Jet Black - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
@febuwhump prompt: unresponsive
***
She went from a hysteria so absurd sounding that Spike was convinced she was performing some sort of dramatic scene to full out collapse so swiftly he had no chance to make a dive to try and catch her.
It was just like with Jet, though Spike had privately worried that it was his concoction that had laid out the other man so abruptly. Here was proof that something more dire was afoot... an angry purplish blotch marring a good portion of Faye's right calf, so similar in color and shape to the mark on the back of Jet's neck.
He collected her into his arms, tender despite her unresponsiveness, and merely held her for a moment. Faye was so prickly when conscious, so standoffish physically despite the sexual allure she fairly radiated. The only exceptions were when she chose to initiate contact, brief flares of her hands on his shoulders or the whisper of their fingers sliding against each other when trading off cigarettes.
Her breathing was shallow but steady, the same again as Jet. But, Jet had briefly regained consciousness... Faye was exhibiting no sign of waking. It made him nervous. Faye's body had put up even less of a fight against the internal assault her immune system must be undergoing. Clearly whatever had... attacked? infected?... whatever had happened to Jet had claimed another unsuspecting victim.
Who would be next?
A flash of fear shot through him as he remembered Ed donning the heat seeking googles and taking off impulsively not long ago. She was so thin, so young... what would happen if she suffered the same fate as Jet and Faye?
Carefully hoisting Faye aloft in his arms, Spike considered bringing her to her bedroom but immediately dismissed that idea. What if she came to and needed help? What if she stopped breathing and no one was around to notice? His heart tightened at the thought of something happening that would forever quiet Faye's acerbic wit and smartass mouth.
Well, considering how deeply unconscious she seemed to be...
"Faye... I'll take my chances dicing with you... we can play a private game and I'll even let you win all my clothes if you think you can beat me without that anklet." He kept a sharp eye on her face as he spoke but not even the suggestion of shaming him or the prospect of a true challenge roused her. Faye was frighteningly unresponsive.
In that case, she wouldn't be entirely uncomfortable if he made her a bed on top of the coffee table. The chair was far too small and the couch was occupied already by Jet's comatose form.
It was a bit difficult, though ultimately manageable, to situate a blanket on top of the metal surface while still cradling Faye's dead weight - that absent thought made him shudder and he shook his head fiercely to dismiss it. She was breathing, she would be fine. Jet too... he would recover from whatever this was as well.
Gently he lifted Faye's head to put a folded up towel beneath as a sort of pillow. And then he turned his back on his ailing shipmates.
There was another crewmate at risk still. Well, two counting the dog which Spike did. There was no time to stand over these two worrying about what the future would hold. Besides, finding Ed would be the first step in figuring out a type of cure. The kid was brilliant, surely she could sort out how to help the others.
Capturing or eliminating the enemy was important as well - what if they needed to dissect the damn thing to discover how to thwart the potential poison or whatever was running amuck in their systems?
So the only answer was to get his shit together and go searching for the errant pair and the... whatever the fuck... was responsible for knocking out two of the toughest people he knew.
@febuwhump prompt: "You weren't meant to be there."
***
You weren’t meant to be there.
Words he did not dare to speak aloud could not be silenced in his mind. Jet was still unconscious on the hospital bed - the amount of painkillers in his system was no doubt off the chart considering the damage to his shoulder and the series of surgeries that had been required to keep him alive.
Fad, standing vigil in the recovery room now that Jet had been deemed safe enough to move to a quieter floor, glanced guiltily at his partner.
It was his fault Jet was lying there now. But on the other hand, it was only thanks to him that Jet wasn't being buried in a Ganymede cemetery. A necessary evil, like any number of things Fad had done or turned a blind eye to. Leading a double life was no picnic.
The tension in his throbbing skull and the acidic churning of his gut were commonplace ailments these days. If he didn't have an ulcer by now he would be amazed.
The pain was a sort of penance for his service to the Europa Syndicate. Voluntary service at that. Though he was far from the only cop on the take. In fact, it was easier to rattle off the names of the officers not on syndicate payroll.
One of them was lying here in front of Fad now.
The damn dedicated fool.
He had been close... so close to getting out of the precinct and on his way to meet Udai. It was supposed to be a simple meetup and delivery, just another day at the docks getting his palm greased while weapons and drugs arrived to flood the city streets. The usual.
Instead Jet had shown up right before Fad could peel out of the parking lot. The knock on the tinted window had nearly given him a heart attack and then when the full implication of Jet's presence truly registered... that was when his stomach had begun to tie itself in knots.
The Black Dog was not about to let go of this "lead" that Fad was about to investigate. How easy it would have been to report nothing amiss! But no, Jet was still struggling with the absence of Alisa from his life and couldn't face sitting alone at home for hours. Couldn't miss work. Justice was his mistress and he had to heed her even at the cost of his own relationship.
It had been Jet's commitment to the force that had driven a wedge between himself and Alisa. That was Fad's interpretation of the break up at least. He'd erred when he assumed that Jet would diligently take time off to get used to the emptiness of the apartment. Jet Black wasn't the type to take so much as a sick day.
He was gonna get himself killed by being so damn stubborn and so damn honorable. Udai would have shot him flat out if Fad hadn't scrambled to take control of the situation. Firing on another officer... hell, firing on Jet, the partner who had had his back for years, who had kept Far alive on more than one bloody occasion... it had broken something inside of him.
Previously he had always been able to explain away his reasoning for why he did what he did. There were ways to justify criminal behavior to yourself. This, however, had been an assault that no one was paying him for. This had crossed a line in his mind that Fad hadn't even realized he'd drawn.
He had nearly offed his own partner.
Perhaps it would have been better to let Udai handle everything. Move one of the virtuous pieces right off the game board entirely. No more worries about Jet cottoning on to what was happening right under his righteous nose. No more sweat-soaked nightmares of Jet discovering his duplicity and ruining the good thing he had going.
But he refused to let his partner get gunned down on a darkened dock in the wee hours of the morning. He couldn't let Jet die. He owed his partner too much to stand by and let someone else pull the trigger and take his life.
And Fad couldn't take a fatal shot. Wouldn't take a fatal shot.
So he did the next best (next worst) thing... he crippled his comrade.
It would take months if not years for Jet to recover. All the red tape of getting a prosthetic limb approved of and installed and then the physical therapy to learn how to operate such a thing...
He'd effectively ensured that Jet would stay out of trouble for a while at least.
Yeah, that was the answer. That was how he could turn this around to make it acceptable. He'd done the only thing he could do to not only save his partner's life today but to keep him safe for the foreseeable future as well.
The headache began to fade just a touch. There had been so much stress built up over this whole mess... but he could clear his conscience to a tolerable degree and he knew there would be no fallout from the incident from the ISSP or from Europa.
Fad was in the clear. Jet would be on the mend.
These were the things he clung to as he moved towards the window to open it enough to blow smoke outside and avoid the wrath of the nurses nearby.
"What... what..." Jet's mouth continued to move although his brain had given up on providing words to properly articulate his confusion at the scene spread before his eyes.
"It is Bebop's birthday, Jet-person! Ed has decorated! Celebrations shall commence at 0800!" Edward cried jubilantly, grabbing Jet's hands and swinging them violently up and down.
The train yard in his mind was home to a few different trains now moving smoothly out along their tracks, or trying to at least. Rumbling along like a hearty chuckle, an engine built of dark amusement at how cranky their other shipmates would be if Ed truly did plan to wake Spike and Faye at 8 in the morning Ganymede time. The notion of the ship having a birthday was a small, quiet train engine chugging along without many train cars of additional questions, though he felt strongly that it was the safest inquisition to proceed with. And then there was the currently derailed train that represented his bafflement at what had happened to his ship.
Oblong balloons in a variety of colors were clumsily tied off or taped up to anything that would host the... er... repurposed condoms that Ed had scavenged from who knew where. The fact that each was slightly buoyant against the subtle breeze indicated the fact that she must have found a helium tank to fill the latex rubbers with. It was a small comfort to him that she hadn't blown them up using her own oxygen and mouth. Never mind that she wouldn't have known their true purpose, though at least they were obviously unused.
She had shredded the wrappers and turned them into confetti which she had blown out of a funnel when Jet had first stepped onto the deck with the simple relaxing idea of watching the sun rise on his home world. The funnel had not been unused - it had left a ring of black on Ed's lips from the oil that had been poured through it most recently.
His first task, before even getting any answers, would have to be to wipe that crud off her face.
There were chalk drawings EVERYWHERE. He could identify a collection of box shapes for hop scotch and a few different tic-tac-toe boards awaiting the X's and O's, and drawings of Ein and the rest of the crew. It looked like she had tried to sketch out some of their bounties. All the zipcraft were parked on the deck along the edges of the flight deck and each one was liberally covered in tassels made of whatever clothing Ed had been able to procure from within the ship or elsewhere for all he knew.
She had set up a table as well, he recognized it as the one they'd used on Io when camping outside of the ship while repairs were underway. It was loaded with Piyoko and eggs (raw? boiled? no way to know) and with every ashtray from inside, still loaded with remnants of cigarettes and stogies and even a few cannabis joints. Dozens of open beer cans were set out also, fallen soldiers from whenever they'd been able to afford a case of beer and, rather embarrassingly, passed out before finishing the goods. There were also a handful of grimy glass bottles, which she dragged him over to, and gestured proudly at her findings.
"The bottles are dusty but the liquor is clean!" She gleefully proclaimed. "Bebop was absatively posilutely full of treasures for the crew! Ed saved treats from our last Earth visit and dug through all the storage rooms for the rest! No hiding place was left undisturbed!"
A click-clack sound reached their ears as Ein emerged from the interior of the ship and made his way on puppy paws in need of a nail trim over to the pair by the "refreshments." Jet looked down at the new arrival and noticed that the dog had been outfitted with one of Spike's thin ties, dragging along the dirty deck under Ein's belly, and had Faye's headband perched in front of his ears. Judging by the way he kept flicking his ears, it wasn't something he was a fan of.
Of course, Faye and Spike wouldn't appreciate the costume either.
"Edward will wake the others now! Party time, woo woo!" She announced. Releasing Jet's hands, she bounded over to the RedTail and leapt into the cockpit, activating the stereo system with a screech of delight.
The sudden blast of music made Jet wince at the unexpected volume - he hadn't realized Faye's ship could even produce sounds that loud. Once he acclimated though he realized it wasn't terribly overpowering as long as you were standing in the open air.
Ed was cackling madly as she dove from the ship, landing in a somersault and then vaulting to her feet so she could rub her hands together like a maniacal villain.
"What even is all this, Ed? How'd you get all this stuff up here?" Jet asked, stepping over to her and taking Spike's jacket down from the gun of Faye's ship so he could use the sleeve to finally address the issue of the oil on Ed's face.
"Easy peasy! Spike-person leaves his key in the ignition for quick escapes. Faye-Faye was snoring so she didn't notice Ed taking the bracelet to activate her ship. All the stuff was, well, all over! The laundry room, the bridge, the work shop... clutter clutter everywhere but Ed has made it into artful decorations! Oh! The balloons came from Spike-person's room but he never sleeps in there so Ed was able to loot the place while he was on the couch." She nodded in self satisfaction. "While researching everyone's birthdays, Ed realized even the ship has a day of celebration! Today is the day that the Bebop was first commissioned for fishing! What a long strange trip it's been, eh?"
"Huh. Well... that, uh, that makes sense." Logical indeed.
"Ed thinks that the Bebop deserves a present. A new baby!"
And just like that she'd lost him again.
"Sorry, what?"
Grinning wildly, Ed pointed at the Hammerhead and then the Swordfish II and then the RedTail. "These are the babies, of course! Ed would like one too, please!"
"I... uh... huh..." Jet couldn't deny the usefulness of Ed having her own craft but the idea of finding one in decent shape that was also affordable was daunting.
"Ed discovered many interesting things while finding when everyone's welcome to the world day." Ed said then, adopting an air of casualness that immediately made Jet nervous. She hummed briefly and then gave him a wicked look. "Ed is not entirely sure how to blackmail but... well..." She paused and cleared her throat before beginning to sing.
When you're falling awake And you take stock of the new day And you hear your voice croak As you choke on what you need to say Well, don't you fret, don't you fear I will give you good cheer
Life's a long song -
Jet's jaw dropped. His chin literally hit his chest. No!
Ed stooped down to scoop Ein into her arms and smirked at Jet.
"As Edward suspected... Jet-person's parents must have had a nostalgic draw to more than just blues and jazz, eh, Jethro?" She snickered.
"Ed, if you breathe a WORD of this to the others..." He trailed off, no threat springing to mind in the wake of the shock of having someone notice and realize who he'd been named for. Despite having written Jethro on the birth certificate, no one in his family had ever actually called him by his full name. As a baby, it must have seemed too big to attach to someone so small and so he'd been just Jet since he could remember.
"A baby for the Bebop?" Ed said again, changing her expression to one of pure innocence as she snuggled Ein up under her chin to further impress upon him the cuteness of the duo.
"What the fuck is going on out here?" Faye's voice, raised in a holler, came to them from the open hangar. "Why is my ship parked out here? What the fuck music are you desecrating my speakers with?!"
Jet ground his teeth together. Time was running out.
"Okay, Ed. Just hold your horses and sit tight, all right? I can't say when we can make it happen but I promise we will." He hurriedly assured her.
Ed dropped Ein to the deck, a move that merely startled the corgi who dashed off once he'd gotten his legs under him, so she could spit on her palm and hold it out towards him. Jet grimaced.
"A dry handshake would have done fine." He muttered.
"The spit is tied to the words of the promise!" Ed informed him.
Sighing, Jet spat on his own hand and shook.
"Was he wearing one of my ties?" Spike's voice reached them now as well. "ED! What did you do to my ship?!"
Cartwheeling off towards the newcomers, Ed shrieked with happiness.
"Happy birthday, Bebop! Come, friends! It is a time of celebration! Let the rejoicing begin!"
Spike: the glass is half full!
Jet: the glass is half empty!
(Faye, giving a wink and licking her lips, distracting the audience from the glass empty in her hands)
(Ein, snuffling at his water dish to indicate the glass is not a glass at all)
(Ed, pouring in kool-aid mix and entirely too much sugar, indicating that the contents of the glass are merely the base to build off everything else that matters)
Still getting used to my new tablet. Hating every minute of it, tbh
Not my story or art but I remember reading/seeing this before and being absolutely delighted by how gorgeous the art is and how heartfelt the story is! Check it out, friends!
A short comic I made based on @mangneov‘s story “Sphyrniade Down” which you can read on Ao3, here! This was so much fun to do, I really wish I could have done the whole story, but alas I don’t think I can make much time for it. If you enjoyed this comic, please go check out Mangneov’s work!
And thank you for reading :”)
Lol, OP you nailed it with this chart
Please enjoy this silly art I spent way too long on today
The hour was late but the bar crowd was rowdy. Too rowdy to manage a game of pool given how many people were packed into the dimly lit establishment. Spike had tried to weasel some money out of a few arrogant looking university students - everything about them was obvious and awful - but after getting his cue knocked into too many times he'd given up on the easy money.
If there was another bar nearby, he'd probably have bounced from this joint already. Hell, if there was even a convenience store nearby he would have been able to stock up on supplies and retreat to the comfort of the Bebop. Unfortunately, due to a rash of arson (that coincidentally led to the cousin of the owner of this establishment) this was the only place to get intoxicated for miles and miles.
Spike briefly lamented the fact that his zipcraft was down in the belly of the Bebop waiting for Jet to have the time and parts necessary to get the sleek craft back in action. Without his baby there was no way to fly off to other colonies near or far.
The fact that the arsonist had also had a penchant for heavy artillery such as rocket launchers had been a minor annoyance at the time but now it merely highlighted the struggle that faced the out-of-cash and desperately thirsty bounty hunter.
He glanced around and immediately dismissed the majority of the crowd gathered within the small liquor-soaked space. No rich and single (or willing to be swayed) women anywhere in sight. No dart boards to dominate (the chances of hitting an innocent bystander were a lot more tolerable than the guarantee of getting his pool cue jabbed off course, but without a board there could be no game).
At last his frustrated gaze settled on the sole option he had for quenching his thirst.
Perched upon a bar stool as if it were a pedestal and she the goddess statue atop it for all lesser beings to admire and appreciate, Faye Valentine was a sight for sore eyes. She was a queen within this realm and even if she'd managed to squander her portion of the bounty already (considering his was long gone, the odds of this were good) there was no shortage of fawning fools gathering around Faye that would likely fall all over themselves to see her sated.
It took a bit of doing, but Spike managed at last to push through the throng of attendees to reach Faye's side and he gave her a saucy leer that made her roll eyes.
"Hey gorgeous, buy a guy a drink?" No point wasting time on small talk.
Faye snorted. Her sharp eyes briefly weighed the men in her vicinity but it seemed the calculations fell flat for she dismissed them all summarily with her next move. Leaning over into his personal space, Faye reached into the interior breast pocket of Spike's suit jacket and retrieved a crumpled pack of cigarettes. At her brazenly intimate action, most of the gentlemen around her that had been vying for her attention began to look around for other prey to target.
One daring soul tried to light the cigarette she knocked loose of the pack but Spike glared at him as he provided an already lit flame for Faye himself.
Inhaling with clear relish, Faye let her sultry gaze meander from Spike's face down to his lower torso and back up again as if considering what he had to offer. Ignored and defeated, the last of her hangers-on wilted even further into the background.
"Why should I?" She queried coyly as she brought her eyes back to meet his.
Spike casually retrieved the pack of smokes from the hand not occupied with a lit cigarette and tucked it back into his pocket without lighting one of his own.
"It's my birthday," he cajoled.
Faye gave a sharp laugh. "It is not."
Spike smirked and shrugged. "It could be. Dunno when it officially is... any day could be the big day."
At his words, Faye's eyes got bright. "You don't say..."
"So..." He waggled his brows at her and gave her his best grin.
She laughed again. "Sorry, Spiegel, you're shit outta luck. I'm already broke too. But..." and here her eyes darted around the assembled alcoholics until she caught sight of a worthy goal. "Seeing as how I don't know when *my* birthday is either... I say let's celebrate both of our birthdays today! And what could be more kind than to include dear Jet in our festivities? Surely a man of such integrity would be delighted to buy booze for his birthday-sharing companions..."
It was Spike's turn to chuckle now.
Faye slid off the stool and Spike eased an arm behind her back to help keep her at his side as they began to maneuver towards the third member of their bounty hunting team. The arsonist they'd caught earlier that day had been a decent bounty, not great but enough to split four ways (the Bebop always counted as a person, if only so they could ensure the vessel had gas, working parts, and food in the fridge if any woolongs were left over after the rest of the bills were paid) and of the three of them only Jet ever seemed to make his payout stretch beyond a handful of hours.
Spike knew it was a long shot that Jet would actually buy his partners drinks but it was currently the best chance they had!
it's been... too long since I last wrote! gonna try to light the inspirational fire with another round of Beboptober :-) feel free to join us! make some art, graphics, explore and discuss head canon, write a poem or essay or some fanfiction... you do you!
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COUNTDOWN
There's a limit to his time here. An unknown countdown eating up the hours and days and ...weeks? Months? Surely not years...
How long can a battery last anyway?
He had given himself a cutoff point.
Wallowing in self-pity is not really his style, but then again neither is doing this whole "life" thing on his own.
It's not like they'd been married. No "til death do us part" promises. But they'd been living together for years. It had been a good routine, one that was comfortable and suited them both well.
So what the hell had happened?
Anxiety squirmed in his stomach at the thought of her wandering the streets, aimless and alone, perhaps in a state of befuddlement. Had she been in her right mind when she left?
Paranoia made him rehash every moment of their last few weeks together. Had there been someone else? Had she been stepping out on him for months now? Had someone else managed to catch her attention and somehow steal her heart?
Was he not good enough? Did he not provide enough for her? He handled all the bills, set up all the appointments, made sure his insurance covered her in all regards... He footed each and every grocery bill, every brunch at Sally's Diner, every dinner at Thills House of Gills. He kept the car running smooth and the gas above half a tank at all times. Rotated the tires yearly, took care of the oil changes and general maintenance. He made sure she could take a shopping trip through the fashion district at least once a season. Took her to the cinema twice a year.
What more could he have done?
Did her tastes change? Did she suddenly crave a man who would treat her less kindly? Was he too respectful in the bedroom?
Was it a matter of inadequacy?
He flushed at the thought, embarrassed at the very idea.
Bile rose in his throat as he imagined her walking through a back alley, being accosted by a slovenly booze hound, climbing astride a man who called her names and pulled her hair and made her scream in a mix of pleasure and pain.
His heart rate sped up.
These intrusive thoughts were unbearable. He was haunted at all hours by the what ifs and the empty space on the other side of the bed...
It was eating him up inside. The guilt of not being what she needed. The shame of her abrupt departure. The worry over her fate. The open-endedness of his life when he'd thought it was all figured out.
Fall in love, move in together, live a happy life together, and it got sort of hazy after that but possibly some sort of dying in their sleep in the same bed someday.
Though he'd had nightmares for a while that he'd accidentally die on the job after the arm incident.
Abandoning her like that... It was not something he wanted at all.
So he'd pushed himself in physical therapy. Control was the only way to keep everything rolling on his terms. If he was strong, whole, and in control then there was no way he'd leave her by dying.
Having her leave him... Not being killed even but just - disappearing without an explanation... That was hard. It made his thoughts spin in useless circles. It made his heart ache. It fucking pissed him off.
What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
Well, he'd leave. Fuck this whole place and her in particular. Fuck the job and all the shady behind-closed-doors bullshit. Fuck the partner who'd split - reassigned while Jet was regulated to being a paper pusher. Fuck it all.
He'd leave, dammit.
Soon.
Eventually.
Just in case she'd made a mistake, he'd stay for now.
Same place, same lock on the door, same hiding spot outside for the spare key.
She might be back.
Like a fickle cat.
All women were fickle, that was a given.
Well, he'd make sure she had a chance.
But eventually that watch would stop ticking. The countdown to zero. To giving up the ghost, letting go of the hope, and starting a new life somehow some way.
Damned if he knew what that would look like.
Freaked him out just to consider.
But that was a problem for future him.
For now he just had to swallow the bitterness he felt when considering any aspect of his rotten life. Box up all the frustration and shelf it for another day. Take it out on a criminal, yeah, that'd be satisfying. Take all the self loathing and the feelings of being somehow lacking... take all the negativity and smash his fist into someone else's face.
Aggression could keep him going for a while. Maybe someday his apparently unrequited love would morph into spite and he'd fuel his days with that emotion until he could waltz back into her life and show her all the ways she was missing out on a life with the true man of her dreams.
Or maybe he'd leave this miserable place and find peace of mind out there in the stars... learn to accept whatever his shortcomings may be and choose to be happy with himself.
He snorted. Yeah fucking right.
The inner turmoil had shifted into rage.
The clock continued to tick. She was still gone. And he had no answers.
It was time to go out and bust some skulls.
Friendly Fire
"Shit!" Jet sworn as he vaulted over the bullet-riddled retaining wall that had safely separated him from the foggy seashore where Spike had been engaged in hand-to-hand combat with several dark suited mafia members.
"What the fuck was that?" Faye screeched, hot on his heels as they both raced towards the heap of bodies being gently tossed by the waves.
A cough came from the pile of limbs ahead of them and Spike surged upright out of the mess with one hand gripped tightly around his left upper arm. "Fucking friendly fire, Jet?" He rasped, glaring at the ex-cop.
Hastening to get to his partner's side, Jet scowled as he started to help the other man to dry land. "Look, between the fog and how much your suit looks like theirs thanks to the water... well hell, be lucky I only grazed you."
"Gonna make me be the one to haul the rest of these assholes out of the ocean here?" Faye grumbled.
Spike winced at the salty spray that managed to get past his white-knuckled grip on the oozing bullet wound. "I ain't about to bust my ass with all that." He muttered. "Leave me be, Jet. The bounty is more important. Dead OR alive was the stipulation, right?"
"For his sake I fucking hope so." Faye muttered as Jet waded out to help her. She glanced up at Spike and a worried look crossed her face.
Spike frowned back at her. "It's just a flesh wound, Faye. I've done worse to myself." He didn't want Jet getting all weird and angsty about something that wasn't really his fault - or at least, wasn't intentional on his part. The older man tended to hold himself to high standards and Spike was concerned that guilt would make him act weird and beat himself up.
"Yeah?" She mumbled, abandoning her halfhearted attempt at dragging a corpse from the surf to instead slog over to where Spike was standing hunched over on the thin strip of sand between the waves and the retaining wall that sheltered the spit of land on the other side. "Just gonna try to hide that one then or what?" She gestured curtly towards his abdomen with a furtive glance back at Jet struggling with three bodies at once.
Spike coughed again and couldn't hide the spasm or the bloody phlegm that he spat into the seawater.
Faye's worried look grew more intense, color washing from her already pale features. "Spike..."
"Leaving me to haul them all out myself?" Jet called up to them. "The water does half the job for you, Faye!"
"Priorities, Jet." She snapped back, reaching out to tug at Spike's clothes. "Got something to take care of here. I'll send Bob your way but I'm gonna bring this lunkhead back to the ship."
"For a graze?!" Jet's voice was incredulous.
"S'hard to fly one-armed." Spike offered as an excuse. His body was beginning to go into shock and he knew he didn't have much time before his condition was obvious to Jet. He was fortunate that the ex-cop was preoccupied with trying to get all the mob men rounded up before the ocean swept them out beyond reach. Faye gave up on checking his other, more critical wound, when he glared at her. She rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle push to get him moving. His body automatically began to take steps in the direction she had shoved him, accustomed to operating on basic instructions when he was truthfully too hurt to be in motion at all. The cold seawater was an agony of its own that somehow burned in a different way than the edges of the raw entry point of the bullet... the fact that he couldn't feel a corresponding injury on his back was disconcerting. Faye was nowhere near qualified to dig around for a missing bullet. Dammit. Either he'd have to reach out to Doc or let Jet know he'd been clipped worse than originally thought.
His shoes hit against the base of the retaining wall, which was only about four feet high, but he knew it was going to be nearly impossible to pull himself up and over the stack of concrete bricks.
"Faye..."
She gave him a hard look. "What do you need?"
"Gotta tell Jet... can't..."
"About damn time you saw sense."
Pain was blurring the edges of his vision. Unconsciousness was coming to claim him quicker than he'd expected.
"JET! Forget them for now! We've got a situation here!" Faye bellowed, the volume of her voice making Spike's ears ring.
His gut was a maelstrom of hurt. Trying to walk it off had no doubt exacerbated the issue. Having a waterlogged bullet wound wasn't exactly helpful either.
Mercifully, Spike sagged into Faye's arms and passed out before Jet arrived at their side. He didn't want to go into that great beyond with the guilt-ridden stare of his partner as the last thing he saw...
Casino / Luck / Escape
There had been no good bounties for weeks. They were down to their last 5000 woolongs. But Jet had had a dream and apparently the answer to all their prayers was... to risk everything they had left in the bank.
Spike wasn't exactly inclined to say no. For one thing, the only reason they had any money left at all was due to Jet's ability to squirrel away a little bit here and there. For another, it had been ages since Spike had had a chance to fleece a place like Spiders On Mars. For a third thing (not that he needed more than one reason to go along with Jet's idea) one of Spike's favorite things to do was to risk it all.
The last time they had been at an actual institution of gambling had been amusingly memorable... Jet had cottoned onto Spike's ability to count cards a few hands before the casino folks did as well. They'd been escorted off the premises about as politely as one can imagine... fists flying, feet kicking up a storm, heads knocking... it ended with a touch of grand theft auto (although could you even call it that when you leave the vehicle a couple blocks away?) and a lifetime ban from the Lucky Duck Casino on TJ.
This time he was gonna be good. He was gonna wander around and just observe. It was nice to simply exist in a busy place like this sometimes. Watching all the addicts throw money away... the well-dressed women, the hard-drinking men, letting the the melodic jumble of various machines ringing and chiming and enticing players with bells and whistles and flashing lights wash over him. So many high hopes, so many strikeouts, so much money changing hands...
It was a place of possibility... of potential... of ...surprisingly gorgeous dealers.
Well... it couldn't hurt to just take a seat at the table.
***
Luck was finally on his side! The jingle of chips pouring over each other in an ever-growing pile was like music to his ears. The stogie, clenched between his grinning teeth and burning slowly, was adding to the mellow high of a night on the town... it wasn't often Jet got to get all dolled up, as the ladies would say, and swagger around a place like this. Gambling wasn't usually his style, to be frank, but he was a man who believed in hidden messages and life having meaning that might not be immediately discernible. Sometimes it was good to follow your hunches, to chase your dreams. It was certainly paying off now!
The weight of the box of chips he carried was a welcome one as Jet made his way from the winning slots. He was also a man who knew to get while the getting was good... greed would lead to downfall, that was always the way of things. He'd won plenty for one night and was happy to call it and cash out now.
...his luck abruptly ran out when he ran into the commotion that would have been entertaining to watch had it not been the fault of his devil-may-care companion. When would he learn that he just couldn't bring Spike anywhere?
Winds of fortune were soon smiling on the pair of them again though! Their accidental savior was turning out to be a hot little ticket... A substantial bounty on her head, zip craft they could pawn for a couple hundred Woolongs, and before taking care of the girl they could make a bundle off this Gordon schmuck!
The fates were certainly taking care of the Bebop boys tonight!
***
Freeing herself from the stinking bathroom stall was an absolute breeze, especially after the man in the jumpsuit was convinced to lock just one hand to the bars on the toilet instead of both like the initial way they'd had her done up in there.
They'd claimed not to be weirdos yet were entirely too willing to hand her over to the police for a wee bit of cash. Fuck that!
Overhearing their hastily made plans, she was privately amused when Gordon rammed their ship with his own. What a perfectly distracting situation! It was time to make tracks and get far far away from both ridiculous parties.
But first... Neither side knew she was loose. Neither would be ready if she appeared out of nowhere and snatched the case of cash! She could grab the money and run... Escaping Gordon and these bounty hunters in one savvy swoop!
Opportunity knocked and Faye opened wide the door...
Blood
It's not the first time that this has been an issue.
As long as Spike survives... it certainly won't be the last time either.
Doc had given Faye, still clad in a provocative crimson dress that revealed more of her skin than it covered, a curious side-eye when she trailed into the small office after Jet. With very little heads-up as to their abrupt arrival, it was no surprise that Doc was wearing pajamas underneath his hastily donned lab coat. He gestured impatiently at the table for Jet to unload the bundle of bloody rags that he had carried bridal-style from the Hammerhead currently parked on the roof of the unassuming medical building.
"Kid's a real piece of work today, hey?" Doc muttered. "Well, first things first. What's your type, girlie?"
Faye, wiping at the dust on her brow and making her way to run shaky hands underneath the faucet of the sink to get rid of the blood that ran from her fingertips all the way to her elbows, scowled at the old man.
"Not short old men that's for sure!" She snapped.
Despite the dire situation, Jet found himself chuckling at Faye's misunderstanding. Doc huffed and gave a nod of his head towards a cupboard that Jet began to root through for the proper tools to draw blood from Faye. He already knew he was no match for Spike, but maybe it would turn out Faye could give a little. It would certainly make it somewhat worth it just having her bitchy ass on board if she could donate to Spike given how often he was in need of a transfusion.
Watching Jet approach her with a needle, Faye's eyes widened in understanding. "Ohh. Yeah. I dunno." She finished wiping her arms hastily, the skin still pinker than usual from the vigorous scrubbing and from the residual streaks of Spike's blood that hadn't washed off in her haste. Accepting the swab of iodine from Jet's other hand, she wordlessly began to smear it all over the inside of her right elbow.
"We'll know soon enough." Doc told her, apparently choosing to ignore the snub she'd given him earlier. "Once you're done there... you should grab some gloves and a pair of tweezers from the drawer under that far cupboard. There's a lot of glass we're gonna have to pick out of him once I get these major wounds closed. There should be some skin-grow in a bottle in the fridge by the window. Get me that and a bag of O as well. Even if she's the right type, he's gonna need more than we can pull from her. Not too worried about the entry point on this bullet wound but the exit is gonna be gnarly. You said he fell down a flight or two of stairs? That won't have helped matters. This gash here... clean cut but who knows how clean the actual blade was. Kid's gonna need some heavy duty antibiotics to fend off any infections. I don't have that type of shit on hand here. Anyway, c'mere with that sewing kit. Set it there. We'll roll him first to check the damage on the back side before we worry about these other issues - don't want him bleeding out while we're doing busywork on his front half."
Jet worked diligently to obey Doc's instructions while Faye flitted about in the background somewhat uselessly. Her task of retrieving shards of glass from Spike's skin was one of the last things down the list of a slew of more critical injuries that had to be addressed first. Fortunately, Jet had some background in triage. It hadn't been a mandatory part of his ISSP training but he'd briefly considered enlisting in the Ganymede Military before finally settling on a cop career instead. Before that, he'd taken some training courses with the military cadets that had included an extensive course on treating violent injuries. Being able to patch up a bloody hole was apparently more crucial than learning how to fire the gun that could make such a gaping maw in a flesh-and-bone body.
The issue with Spike was of course the blood type. It had been one of the very few pieces of information he'd willingly offered up to Jet after they'd first partnered up. Said he was something of a danger magnet and had a history of getting roughed up. Needed Jet to know that he could give blood all day long but that he could only receive from other O types. Which was naturally an issue given that Jet himself was an A type. So, being able to request the right life-saving liquid was something that Jet needed to know - or to tell the medics whenever he had to bring Spike to an actual hospital which had thankfully been a rare occurrence.
More frequently, if they were in the area, they'd simply drop in on Doc. It cost a pretty penny but it was easier than offering an alias to the hospital staff and then breaking out when no nurses could try and catch them in the act. It wasn't a great system but it worked.
"Ah, no good." Doc announced as he inspected Faye's blood. "B, for the record."
"So what, my blood isn't gonna work for him?" Faye demanded pensively.
Doc shook his head. "Figured as much to be honest. You don't seem the O type to me."
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared at the older man. "That feels like an insult."
Doc smirked at her and shrugged. "You do the research and you tell me. Anyway, we need more. The bags I've got on hand here aren't gonna be enough. There's a donation center down on the first floor of the building... if you think you can handle a little B&E then perhaps you can be a help."
Faye frowned. "What am I even looking for?"
Jet, busy helping to apply the skin-grow salve around the neat needlework Doc was using to close up the exit hole on Spike's back, sighed. "A freaking label that says O type blood, Faye."
"Look at the one in the trash over here." Doc said. "Take my ID card, you can swipe it to gain access to the center and the refrigerator room. I'll just say it got stolen if anyone asks. You'll owe me for that too, you know."
"Yeah, yeah, Doc. Add it to the tab, wouldya?" Jet already knew this visit was gonna cost them an arm and a leg. Poor choice of words, he reflected, considering his own substituted arm. Spike wasn't really at risk of any limb loss but it would be kind of touch and go for a minute just due to the severity of the wounds he'd received and the ways he'd made them worse by doing whatever the hell he'd been doing inside the smoldering wreckage of the cathedral. Jet had arrived after all the action so he missed seeing any of the excitement - thank fuck, syndicate business was no mess he wanted any part of. Undoubtedly though, Spike had made things worse on himself the entire time he was there.
The kid was always pushing his buttons. Choosing laziness over action more often than not. Picking fights with Faye that made Jet's ears ring with the volume they'd both reach with their shouting. Bringing back flea-covered dogs instead of bountyheads. Destroying bridges and buildings and vehicles during chases that negated any sort of money they'd hope to bring it anytime they actually did bag a bounty. It was a hassle and a headache and he was getting tired of it.
Tired of the worry. Tired of Spike's overconfidence paired with a casual indifference about his own life. If this is what it would have been like having a teenager then frankly Jet counted himself lucky to have not sired any offspring. This one adult was enough of a troublemaker to contend with!
But... Spike was also willing to throw himself fully into their missions when it suited him. He'd get down and dirty and be the one throwing punches or racing after enemies trying to flee in the zipcraft that could outmaneuver Jet's own with ease. Honestly, between the two of them, Jet wasn't entirely sure which of them was the brawn, the muscle, the tough guy. Jet himself was one hundred percent the brain but he was pretty tough too. He'd been knocking heads and choking folks out on the force for years while Spike was probably stealing beignets as a brash little asshole living on the streets. Not that he'd ever told Jet about his past but, well, some things just made sense.
Well. So what was another medical bill anyway? Doc was good about giving them time to pay him back - steady business was steady business, after all, even if the cash from taking those jobs trickled in over weeks instead of getting pulled from some insurance account and probably taxed and whatnot. Jet wasn't exactly sure how medical professionals got paid out, truth be told. A periodic deposit from an anonymous benefactor was just what the doctor ordered and it made Jet's life much easier.
Or as easy as it could be when one had a human wrecking ball for a partner. And a newly acquired foxy little mischief maker like Faye Valentine for that matter.
Between the two of them, he'd be entirely gray in the hair if he wasn't bald to begin with!
Sympathy / Blues / Understanding
The lounge was dimly lit and heavily smoky and the blues band on the small stage in the back was deep into their third set of the night.
why fight the feeling when I can't fight back the tears...
I stare at the ceiling and wish that you were here...
I'm going crazy but I ain't crazy yet..
It's just the blues as blues can get...
The guitarist and pianist let the last notes dribble out together, spiralling towards the end like water circling the drain, and then the band paused for another round of drinks to be delivered.
Leaning out from the microphone, the guitarist called warmly down to the table of two that had been there for hours. "Miss? Any requests?"
Faye looked up from the tumbler of Scotch with bloodshot eyes.
"Got anything sadder?"
The band members exchanged sympathizing looks and Faye flashed them a watery smile.
Jet, morosely nursing a nearly empty glass, stared at the ice as if it held all the answers of the universe.
Faye sniffled and wiped the back of her hand across her nose, very ladylike. Ever the gentleman, Jet blinked back to the present in time to notice and rummaged through a pocket until he found a handkerchief with barely any grease on it to offer her.
"Didn't realize you'd take it this hard." He rumbled at her.
Glaring back at him, Faye noisily blew her nose into the cloth.
Jet raised both hands as if to ward off an attack. "Love, I caught you eating his food just a few weeks ago."
Sighing, Faye shook her head and then offered a shrug before saying defensively, "well, babe, you always enabled him to eat like a king."
Behind their table, the door to the tavern opened and a young woman swept into the lounge, spied the pair immediately, and flounced over to plop down between them. Her thick reddish hair was a riot in all directions, the kind of body to it that women from the 1980s would have given anything for, and her bright golden eyes dimmed as she took in the depression that had settled over the table.
"Bron-Y-Aur Stomp, please!" She called out to the band that was about to decide on the opener of their fourth set. The guitarist, seemingly relieved to have a slightly more cheerful audience to play for, gave her a nod.
"How can you... How are you... How?" Faye asked helplessly.
The young woman, Ed, shrugged. "He was safe and warm and happy." She smiled faintly, tears glistening in her eyes. "He was home. How could I be upset that he chose to leave us on such a note?"
"There are certainly worse ways to go. Besides, 17 years is quite a feat." Jet acknowledged gruffly.
Ed leaned over to rest her head on Jet's shoulder and reached out to take Faye's hand, linking the three of them together in grief and understanding.
"I'll love him forever. I'll miss him for always."
Faye's lower lip trembled. "He was such a good boy," she whispered.
Jet shook his head. "No. He was the best boy."
You Still Don't Get It
"He's not like anyone else..."
The words haunted him. The images haunted him too. Yellowed scraps of someone's entire life, pictures of innocence... a life twisted into disaster. A military criminal, a felon, a person connected to whoever Julia was... a commonplace name that had sent Spike spiraling. Well, at least he could extend an olive branch to his erstwhile partner. And then tow this childlike adult woman back to the ship. Between the two of them he wasn't sure who was the most emotionally immature...
He often struggled with figuring out what made Spike tick but he'd never really understood women either. Here at least was a chance to try and see what led Faye to run off in a teenage strop. Why had she left the note? Why leave them any way of chasing her down?
Naturally Faye avoided explaining herself.
Her query in response was simple enough to answer (if he kept it on the up-and-up, choosing to focus on a minute detail instead of the way his heart had involuntarily clenched with concern once he realized where she'd fled) ... and when she brought up the sum left in the safe he had to try and play off that he hadn't known how much was there.
Her interest in Julia made his heart stutter and close itself off. Of course. Spike was the more handsome of them. More fun, more exciting. Made sense that a wildcard like Faye would be drawn to another daredevil instead of someone as stolid as Jet himself.
But what of Gren?
That troubled him. Finding her cuffed to another man's bed, that troubled him. The way she shrugged it off yet seemed so... touched. What sort of a hold could a near-stranger have on her already? What sort of person was this Gren who had somehow gotten tied up into the lives of two different crew mates whose paths were so different?
A question for a question, surely he deserved some answers.
"So, who is this Gren?"
A chuckle over the COMM. "You still don't get it." Faye didn't sound bothered by his asking. Amused, yes. Even maybe a bit interested. She seemed in better spirits than the depression he'd noticed as he released her from the cuffs and reached out to update Spike.
A sigh.
"He reminded me of you, if I'm being honest..." Her tone was thoughtful, soft. "Honorable fools, taking in strays... risking a bite to the hand that feeds..." Her voice trailed off into a series of coughs.
Grimacing at her opinion of him as much as at the sickly sounds she was making, Jet exhaled heavily. "Never mind. Shut your mouth, conserve your strength."
Growing Pains
It's hard to watch him grow.
Growing pains traditionally referred to the physical pain of growth - typically and especially in the legs during spurts. It's not pain exactly... it's a soreness in the thighs, calves, backs of the knees. She remembered it from her own youth and, given how big and tall his father was, it's no surprise that Jet was also going through physical changes as his body stretched, elongated, adapted to a new slightly older form.
But just watching him warp from an infant into a toddler into a young boy is breaking her heart.
The pain of watching your child grow up. The contradiction of being so proud for advancements and achievements... of being delighted in witnessing the world open up before their young eyes... of seeing them develop into capable individuals who didn't need mama to dress them head to toe every day... all those little joys and big joys... versus the unexpected pangs of sadness as he grew less and less dependent on his parents and grandparents.
Suddenly he could help Grandpa hook a worm for fishing. Suddenly he could be trusted to help Nana thread the needle without poking himself. Suddenly he was running alongside Papa on their way to the boat, not being carried on Papa's shoulders or in his arms.
Soon he would be able to help coil the heavy rope that held the anchor fast. Soon he would be able to reach the stove top to help prepare meals. Soon he would be too busy with friends to want to sit next to Mama at the park and watch the birds picking at the seeds they'd throw.
And oh, how she wanted that for him. A whole houseful of friends to race with and wrestle with and practice letters and numbers with. Kids his own age that would share toys and snacks and want to play with him.
He was such a serious little boy. So thoughtful. Always trying to do his part at home, always trying to pitch in. He understood the dangers of being on the ship in bad weather. He listened to his elders and remembered what he was told.
He was a blessing and she knew it. He would be the only one they'd ever get to have and that was fine, truly, because he was such a good child.
But ohh... to watch him grow was forcing her heart to swell with both sorrow and elation. Her sweet baby boy, her darling young lad... well on his way to being such a fine man.
Humiliation
The card reader beeped obnoxiously.
The cashier glanced surreptitiously at him for the fourth time.
Jet glared at the machine and only barely managed to school his expression into something less antagonistic when the cashier cleared her throat to get his attention.
"Sometimes the reader doesn't quite..." She trailed off, cheeks flushing with color.
There was a line of people queued up behind him. A bag boy patiently waiting to see what to do with the groceries he'd already carefully put into the paper bags at the end of the conveyor belt. A manager slowly making their way down the aisle of checkout lanes.
He knew better. The cashier was trying to be kind, to offer him an out... as if it was technology's fault that there wasn't enough in the account to cover what he'd painstakingly gathered (he'd done the math in his head the entire time, adding taxes and subtracting discounts, and still somehow he had misjudged...) ...but Jet knew the humiliating truth.
Well. Nothing to be done for it. Taking a deep breath in, he considered quickly what all was in the bags. What could he do without? What would subtract enough from the total to allow him to depart with his dignity in shreds but at least something in those sacks to feed his crew?
To feed Ed mainly. The other two could take care of themselves well enough. Even Ein was no slouch at hunting when the hunger was too much.
So, doing his best to ignore the judgmental stares that may or may not be aimed at him from the folks behind... he stepped up to the bagger and gestured curtly at the conveyor belt.
"Sorry bub, lemme just go through these and give a few things back to the lady here..."
His ears were ringing too much to hear the garbled tunes playing over the grocery store speakers. The cashier was staring down at her drawer to give him a semblance of privacy. And he did his utmost to shut out and ignore the rest of the populace of the place.
Wasn't the first time.
Probably wouldn't be the last time.
Still, the churning gut and the aching chest and the tension in his jaw... all of these kept the humiliation of the moment stacked on him like a scarlet letter.
Man, he hated being poor.
Watching the feral child tear into the food on the table made Jet feel very uneasy.
The boy... no, girl... the child was so scrawny. Skin and bone and bright hair and wide-eyed innocence...
She devoured every scrap of food that had been on the plate and then licked the plate clean more vigorously than he'd ever seen even Ein take to a dish.
It spoke of a level of starvation that Jet himself - despite any grumpy complaints Spike might have to the contrary - had ever experienced.
Sure, there had been some lean times. Meals of vegetables but no protein, meals of cup noodles and not even vegetables to go with, meals of single ingredients (could it even be called a meal? it had to count) but typically it was only a few hungry hours - days at most - before they'd snag a bounty and could get some grub.
This kid... hell, she might have been LIVING off actual grubs.
The ruins where she'd been hiding... there were no fields there. No gardens. No grocery stores or convenience stores or anything except broken buildings and rebar and rubble.
The effervescent attitude of the child was mind boggling. Hunger tended to make Jet (and Spike and Faye for that matter) as cantankerous as all get out. Sniping at each other, fighting over the last bean, full of attitude if not food. Most of their arguments happened when no one was adequately fed.
The cheer of this frighteningly thin child was disconcerting.
Maybe she truly was an alien after all.
He could hear her stomach grumble from across the room and felt a pang of sorrow at her plight.
Spike had already scarfed down his food and disappeared into the bowels of the ship. Faye had also dined and dipped - using up all the hot water in the shower from the creaky sounds of the pipes. Ein was still sniffing curiously around the newcomer.
Spearing a bit of potato onto his fork, Jet heard a growl from the dog. "Ein!" He snapped.
The dog made a sad whine at Jet's tone.
A childish giggle. "Wasn't Ein woof-woof!" The girl chirped. "Just Edward's belly monster!"
His gaze jumped to the rail-thin girl. Aghast, Jet looked down at his plate. He'd been so intent on watching the kid chow down that he'd only poked around his own portion. He looked back at the girl.
His stomach gave a gurgle but not so much like voicing his own appetite as it was commiserating with the emptiness of the other stomach in the room.
"Hey, kid."
Ed glanced at him, retracting her tongue from the plate and back into her mouth. "What, what?"
He tossed his plate onto the table between them. "Here. Finish this off for me, would ya?"
Delight sparkled in her eyes. "Oh, oh! A kindness! Edward knew Bebop-Bebop was the place to be!" She gave him a deep bow and got to work immediately with shoveling the food into her mouth with both hands as fast as she could chew or at least swallow. He wasn't sure if she was chewing at all.
The hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach was growing bigger with every bite she took.
Who would leave a child to starve? To fend for themselves on this miserable rock with no way to grow their own food... to gradually wither and wilt and slowly sadly pass from existence into a horrible aching death...
Clearing his throat gruffly, Jet got to his feet. "I'm uh... I'm just gonna fix up another plate. You uh... well, if you're hungry later, there'll be more to eat in the fridge, okay?"
The girl's eyes grew even wider, saucers of gold gleaming with amazement.
"Bebop-Bebop... what a place of wonder..." she breathed.
Jet suppressed a shiver.
What kind of a life had this poor creature lived before this?
