Eek! Sorry this took so long! Updates will come faster when I put this
under my pen name!
*****
Faye's P.O.V.
I didn't sleep at all after the 'panic attack'. Would you have been able to?
Vicious' body tried to contract and curl into a fetal position during the night, his breath shuddering against my neck, but I wasn't letting go, clinging to him like I had never imagined myself doing - with anyone. The prospect of releasing him and losing who he was - this whole new man - was too much to handle so soon after the shock of his previous breakdown. He molded himself to me, breathing faster than he should have, most likely tangled in some bloody nightmare, and he whispered a name.
"Julia..."
Tears sprung to my eyes, stinging, hot, pressing against my closed eyelids and begging for escape. It wasn't fair, you know? The first man I'd ever cared about had been all wrapped up in that woman, and now even Vicious, who had been betrayed by the girl, turned hard and bitter towards her, still was not willing to release the blonde goddess.
What did she have that I didn't? Was she prettier? Maybe to some people, but I didn't find her a vast improvement over myself. How about smarter? Ok, maybe, but I don't call cheating on a murderer with his best friend too intelligent. Perhaps they preferred her personality. Yeah, that had to be it.
A sob near escaped my constricted throat.
I bet she was witty and quiet and graceful, not loud and obnoxious like me. She was probably submissive and understanding, too, unlike my demanding self. I didn't know - I'd never known her personally. But these two guys had placed her on such a high pedestal that something had to be absolutely amazing about her.
Angrily, I pushed Vicious' heavy body away, forcing him to uncoil his limbs from around my own and waking him in the process. A disoriented, mumbled question rose from his lips, and when I only swung my legs over the bed, stalking to the kitchen, he halfheartedly rose as if to follow, but found the effort too much and dropped back down to the bed with a grunt.
Once seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, I took time to contemplate my sorry life. Even when Vicious couldn't remember her, he was still all hung up on Julia. I hated her.
So, what was the plan again, Faye?
Oh yes, make him fall in love with you, crush his heart, shoot him to death. One minor problem there. I was the one in love.
I was the one with the broken heart.
The door to the bedroom was knocked open then and Vicious stood there, rubbing at his left eye with a fist. "May," he groaned sleepily, "come back to the bed. What's wrong?"
My lips settled over the rim of the coffee cup as I let out a sigh through my nose. The heat from the warm mug burned my mouth, but I didn't care. "You whispered another woman's name in your sleep," I muttered, eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion, in release.
He lowered his head, staring at the ground a second, and then looked back up at me, frowning. Confusion and fear knitted his eyebrows together. "I...I was having a bad dream about someone. I don't understand."
"You just can't let her go, can you, Vicious?" I said quietly, dumping out the remainder of my coffee in the sink and then dragging my sorry butt back into the bedroom. As I tried to shoulder by him, however, a strong hand caught my wrist, the other arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me back. Truthful, stormy gray eyes locked on mine.
"You're the only one I care about, May, honest."
It caught me off guard. Pretty straight forward and heartfelt - not some corny line from a romance movie.
Too bad I was the one deceiving him.
Why did he have to act like such a sweetheart?!
With a sigh and a shrug, I brushed him off and went back to the bed, burying myself under covers. It felt so cold all the sudden. My body shivered uncontrollably.
Vicious stood in the doorway a while longer, completely at a loss for actions and words. "What's going on?" he finally asked, his naturally gruff, low voice sounding a bit more like the real Vicious, the one that killed Spike.
I sniffled in reply, still nursing my cold from the rain.
"Tell me that you love me," he demanded. When I said nothing, there was a thud, like his fist pounding angrily against the wall. "May - I - just - " I could tell he was strangling curses and other angry, nasty things in his throat. "I feel like I'm losing it here," he said helplessly.
"You whispered her name..." I heard his footsteps shuffling on the carpet, and then felt the mattress shift and sink under his weight. He tried to worm his way under the blankets to get next to me, but I kept them tight and close to my body, not wanting to feel his touch or hear his voice or anything because it was all just an illusion. In the end, he gave up, not questioning me, or at least not verbally, and laid one hand to my hip, placing his head on the pillow beside mine, and lay turned on his side to face my back.
"Does saying that I feel like I'm short on time make any sense at all?" he whispered in my ear. I could feel his warm breath against my skin, moving over the cuff of my ear in a rush. "I don't know. Maybe I'm losing myself. I'm so frustrated over this amnesia thing. Were we ever happy, May? We're we...ever...happy?"
"Not that I remember," I answered honestly, burying my face into the pillow.
"I feel like I could be..." He paused, searching for the right word, I guess, and when he found it, he spoke with a little chuckle and a tone tinged with passion. "...*deliriously* happy with you. Don't let me ever forget that, ok?"
"Alright."
He fell silent, moving away until we both were separated by stifling silence and muted, white sheets. I knew he was staring at the ceiling, his silver hair splayed on the pillow beneath his head.
What was this drowning feeling? This sudden despair and onslaught of grief?
I cried so quietly that night that he never even noticed.
*****
His place was empty the next morning. It had grown cold too. I stood there for a long time, staring at where he had lain, unblinking, unfeeling. Unconsciously, I clutched one of his discarded shirts to my heart. So many mixed emotions and dramas playing out in my life. Hadn't even had it this bad on the Bebop.
Speaking of which, how was old Jet doing? Should probably call him up or something. I could just see him, all lonely and discarded by society, sitting hunched over on the couch with a bowl of fried bell peppers on his knees, bags under his eyes from nights spent without sleep. He'd probably have a pair of chopsticks in hand, poised between mouth and food, sitting there deathly still with empty, emotionless eyes trained on some bounty hunting show. Big Shot, most likely. Wait - they'd cancelled that.
Then again, I was probably thinking too melodramatic. Maybe he'd made new friends and was sitting around playing cards with them and laughing. Maybe he never even thought about me or Spike or Ed anymore.
Ed...crazy kid. Surprising she hadn't showed up on the news or something yet.
Turning away from my reverie, I pulled on my light weight robe and stepped into the worn slippers I'd bought at a thrift store eons ago. I padded out to the kitchen, staring through the doorway at Vicious. He seemed focused completely on the picture of Spike, which wasn't unusual, but this time was different...
His eyes, gray and lifeless, were narrowed to slits, jaw clenched tightly. He had already dressed, clothed in a pair of dark slacks and a black T- shirt and his trench coat. This wasn't my Vicious. This was the one who had lain dormant in his heart during our stay together.
My heart stopped beating a moment. I was terrified. So much that I dropped a plate I'd been holding. It hit the floor tiles, shattering into gigantic pieces and then smaller splinters, all around my feet, but the sound and the sight held no affect on either of us, like it had happened in another world.
"Vicious?" I called out softly, a tremble to my tone, making me sound hurt, vulnerable, desperate. I hated it. Even more than I hated harsh reality and Julia.
"Faye," was his deadpan reply.
Oh...my... Not May. He remembered my name. My real name.
His eyes slid over to meet mine, dull and glazed. A grim smile stretched his ghastly pale lips in a horrible fashion, the slender arch of his cheekbones suddenly making him appear gaunt. "You said I whispered her name last night - a bold accusation for one who still keeps his picture framed on the wall."
I wanted to tell him Spike meant nothing to me, even though I knew he wouldn't care, but I would say it if only he'd reply Julia meant nothing to him - those two belonged together anyway! But I couldn't, for that would only be a lie. Another illusion. And Vicious had already discovered the truth.
He turned to face me fully, crossing his arms athwart his chest. "I should kill you for the games you played with me - the circles in which you made me ran. What was your motivation, Miss Valentine? Was I a dog to do your bidding? Some form or amusement?" He cocked an eyebrow, frowning. "I'm leaving now."
And he turned his back towards me, taking a stiff step towards the door. The vision blurred, trembled, distorted by the tears that lay precariously in my eyes. "Vicious...no...don't leave me like this," I heard myself whimper, but it sounded so far away. A thin, small hand reached for him, only grasping air.
He paused with his palm curving around the doorknob, looking over his shoulder. I suppose both of us were expecting me to run to him and hold onto him and cry into his back, but I didn't. I wanted to, believe me. But I couldn't.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," I murmured helplessly.
He stared at me a while, looking as if many thoughts were turning over in his head. I hoped he might remember the night before, in which he had told me he could be happy here, he'd love me always, and that he cared. Even if those things were present in his mind, they held no position of importance over his actions, which were to turn and drift silently away, almost an apparition.
I stood alone, not knowing how to react. What do you do after something like that? Sit down at the table and have breakfast as normal?
The quiet was deafening. So was the loneliness.
Bending, I began to pick up the fragments of the plate I had dropped, trying to numb myself to the whole experience. Unfortunately, the only thought running through my head was, "You have to bring that man back! Not Vicious, the one he's hiding!"
Idiot voice. Stepping over to the trash can, I dropped the shards of glass into the near empty bin, my gaze straying to the window. It was early - only a few people milled the streets. Vicious was one of them, walking slowly and purposefully away from the apartment building, never even looking back. With my mouth gaping in disbelief at how things were happening so slow, yet so fast, I stared at him until he disappeared.
After that, I did sit down and have breakfast, turning the radio on real loud so I'd at least feel like I wasn't the only one on the planet. Nothing was on - just some jazzy saxophone number. It led me to think of a strange person I'd met a long time ago.
Gren.
There was one messed up guy. Handsome though. Shame he had that little problem. Eh, but I digress. Talking about the changes those drugs made in his body is not a good topic to mull over while eating cereal. But Gren, the person, he was really...something. Someone good to talk to. I found myself missing him for some reason - probably because he knew what it felt like to be suddenly turned on by Vicious.
But Gren had chosen the path to that led him to try to deny that he was missing the man, that he was hurt. He had decided to hide himself away and repress his feelings.
I drove my hands into my hair, letting my head drop and hang. I'd made Vicious a promise - I was never going to let him forget how happy he was with me. I'd let Spike slip away and was still kicking myself for it. Was I supposed to sit around and repeat the same mistake?
Seemed that way.
Where would Vicious go back to? The Red Dragons? Would they accept him? Or maybe he'd start a new syndicate from scratch. I wouldn't put anything beyond the man. But where to find him? And how? Only one person I knew was skilled enough for that kind of work.
Seated at a computer in the public library, my fingers flying rapidly across the keyboard, I posted the following message on the Internet:
Hey, kid! Faye-Faye needs your help, so you better contact me somehow! Make it quick!
How Ed was going to find it out there among the mass of information just floating in cyberspace, I had no idea - but I was somehow confident she would.
And she did.
Three months later, just when I had given up hope, there was a certain redheaded girl at my doorstep with her dog, grinning up at me in excitement and delight.
"Faye-Faye! I missed you!" And the child launched herself into my arms.
Well, she was older now. I didn't know the actual age of the girl, but she looked about fourteen or fifteen. She had filled out a little - which was a great difference from how she had been before - and was actually dressing different. A pair of black leggings and a green, woolen turtle-neck. Her hair was actually at shoulder's length - but she was still just as childish in actions and words.
"What are we doing?" she asked in that lilting tone of hers as I let her and Ein in.
"Marveling over you, Ed," I sighed. "You actually found me. Took long enough, but you still found me."
He looked defensive, pouting and peering up at me. "It's a big net," she murmured. "But I had been searching for information on you and Jet and Spike-person everyday." Her face brightened with a huge grin. "I knew one of you would get into trouble eventually!"
"Amazing. You can explain it all later. Now, I need you to find someone else. Vicious."
Her green eyes widened, and she actually looked very cute. "Vicious...?"
"Yes. We're going to track him down."
Dropping her backpack on the floor with a thud, she threw out her arms and cried, "Why?"
"Because I love him," was my answer as I stuck my tongue out at her astonished look. "That's why."
*****
Well, that would be the end of the first part. The rest is likely to be longer and will be under my pen name 'Shangri-La'. It'll probably be titled 'Blood & Remembrance' simply because I can't think of a better name and I don't want to change it completely so everyone gets confused! Well, hopefully you all will keep reviewing the second part! Thanks and bye!
*****
Faye's P.O.V.
I didn't sleep at all after the 'panic attack'. Would you have been able to?
Vicious' body tried to contract and curl into a fetal position during the night, his breath shuddering against my neck, but I wasn't letting go, clinging to him like I had never imagined myself doing - with anyone. The prospect of releasing him and losing who he was - this whole new man - was too much to handle so soon after the shock of his previous breakdown. He molded himself to me, breathing faster than he should have, most likely tangled in some bloody nightmare, and he whispered a name.
"Julia..."
Tears sprung to my eyes, stinging, hot, pressing against my closed eyelids and begging for escape. It wasn't fair, you know? The first man I'd ever cared about had been all wrapped up in that woman, and now even Vicious, who had been betrayed by the girl, turned hard and bitter towards her, still was not willing to release the blonde goddess.
What did she have that I didn't? Was she prettier? Maybe to some people, but I didn't find her a vast improvement over myself. How about smarter? Ok, maybe, but I don't call cheating on a murderer with his best friend too intelligent. Perhaps they preferred her personality. Yeah, that had to be it.
A sob near escaped my constricted throat.
I bet she was witty and quiet and graceful, not loud and obnoxious like me. She was probably submissive and understanding, too, unlike my demanding self. I didn't know - I'd never known her personally. But these two guys had placed her on such a high pedestal that something had to be absolutely amazing about her.
Angrily, I pushed Vicious' heavy body away, forcing him to uncoil his limbs from around my own and waking him in the process. A disoriented, mumbled question rose from his lips, and when I only swung my legs over the bed, stalking to the kitchen, he halfheartedly rose as if to follow, but found the effort too much and dropped back down to the bed with a grunt.
Once seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, I took time to contemplate my sorry life. Even when Vicious couldn't remember her, he was still all hung up on Julia. I hated her.
So, what was the plan again, Faye?
Oh yes, make him fall in love with you, crush his heart, shoot him to death. One minor problem there. I was the one in love.
I was the one with the broken heart.
The door to the bedroom was knocked open then and Vicious stood there, rubbing at his left eye with a fist. "May," he groaned sleepily, "come back to the bed. What's wrong?"
My lips settled over the rim of the coffee cup as I let out a sigh through my nose. The heat from the warm mug burned my mouth, but I didn't care. "You whispered another woman's name in your sleep," I muttered, eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion, in release.
He lowered his head, staring at the ground a second, and then looked back up at me, frowning. Confusion and fear knitted his eyebrows together. "I...I was having a bad dream about someone. I don't understand."
"You just can't let her go, can you, Vicious?" I said quietly, dumping out the remainder of my coffee in the sink and then dragging my sorry butt back into the bedroom. As I tried to shoulder by him, however, a strong hand caught my wrist, the other arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me back. Truthful, stormy gray eyes locked on mine.
"You're the only one I care about, May, honest."
It caught me off guard. Pretty straight forward and heartfelt - not some corny line from a romance movie.
Too bad I was the one deceiving him.
Why did he have to act like such a sweetheart?!
With a sigh and a shrug, I brushed him off and went back to the bed, burying myself under covers. It felt so cold all the sudden. My body shivered uncontrollably.
Vicious stood in the doorway a while longer, completely at a loss for actions and words. "What's going on?" he finally asked, his naturally gruff, low voice sounding a bit more like the real Vicious, the one that killed Spike.
I sniffled in reply, still nursing my cold from the rain.
"Tell me that you love me," he demanded. When I said nothing, there was a thud, like his fist pounding angrily against the wall. "May - I - just - " I could tell he was strangling curses and other angry, nasty things in his throat. "I feel like I'm losing it here," he said helplessly.
"You whispered her name..." I heard his footsteps shuffling on the carpet, and then felt the mattress shift and sink under his weight. He tried to worm his way under the blankets to get next to me, but I kept them tight and close to my body, not wanting to feel his touch or hear his voice or anything because it was all just an illusion. In the end, he gave up, not questioning me, or at least not verbally, and laid one hand to my hip, placing his head on the pillow beside mine, and lay turned on his side to face my back.
"Does saying that I feel like I'm short on time make any sense at all?" he whispered in my ear. I could feel his warm breath against my skin, moving over the cuff of my ear in a rush. "I don't know. Maybe I'm losing myself. I'm so frustrated over this amnesia thing. Were we ever happy, May? We're we...ever...happy?"
"Not that I remember," I answered honestly, burying my face into the pillow.
"I feel like I could be..." He paused, searching for the right word, I guess, and when he found it, he spoke with a little chuckle and a tone tinged with passion. "...*deliriously* happy with you. Don't let me ever forget that, ok?"
"Alright."
He fell silent, moving away until we both were separated by stifling silence and muted, white sheets. I knew he was staring at the ceiling, his silver hair splayed on the pillow beneath his head.
What was this drowning feeling? This sudden despair and onslaught of grief?
I cried so quietly that night that he never even noticed.
*****
His place was empty the next morning. It had grown cold too. I stood there for a long time, staring at where he had lain, unblinking, unfeeling. Unconsciously, I clutched one of his discarded shirts to my heart. So many mixed emotions and dramas playing out in my life. Hadn't even had it this bad on the Bebop.
Speaking of which, how was old Jet doing? Should probably call him up or something. I could just see him, all lonely and discarded by society, sitting hunched over on the couch with a bowl of fried bell peppers on his knees, bags under his eyes from nights spent without sleep. He'd probably have a pair of chopsticks in hand, poised between mouth and food, sitting there deathly still with empty, emotionless eyes trained on some bounty hunting show. Big Shot, most likely. Wait - they'd cancelled that.
Then again, I was probably thinking too melodramatic. Maybe he'd made new friends and was sitting around playing cards with them and laughing. Maybe he never even thought about me or Spike or Ed anymore.
Ed...crazy kid. Surprising she hadn't showed up on the news or something yet.
Turning away from my reverie, I pulled on my light weight robe and stepped into the worn slippers I'd bought at a thrift store eons ago. I padded out to the kitchen, staring through the doorway at Vicious. He seemed focused completely on the picture of Spike, which wasn't unusual, but this time was different...
His eyes, gray and lifeless, were narrowed to slits, jaw clenched tightly. He had already dressed, clothed in a pair of dark slacks and a black T- shirt and his trench coat. This wasn't my Vicious. This was the one who had lain dormant in his heart during our stay together.
My heart stopped beating a moment. I was terrified. So much that I dropped a plate I'd been holding. It hit the floor tiles, shattering into gigantic pieces and then smaller splinters, all around my feet, but the sound and the sight held no affect on either of us, like it had happened in another world.
"Vicious?" I called out softly, a tremble to my tone, making me sound hurt, vulnerable, desperate. I hated it. Even more than I hated harsh reality and Julia.
"Faye," was his deadpan reply.
Oh...my... Not May. He remembered my name. My real name.
His eyes slid over to meet mine, dull and glazed. A grim smile stretched his ghastly pale lips in a horrible fashion, the slender arch of his cheekbones suddenly making him appear gaunt. "You said I whispered her name last night - a bold accusation for one who still keeps his picture framed on the wall."
I wanted to tell him Spike meant nothing to me, even though I knew he wouldn't care, but I would say it if only he'd reply Julia meant nothing to him - those two belonged together anyway! But I couldn't, for that would only be a lie. Another illusion. And Vicious had already discovered the truth.
He turned to face me fully, crossing his arms athwart his chest. "I should kill you for the games you played with me - the circles in which you made me ran. What was your motivation, Miss Valentine? Was I a dog to do your bidding? Some form or amusement?" He cocked an eyebrow, frowning. "I'm leaving now."
And he turned his back towards me, taking a stiff step towards the door. The vision blurred, trembled, distorted by the tears that lay precariously in my eyes. "Vicious...no...don't leave me like this," I heard myself whimper, but it sounded so far away. A thin, small hand reached for him, only grasping air.
He paused with his palm curving around the doorknob, looking over his shoulder. I suppose both of us were expecting me to run to him and hold onto him and cry into his back, but I didn't. I wanted to, believe me. But I couldn't.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," I murmured helplessly.
He stared at me a while, looking as if many thoughts were turning over in his head. I hoped he might remember the night before, in which he had told me he could be happy here, he'd love me always, and that he cared. Even if those things were present in his mind, they held no position of importance over his actions, which were to turn and drift silently away, almost an apparition.
I stood alone, not knowing how to react. What do you do after something like that? Sit down at the table and have breakfast as normal?
The quiet was deafening. So was the loneliness.
Bending, I began to pick up the fragments of the plate I had dropped, trying to numb myself to the whole experience. Unfortunately, the only thought running through my head was, "You have to bring that man back! Not Vicious, the one he's hiding!"
Idiot voice. Stepping over to the trash can, I dropped the shards of glass into the near empty bin, my gaze straying to the window. It was early - only a few people milled the streets. Vicious was one of them, walking slowly and purposefully away from the apartment building, never even looking back. With my mouth gaping in disbelief at how things were happening so slow, yet so fast, I stared at him until he disappeared.
After that, I did sit down and have breakfast, turning the radio on real loud so I'd at least feel like I wasn't the only one on the planet. Nothing was on - just some jazzy saxophone number. It led me to think of a strange person I'd met a long time ago.
Gren.
There was one messed up guy. Handsome though. Shame he had that little problem. Eh, but I digress. Talking about the changes those drugs made in his body is not a good topic to mull over while eating cereal. But Gren, the person, he was really...something. Someone good to talk to. I found myself missing him for some reason - probably because he knew what it felt like to be suddenly turned on by Vicious.
But Gren had chosen the path to that led him to try to deny that he was missing the man, that he was hurt. He had decided to hide himself away and repress his feelings.
I drove my hands into my hair, letting my head drop and hang. I'd made Vicious a promise - I was never going to let him forget how happy he was with me. I'd let Spike slip away and was still kicking myself for it. Was I supposed to sit around and repeat the same mistake?
Seemed that way.
Where would Vicious go back to? The Red Dragons? Would they accept him? Or maybe he'd start a new syndicate from scratch. I wouldn't put anything beyond the man. But where to find him? And how? Only one person I knew was skilled enough for that kind of work.
Seated at a computer in the public library, my fingers flying rapidly across the keyboard, I posted the following message on the Internet:
Hey, kid! Faye-Faye needs your help, so you better contact me somehow! Make it quick!
How Ed was going to find it out there among the mass of information just floating in cyberspace, I had no idea - but I was somehow confident she would.
And she did.
Three months later, just when I had given up hope, there was a certain redheaded girl at my doorstep with her dog, grinning up at me in excitement and delight.
"Faye-Faye! I missed you!" And the child launched herself into my arms.
Well, she was older now. I didn't know the actual age of the girl, but she looked about fourteen or fifteen. She had filled out a little - which was a great difference from how she had been before - and was actually dressing different. A pair of black leggings and a green, woolen turtle-neck. Her hair was actually at shoulder's length - but she was still just as childish in actions and words.
"What are we doing?" she asked in that lilting tone of hers as I let her and Ein in.
"Marveling over you, Ed," I sighed. "You actually found me. Took long enough, but you still found me."
He looked defensive, pouting and peering up at me. "It's a big net," she murmured. "But I had been searching for information on you and Jet and Spike-person everyday." Her face brightened with a huge grin. "I knew one of you would get into trouble eventually!"
"Amazing. You can explain it all later. Now, I need you to find someone else. Vicious."
Her green eyes widened, and she actually looked very cute. "Vicious...?"
"Yes. We're going to track him down."
Dropping her backpack on the floor with a thud, she threw out her arms and cried, "Why?"
"Because I love him," was my answer as I stuck my tongue out at her astonished look. "That's why."
*****
Well, that would be the end of the first part. The rest is likely to be longer and will be under my pen name 'Shangri-La'. It'll probably be titled 'Blood & Remembrance' simply because I can't think of a better name and I don't want to change it completely so everyone gets confused! Well, hopefully you all will keep reviewing the second part! Thanks and bye!