Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Elegy for a Fallen Angel ❯ Eulogy ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop.

 

So far so good. Spike thought as his ship docked at the Van's avian control center without meeting a Red Dragon fighter plane. He swung himself easily out of the cockpit, landing on the deck with practiced agility. Nobody seemed to have greeted him yet.

 

Spike's footsteps echoed hollowly down the hallways. The lonely, vacuous silence was eerie on a ship that used to have armed syndicate men at every corner. The gravitational fields were damaged in some chambers as he found various ship debris floated past him.

 

Like singing along to the tunes of an old song, his feet took him instinctively towards the very heart of the ship. Unlike the other parts of the ship, this chamber was spotless. In the very center of this chamber, stood the sarcophagus-like pod encasing the comatose Vicious. The top shell was clear, and definitely bullet proof.

 

His heart beat echoed throughout the empty chamber. Spike took a few minutes, breathing in the stagnant air. He had set out from the Bebop at 3 am, anticipating a helluva lot of fireworks before he'd make his way HERE. So when he'd found no barriers or confrontations, he was left with the big question: Now what?

 

“Jesus Christ. Really pathetic. Not even a ghoul would want to haunt this place.” He broke out his whiskey flask, and lit a cigarette. Stepping towards the sarcophagus, he was again struck by the emptiness of the place where the Red Dragon's seat of power had once reigned. A bitter laugh came out of his throat as he looked down on Vicious' grim, sleeping features. The lines around his eyes seemed to have intensified in sleep.

 

“There's nothing left of your empire.” He began aloud, not knowing where his speech was going. “What are you waiting for? A eulogy? It would be a waste of breath commemorating the monster you became, not to mention I'm not built for this kind of delicate, thoughtful proceeding.” A cruel smile crossed his features as he imagined Vicious agreeing with him. Clearing his throat with a drag from his cigarette, he continued in a solemn mantra: “We're only built for death, yet it's the only thing we don't do very well. We came to the earth fully incarnated, creatures without a past, without compassion, no cozy childhood memories, evenings spent by some fireside drinking hot chocolate or singing Christmas carols. We're not human, and yet we stubbornly cling onto those things denied to us. Love. Happiness.” Flashes of golden hair streaked his memory. “We're selfish, thinking that we can live in both worlds. We're only built for warmongering, we're only supposed to hunger and feed on the blood of others. This is our fate, our destiny.”

 

The last word was tinged with unwavering conviction, echoing faintly through the chamber. It rang hollowly in Spike's ears, leaving his face gentled and filled with regret.

 

“Was that what you wanted to hear? Sounds too grandiose an epic for a couple of petty thugs.” Spike paused to take a drag from his cigarette. He had dropped the righteous tone in his voice, lapsing into the confidential one of an old comrade. “We came from the streets, and we lived like there was no tomorrow. We killed, we extorted, we drank, and we loved. Pretty soon we all lost touch of reality in between the constant bloodshed, the betrayals, and the disappointments. Then she came, making everything a little more alive, a lot more complicated.”

 

“I'm not going to apologize for starting up with Julia.” He looked into Vicious' face, observing the clench of his jaw and remembering how he used to grind his teeth in his sleep. He also idly wondered if the sound of his voice was causing him to struggle out of his comatose to try to kill him again. Knowing Vicious, he probably was. ”The rift between you and I was brewing a long time before: too long I can't remember when it first started. Maybe I could have saved you from yourself if I wasn't so lost myself. But life doesn't rewind itself. It seems to stop, it pauses, but it keeps going.”

 

The image of Julia's forward-falling body was proof of that. The five seconds it took for her to hit the ground was probably the longest memory he'd have of her.

 

But he wasn't here to relive old memories.

 

“Even if you do wake up, you won't be able to find me. I won't be waiting, I won't come looking for you. I'm just here to say goodbye to a specter from my past, a pale shadow of the man he could have been.

 

“Hopefully you'll find the peace you were secretly yearning for in this life or the next, or maybe you'll just burn in Hell. Either way, it's not my concern anymore. You're doing it alone.”

 

Draining the whiskey flask, he turned to walk out of the chamber, but not before he heard Vicious' heartbeat flatline.

 

Climbing into the Swordfish II, he was surprised to see tears streaking down his cheeks.