Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction / Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Gotta Knock a Little Harder ❯ Whiskey, Mystics, and Men ( Chapter 2 )

Whiskey, Mystics, and Men

 

Well, I'll tell you a story; Of whiskey and mystics and men; And about the believers and; How the whole thing began. ~ The Doors (Essential Rarities)

 

Jet sat on the steps of the deck outside the Rockbell house, smoking a cigarette, and contemplating the quiet. He felt better after eating, and getting out of his filthy clothes. Someone had scrounged up shorts and a shirt which fit, much to his amazement, and the shower felt better than he expected, even if the water was cold.

 

The door was open, spilling light onto the steps. Inside, it had become more subdued. People digesting the big dinner, resting, talking. The crisis was over. More or less, anyway. Spike was still out. So was McKenna. But at least they were going to be alright. They'll live.

 

Jet took a long, contemplative drag off his cigarette, and stared at the hulking shadow of his busted ship under the full moon. Is living a viable alternative, he asked himself. I have no idea where we are, or even how we got here. Damned if I know how we'll get back. And if the level of technology here is what it looks like, what are the ethics of the three of us staying?

 

He considered what little information he had at this point. The culture puzzled him. If this were Earth at this level of development, people would be freaking out, and we'd be dead in short order. It's obvious we're not from here, yet everyone is just accepting it without question.

 

He chuckled softly. Never thought I'd see the day when I wanted to see a little xenophobia.

 

So what are we dealing with, here? Strong military presence, but it doesn't appear there's any war going on. I'm not even sure it's a dictatorship, or fascist government. Logically, there would be tension between the officers and the civilians if there were. They seem to be very comfortable with each other.

 

At least here, he corrected himself. But what about the rest of the world?

 

They obviously have good metal forging. The prosthesis the kid wears is pretty complicated looking stuff. Might be an alloy of some kind. Otherwise it would be too heavy, and might not withstand the general use it gets. And I have a feeling the kid plays rough. I wouldn't mind getting a closer look at it. That means we might be able to fix the ship. Although, I don't know about the wiring, or the controls.

 

Jet's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a pained growl. Too high-pitched to be Spike. Might be the kid, though.

 

He looked down at his own cybernetic arm, and wondered if he would be any less wimpy if someone had to take it off, then put it back on without any anesthetic.

 

Winrey came out a moment later, and leaned on the railing. Her whole posture screamed exhaustion. Jet felt for her.

 

“Busy day,” he said.

 

She started and spun. As soon as she recognized Jet, she softened, and nodded.

 

“I know it's not much in the way of consolation, but… I'm sorry,” he said.

 

She smiled, and accepted the apology silently.

 

They both stared off toward the silhouette of the Bebop. Each lost in their own thoughts for awhile. Jet found it comfortable, and it was an odd feeling.

 

After a bit, Winrey said, “Mr. Black—“

 

“Jet. Please. Every time someone calls me `Mister', I want to look around for my father.”

 

“Jet, then,” she said. “I was wondering… If it wouldn't be too rude, that is…”

 

She hesitated, but Jet could see she was staring at his arm. He slid over on the step to give her more room, and patted the deck. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask. I figure anyone who designs and builds prosthetics like you do would be curious about mine. Ask away. I don't mind.”

 

That was all it took. Winrey was next to him in an instant, and asking questions a mile a minute. Jet was bemused, and although he had a hard time keeping up with her, he couldn't help but enjoy the young girl's enthusiasm.

 

She quickly moved on from interrogating him about his arm, to rapid-fire questions about the implant under his eye. She never let go of the arm, though. And in her desire to get a closer look at the implant, she was nearly nose to nose with him. It afforded him a pleasant view, as well.

 

Something about her scent was very attractive. A combination of oil, metal, spices, and female. It was starting to make Jet quite uncomfortable. Not that she isn't cute as hell, but she's so damn young.

 

A shadow fell over them, and he turned to see who it was. Ed was there, hands on hips, and shaking his head. “I shoulda known you'd be out here.”

 

Jet felt the heat from Winrey's blush, as she dropped his arm like it was on fire, and stammered.

 

“My fault,” he said. “I asked her if she wanted to look.”

 

Ed cocked a brow, and clearly didn't believe him. Then he smiled, accepting the little white lie. “Consider yourself lucky if she doesn't yank it off of you and take it apart to see how it works.”

 

Jet was shocked, and wondered if the boy was being serious. He looked at Winrey, and saw the slow smolder in her eyes, and the clenched jaw. But he wasn't quite so sure if she was nearly as angered as she tried to look. These two have known each other all their lives, he realized. He briefly envied their relationship.

 

Winrey made a disgusted noise and got up. “Just you wait, Edward Elric.” She stomped back into the house, but Jet heard her muttering about Ed giving the wrong impression.

 

He looked back at Ed, and saw him chuckling.

 

“She wouldn't really… Would she?”

 

Ed shook his head, and sat down next to Jet. “Nah. But you looked like you needed to be rescued, there. Winrey can be a little overwhelming with her enthusiasm.”

 

“Nothing wrong with that. She loves what she does.”

 

Another companionable silence fell, and Jet felt himself relax a little more.

 

After awhile, Ed nodded toward the Bebop. “I'll be able to fix that when it's light.”

 

Jet dropped his cigarette and choked. Then he laughed, hard. Tears ran down his face, and he nearly fell of the porch.

 

Ed just sat there, watching him.

 

When Jet finally got himself under control, he noticed the confidence in the boy's posture, and the patience. “You're joking, right?”

 

Ed shook his head, and grew a huge, cheesy grin. “You probably haven't heard of me where you're from, but I'm the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

 

There's that word, again, Jet thought. Does it mean the same thing here, as it does in my world? Do these people think they can turn lead into gold? Is it teenaged fantasy? Dear God, what have we gotten ourselves into, here?

 

“Care to explain what that is?”

 

Instead of explaining, Ed stepped off the porch, and demonstrated. He knelt in the dirt, clapped his hands together, and slapped them down on the dirt. Charged particles of light and energy burst up from the ground, illuminating him from below.

 

Jet remained skeptical. Illusion. Nothing more than a magic show.

 

As soon as it had started, the show was over, and Jet saw Ed scoop something small up in his hands, and bring it to him.

 

He placed it in the older man's hand, and when Jet looked down, he saw a tiny metal replica of the Bebop. In fine detail, and in perfect condition compared to the original.

 

He was speechless.

 

 

[1.1.1.1]

 

Jet was still on the porch when Spike hobbled out with a cup of coffee and a cane in the morning. He'd spent most of the night talking to Ed about Alchemy. It gave him a lot to think about, and he knew he was never going to get any sleep, even if he tried.

 

“Alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange; Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. Something of equal value must be lost. That is the world's one, and only, truth,” Ed had told him. Jet wondered what he was going to lose if he let this kid use Alchemy to get them back home. Will it be worth the cost?

 

He joined him at the railing, and they drank their coffee in silence. Off in the distance, the two brothers were sparring, and the sounds of their good-natured taunts were carried to Jet on the warm breeze. Off in the opposite direction, he could see Armstrong dragging some of the ruined bits of metal the Bebop shed in the crash. It looked to him like the rudder had at least snapped in one piece, rather than shattered, and the giant had rigged it into a makeshift sled. Jet suddenly felt fairly useless at the moment, but he had to admit to himself that he would just get in the way. If this works, I'll have more than enough to do later, he thought.

 

“He needs to work on his technique a little more,” Spike said. “He's too tense.”

 

Jet watched the boys a little, trying to see what Spike saw, but he gave up. He was not a martial artist. In his opinion, Ed was good. Al seems to have the advantage, he thought, as Ed flew through the air once again. But he's working for it, at least.

 

“So, you figured out how we're gunna get out of here?”

 

Jet took a sip of coffee, and thought about how he was going to explain it. Finally, he said, “Well, the fuselage won't take long.”

 

“How do you define `not long'? Days? Weeks?”

 

“Minutes.”

 

Spike just stared at him.

 

Jet showed him the little replica of the Bebop, and did his best to explain the philosophy behind the Alchemy.

 

“Bullshit,” Spike said.

 

“For them, it's a science,” Jet said. “If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd be right there with you.”

 

“So you're saying this fifteen year old kid is going to snap his fingers, and the Bebop will be fixed?”

 

“Clap his hands, actually. And just the fuselage. Any problems with the wiring, and the internal systems we're going to have to fix.”

 

“What about fuel?”

 

Jet sighed and sipped his coffee. “We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

 

Spike looked out at the Elric brothers for a moment. “So, what's with the suit?”

 

“All I know is that somehow, Ed sealed Al's soul into the suit, in order to save his life.” He was just as curious about it as Spike, but the emotional pain which etched the boys face when he told just a little of the story was enough to stop him from digging deeper.

 

“With Alchemy?”

 

“Yup.”

 

Spike slammed his cup down on the porch rail. “Oh, now he should have gotten out of that easy,” he said, watching the boys.

 

A moment later, he was throwing off his shirt, and hobbling out to the sparring ground.

 

“Spike, what the hell do you think you're doing?”

 

He sighed and shook his head. He'll do what he wants. As usual.

 

A heavy scrape and metallic clank from behind him demanded his attention at any rate. Winrey was bent over, and backing out the door dragging a sizable crate full of scrap metal.

 

Jet rushed over, and lifted one end. “What's all this?”

 

She shifted her grip on her end of the crate so she could lift it, and said, “For your ship. I figure you probably lost a few small pieces in the crash, and it would be easier just to replace them, than try to find them.”

 

She led the way down the steps and toward the Bebop, dragging Jet along. He had no choice but to follow, else she would dump the crate. “That's very nice and all,” he said. “But I have a feeling they're not going to fit.”

 

She giggled, and glanced back over her shoulder. “Of course they won't. Not like this. But we need to make sure the mass of the metal Ed will be working is equivalent to the mass your ship needs.”

 

“Equivalent exchange?”

 

Winrey grinned. “Exactly.”

 

Sounds like the general philosophy of life here, he thought.

 

 

[2.2.2.2]

 

Ed slammed into the dirt on his back, and tried to catch his breath. Al had the advantage over him, and reveled in it. Aside from the extra strength he gained from the armor, he had always been the better fighter of the two. Now, for the tenth time this morning, Ed was staring up at the sky.

 

A shadow came over him, and he shaded his eyes. Spike was standing over him, leaning on his cane, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “You're telegraphing your moves to everyone who can see you, kid,” he said.

 

He offered a hand to Ed, and the boy was somewhat surprised to discover there was more strength in his grip than his long, thin body suggested. He got to his feet, dusted himself off, and said, “Well, we're just sparring, right now. Just playing around.”

 

Al had joined them, as Spike said, “If you're going to spar, you shouldn't be `just playing'. That's the best way to develop bad habits.”

 

“He's right, Brother,” Al said.

 

“Heh. So you think you can do better,” Ed asked Spike.

 

Spike just smiled.

 

Ed feigned a casualness he didn't want to admit he hardly felt. “Well, I don't want to take advantage of your condition.”

 

Spike glanced down at the cane then back at Ed. The absolute confidence in those eyes, and the smirk on his lips hit the boy right in the chest. It also raised his hackles.

 

Spike took a long drag off his cigarette, then dropped it to the ground, and put it out. He slowly blew the smoke out, then smiled just a little bit. “Don't worry, you won't.”

 

That was all it took. Ed lunged, only to discover weightlessness once more. When he landed, he snorted a face-full of grass and dirt, and heard Al exclaim, “Whoa! You didn't even move.”

 

Ed got to his knees and spit out the dirt. Spike's shadow hovered over him again, and he heard him say, “You're not using your size to your advantage, either.”

 

“Uh-oh,” Al said.

 

“Ed,” Jet called. “We're ready for you.”

 

Ed got to his feet, and gave Spike an icy glare with an evil grin. “We're not finished with this.”

 

 

[3.3.3.3]

 

When Ed reached Jet's side, he could see a storm brewing behind the kid's eyes. He also saw the smirk on Spike's face as he trailed behind, and knew he'd deftly found his weakness.

 

As Al joined Winrey's side, he heard him say, “You should've seen it, Winrey! He didn't even mo—“ Ed shot his brother a look of pure venom. “Er, heh.”

 

If armor could sweat and blush, Jet was certain he'd just seen it happen. He leaned into his partner's direction, and whispered, “Sometimes you can be an arrogant ass, Spike.”

 

The younger man produced a pack of cigarettes from somewhere, and shook one out. “Part of my charm,” he said. “So, when's this dog and pony show starting?”

 

Jet glanced over at Ed. The kid was kneeling down now, and scratching something in the dirt. “Soon, I think.”

 

Spike slipped the cigarette between his lips, and smirked. “I should've made a bet on this. I'd be a very rich man.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Ed straightened, but remained on the ground.

 

Spike pulled out a lighter, and flipped the top open. “Yeah. It'll be the first time in history that you're wrong.”

 

Jet chuckled. “Don't count on it.”

 

Spike spun the wheel across the flint at the same time Ed clapped his hands together. As the spark caught on the wick, the bright light of billions of excited particles burst to life, and rushed outward from the nexus, creating enough wind to blow out the flame.

 

Spike looked up. His eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped; the unlit cigarette falling from his lips unnoticed.

 

Pure energy swirled around the Bebop, as it slowly righted itself, and healed. Piecemeal, it grew a new rudder, and fresh metal spread into other wounds, sealing them.

 

A whoosh of wind passed between Jet and Spike from behind, and they both spun around. The busted, crumpled hull of the top part of the ship was disintegrating, atom by atom. Excited particles rode the wave of energy like a billion fireflies, swirled up, and rejoined in their proper places on top of the ship.

 

Within moments, the Bebop looked like her old self again.

 

The long, lanky man's knees gave out, and his ass hit the dirt with a resounding plop, but his eyes never left the ship.

 

“Damn,” said Spike.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ed just stood up, and faced them with a cocky grin.

 

Heh, he's entitled to it, Jet thought. Especially after he saw the look on Spike's face. Too bad I don't have a camera for that one.

 

Jet slapped the younger man on the shoulder and said, “You're right. It is too bad you didn't place any bets on this. I'd be a rich man.”

 

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to look back toward the Rockbell house. Pinako was headed their way, and was joined by…

 

“McKenna,” Jet breathed.

 

Spike turned and did a double take. He cocked a brow. “She cleans up pretty good.”

 

Amen to that, partner, Jet thought. Gone was the half-starved, wretched shell of a human being he'd pulled out of the stolen craft. She looked more like the file photo. Still too skinny, though. He noticed she was in clothing a damn sight better than what she arrived in, too. Pants which were tied closed around the ankles, and a long tunic that split up the sides, allowing more movement. He reluctantly admitted it suited her.

 

She smiled nervously at Jet, and said, “I thought I could help out a little. Since…” She hesitated, and looked down at the ground. “It's my fault you're here.”

 

“What makes you think we're gunna let you run loose,” Spike asked.

 

Jet saw her wince as if she'd just been slapped.

 

Pinako pulled out her pipe, tamped it, and lit it. “We don't treat drug addiction as a crime around here, Mr. Spiegel.”

 

Spike got to his feet, and stared down at the old woman. Jet wasn't sure if it was an attempt at intimidation, but it clearly wasn't working.

 

“You know, if she escapes, we lose a hundred million woolongs.”

 

“There is no one here to collect the money from.”

 

“Yeah, but—“

 

“She has committed no crime, according to the laws on this world.”

 

“Yeah, but—“

 

“Where is she going to go, Mr. Spiegel?”

 

Spike sagged.

 

Jet couldn't help it, he laughed. His partner shot him an acid glare, but it didn't dampen the merriment any.

 

“I need to check your wounds,” Pinako said to Spike. “We wouldn't want your leg to get infected.”

 

Spike gave Jet a pleading look. Jet just shrugged. He wasn't about to get in the middle of that.

 

Pinako grabbed Spike by the arm, and dragged him back to the house. He shot a look over his shoulder back at Jet which promised revenge later.

 

“So,” Jet said to McKenna. “What can you do?”

 

Instead of an answer, she gasped, and her face changed to one of shock. She wasn't even looking at him, but off to the side, and down. He turned, and found Ed there.

 

“Hohenheim,” she whispered.

 

Whatever the word means, Ed isn't happy with it, Jet thought, at the sight of the black look on the boy's face.

 

“Don't,” Ed said through gritted teeth. “Ever say that name around me again.” He stormed off, leaving two very stunned people in his wake.

 

Jet had no idea that Al was behind him, until he felt his hand on his shoulder. “You'll have to forgive my brother. It still hurts that our father—“

 

McKenna's head jerked up, and she whispered, “Father?”

 

“—never came home, even when Mother died.”

 

Jet nodded. “I understand.”

 

“Brianne,” Al asked. “Did you know our father?”

 

She stared at Al mutely. Jet noticed the suit of armor with a child's voice didn't even make her blink. What he saw instead, was pain, regret, and a little guilt. Finally, she nodded. “We were… friends. Long ago.”

 

Jet wondered just what she meant by `friends', and felt a slight pang of jealousy that he was not expecting.

 

“Oh, please tell me about him,” Al begged, reminding Jet once again this was a child of maybe twelve years old.

 

McKenna gently took an armored hand in both of hers, and said, “I promise. But right now, I think we need to work on fixing the ship.”

 

Al slumped a little, but nodded. “Okay.” An instant later, he added, “I'd like to help, too.”

 

“I'd appreciate it, Al. Very much,” Jet said. He could swear he saw the armor visibly brighten.

 

 

[4.4.4.4]

 

The three of them stood inside the shuttle bay of the Bebop. Al was staring around him in awe, McKenna was patient, but Jet was scratching his head.

 

Three small craft were parked, and looking none the worse for wear. Jet couldn't, for the life of him, tell they'd even been in the wreck. “How the hell did he manage that?”

 

“Particle memory,” Al said.

 

“Huh?”

 

McKenna smiled. “It's sort of like a system restore for your computer.” She strolled toward the craft she'd stolen earlier, and added, “Each particle has a short-term memory configuration.” She climbed the ladder to the cockpit. “In other words, it can recall the last position it was in, and how it related to other particles around it, before it was changed.”

 

“Heh. Maybe I should've asked him to make it like new, then.”

 

McKenna glanced inside the craft through the bubble, then back at Jet. “That would probably be more like reformatting the hard drive. Except he wouldn't have an operating system to install.”

 

Jet crossed his arms, and lifted a brow. “And just how do you know this?”

 

She smiled, and triggered the latch on the bubble. It rose smoothly.

 

“I'm a quick study,” she said, as she vaulted into the cockpit.

 

“Hey!” Jet ran up to the small craft. He didn't even bother with the steps, but pulled himself right to the top by the handrail.

 

McKenna chuckled softly. “Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere.”

 

She turned the ignition. “Just seeing where we're going to have problems.” There was a spark from under the control panel, and she lurched back. The cuff of her pants started to smoke, and she slapped at it.

 

Jet reacted instinctively, and reached in to help. It brought him a lot closer to her than he'd intended, and he didn't realize it, until she said, “I think it's out, now.”

 

He turned his head, and got an eyeful of her chest. He jumped back, as if it were a pair of snakes about to strike, only to smack the back of his head on the frame of the cockpit, and nearly spill off the ladder. He caught himself from falling just in time to save some small part of his now tattered dignity.

 

“Jet! Are you alright,” Al called from below.

 

“Yeah, I'm fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was suddenly very aware of the rising temperature in the bay, and desperately wanted to get outside to cool off a bit.

 

“Well, I think we can safely say we're going to encounter the same problems with the electrical system throughout the ship,” McKenna said.

 

Suspicion started waving a red flag at Jet. “Just what did you do for a living?”

 

“When?” She stood, and cocked a brow at Jet. It took him a moment to realize she wanted him out of her way, and he launched himself back down to the deck. She followed closely, and landed with a little bounce.

 

“I've had many jobs throughout my long and adventurous life.”

 

Jet crossed his arms, and looked down at her. “'Long and adventurous'? You have to be at least ten years younger than I am.”

 

She laughed. “You'd be amazed. Now, where do you want to start?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“On the repairs? You're the Captain of this ship, right?”

 

Jet sighed. “We need to check the internal power cells. Without those, we're not going to be able to track down any wiring problems.”

 

[5.5.5.5]

 

 

 

Pinako stepped out onto the porch. That was where she found Ed.

 

He was sitting on the steps, and his back communicated his dark mood. He found out, she thought. Somehow, he knows Brianne knew his father.

 

She sighed, and stood next to him. Time to see if I can do some damage control.

 

She silently stared out at the ship, her hands behind her back. A thin trail of smoke rose from her pipe. “She knew him before he met your mother,” Pinako said.

 

Ed turned to her, eyes wide. A moment later, he scowled, and looked away. “She's not old enough.”

 

“She's older than you think.”

 

She felt Ed staring at her, but she just continued to watch the activity going on around the ship. Ross, Brosh and Armstrong were doing what they could to clean up the mess, and mend the rents in the earth.

 

After a few minutes, she could tell Ed understood.

 

He sighed, and got to his feet. “I suppose I should fix the rest of that.”

 

Pinako just nodded.

 

[6.6.6.6]

 

Ed wasn't the only one who heard what the old woman was saying. Spike had started out the door after recovering from her not-so-tender mercies, and heard them talking. Rather than make his presence known, he chose to hang back, and hear what she had to say.

 

What he heard made him wonder if their bountyhead had somehow hijacked the Bebop. She's been here, before, he thought. He played back the incidents from the moment she was captured, but couldn't think of anything that might be suspicious. But Gate Corp wants her back pretty badly. Then he thought about those red stones she'd vomited up. He wasn't sure how, but he knew in his gut that they were the key.

 

“You need to take it easy on that leg,” Pinako said, without even turning around.

 

Busted, Spike thought, and hobbled out the door. He stopped right next to her, and stared down at her. She stared up, and calmly smoked her pipe.

 

“So you knew her?”

 

“You heard all I intend to say on the subject, Mr. Spiegel. The rest is up to her to say.”

 

[7.7.7.7]

 

“Damn,” Jet muttered, and kicked at the dead power cell.

 

A curtain of red fell down over his face, and he angrily brushed it away before he realized it was McKenna hanging her head down the manhole.

 

“Dead,” she asked.

 

He sat down and nodded in disgust. “What about the other bank?”

 

She shook her head. He saw her look up. “Is there some power source we can jack into?”

 

“I don't think so, “ he heard Al respond.

 

“Does anyone have electric lights around here,” she asked.

 

“A few people. Mostly rich,” Al said. “No one nearby though.”

 

“Where do they get their electricity from, though?”

 

“Sunlight.”

 

McKenna looked back down at Jet, and he shook his head. “I already thought about that. We've got our own solar panels, but they'd have to be deployed manually, and we don't have the assistance of zero-g.” He rubbed his head, and sighed. “I don't think all of us together can get them set up. They weigh a couple tons each.” He started collecting his tools and tossing them back into the box.

 

Al lunged forward, to look over the edge of the manhole, and nearly whacked McKenna in the head with his own. In his enthusiasm to help, he didn't even notice. “Major Armstrong can do it. And I can help him.”

 

Jet closed up the box, and handed it up.

 

Al reached in to grab it, when the ship lurched, sending Jet backwards into a bulkhead. The toolbox came crashing down, and missed him by inches. “What the hell?”

 

His first thought was that Ed's Alchemy really was an illusion, and it was falling apart now. The idea of the ship moving was too much of an impossibility.

 

McKenna peeked over the edge of the manhole. “You okay?”

 

Jet picked himself and his scattered tools up. “Yeah. What happened?”

 

McKenna looked up, then Jet heard heavy metallic steps moving away. She looked back down, and said, “Al's going to find out right now. Need a hand?”

 

He held up the toolbox again. “Just for this.”

 

Her arm wasn't quite long enough, and Jet couldn't reach that high. McKenna slid forward, and leaned in at the waist.

 

“Careful, there,” Jet said.

 

The ship chose that moment to lurch again, pitching McKenna forward and into the hole. Jet had no chance to brace himself for the impact, and they both ended up on the floor in a tangled heap.