The stars shine in the sky tonight
Like a path beyond the grave
When you wish upon that star
There's two of us you need to save – The Eels
The stars loomed over the remains of a huge city, poised in the desert where a city shouldn't have been built. But now, the brown cloud that hung over the congested city was dissipated, along with most of its denizens, driven away years before by a cataclysmic explosion that had altered life on Earth. Now, the nights were cold over the desert sands once again, and the rainfall had returned to its normal rate, for the "heat island" phenomenon was no more. A lone figure, along with the sleeping body of a small dog, sat on a rock formation in a former city park, high above the remains of the city.
"Ein? What is it?" The orange-haired girl was frowning at the Corgi beside her, who had woken himself up after twitching violently in his sleep. His hackles were up, his teeth were bared, and he was growling, but Ein then realized that there was nothing to growl at. He then settled down once again, keeping his nose on his front paws. He reached idly into Ed's hacking, mostly out of habit. She'd once again taken to talking to satellites, rather than searching for her father. Bored, he withdrew from the cyberspace, and yawned.
Ein stole a glance at Ed, who had returned to her incessant pecking at her Tomato, the battered computer set on a rock in front of her. He liked being with the young girl, especially when he was able to tune in to her hacking and either help her or hinder her, depending upon his mood. Ed understood what he was able to do. But the other humans, the ones he had left back on the Bebop a few weeks ago, didn't, not really. But that was okay. He liked being a dog, simply a dog, most of the time. His previous owners had mainly used him for the technological aspects of his being.
Once again, Ein twitched with the notion that something was wrong. He looked up at the stars, which told him nothing, beyond his global position, which he knew already, thanks to an imbed from some time ago. Still, it seemed to him that one star burned a little brighter than usual, a star over near Orion that had no real place in any constellation that Ein was aware of. He was aware of many different legends and myths and superstitions regarding stars, the most popular being that there was a star for every living being, and the start burning brighter was a portent of that being's death. Ein snorted, because he knew that he wouldn't be dying anytime soon.
The coats have already seen to that.
That thought, however, was not in his own voice. It was a voice from terribly long ago, a voice that Ein had made an effort not to hear anymore. The fact that the voice had returned, so suddenly, in its former clarity, was unnerving. Ein closed his eyes, and the voice came again.
This isn't where you need to be, and you know it.
This time, Ein actually whimpered at the sound of the voice in his head, making Ed look back at him with that frown again. Ein quickly fell silent, and Ed gave him a scratch. The girl sighed, and said, "Does Woof-woof need to go home?" Ein lifted his head to look at the girl, and she continued, "Eddo would like to go back with Woof-woof, but Eddo still has to find Real-Papa. But Eddo will help Woof-woof get back home. There's no place like home, click click click of the ruby slippers, and we're off to see the wizard!" And the girl's fingers flew over the keys of her computer. Ein paid just enough attention to realize that she was hacking into a shipping company for a bill of lading for one Corgi. How she was able to understand him so well, Ein would never know. But he was grateful for her insight, which the other crewmembers of the Bebop never quite grasped, as far as the little dog was concerned. However, it seemed that something was terribly wrong on the ship. Even from far away, Ein could feel the fraught emotions that were running high.
The next day, Ed and Ein ventured into the small outpost that was now all that was left of civilization that had dominated this area of the desert. Ein was bundled into a carrier, and Ed held her face close to the door of the carrier, saying, "Bye-bye, Woof-woof, Eddo will soon follow! Maybe Eddo will ship herself like the Woof-woof!" And then the girl ran out of the shipping office, but not before Ein saw a tear fall down the girl's cheek. I'm so sorry to leave you alone again, Ed, but I have to go back. I don't know why, but I do. I hope we'll see each other again.
The journey back to Mars was completely uneventful, just as Ein hoped it would be. He even managed to "push" a shipper lackey into opening his carrier once Ein knew he was in his destination city, so that he could slip out of the warehouse and down to the docks, where he knew the Bebop was. Even getting on board the ship posed no problem: Ein simply told the door to open.
Once inside the hangar, the tension was palpable. The first thing that Ein noticed was that the Swordfish was missing, yet the Hammerhead and the Redtail were in their normal spots. Normally, with this much tension about, the Redtail would be the one that would be missing. The Redtail, being Faye's had a tendency to be absent along with Faye Valentine when she made her usual attempts to "ditch" the Bebop, or, more accurately, Spike Spiegel. For the Swordfish to be gone meant that either Spike had finally had it with the "shrew" and had taken off for a comfortable barstool somewhere, or that . . . well, that Spike had finally left to confront his past in his own dramatic idiom. Humans, thought Ein derisively, as he left the hanger for one of the long corridors that led to the center of the ship.
Soon, Ein found Faye crumpled on the floor, hugging her knees and weeping uncontrollably. What has happened? thought Ein as he nuzzled up to her side. Faye unconsciously began stroking the dog's back as she continued to cry and whimper about Spike. Ein was unable to fully glean from Faye what exactly led to Spike's leaving. Her emotions were darting in her mind so quickly that Ein was unable to follow them.
Just like a woman.
That was unkind, thought Ein, and he ambled towards the main portion of the ship looking for Jet. The older human was sitting on the old sofa, his favorite bonsai on the table in front of him. Jet was seemingly staring at the small tree, taking infinitesimal clippings off the branches. Mostly, though, he seemed more distracted than anything else. Ein gave a small bark and trotted to Jet.
The noise brought Jet out of his reverie and he turned his attention to the little dog now at his feet.
"Hey, Ein, boy, where ya been?" Jet gave Ein a cursory scratch behind the ears and sighed. "Thought you might have run off with Ed, or something. Seems like the crew keeps getting smaller."
He's also very sad, and worried about Spike. What on earth has been going on? Ein gave another bark and put his paws on Jet's knee. Don't hold out on me, human, I look and act like enough of a dog for you to talk to me.
As if Ein's thoughts had been shot straight into Jet's brain, Jet began, "Spike's gone, Ein. He went after Vicious, to avenge Julia, to avenge himself, to set matters straight. Whatever that means to Spike." And as some people do with their pets, Jet told Ein everything that had transpired since he and Ed had left.
This probably means that Spike wasn't planning on returning, if he had made such a grand exit. However, Ein had been around Spike long enough to know that the lanky human couldn't, wouldn't, die easily, regardless of how dangerously the man lived. He would probably live despite his best efforts to get himself killed. Probably because even though Spike shows himself as such a loner, he really does love attention. Wherever he is fighting this Vicious character, he will be drawing attention to himself.
Ein looked back at Jet. Jet had returned to staring into space with the clippers in his hand. Ein decided to do some investigating, but it would be easier if Jet wasn't around. You need rest, the dog prompted the human. This situation is too much to handle at the moment. You'll know more tomorrow. Get some rest. Go to your quarters. Sleep is the best thing right now. Convince Faye of the same thing. Rest. Almost on cue, the man stood up, stretched and said, "There's no point in hanging around worrying. We might learn something tomorrow." Jet took one more snip off the little tree, set down his clippers, and walked in Faye's direction. Ein heard Jet's low voice talking to Faye, and her high-pitched, tearful replies. Soon, the two walked towards their respective quarters. Or to one or the other's quarters together, Ein wasn't sure.
Humans do odd things while grieving; the voice that wasn't Ein's said, within Ein's head. And Ein had to agree.
Jet rounded the corner towards the sound of Faye's weeping. What he saw nearly broke his heart: Faye was crumpled in a ball on the floor, sobbing so hard that her entire body shook. He went down on one knee next to her and put a hand on her hair.
"Faye."
"No."
Jet sighed. "Faye, please. Get up off the floor." There was no response from Faye, except her continued sobbing. She had been crying so hard that she was nearly hyperventilating. Jet reached an arm under her shoulder and pulled her up to a sitting position.
Ye gods, she was a mess. Her face was red and puffy, her eyes bloodshot. Her hair was sweaty and messy. Spike would love to see her like this, thought Jet. He'd give her no end of grief. That thought of Spike, however, hurt Jet as well. Faye took a hold of Jet's arms and pulled herself to him.
"Oh god, Jet, he's gone. . ."
"I know. I know."
"Please. Please don't leave me."
"C'mon, Faye, get up off the floor."
She clung to him as he pulled himself into a standing position. He buried his face into her hair. Her body shook as she tried to draw air into her lungs. He rocked her for a moment and said, "Faye. Faye, breathe. You have to calm down."
She shook her head and sobbed some more. Jet picked her up and carried her towards the shower room. She wrapped her arms around his neck, like a lost child who has finally found her parents. He gently placed her on her feet, and turned the shower on. She continued to cling to him, even as he removed her clothes. His intention was to place her in the shower in an attempt to calm her, to let her wash her face, but she wouldn't let go.
"Please," she sobbed again, and buried her face in his neck. "Please."
Jet shut his eyes tight to hold back his own tears. It would be cruel to let her go, to place her in the shower and leave her alone with her heartbreak. He managed to remove his clothes as well, even as she maintained her death grip on him. Jet then lifted her up and stepped into the shower with her. They stood under the warm water for a time, eyes shut, holding each other, gently rocking under the force of the shower spray.
Faye's breathing became more even. The water grew cold. Jet reached behind her to turn off the water. Faye would not let go. Jet lifted her again and stepped out of the shower, carrying her, both of them dripping wet, towards her bed.
He set her on her feet, yet she still clung to him. He backed her toward her bed, hitting the mattress with the backs of her knees. They buckled and she sat down on the bed with a fresh sob, pulling him down with her. He knelt beside her bed, still holding her in his arms.
"Please." How many times had she said that? She then lifted her face to his and placed her lips on his. "Please," she said again, moving one of her hands to stroke the back of his skull, gently biting at his lips.
His skin prickled at her touch, her nails gently raking his neck. Oh god, he thought, how long has it been since a woman touched me like this? He drew away from her. "Faye. . ."
She pulled him back to her. "Please."
"Faye, no. Not like this. Not with . . . this for an excuse."
She pressed her lips to his again, making a mewling sound deep in her throat. Her pull on his neck grew stronger as she leaned back on her bed. Unable to break away, Jet put one hand behind her bare leg and slid her further onto the bed. He followed her, stroking her from the back of her thigh up to her flank. She responded by arching her back slightly and placing both hands on his neck, running her nails up the back of his head.
Jet pulled away slightly with a shiver, and then looked into her eyes. The pain and the desire were palpable, and he kissed her, hard, so he wouldn't have to look at her eyes anymore. His hand left her flank and slid up her ribcage, cupping the swell of her breast. He then moved his mouth to her throat, lightly biting her on the collarbone. She shuddered. Hs hand moved down her stomach, pausing on the small swell of her belly. He moved his mouth up the side of her throat, and took her earlobe in his mouth.
She, meanwhile, gasped and moved her arm down his side, and reached between his legs. He groaned as she took him in hand, lightly, lightly, the way that she knew men liked. He returned his mouth to hers, tasting the inside of her mouth, bitter with tears. His hand slid down her belly, into her hair, and his finger went between her lips and lightly, lightly touched her between her legs. This time, her back arched like a willow in the wind. She gasped and held him tighter. The rest of her body she held still as he explored her by touch. She might have been a statue. But a statue would never be so warm, he thought, as he slid a finger inside her. Again, she gasped at his touch, and then ground her hips down in an effort to pull his finger deeper inside her. He obliged her by curling his finger to reach that wonderful place behind her pubic bone, the one that most men never looked for, much less found. She ran her hand around to the small of his back, pulling him down towards her further, moving her leg to center his body over hers.
He moved up her body, and then looked into her eyes. Her acquiescence was her silence. She no longer needed to say please. He closed his eyes then and slid into her with practiced ease, as if they had been lovers forever.
She gasped at his penetration. Her fingernails raked up his spine, sending another shiver through him as he thrust deeply, making him groan. He fell against her, still thrusting, burying his face in her neck, and holding on to her shoulders as he continued to plunge deeper into her. She cried out, gripping his shoulders. She raised her head to bite him on his shoulder. Jet could no longer hold back, and he raised his head as he groaned, baring his teeth, back arching, toes curling with his orgasm. She felt each surge of his release, and she clutched his upper arms, digging her fingernails into his flesh, breaking two nails on his cybernetic arm.
He fell against her once his release was over. Both of them were breathing hard. He buried his face once more in her throat, and she ran her fingers along the back of his neck, making him shiver again.
Silence overtook them. There was only the sound of their breathing, together, in time with each other.
"Jet, I. . ."
"Shhh." This was not a time for words. They lay there for a time, still connected to each other. He then turned his head, and ever so gently, kissed her temple, where the hair was still damp with sweat and shower water. And tears.
She began to cry anew, silently, as he lifted himself off of her, withdrawing from her body. He then rolled onto his back beside her, and took her hand. She gripped his fingers tightly in hers.
They lay there for some time, staring at the ceiling, silent. Then she squeezed his hand again, rolled out of bed, and moved silently back to the bathroom. He heard the sound of running water, and suddenly a sob escaped him.
I'm sorry, Spike, he thought, as he covered his mouth with his hand and drew a deep breath. His nostrils filled with the smell of her room, her perfume, her shampoo. And the smell of her, and the smell they made together.
And the smell of regret.
This time Jet let the tears come, thinking of Spike, thinking of the years they spent together, crisscrossing the galaxy in search of bounties. He couldn't even remember how they had actually met. But Spike was more than a partner in business to the older man. Spike was a comrade, a friend. A brother.
If he'd been a bit younger, and I a bit older, he could have been my son, Jet thought, as he stifled a fresh sob.
In the bathroom, Faye stood as she washed Jet out of her. The smell of him on her skin overtook her, and she swayed, leaning against the sink. She turned and looked at her face in the mirror. Her face was swollen, her eyes nearly puffed shut with tears and pain.
And regret.
She sighed and shut off the light, and returned to her room. Jet remained in her bed, this time covered to his waist with her bedclothes. He opened his arm to her, beckoning her to his side. Too exhausted to think of an alternative, she crawled into her bed, put her head on his shoulder, and curled up against Jet's side. He curled his arm around her shoulders. She placed a hand on his chest, and he captured her hand in his. Fresh tears ran down both of their faces as they clung to each other, like shipwrecked sailors, both of them silently weeping for the man they both loved.
Meanwhile, Ein went over to the computer where Ed had recently been plugged in with her system. This would have been easier with her set-up there, but Ein didn't mind. He simply lay down, put his nose on his paws, closed his eyes, and reached.
Ein rambled through cyberspace like a hilly terrain, wondering where to start. The police, he thought, the police will be investigating odd disturbances. Spike isn't one to move quietly about his business. Ein reached into the police headquarters system, rolling over the dispatch ticker looking for something interesting, looking for a violent fight, probably with guns and explosives. Here's something. A bloody gun battle in an office building, most of the place destroyed, many guards and police down. A dead man. Another taken to hospital. Which hospital? Ein waited. It would be better to wait to learn which hospital rather than start searching them all. Then something else came across. Man en route to hospital, grave injuries. Major loss of blood. Large stomach wound, possibly done with large knife. Many other injuries, several life-threatening. Identification not established. En route to Blessed Heart Hospital. Hmm.
Ein gave a little sigh and his ears twitched. He felt pretty confident this was Spike. He felt sure that the emergency crews hadn't done much investigation yet. In general, the public safety types left the syndicate alone, but this would be too much for the general population to ignore, and people would want explanations for this debacle within city limits.
Can't do anything about the hospital yet. . . do the police have a file on Spike? Ein reached back into the police records, finding nothing notable on Spike other than some "disturbing the peace" violations, and a note that he was a bounty hunter. That's surprising. Are bounty hunters given a reprieve for their actions? And what about this Vicious? Anything on him? It turned out that Vicious had nothing at all. Ein's thoughts raced. Can I get into the Red Dragon files without anyone noticing?
The other voice chortled at him. You dumb dog, you're talking about humans here. They don't notice jack shit until they run out of their milky tea or whatever their panacea of the day is.
Within a few minutes, Ein found himself deep into the files of the Red Dragon syndicate, looking at files related to the death of Mao some months before. He followed a link into some financial files not directly related to the Red Dragons; in fact, the files were coded in such a way as to keep them completely separate. However, due to the fact that they were linked to Mao, Ein was able to access them, where he discovered that Mao, previous to his death, had drawn up paperwork making Spike his sole heir.
Spike?
Mao's intention was originally have Spike take over the syndicate, which was fairly common knowledge, but Spike had vetoed that notion when he dropped out of the syndicate, faking his death as he went. How Spike had managed to remain out of sight from a syndicate like the Red Dragons while keeping his original identity was beyond Ein, however. It seemed to Ein that either Spike was much better at intrigue than the dog assumed, or that the Red Dragons, despite their reputation, were simply terrible at finding people.
Or, perhaps, Mao knew all along and simply respected Spike's wishes.
Need to know basis, and this isn't one of them as far as your concerned, but keep that file up anyway, mused Ein. He then went back into the ID files from the ISSP, which pretty much kept a file on anybody with an ID – as an attempt to a precursor for ID chipping, I suspect. Ha! – to look over Spike's file again. Nothing too innocuous, but Ein decided that perhaps Spike would be able to use some help. He cross-linked the file of Mao's to Spike, and, at the same time, cross-linked it to Jet, creating a trail of power-of-attorney. With luck, it wouldn't come back to bite Jet in the ass.
If it does, it does. It won't be much trouble to clear it up if that hits the fan as well. But Mao did a good job of separating out that chunk of change from the Red Dragons, and if that cash still exists, well, it looks like Spike might need it. And if he doesn't . . . well, then, Jet gets a kick for taking care of Spike all this time.
Then the other voice, clear as a bell: You know it won't come to that. You know what the coats can do.
Prelim police records came floating across the ether. Ein was pleased to learn that there were no witnesses, save the lone survivor who was now at the ER. It's just too damn easy, thought Ein. I must be careful.
Feeling confident that he had at least made the incident in the building look plausible, he turned his attention to the ER. Reaching into the hospital software, he looked for the newest admissions. Moving past the child with a broken arm and the homeless man with the extreme case of gout, Ein found the "John Doe" chart he was looking for. Then the notes starting flooding in. Descriptions of physical build of the "John Doe" placed him as tall, thin, multiple injuries. One false eye. Greenish-black hair. Extreme loss of blood. So extreme, in fact, that he was depleting the supply of his type. Coagulants were needed.
And then the patient, despite his injuries, began to struggle fitfully. He vomited, and then went into seizures, and lost his airway. Immediately, he was intubated, but not before it was realized that he suffered a systemic hypoperfusion – a stroke, and a bad one at that.
A stroke? Ein started reaching into the software for the monitors. The patient's blood pressure, which had crested at fibrillation levels, suddenly plummeted to zero, and the patient was subjected to the paddles.
Finally, the patient back online, but he was barely stable, and he must be moved immediately to the OR.
Ein stayed in the hospital software until "John Doe" was in the OR. Ein returned to the hospital chart. A catalogue of personal possessions was now in the chart, which included a description of Spike's suit, and a docking ticket for the Swordfish. Ein added positive ID to the list, and proceeded to fill out Spike's chart, along with contact information to Jet's comm.link and the "power of attorney", established by Mao's files.
Now we wait, thought Ein. It's been a while since I've been worked that hard. Getting soft, you old dog.
Lazy fucker, the other voice chided.
The little Corgi retracted his thoughts from cyberspace, tired, almost already dreaming of large fields where the unspeakable ran in full pursuit of the uneatable.