Beboptober 2024 - Tumblr Posts

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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Introduction

The quiet thrum of the engines at work. The subtle tremor of the ship as it passed smoothly through the Gate. The hiss of wet ingredients being heated on a frying pan over the burner.

Sounds and smells and the vibration under foot... all these things slipped beyond Spike's notice into the category of "miscellaneous inconsequential background bullshit" as he worked his way through the sweat-provoking movements of his Jeet Kune Do workout.

Even now, after three years on the behemoth repurposed fishing trawler, he hadn't quite gotten used to the peace that lay heavy on the battered old ship.

Long years in the syndicate had kept him on his toes constantly. Before that, there had never been serenity while he exercised. The commotion of life on the streets, no place of his own, and then the boisterous years undergoing ruthless and exhaustive training... there had always been shouting, jostling, distractions aplenty. That had been half the point, to be fair. For the rough-and-tumble upstarts taken into the Red Dragon it was crucial to educate them on how to function while life went to shit all around them. You had to be able to concentrate your focus. To be aware of everything happening. To take in the whole picture and then filter out the parts that could be ignored. How could you be trusted to handle yourself under enemy fire in a public situation if you couldn't roll with the punches from a gaggle of feisty and anxious adolescences constantly looking for someway to prove themselves.

There were moments, few and far between, where his mind would cast itself back to those riotous days and he would wonder if he genuinely missed any of it or if nostalgia was just designed to fool oneself into misremembering instances of hellish struggle as something cast in a more favorable light.

Certainly this was an improvement. Right?

No racing down a narrow hallway, elbows digging rudely into his ribs, bare feet shooting out from either side as other kids tried to trip him out of their way towards the kitchen. They had been treated like rambunctious puppies, encouraged to nip at one another, literally kicked around by burly syndicate soldiers who were required to be as tough and mean as possibly. Fight for meals, fight for a place to drop into a fitful sleep, fight to be the first to draw blood. Everything had been a competition.

Now he had a room of his own. A thin mattress with a threadbare blanket. A stack of milk crates where each level was designated as a different "drawer" for his few pieces of clothing.

Spike Spiegel was a simple man. He didn't need much. Though whether that would still be the case if he hadn't been raised in such a minimalist fashion, who could say? Food in his belly, even if there was no assurance of more on the plate in the future. Clothes on his back, even if they stank of sweat and were stained by splatters of blood. A roof overhead and at least three walls of protection against the elements - shit, the more he recalled of his beginning days as a Dragon the more he realized they were basically kenneled like hounds.

And now? A place to live that could sail around the solar system and bring them wherever they needed to go to make money. Clothes on his back, and in crates, and a washing machine to get it all clean in between wears. A stalwart partner with no interest in learning about Spike's past or about divulging details of his own. Even better, for the first time in his life Spike had a companion capable of creating meals. None of the rabble he'd been raised with had any culinary skills. Neither had Vicious. Neither had Julia.

So, he'd embrace the quietude of the ship as he went through the motions of his preferred flow of martial arts. He'd be grateful for the vessel that gave them a home so suited to their way of life. He'd cherish the fact that food was about to get into his belly and that the fridge often held ingredients to become future meals too. What comforts! A life so rich!

Later, digging around his plate with his chopsticks and half-ignoring Jet's voice droning on about some new bounty they should pursue, Spike felt his earlier jubilation sink back down to where his mood typically stayed. No meat. Not even a morsel of protein. This was no divine existence after all. Just another level of survival only marginally above the previous ones he'd endured and escaped.

Life would always be a struggle. Of fucking course.

Crash

It was a different sort of tired than the yawning screaming crushing exhaustion that had plagued her when he was a newborn. That exhaustion had been fraught with fear, snatches of slumber that was never deep enough or long enough to actually revitalize her in any way that counted. This exhaustion is filled with frustration instead. Endless hours on loop chasing an inexhaustible toddler up and down stairs repetitively (the pride in watching him conquer climbing had been likewise replaced with a sort of regret that he was suddenly so mobile) and her muscles ached in protest.

Normally she had some support. Ed was always delighted with careening around the ship, crashing into objects to make Lupin squeal with joy over the resulting destruction, and both of them often teaming up on poor Ein who certainly enjoyed a game of chase for a bit but whose stubby little legs got worn out long before the teen or toddler were ready to stop. And Spike adored treating it like a bounty gone sideways - he'd always thrived on the chance to dash after criminals so it was no surprise that he had so much fun with scrambling after the wee child. Even Jet at least served as a bouncer from time to time, reaching down to snatch the baby up whenever he'd rush into the living room or out onto the deck of the ship. Jet wasn't much for the actual legwork of chasing Lupin down, much like Faye herself who preferred cuddling and reading books and other sedentary activities that Lupin tended to disregard in favor of movement.

But Ed was off training for her next big race. Jet had taken Ein on a walk. Spike was after a bounty.

It was just Faye... all on her own... one beleaguered adult versus the indomitable spirit and never-ending energy of her toddler son.

She just wanted to curl into a ball on the floor. Or, preferably, snuggling into the comforter on the bed and passing the fuck out. Her patience had been spread thin and she could tell she was about to snap and that's the last thing she wanted to do.

Vague memories of a stern father glaring down at his discouraged daughter floated through her mind. A sharp-voiced mother halting the wild rampage of her crestfallen child.

What Faye remembered better than their disappointed and irritable expressions was the hurt that had spread through her young body. Chastisement made her flush and put a stutter in her joy that always derailed whatever adventure she'd been set on.

And Faye absolutely did not want to be that person with her own kid. She didn't want to make his lower lip pout... didn't want to see confused tears well up in those beautiful eyes...

She was a shit disciplinarian and honestly didn't want to change that. Her baby would be brought down enough in life - it was inevitable, that's just how living worked. But if she could at all avoid being the person to dim that light... well...

Peals of laughter drifted back to her from the rotating hallway and she smirked. Lupin always struggled to get out of that section of the ship. The chase was about to end... not with a whimper, not with a shout... but with Faye sitting herself down on the outside so he could see she was near and wear himself out with running on what was more or less just a giant hamster wheel. If she fell asleep out here then he'd wake her with a shriek when he wanted to escape into her loving arms. And in the meantime he'd rejoice over being able to dash endlessly while his mama was nearby.

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...

Virus

"You look like shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked at him.

"What, cat got your tongue?"

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

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

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

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

Cathedral / Captured / Falling

She's never been religious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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."

Names

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boys shared a devilish grin.

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

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

Waltz

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

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

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

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

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

Pursuit, pivot, reverse, twirling twirling twirling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CODE

It had begun sometime after his most recent return from death's door.

Physical recuperation had taken place on the couch, naturally. That was his go-to hospital bed. Much easier to have life-saving machines arrayed around the moveable piece of furniture and besides the proximity to the bathroom was clutch once he became somewhat mobile once more.

Mental recuperation needed privacy though.

For the first time in... well, the entirety of his time on the ship... Spike began to use his small space as more than just a closet and place to stash ammo. Besides he had ammo stashed all over the ship so why not clear off the thin mattress at last and put on fresh sheets and actually utilize the damn thing.

Time slipped by, as it always does... grief once so raw became a beast with slightly duller fangs as he started to forgive himself for things that had never been possible... forgive him for things that weren't really his fault...

And one night, months after they'd retrieved Ed and Ein from Earth, after dinner prepared by Jet and consumed by everyone... after most of the souls on the ship went to bed or hopped onto the internet highway for who-knows-what purpose... there came a gentle tap-tap-tapping at the wall his pillow rested against.

Spike blinked. Frowned. Listened intently. And then cracked a small smile.

Morse code. Something they'd both learned in their formative years, though for different reasons.

U

UP

He shared a wall with Faye. Faye, who had been much more subdued since her memory returned. Who had been so gung ho about pitching in while Spike healed. Who had quietly stolen his pain medication when he started dipping into more than he truly needed. Who had given him space at first... and then gotten ballsy and started needling him about doing some damn work again... and who eventually got herself kidnapped which required him to actually get off his ass and save the day for the first time in a long, long time.

Only to discover she'd already picked the lock - or maybe had never truly been caught at all?

Still, it had forced him back into the swing of things.

Her eyes had slid to meet his gaze when he burst into the room, ready to rampage.

And then she'd climbed to her feet off the floor of the warehouse and strolled past him with a sultry sway to her hips and given him a little pat on the back before exiting the empty building.

That had begun something between them. A meeting of the eyes became a commonplace thing. Ed being too wild and wiggly? A shared look of fond exasperation. Jet grouching about something or other? An eye roll from one and a snicker from the other. Ein whining about needing a trip outside? An eyebrow cocked up onto a forehead as an invitation to join the expedition and enjoy a smoke on the deck.

Their banter had resumed as well, of course. The standard teasing and riling up and whatnot. Discussion of bounties, exchange of information, all that jazz.

But the eye contact... that said so much more.

And now the invitation to... to what?

Well, he was too intrigued and antsy to bother tapping out a reply. Besides, he was a man of action.

So he rolled out of bed and made his way to Faye's room and rapped his knuckles against the door.