of her days on the shooting range or hustling antique guns from flea markets and pawn shops and estate sales. It was her passion and had become quite an addiction, truth be told.

In fact, once she was able to drop Spike off at the youth center to have his arm tended to, she was planning on going to a sale at a museum that was closing down over on the east end of town. She'd heard a rumor that they had cannons - actual cannons! - that would be up for auction. Now that would be something to own!

But first she had to do something about this little snot-nosed boy who was still putting on a brave face despite the tremors that coursed through his upper body now and again. He kept kicking his heels against the bench which at least made any shakiness in those limbs not evident to any onlookers. At least he was smart enough to know he shouldn't show any weakness if he could avoid it.

Annie glanced down the road and finally saw the familiar shape of the bus wearily working its way towards them. She held out her hand to Spike.

"C'mon, kid. I'll weasel some burn cream from the nurse at the YC for ya. It'll help a little with the pain. Best thing aside from that is to distract yourself. Why don't you find a good book in the library there and hole yourself up for a few hours reading?"

Spike warily put his good hand into hers and let her pull him to his feet. Considering how often they butted heads, it was no surprise he was hesitant to fully trust her.

"Yeah, maybe." He was still sort of curled in on himself even now that he was standing up. It gave him a vulnerability that made Annie nervous. She hated to be seen as weak and wasn't comfortable being in the presence of someone who might cast her in that light by their own timidity.

"What's the matter? Don't tell me you can't read either!" She cried.

Spike straightened up, shoulders going back and chest puffing up with a child's arrogance. "Shut up! I can read plenty!"

Annie eyed him suspiciously. Who would have been around to teach him letters? The shiftiness of his eyes seemed very telling to her.

She thought longingly of the cannons and how fun it would be to add them to her collection. Then again, where would she even store the damn things?

The bus groaned to a halt in front of them and Annie yanked Spike along after her as she climbed aboard.

"If you keep your trap shut about this, I'll help you figure it out." She told him in a fierce whisper. "I don't want nobody knowing I did you a kindness, you hear? I'm supposed to be working on my tough reputation and Mao sticking me looking after you all the time doesn't help that any." She sighed as she shoved him into one of the seats and claimed the one next to him. "Anyway, he'll be over the moon if I can get you on the right track. So. First the burn, then the books."

Spike pinched his lips together and gave a curt nod before directing his attention out the window. Good. That meant Annie could daze out for the duration of their bus ride. There'd always be another chance to own something as cool as a cannon... and in the meantime, well, it was smart to do things that put others in her debt. That was something she'd learned from Uncle Mao real quick. Favors made the world run smooth.

@febuwhump prompt: alt 7 Last Words

***

How many times had he been in this position? How many departing words had his ears caught? How many desperate eyes stared at him rather than face Death, seeking one last moment of human contact... Hoping perhaps for a salvation he could not provide... Trusting in him to bear witness to their passing, to carry on the memory of their life in that moment if nothing else.

He refused to rewind time too far. There had been so many instances during his time in the syndicate... Too many. And even before that...

Even starting at the beginning of his partnership with Jet was too much. There had been so many deaths... So many lives winking out with him in their vicinity.

The more recent ones haunted him too strongly to be dismissed.

Katerina. Soundless, he had read on her lips the whispered goodbye she spoke before the police destroyed the vessel she and Asimov had desperately tried to escape in. Asimov whose life Katerina herself had ended.

The thug threatening Faye. Taunting him. Arrogance heavy in his tone as he assumed he held all the cards. Spike had casually disabused him of that notion by firing a bullet straight through his skull.

Giraffe. Bleeding out and still only concerned about doing what he could for the comrade he had once served with. Passing on to Spike the responsibility of ending the life of a monster.

Wen. The monster. Much like Frankenstein's creature, the boy-who-was-not-a-boy had not had much choice in how he came to be. The reality of his existence was still one that Spike found hard to believe despite having all the evidence and testimony that could be had. Killing the monster he had become had allowed the corruption of the boy's soul to be reversed, to bring the poor kid into the peace of death at last. Or so Wen had said before the arrested development of his body catapulted him to a decrepit state.

Roco. Just another well-meaning youth who had taken the wrong path for the right reasons. Stella hadn't cared about her own blindness, she had accepted life as it was for her, she had only wanted to have her brother around. So really was Roco being a hero for the right reason? Not that it mattered now of course... he'd been so earnest, had been so trusting... It was odd to think that his last words had been to wonder about friendship with Spike. There hadn't been that many years between them but there had been a world of difference between being a foolhardy kid in a Venusian mafia and being an enforcer for one of the toughest syndicates on Mars. It had felt like a terrier puppy wanting to befriend a grizzled mastiff.

Gren. The sad soul whose final words had been a desperate plea to return to a time and place he could never revisit, and who had also wasted his own precious breath to share what he had been granted of Julia... how she had spoken of Spike's eyes and how she had indulged in that damn tune, that haunting music...

Mad Pierrot. Perhaps the saddest last words... a broken mind, childishly sobbing for a mother long gone...

Londes. Somewhere, a living soul. But in the ruins of the building where he had led Faye to die, speaking out of countless shattered screens, he had been more displaced technology than anything else to Spike. And yet, his plea had been alarmingly human... the fear of nothingness, the fear of dying alone, and bitching about fairness as if the universe had anything to do with that vaunted concept.

Annie. Fuck. One of the more personal ones... one of the most needless ones. Arms dealers weren't supposed to be casualties even in conflicts within a syndicate. It had been her closeness with Mao and with Spike himself that had signed her death warrant. Him coming back to life had indeed been worse on her than anything else she could have done to herself. Those hadn't been her final words, of course, but even spoken months before they echoed in Spike's mind over her actual murmur at the end, so commonplace and simple... a remark about the weather...

Julia. What had it all been? Is a dream a lie if it doesn't come true or is it something worse? They had been fooling themselves when they were messing around... fooling themselves by fancying themselves to be in love... imagining that they could one day live a dream together. Though he had harbored affection for her long after she failed to show up, her decision to flee on her own had severed some of the bonds between them. Everything had been so meaningless after he escaped the syndicate without her at his side. He had been drifting from that point on... forging new friendships almost against his will, having people barge into his life and into his heart and being entirely unable to push them back out again... and then it all came crashing down and reality blurred once more and... was any of this real?

Shin. Idealistic, naive, brave Shin. "I wanted you to come back..." ...well, Spike did feel bad about abandoning Shin and Lin to the clutches of the syndicate, but they'd still been brash boys gung-ho about the life of gangsters. They hadn't become disgusted with themselves like Spike had. Hadn't fallen for an angel whose own hands and wings were soaked in blood. He wasn't sure if he could have made their lives better by staying in the first place or if he could have kept either alive if he'd done a better job of staying away instead. It didn't really matter now... done was done and he had their lives - their deaths - on his conscience like so many more.

And now... bloodied and battered and staggering away from the crumpled corpse of Vicious... "if that's your wish..." certainly not the most profound last words ever spoken. Then again, he might have uttered his own before that... although, "let's end it all" was by far a much cooler line to exit on if you asked him.

He could do better though, right?

Memories of his own childhood reared in his mind suddenly. Was this his life flashing before his eyes? It had happened quite a few times before, though never this far back... never all the way to an age of jubilation, scrawny rascals racing around playing cops and robbers with finger guns, the sun shining on their wild antics and their laughing mothers hanging laundry on clotheslines stretching between buildings...

"Bang."

@febuwhump prompt: killing in self defense

TW: attempted non-consensual sexual activity

***

It had been easier than she'd expected.

Well... sort of.

Scrambling over refuse strewn across a darkened alley, kicking forcefully at the bigger stronger brutal stranger trying to subdue her by sheer domination, clawing for any sort of object that could serve as a weapon... that was difficult.

Terror had locked her throat up so she couldn't scream for help. She was practically hyperventilating which wasn't doing her focus any favors. Her blood was pumping in her ears so loudly she couldn't hear the swearing of the man she kept smashing with her heels.

Her knees were scraped. Various gross-smelly wet things had smeared against her exposed skin and her formerly clean clothing alike. There were sure to be bruises on her knuckles from how much power she'd been putting into her punches before the stranger had managed to trap her in this dead-end alleyway.

She could taste blood in her mouth from the backhand he'd given her. That casual slap had sent her sprawling but had given her a brief bit of space from her attacker. It had offered her a false escape, letting her lash out with her powerful legs from a position on the ground where he'd probably intended her to lay insensate and unable to move his bulk aside once he'd descended upon her.

Fortunately she had a thick skull or something because she hadn't been knocked completely silly and she'd been able to put her all into her attempts to defeat him or at least distract him with pain to the point where she could slip by and run out of the alley.

One of his beefy hands managed to secure her left ankle in a vice-like grip and he yanked her backwards so hard that she belly-flopped onto the concrete and smacked her chin with enough force to see stars. He took advantage of her disarray to wrestle her onto her back and pressed his full body weight down against her, covering her hips and her belly and her chest.

His face was above hers - too high for her to attempt to headbutt him - and his leer was something out of a nightmare. There was too much delight in his sky blue eyes... too much lust... he was getting off on the fight she was putting up as much as anything else. Nausea roiled in her stomach and she hoped she might be violently ill with enough propulsion to coat his face in bile and the scraps she'd managed to swindle earlier from the open market.

Her heels drummed on the pavement uselessly and her arms, free at her sides while he concentrated on holding down her body, beat weakly at his shoulders and ribs. He was grinning, a rictus smile dripping with confidence in the inevitable outcome of their altercation. And she kept landing feeble punches that seemed only powerful enough to tickle him.

It was infuriating.

And then her right hand swept over something cold and hard.

There was no time for thought. Familiarity shot through her arm like she'd struck something against her funny bone. Her left hand continued to strike him while her right hand traced muscle-memory movements along the shaft of the lethal device she'd discovered.

And then the safety was off and the gun was pulled free of the holster and the bullet - point blank through his side just beneath his ribcage on that side - was tearing into his innards on a mission of vengenance.

And then he was slumping over her, still too-fucking heavy for her to easily pull free, and hot blood was pouring out of the entry wound and coating her in stickiness that would never wash out of these clothes.

Gradually her heartbeat began to slow down to normal. Her breathing, still labored due to his bulk spread across the majority of her body, became calm. Disgust and frustration at the situation warred within her even as she realized she was safe.

Panic set in again. The unexpected panic of having survived intact. The desperate panic that would help her slip out from beneath this corpse.

Seconds or minutes or hours later, she found herself on her hands and knees with the gun still gripped tightly. The nausea returned and she made sure to vomit all over the asshole. It was a move she only mildly regretted later, once she had truly regained control of herself, and decided to pick through his pockets for anything else of value.

It was the first time she had had to take someone else's life.

She wasn't entirely sure what the rules on murder were in this dystopian future world but surely killing in self defense was still something that wouldn't land her in prison.

Best not to find out though.

She took the rings off his limp fingers, the watch with the broken face, the wallet and the keys and the comm. She took everything he had and, almost as an afterthought, yanked his pants down to his ankles before picking up a piece of wood from a busted up entertainment center near the dumpster in the furthest corner of the alley. Whacking his calves and thighs and ass with the board over and over and over was a form of stress release. With any luck it would also give the impression that he'd been the victim in this instance. If police thought he'd been accosted by one or more people, beaten savagely and then robbed blind, well... that meant they wouldn't be looking for some nearly-raped woman.

Satisfied at last with her work and worried about lingering too long at the scene of the crime, Faye took his jacket to cover the blood coated shirt she wore and fled into the night.

@febuwhump prompt: semi-conscious

***

“So what the hell am I looking for here?”

Faye yawned before blinking tired eyes at the screen where Jet’s grumpy face was. She gave a half shrug. “How the hell should I know?”

“Aren’t you looking at the readout? I left it on the screen right in front of you!”

She rolled her eyes. “Idiot. You’re on the screen right in front of me.”

The flickering image of Jet was gritting its teeth, a vein popping on his forehead. “You can minimize this window. That will let you see me and the information on the bounty.”

Giving him a disbelieving look Faye poked at the keyboard keys using the tried and true hunt-and-peck method. Moments later, Jet’s image was gone entirely and the screen cleared to a blinking blue screen awaiting some sort of input.

Her comm device began to blare for attention and Faye huffed a sigh as she answered. “What.”

“You hung up on me!”

“The computer went dark! Now it’s all blue.”

Jet growled. “Where is Spike? Is he there? Put him on!” And then a thoughtful pause as if Jet was remembering Spike’s beaten up condition. “Is he awake?” Jet's concern over Spike's sleep made Faye's own heart thump with some odd combination of jealousy and mutual worry. Spike had risked his own life to save her, after all. Jet had wanted to disconnect the call. Far be it for anyone to care much about poor Faye Valentine - even Spike's rescue hadn't been on her behalf so much as to settle some bullshit score with a dick from his past.

Still, he had come for her.

Faye twisted to look at the lanky form of the cowboy stretched on the couch behind her. His eyes were closed but if anything he seemed to be holding his breath as though using a child’s method of feigning sleep where they forget to regulate their breathing and just try to hold completely still.

“Hm… semi-conscious at best.” She judged, giving Spike an out from having to deal with Jet’s attitude. A slight smile creased Spike’s face and she nearly rolled her eyes before remembering that Jet could see her and would notice that sort of reaction. Trust a cop to read too much into someone’s expressions.

“Well what the hell good are either of you!”

Faye stuck her tongue out at the irritable image on the small comm screen. “You’re the one who was bragging up a storm about bringing in the bacon with a big one all by your lonesome! I could have come along as backup but nooooo you insisted you were capable of doing this on your own!”

“All I needed was for you to send over that page of information! It didn’t send to the Hammerhead properly! See, this is why I’m always stuck on the ship handling the computer aspect of our cases! How hard is it to minimize a window?” Jet would have continued to berate her but Faye deactivated the call from her end with a satisfied smile.

“Leaving him to figure it out on his own?” Spike’s voice rumbled behind her.

Faye gave a negligent wave of her hand. “He found the information in the first place. So he’s gotta search it again on his on-board computer, whoop-dee-do. Maybe if he asked a little nicer I could have found what he was looking for.”

“You’re something else, Faye.”

This time she let herself roll her eyes. “Yeah and you were really jumping at the chance to help out yourself, Mr. I’m-just-gonna-lay-here-and-fake-sleeping.”

There was no response. Faye twisted to look at him again and Spike gave an exaggerated and not at all convincing snore.

“Real mature.” She muttered before carefully entering in the proper sequence of information to load up the computer screen. A nagging sense of guilt was forcing her hand but it was better to be the bigger person here. After all, Jet was out picking up work to make sure they could eat later and technically all she was responsible for was making sure Spike didn't tear any stitches or overdose on pain pills. Being a helpful teammate was something that she wasn't exactly familiar with but dammit she wanted to be. She hated to be indebted to anyone.

A few moments later the relevant information was copied and sent over to Jet’s zipcraft. “Never let him say I do nothing around here.” She remarked before glancing at Spike again when he had no quip of a response. She realized he’d gone from semi-conscious to unconscious, likely from the pain meds coursing through his system. Well, her work for the day was done and her only company was zonked out so…

Faye patted his pockets down lightly to find his pack of cigarettes and liberated his lighter as well. Time to celebrate a task well done!

@febuwhump prompt: "You weren't supposed to get hurt."

***

Spike was close-lipped for the entire arduous walk from Doc's office to the wharf where the Bebop was anchored. Jet had done just about all the talking - and unnecessary threatening - at Doc's. He wondered at his own inability to shut up. Was it residual adrenaline from the shoot out prompting him to speak up? Was it a bone-deep fear of how everything seemed to be unraveling since the girls left? Was the silence somehow more uncomfortable than usual?

The silence did feel different. It used to carry an essence of stress, standard worries over funds and finding work, but overall it had been an easy-going sort of quiet that engulfed the ship. Even after Faye and Ed and Ein came on board, the ship was not magically full of conversation and sound even if there was more chatter than before.

The silence that had consumed the vessel after they left Earth... that had the weight of misery on it. Disconsolate, they had fled the unnatural quiet to nurse their bad moods at the bar. It had almost felt like old times, before the others, even when the place started getting shot up. Hell, that brought back a slew of memories from the misadventures he and Spike had had when they were merely a duo.

Until he caught a bullet in his thigh.

Was he getting too old for this shit? Sure, he'd been shot before but this... this felt more ominous than before which was really saying something. He hadn't had all the information back when he lost his arm and he didn't exactly have much more to go on with the current bullshit hitting the fan but it had a very dark vibe. Like a python was slowly curling around their airway, choking them into submission.

This was the type of thing that required a response. If they didn't lash out at their attackers then their enemies would continue to hit them until they were dead. Simple as that.

Spike's past had reared its ugly head and would not be deterred this time.

They could still flee, of course. Always a chance they might be able to get far enough away and stay under the radar to avoid being hunted down. Not likely, odds of success with that plan were atrocious. But... well...

Every step sent agony coursing up his leg, radiating along his spine, lodging in his skull like the bullet had dug into his brain instead of the fleshy meat of his thigh. He'd lucked out in that it hadn't hit any arteries. And that Doc had an office so close to where the action went down. Small wonder, that. Doc had been one of Spike's contacts and that certainly meant there was some shared syndicate connection between the pair of them.

By the time they got through the ship and to the living room, Jet was covered in a sheen of perspiration. Spike, tucked underneath his metal arm and carrying most of Jet's weight, began to turn them towards the hall leading to the sleeping quarters but Jet paused.

"Here. Far enough. Get me to the couch." Jet managed through clenched teeth. Not often that he and Spike traded places and roles like this. The couch was Spike's domain, patching up wounds was Jet's. Maybe the discrepancy was why Spike hadn't said shit.

Once he was settled into a sitting position on the couch, Jet cleared his throat and gave his full attention to his partner. "All right, look here-"

"You weren't supposed to get hurt." Spike interrupted. He was still standing next to the couch but he wasn't looking at Jet. His gaze was fixed on some point off in the distance, not seeing the grated stairs he was facing.

"I'd rather it hadn't happened myself," Jet admitted readily. "But that's just how it shakes out sometimes."

Spike continued to stare off, jaw tight.

"I've dealt with gunshot wounds before, bud." Jet reminded him. "This one was clean in and out, and Doc did a mighty fine job on this. Hell, he even hooked me up with a crutch so I don't have to rely on you hauling my ass to the shitter every time I gotta go."

"It's my fault." Spike said flatly. "I should have left this fucking ship months ago. I should have stayed off on Callisto."

"Shoulda woulda coulda never did nothing for nobody." Jet reasoned. "Done is done and we're here now. Not your fault this happened."

Spike made a harsh noise in his throat and finally turned to look down at Jet. "Not my fault? Not my fucking fault? You're kidding, right? You know this is all because of me. They're gunning for me and they'll take out everyone around me just to rub salt in the wound. I was stupid. Vicious gave me such a long rope to run around on... why didn't I stay on my guard? This shouldn't have happened. You're not supposed to get hurt because of me."

Jet was quiet. Truth was... it was Spike's fault. But at the same time it wasn't. After he'd cottoned onto the fact that Spike had a criminal past, Jet could have kicked him off the ship anytime. Could have turned him into the ISSP on any moon or planet. Could have thrown the kid to the wolves and wiped his hands of the problem.

"They're gonna try for the others." Spike's voice was low, rough. There was no need to specify who he meant.

Jet shivered and Spike pursed his lips. He walked off quickly and came back with a blanket from one of the bedrooms before Jet could even call after him.

"You're in shock still. Ought to get you out of these sweat-soaked clothes too." Spike advised.

"Later. I just need to rest now." Jet argued. He made to lie down on the couch and Spike moved swiftly to help him ease the wounded leg up onto the cushion. "Lemme rest. We'll figure out everything else later. See if you can raise either of them on comms. Probably we're too far for the signal to reach but..."

Spike gave him a nod and disappeared up the ladder to the bridge.

Closing his eyes, Jet strove to take deep and even breaths. He couldn't think about the girls being targets. Couldn't think about the staggering number of enemies suddenly poised to destroy them all. It was an overwhelming prospect and Spike was right - he was still in shock. The pain of getting shot was leeching back into him now that he was reclining and unable to distract himself with anything else.

It did not feel good.

Worse, the silence of the empty ship was beginning to sound and feel positively menacing.

@febuwhump prompt: "Who did this to you?"

doubles as my submission for Relationship Week: Spike and Faye and Jet @bebopcrew

***

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and frowned at the smear of bright red blood that stood out so vibrantly against her pale skin. Well, at least she hadn't been wearing her gloves - blood was such a bitch to get out of fabric.

"Faye?" Spike's voice held an uncharacteristic note of concern.

She paused on the landing between the two short flights of stairs in the living room. Spike was sitting on the couch with a steaming cup of ramen cradled in his hands. He was frowning at her over the top of it and his worried expression along with his greeting had also drawn Jet's attention for the other man was turning away from the computer screen to see what had Spike so perturbed.

Both men were on their feet so abruptly that Faye felt like she'd somehow missed a segment of time. Was she that zoned out?

"Who did this to you?" Jet was demanding as he tried to lead her over to the couch.

Spike, grim-faced, was already rooting through the mini fridge for the small arsenal of bullets and other destructive items he liked to stash there.

Faye fobbed off Jet's tentative grasp of her right arm but wobbled alarmingly enough that he was able to successfully catch hold of her on his second attempt. Feeling far too spent to fight off his attention, Faye gave in to the doctoring that Jet began to administer once he'd gotten her onto the couch.

"Which bounty were you after?" Spike asked quietly as Jet dug through the medical kit they kept stashed in the living room.

Faye turned her head to spit out a mouthful of blood. She felt bad about that momentarily but then remembered how many times Spike had bled all over the furniture and floor in here and decided she'd earned the right to do the same on occasion.

"Goliath." She muttered. "Aptly named, turns out. Dunno what happened. I shot him. I know I did. Point blank." She'd never had an adversary react the way the giant man had. It was like the bullets she fired at him lent him an unholy strength. In retrospect, being close enough for her target to reach out and grab her was not the best idea. The whole benefit of using a gun was to keep your distance so you stayed out of trouble. But she'd assumed he would... well, at least flinch. Instead, he'd smiled the most terrible smile she had ever seen crawl across someone's face and then he'd snapped his hand out so fast that she hadn't been able to dance away from his strike.

"Jet." Spike's voice was calm yet Faye could sense a maelstrom of meaning in the tone used to address the other man. It had always mystified and impressed her how little the two men had to say to one another to communicate effectively.

Sure enough, Jet understood every portion of the things Spike left unsaid.

"I'll send you coordinates as soon as I get the location." He was still preoccupied with trying to staunch the blood flowing from a gash across Faye's right side. Surprisingly, that open wound didn't hurt nearly as much as where Goliath's fists had landed on her left hip and her right cheek, nor where his ridiculously strong grip had crushed her right wrist when he latched onto her dominant hand to knock her gun away.

Spike was already to the circular door by the time Faye blinked again.

"My gun," she murmured, wincing as Jet began to clean along the cut so he could stitch it up neatly.

"I'll find it." Spike assured her. "Tell Jet everything you know before you pass out. I don't wanna go looking for a needle in a haystack trying to find this guy."

She gave him a jaunty little salute though she immediately regretted the movement. Everything was sore or seeping blood. She hadn't had her ass handed to her that badly in years. If the sirens of approaching squad cars hadn't frightened off the bounty... well, she decided not to think about that. What ifs were pointless.

"Okay Faye... so where did this all go down and where do you think he went..." Jet began interrogating her while suturing her side.

It had been demeaning to be tossed around like a ragdoll. She didn't like having to admit there were times she was in over her head. But something in her heart swelled at how the guys jumped to offer assistance without her having to ask. Likely they knew how difficult it was to swallow one's pride and admit to needing help. But they made it so she didn't have to voice her failure at all... they just bypassed that aspect of the issue and dove straight to the heart of things - taking stock of her injuries and taking over the mission of bringing Goliath down.

Hissing at the pressure of Jet's metal fingers pinching her flesh together so he could thread the sterilized needle through the undamaged bits along either side of the slash, Faye began to recount her day and where it all went wrong...

@febuwhump prompt: came back wrong

***

The ceiling of the structure lay in broken slabs all around the red carpeted stairway. Metal beams, the steel skeleton of the ruined tower, clawed upwards alongside countless rebar ribs also exposed to the sky. It was like entering a decaying carcass of a whale washed ashore on the beach.

She felt engulfed by the creature despite the fact that the stars were glimmering into existence far over her head. It was quiet, no rats amongst the rubble this high up. Not that there was much life in the lower levels of the skyscraper either. It had been a haunting experience to make her way from the ground floor all the way up to this point... Spike's last stand.

Faye wasn't sure why she felt the need to echo his footsteps. To literally follow in the blood-soaked wake of a man committed to not just destruction of a crime syndicate but to his own annihilation.

The area had been cordoned off, of course. Useless trappings of a useless police force. She hadn't even bothered to break the plastic CAUTION DO NOT ENTER tape that encircled the building, she merely ducked underneath and made her way - unopposed - inside.

There had been no attempt to clean up. Not surprising, the damage to the building likely meant it would need to be demolished once it could be safely orchestrated. The bodies had been removed but the signs of agonized last breaths were everywhere. Hand prints along railings and walls and the floor, desperate fingers that had scrabbled for help that would not arrive. Pools of dried blood caked in debris from walls that had exploded from the force of grenades.

Blowing shit up was one of Spike's specialties. He had a particular affinity for causing widespread damage and for giving himself an edge over his opponents who would be half-blinded by the smoke and half-deafened by the blast itself. It had come in handy against bounties countless times in their months together. It had nearly proved his own undoing at the cathedral but the man was made of indestructible bones or something.

The breeze blowing through the gaping holes of the building was bitterly cold. Tharsis didn't experience winter, not the way Faye remembered the season from old Earth and not the way that Callisto existed in perpetual icy endless days and nights, but Tharsis excelled at being a city of chilly temperatures only exacerbated by the dampness wrought by the frequent rain.

Clad in her usual vinyl two-piece suit, Faye found herself glad that it was not raining at the moment. The sky was clear of any cloud cover. If anything though that made it even colder somehow. It was like the vast chill of the expanse of space above was reaching down through the man-made atmosphere of the crater city.

Shivering, she shrugged her red sweater up over her shoulders to don the garment properly. The move jarred her gun from its hiding place within the bright fabric and she automatically shifted to grab it before it could drop to the concrete underfoot. There was something disturbing about all of this... though she had not often bothered with exploring abandoned places or off-limit areas so perhaps it was just the absence of other humans that made it feel creepy to be here.

Still, having her gun in hand gave her a measure of relief that she hadn't realized she was seeking.

What was she seeking, anyway?

What had compelled her to come here?

Shadows stretched ominously out from every corner and hung down from every twisted girder beam. Dust, bits of wood from the paneled walls, and particles of insulation covered everything that she could see. It made the portions of the penthouse not drenched in black look grey at best, even the carpet had a darkness to it that discolored the red into something more like old blood.

Something scraped against the floor in the far off reaches of the upper level. She spun towards the sound with her weapon held at the ready, breathing faster than she wanted to be.

Cool. She had to play it cool. Be confident, be in charge.

Maybe some pigeons had thought to try roosting here? Maybe some curious cat had finagled its way up through the carnage to this point just like Faye herself had.

No.

Fear coated her like a second skin. It was no animal. It was a man.

Dragging steps brought the individual slowly towards the scant illumination offered by other taller skyscrapers that surrounded the shattered remnants of this one. There was no moonlight from Phobos or Deimos, not at the moment at least.

Faye swallowed hard, regretting her impulsive decision to venture to this graveyard. She hadn't even said goodbye to Jet... she'd just... left.

"Stop! I'll shoot if you come any closer!" She shouted, struggling to maintain her composure and striving to appear in control of the situation.

The man ignored her or was perhaps deaf to her instruction. The sheer number of explosions that had clearly racked this place could have certainly destroyed someone's eardrums. She held her gun poised to fire as the man got close enough to the landing above her where she could make out his silhouette if she squinted.

A gasp fell from her lips. It was impossible. And yet... that messy hair was unmistakable. That lean build was achingly familiar.

"Spike...?" Her voice was so hushed she could scarcely hear it herself.

The figure on the landing stopped. A hand withdrew from a pocket and brought a lighter up to ignite the flame just before and under his chin. The flickering flame gave a glimpse of a strong, sharp upturned nose... high cheekbones... impossibly black eyes.

Something clenched in her heart. Bile rose in her esophagus from a stomach suddenly churning with revulsion. There were no words to convey the horror that descended over her as she stared, aghast, at the creature looming above her.

"Who... who are you?" She rasped. Terror held her firmly in place.

A grotesque grin split the face of the nightmare looking right back down at her.

"What-what are you?" She tried again, mind scrambling to come up with an answer that made any sense.

It looked so much like Spike. Even the shuffling movements of a man pushing through pain... she had seen Spike hunched over, staggering, struggling to hold himself together and step up to whatever needed to be done - whoever needed to be slain.

A cold part of her conscious demanded if she was ready to do the same.

This was not Spike. Or if it was... if it was his body... it was no longer inhabited by his soul. His careless spirit was absent from those merciless eyes like twin voids sucking in all the hope she hadn't realized she was clinging to when she had come here.

Something evil was using his body like a puppet. Something unfathomable had consumed all the humanity left within the shell of Spike Spiegel. He had died and rather than reincarnating into a worm or something somewhere... either he had come back wrong, or some malevolence had taken the opportunity to come back in his place.

There was no time to hesitate. She might have waited too long, might have already doomed herself to death. But whatever her own fate... she had to try and stop this... thing... from getting anywhere further than this platform.

Faye pulled the trigger.

@febuwhump prompt: hostage situation

also Spike/Jet day of Relationship Week @bebopcrew

***

He wasn't sure why he cared.

Even as he crept around the warehouse, sizing up the situation, he wasn't sure why he was there at all.

Taking down the lookouts, he wondered at why he was bothering with all this work.

Sneaking into the sprawling storage area of the building, pallets loaded with plastic wrapped boxes of varying sizes, he casually incapacitated each and every thug he encountered without permitting a single one to make any sort of outcry.

It was uncharacteristically restrained of him and again he pondered at what that could mean.

Rushing in with guns blazing was more his style but that could have easily led to the gang simply killing their hostage. But truly what did that matter to him? Why was he going through all this extra effort to be inconspicuous? Why was he risking himself in the first place?

His conscience was not something he typically listened to and yet it had not let him stay aboard the refurbished fishing trawler. It had whispered of debts and of good deeds, it had egged him on from the moment the gang had reached out thinking their catch had someone worth exploiting to make demands of.

Spike wasn't a man of much money. From the little he had learned so far of Jet Black...neither was he. Nor did Jet seem to have many people in his life. As far as hostages go, their claim on Jet was all but useless. In fact it was a bit worse than useless... If only because it was going to be their last mistake.

He considered the chances that some or all of these criminals might have a price on their head. It would be worth looking into once he was done here.

Was it an obligation that he felt? Something owed to the scarred man who had his back in that tavern brawl on TJ? Could it be shrugged off as needing the other man around to help pilot the ship?

Technically it was Jet's vessel, after all, though if Jet wasn't around who could say it wasn't Spike's? He could have taken advantage of this unfortunate event and become sole owner of the ship currently docked at the space station nearest the asteroid colony.

But there was something compelling about Jet Black. Something honorable and admirable that Spike found peculiarly attractive. The character of the other man was something that Spike desired to emulate. That dogged pursuit of justice. That sturdy moral fiber. It was all so far removed from everything Spike had seen and revered while growing up.

Jet was a breath of fresh air. An outlier in a sea of selfish souls.

It would be a crime for someone like him to be a casualty of such a pathetic crew of assholes.

And it didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes, Spike mused as he reached the hallway leading to the office where the last of the gang members must be holed up with Jet.

There were worse reasons to save a life.

@febuwhump prompt: too weak to move

also Julia/Faye day of Relationship Week @bebopcrew

***

"Whoa whoa whoa! Take it easy!" The voice admonishing her for stirring was vaguely familiar. The advice was easy to follow because she realized she literally could not rise.

There was an awful ache in her chest and all her extremities felt chilled to the bone. Her vision was watery when she blinked her eyes open, desperate to see where she was and what was happening.

The last thing she remembered was agony ripping through her torso...

Pitching forward face first, helpless to lessen the impact...

Spike's gaze, finally showing a glimpse of emotion - a hint of the affection he'd once held for her. His expression was grim.

And then... Nothing.

And now...

An angel looming over her. Violet tresses hanging down around a pale face with worried emerald green eyes peering down at her. Relief eased the crinkle that had marred her brow and enabled Faye to offer her a tender smile.

"You had us pretty worried." Faye went on. Her hands fluttered against Julia's shoulders as if she couldn't keep from touching her gently just to ensure she was real. "Spike thought you bit the dust for sure. Still, he brought you to Doc... Well, Doc said he asked for your body to be cared for. Didn't wanna leave you for those syndicate dogs to... Well, who knows. Anyway, Doc realized you were still alive if only just... He managed to get the bullet out and patched up your lung and then called Jet to come scoop you. Fraidy cat didn't wanna get caught keeping you around if you were gonna live."

Julia frowned. Doc had saved her? He answered only to the Van and it had been the Van who ordered her death. They had been lashing out in the face of Vicious's betrayal. But Vicious had slain the Elders... Annie's last words had given them that knowledge before Spike had gone off on his vendetta. Annie's death had to be avenged, after all.

Did Doc fear a reprisal from Vicious for saving her?

To be fair, Julia was no longer sure what to expect from Vicious.

"Spike's gone off to slay the dragons now like some kinda crusading knight. Jet took off as soon as he got you back here. I knew he'd never be able to let Spike face that kinda danger alone. He's always griping about Spike being reckless, vowing he's not gonna back him up... Sheesh, the amount of bullshit outta those boys... He protests so damn much it's obvious it's all a front but I let them get away with it because they're just too fragile, you know?" Faye flashed her a conspiratorial smile. "You've been in the boys club long enough, I'm sure you're familiar with the masks they wear."

It hurt too much to move but Julia managed a ghost of a smirk. Exhaustion was washing over her heavily. Black spots were beginning to dance in her vision. It seemed like Faye could tell for the other woman gave Julia's shoulders a soft squeeze as she spoke again.

"It's okay. You can rest again - for the best if you do. It's gonna be a while before you're back on your feet. Don't worry though, I'll keep watch. I've had to tend to Spike plenty so I'm pretty good at this kinda thing these days. You're safe. I've got you."

It felt...strange to be the person laid out and hurting. So many years in the Syndicate and Julia had managed to evade injury for all of them (broken hearts didn't count). It was not an experience she ever wanted to personally go through but... Well, you can't control everything in life. There was very little you could control, in fact.

As painful as it was to be nearly on her death bed... It was a comfort to have Faye Valentine looking out for her. The other woman was incredibly competent, the type of badass that Julia could genuinely use as a partner. Darkness began to pull her under but the memory of her encounter with Faye played out in her subconscious again and again...

Leaping to her defense with no idea of the situation at all... Throwing her an invitation to team up without having any clue who she was or what threats were making her life hell...

Her reunion with Spike had left her feeling hollow and cold. It wasn't entirely unexpected but it was still a shame. Their bridge had surely been burned. Despite that, she'd been willing to die at his side. Eager to put an end to the running, to finally close that bloody chapter of her life in whatever way it had to be done.

Surviving was a surprise. After all she'd said and done and undergone...

Well. Perhaps getting to know Faye better would be her reward...

@febuwhump prompt: "Please don't."

also written for Jet/Faye Day of Relationship Week @bebopcrew

***

Faye crossed her arms and turned from the starry view spread before the windows of the bridge of the Bebop. She was antsy as all hell. It had been endless days of monotonous routine and while it was good to finally have the ship space worthy again and to see different stars than what Mars's nighttime skyline had to offer... it wasn't enough.

She had to get the fuck out of here. Sitting stagnant was simply not her style no matter how well it seemed to suit her companions.

"I'm going." She announced, immediately making good on her words by putting one foot in front of the other. Adding a sway to her stride was not usually something that paid off in front of Jet but she couldn't help swinging her hips just a touch to try and tease him.

"Please don't."

The whisper had been so quiet that Faye momentarily doubted she'd heard anything at all. Glancing out of the corner of her eye towards where Jet sat at the navigation panel of the ship convinced her otherwise. He was resolutely staring down at the screen and buttons, hands lying atop the controls yet still - they were docked now, after all, no need to guide the ship. Furthermore, there was a touch of color to his usually pale features.

Embarrassment? Shame at having spoken? Irritation with himself over the escape of delicate emotional fragility?

She wondered what it had cost him to speak up. Wondered if regret was already eating him alive from the inside out. His jaw was clenched tight as if to keep from spewing any more weakness out at her, though the damage had already been done.

Well... she could pretend that she hadn't heard his plea. Although the fact that she'd stopped traipsing towards the ladder would be difficult to pass off as anything other than a reaction of shock to his words.

Her mind was still reeling, in fact. Jet was not the type of person to beg for company. He kept a stern face on almost all the time - though she had seen him let down his guard around Spike more than once, whether the pair were laughing together uproariously or whether it was an expression of desperate concern as Jet watched over Spike's uneasy rest. The point was, Jet tended to shrug his own emotional needs off. He liked to pretend he was fine with solitude and that he didn't truly want or need any of them around. He talked a big talk and walked a big walk but Faye could see through the act.

She'd trained herself for years to read past the lines... to see below surface level at what other people tried to hide. It was a skill imperative to survival when she was meandering around the cosmos on her own and had to trust her own instincts to keep her safe from the varying degrees of evil out there.

This obviously unintentional beseeching revealed significant cracks in his façade. Not entirely surprising given the recent upheaval they'd undergone with Ed and Ein departing (fuck, the guilt of being responsible for that was plaguing her mind almost constantly and was certainly a big part of why she'd had a stomach-ache for days now) and her own flakiness (though to be fair to herself the boys had launched from Earth without even trying to contact her before taking off) and most significantly Spike's whole deal.

Inhaling deeply, Faye slowly turned to face Jet fully. He might be too nervous to meet her eyes but she'd be damned if she didn't address this soft-spoken entreaty with her characteristic boldness.

"I know I haven't given you much cause to believe me..." she began and nearly smiled when he snorted. "But, well, like I told that lunkhead... this is the only place I can come back to. So, don't think me leaving now means you're getting rid of me."

At that, Jet finally raised his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were a turbulent shade of gray that bordered on blue. It was a stormy sea that she could get lost in without any desire of rescue. So different from the murkiness of Spike's mismatched brown eyes... and such a contrast from the vibrancy of her own lovely green eyes. There was a steeliness to Jet's eyes that reminded her of the stability of the ship itself. And right now she could see a mixture of gratitude and relief in those beautiful eyes and in the slacking of his jaw as his mouth eased into a hint of a smile.

"You, uh..."

She interrupted him before he could sort out where that query was going. It wasn't taking pity on him, it was enabling her own escape from the awkwardness of this exchange.

"We're about out of bandages and if he keeps oozing through the way he has been... well, I'm not about to sacrifice my fucking laundry to wrap his wounds. Besides, you said we need to pick up another batch of blood bags while we're here. I've been keeping an eye on that zombie for too long now - I need to stretch my legs. You had your chance already when you were fixing the ship up so we could leave Mars. Well, now it's your turn to make sure he keeps breathing."

Jet licked his lips - did he know how enticing he was being? - and gave her a nod. She rolled her eyes but nodded right back before moving towards the ladder once more.

"Wanna... uh, grab some smokes while you're out?" He called to her.

"Nah. Tired of Spike's brand and anyway why have that temptation around to fuck with him. We deserve something a little nicer anyway. Cohiba Behike sounds like the winner to me but we'll see what's available." She turned enough to give him a wink, relishing the look of astonishment that passed over his face at her casual mention of the expensive cigars.

"We don't have the cash for-" Her rich chuckle cut off his protest.

"I have my ways. 'Ta!" Impulsively, she spun back to blow him a kiss before dropping down the ladder with her heels along the railings to bypass the actual steps.