Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Suicide Is Stainless ❯ I've Been Expecting You ( Chapter 8 )

8) I've Been Expecting You.

Spike drew deeply upon his cigarette. He held the soothingly warm smoke prisoner within his lungs for a little while, allowing it the time to do whatever damage it must, before finally allowing it to escape in a narrow, turbulent stream. The fumes darted through the cool air of the bridge, passing from shadows to light before breaking silently against the polished surface of the window.

The atmosphere on the bridge was always calming, when it was empty anyway. From here, Spike could look out across the medium that carried the ship, be it sea or space, and be alone with his thoughts, should he choose to have any. Right now, he did not wish to think. He simply sat and observed as the ranks of stunted waves marched inexorably across the water's surface, their mail of tiny ripples glittering in the evening sun.

And it was quiet here. No complaining, and no arguing. And moreover, none of the bonding that had so often threatened to draw confidences from Spike that, for all the world, he would rather keep to himself. More than once, he had divulged that little bit too much information, or unveiled that little bit too much emotion, only to feel that little bit weaker for it. This was the nature of his weakness in numbers, bringing a new understanding of why it was best to keep one's enemies closer. At least if you dropped your guard for an enemy, they would have the decency to kill you before you could divulge your innermost secrets.

But none of this was of any concern here. On the uninhabited bridge, the only sounds were the muted hums and chirps of the ship's instruments, soothing and unobtrusive like the strains of distant birdsong.

Spike had spent much of the afternoon here, having benefited little from his brief trip to his quarters. Sleep had refused adamantly to come, leaving him to contemplate the events of the last day. Having been reluctant to do this, Spike had sought refuge on the bridge where the often-stunning vistas rarely failed to take his mind off matters of consequence. Now, he sat at the side of the main console, just out of reach of the dazzling sunlight that plunged dagger-like through the transparent flank of the bridge, its honed tip gradually reaching out for the resting bounty hunter.

A stray thought intruded into Spike's mind. A memory of what Jet had said to him when last they spoke. His partner had speculated that the current hunt was causing him some personal difficulty. Of course, this had only been a guess on Jet's part, but it was an accurate guess.

At first, Spike had felt a little reluctant to turn in a man he had looked up to as a role model for much of his young life. However, this had been short lived. After all, business is business, words to live by, and words by which to silence one's conscience. He had used this motto to quell any doubts he might have had about capturing Steele, as he had done with so many bounties before.

What troubled him now was something that had manifested during his time speaking with Steele. He had previously known precious little of his old hero short of the facts and statistics that proliferated from any successful professional sporting career. Knowledge of the man behind the franchise was scant at best. Of course, Spike's capacity for on-the-spot character assessment had allowed him to very quickly compile a break down Steele's personality, and his talent for playing an unflinching bluff had allowed him to get close to the fighter without arousing any apparent suspicion.

And it was what Spike had found beyond the facade of the remorseless pit-fighter that had been troubling him. Something about the nature of his prey was giving him pause for thought, yet the reason for this lingering doubt remained frustratingly elusive. This was cause for some concern for Spike; a man used to being able to sever cleanly his personal emotions from the task at hand. And with this doubt over the man he had pursued came an uncertainty over his own ability to function in his usual predatory capacity. A doubt that came as a silent spectre that paced in his footsteps, its cold breath rolling over his shoulder as a constant reminder of its presence.

Spike plucked the cigarette from his mouth and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. With a forceful grunt, he drove the rogue thought from his mind. He hadn't come here to think.

A loud beeping arose from the pilot's console. Still not in full contact with the surrounding world, Spike looked about distantly before realising that the noise was emanating from the radar readout behind him.

Standing up, he stretched his arms and legs, and yawned loudly. He then picked up an ashtray that had been sat at his side and drove the smouldering tip of his cigarette into its heat-scarred face. Turning, he leaned over the side of the pilot's position, and peered down at the console through half-closed eyes.

The black circular disk that was the radar display carried a small yellow dot, which flashed in time with the beeping. The dot was slowly traversing the screen from the top right, flanked by numbers denoting speed, bearing and altitude, and was heading for the large spot at the centre of the display that represented the Bebop.

The ship that drew ever nearer was moving at some speed, too quickly for anything larger than a single berth craft in an atmosphere. As such, Spike was certain that this was Steele's ship.

The dot crossed the outermost of the three concentric yellow circles that adorned the screen, causing the console to emit one prolonged, particularly shrill beep before returning to its original rhythm.

"Alright, alright." Spike muttered to the impatiently beeping computer.

Standing upright, he stretched his weary muscles once more, then headed for the door.

***

Faye looked over her shoulder as the room was filled by the sound of the door to the bridge rolling aside. The door struck its frame with a dull metallic thump, and Spike emerged into the room. Upon seeing him, Faye looked down and returned to filing her nails.

"He'll be here soon." Spike said as he began to descend the stairs.

"Great." Faye replied sarcastically. "You get the party hats, and I'll go get the streamers."

"Yay! Dinner guests are here!" Ed cheered, bursting up from the opposite side of the couch where she had been tending to the needs of Faye's toenails.

Leaping to her feet, she trotted across the room and out the door.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Faye called after her.

But Ed was gone, her sharp but fickle mind having found a new distraction to pursue.

"Table for six, Garcon!" she declared as she made her way down the corridor.

Not knowing which of the two starkly contrasting responses to respond to, Spike simply continued down the stairs.

Reaching the floor, he moved up along side Faye. Once there, he leaned over and peered down at the progress of his colleague's seemingly endless cycle of beautifying. Seeing that Faye was wearing her familiar yellow leather two-piece, Spike asked,

"Not getting dressed up?"

"I'm not risking it." Faye replied. "If Steele eats like he fights then we might all need rain coats."

Spike had to give Faye her due. She was a quick learner.

"So, are coming to greet our guest?" he enquired, leaning away as he did.

Faye ceased her filing, and peered up at him.

"Correction: *Your* guest, Spike." she replied sternly. "You invited him, so you can look after him. I'm not getting involved until there's money to be made."

Spike shrugged.

"Suit yourself. But at least try to make a good impression. Remember, there's fifteen million riding on this.

Faye resumed her filing.

"Whatever."

Spike then proceeded across the room and out the door.

***

Jet stared down intently at the contents of the wok through his heavily tinted shades. Carefully he manipulated the distribution of heat through the urgently sizzling bean shoots via deft motions of the pan. Feeling that it was time for a taste check, Jet momentarily ceased his toil and turned to take a fork from the counter beside him. As he did so, he spotted a dark figure standing in the doorway.

"Spike?" he said, glancing over the top of his eyewear.

"He'll be here soon." Spike said, speaking up over the din of the cooking shoots.

"Okay." Jet replied. "I'm almost done here."

Spike leaned forward, and attempted to peer into the wok from the doorway.

"What are you making?" he enquired.

A slight smile materialised on Jet's face. He took great pleasure in discussing his culinary exploits, and doing so was a rare treat on a ship packed with gastronomic philistines.

"Ah, it's a speciality of mine." he stated, proudly. "Bean shoots a la Pousses D'haricot."

Spike cocked an eyebrow.

"Bean shoots a la bean shoots?"

The smile evaporated from Jet's face. Spike had seen through his French dressing. . . if only he actually *had* some French dressing.

"Yeah." he said morosely. "You gotta work with what you got."

"That's not gonna be much if you don't pay attention." Spike said, tipping his head toward the pan.

Jet looked over his shoulder, only to find that there was a sparse column of smoke manifesting above the wok.

"Shit." he hissed, and quickly set about stirring the bean shoots with a spatula he had hastily snatched from the rack to his right.

Carefully, Jet moved the pan off the heat, and then turned down the gas.

"So, are *you* coming to greet the guest?" Spike asked, revising the wording of his earlier question slightly so as not to invite another snipe.

"I'll be with you in a second." Jet replied.

He tossed the bean shoots over a couple more times, set the spatula down, and removed his glasses. He then removed his discoloured apron, a veteran of many years of culinary creativity, tossed it over the back of a nearby stool, and began to make his way out of the humid kitchen into the cool, dry air of the corridor. Stopping half way out the door, Jet turned to Spike.

"Where's Faye?" he asked. "Doesn't she want to meet our visitor?"

"What do you think?" Spike replied.

Jet looked away thoughtfully.

"Guess not." he said.

With this, both men placed their hands in their respective pockets, and marched off side-by-side to the hangar.

***

Taking a step ahead of Jet, it was Spike who entered the hangar first. Upon crossing the threshold, he stopped and stared past the Hammerhead, Redtail and Swordfish to the end of the hangar, where there lay a peculiar scene.

Both Ed and Ein were already positioned at the hangar door. Ein was sat facing the access hatch set into the wall to left of the main door, looking up at it and panting excitedly at the prospect of a visitor. Ed was sat at Ein's side, mimicking the posture and actions of her canine associate, saliva sodden tongue and all.

Jet emerged into the hangar and moved up alongside Spike. The two men looked upon this odd scene for a moment before turning to one another. At first, each seemed to anticipate some kind of comment from the other, but they soon gave up waiting. Everything that there was to say about Ed had already been said.

Spike and Jet began to make their way across the hangar. As they did so, the distant rumble of an approaching engine joined the beat of their feet upon the bulkheads. The sound grew gradually in volume as the pair approached the door, reaching a thunderous crescendo just as they were reaching Ed and Ein. Having settled at a constant level, the sound reverberated through the infrastructure of the ship for a several seconds, causing its alloy skeleton to rattle and creak as if quivering with fear at the horrifying din. After a few moments the noise came to an abrupt end, punctuated by resonating thump of rubber on metal, which caused the floor to momentarily buck beneath the bounty hunters' feet. This was followed by the unhappy whine of aging hydraulics.

"That sounded like quite a parking job." Jet commented. "I hope he didn't scuff the landing deck."

The soft hiss of an air seal being broken, and the squeal of old hinges could be heard from beyond the hangar door, followed shortly after by a single, heavy footfall. The door then closed with a similar squeal and hiss, before the steady pounding of long, deliberate strides arose from outside.

Jet looked to Spike, as the paces grew ever closer.

"And you're absolutely sure about this?" he asked.

"Quit worrying, Jet." Spike replied. "I know what I'm doing."

Jet groaned.

"Great. Now I feel *much* better."

"You worry too much." Spike said.

"Yeah, I worry too much." Jet echoed sarcastically. "I'm just about to let a ruthless killer with metal hands onto my ship. What's to worry about?"

Spike shrugged.

"Well, it's too late to back out now."

The footsteps grew steadily louder until finally, they ended right outside the access hatch. There was a momentary pause, then three firm raps were made against the outside of the door. Sounding more like the strike of a metal implement than knuckles, the sound resonated through the body of the door and dissipated through the ship's hull.

Spike and Jet looked at each other once again. Spike then reached out over the head of the still sitting Ed for the panel at the side of the door, and struck firmly the large red, illuminated button at its heart. There was a thud as the magnetic locks were released, and the door slid aside.

In the doorway was stood Steele. He was as formidable a sight as he had been all those hours earlier, dressed in garb almost identical to that in which he had fought the previous night, plus a black three-quarter-length jacket.

Steele carved-granite face looked down upon Spike with an expression as cool as stone, but then his mouth turned up into the weary smile that Spike remembered from the night before.

The smile, creased and awkward, held a biography's worth of old emotion. Feelings so over used that they had become a worn as their possessor. It was a sight that evoked a pang of sadness within Spike, an experience that made feel him uncomfortably exposed.

"Hello, Spike." he said, reaching forward with his right hand.

Spike reciprocated, and grasped Steele's hand saying,

"Hey, Stainless. Glad you could make it."

"So am I." Steele replied. "I don't get too many invitations. You can probably guess why."

Spike gave an amused smile, and then looked to Jet.

"This is my business associate, Jet Black." Spike said, releasing the fighter's hand. "Jet Black, meet Stainless Steele."

"Hey there." Steele said, and extended the hand once more.

Jet hesitated. As he looked up into the eyes of the guest, something that he was not used to having to do, he could not help but be just a little overwhelmed by the magnitude of the man before him. Suddenly, he felt a sharp prod in his right arm.

"Jet." Spike muttered.

"Oh, sorry." Jet apologised, to both men. "I was a million miles away."

He then reached out and shook Steele's hand, an action taken with just a hint of caution.

"Pleased to meet you. Come on in."

He and Spike then stepped aside, and allowed Steele to enter the ship. Stepping over the lower lip of the doorframe, the fighter had to turn his body to a slight angle to manoeuvre his broad shoulders through the narrow access hatch. As he did so, he looked about the hangar curiously.

"Hmm. Can't say I've ever been on a fishing ship before." mused Steele. "Where do you keep the fish?"

"Fish?" said Jet.

"You know, Jet." Spike said, loudly. "The fish, from all that fishing we do."

Jet looked at Spike in puzzlement, before quickly realising what was going on.

"Oh right, the fish. Man, I don't know what planet I'm on today." Jet chuckled in feigned amusement. "We keep it in the hold downstairs. We don't usually take visitors down there as a rule. You wouldn't believe the smell."

Jet began to waft his hand in front of his face to emphasise his point. Steele, however, was not listening to Jet's rambling cover story. He was more concerned by the fact that there was rather odd-looking child sniffing around his feet.

Jet and Spike both looked down at Ed, who was on all fours making an olfactory examination of the new arrival.

"So, uh. . . who's this?" Steele asked, uncertainly.

At the sound of the question, Ed looked straight up at Steele with her disarmingly bright eyes, causing the behemoth of a man to flinch slightly. A second later she leapt to her feet.

"Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky IV, at your service." she declared, taking a theatrical bow.

"Um, hi there Edward." Steele said.

The fighter's stance had suddenly become somewhat defensive. This was something that struck both Jet and Spike.

"Dinner guest person can call Ed, Ed." Edward said, and then grinned broadly.

Steele smiled awkwardly at Ed, and then his attention was grasped by something at his other foot.

Ein was sniffing at Steele's right boot.

"Hey, a dog." Steele said, and knelt down meet Ein.

Reaching out, he placed a friendly hand of the corgi's head.

There was a loud snap, followed instantly by a cry of canine anguish.

Ein, his ears lowered and every hair on his back standing on end, scampered away from Steele, whining pathetically as he went. The little dog raced to the door, and off down the hallway, the frenzied clicking of his claws audible as he fled the scene.

"Ein, where are you going?!" cried Ed, as she ran off across the hangar after him.

Jet watched with shock and worry as dog and hacker vanished from sight.

"Hey! What'd ya do to my dog?" he snapped.

"Sorry about that." said Steele as he raised himself to his feet.

He then began to examine the glinting fingertips of his right hand.

"These things sometimes build up a bit of a static charge."

Spike gave a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry about it, Stainless. He'll be alright." Spike then turned to Jet. "Right Jet?"

Jet glanced at Spike with a sour expression, and then looked back toward the door.

"Right." he sighed.

As distasteful he found it, Jet realised he would have to be tolerant of Steele's foibles for the sake of that hefty bounty. Though, he couldn't help wonder just what else he would have to put up with before this evening was through.

Spike gestured towards the door.

"Right this way." he said. "Hey, can I take your jacket."

"Thanks." Steele said, then removed his ship's sale of a garment, revealing a white vest and a vast armoury of impressive muscles.

Steele draped the jacket over Spike's outstretched arm, and then Spike turned to Jet.

"Here, Jet." he said, thrusting the jacket out towards his partner. "You take this, and I'll show our guest to the sitting room."

Jet scowled at Spike, and grudgingly accepted the jacket. It was at that moment he vowed to himself that he would make Spike pay for this indignity.

"This way." Spike said, and began to move towards the door with Steele at his side, and a rather disgruntled Jet in tow.

***

Spike entered the sitting room, followed closely by Steele who had to duck slightly to avert a collision with the angle of the doorframe. Stepping aside, he allowed Steele to move up alongside him.

Faye was still sat on the couch filing her nails. Her only reaction was to briefly look up at the arrivals before quickly returning to her chore.

Spike let out a silent sigh. He could already tell that Faye was not going to make this easy.

"Stainless Steele," Spike began, his voice already carrying a resignation to failure. "Meet Faye Valentine."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Faye drawled, without so much as a second glance.

"Hi Faye." Steele replied. "Hey, weren't you with Spike at the fight last night?"

Faye's expression went from indifferent to indignant in the space of a file-stroke.

"Yeah, that was her." Spike answered in her stead.

"Yes, I remember. You were a little overdressed." Steele said. "Why didn't you come into the back with Spike?"

Faye gave a muted huff, and replied,

"I had to powder my nose."

"Have a seat." Spike said, gesturing to the chair opposite Faye.

Steele obliged, rounding the chair and then dropping himself into it with a loud grunt. Making himself comfortable, he began to look around at the rather drab surroundings.

Spike made his way around the table, and took a seat on Faye's left.

"So," Steele began, looking to Faye. "Spike was telling me that you work for him."

Faye's eyes shot up at Steele, and then across to Spike.

Spike couldn't help but smirk mischievously. He knew he would be made to regret this later, but right now it was worth it to see the look on her face, knowing that she couldn't retaliate for the sake of that fifteen-million woolong bounty.

"It's funny." he continued. "You don't look like a fisherman."

Faye did not bother to look surprised at this comment. At this point, it wouldn't have surprised her if she were accused of being a circus clown. Gritting her teeth, and replied quietly,

"I wax."

"How was the journey over?" Spike asked, for no other reason than to stop Steele from talking to Faye.

"Long." replied Steele with a tired sigh. "And it's pretty warm around here. The inside of my ship was like a furnace for the last hour of the trip."

"Gee, that's too bad." Faye said.

Spike stole a disapproving look at Faye. This operation was delicate enough as it was, without her bad attitude.

Steele leaned forward, and placed his bare elbows against his lap.

"Yeah, it was tough. But I didn't mind too much. Like I said, there aren't that many opportunities to socialise in my line of work." Steele then looked straight up at Spike, and smiled weakly. "It's lonely at the top."

Spike looked into Steele's eyes as he said this. Those steel-blue discs that had once gleamed with the cold fire of unprejudiced malice now seemed subdued and empty. Lines that ran across his forehead seemed to channel four decades of pain across the contours of Steele's haggard face. He was finding it hard to reconcile the contrast between the unfeeling monster that stalked the pits of Mars and the man that sat before him; so tired, and so visibly old.

"You guys ready to eat." Came a voice from the doorway.

It was Jet. He was stood in the doorway, holding a tray that carried a stack of five bowls and a plate covered over by a dome-shaped lid.

"Finally." Faye said, throwing a relieved look at Jet.

Jet entered the room, accompanied by the sound of rattling cutlery.

"Now, I know that this won't quite what you're used to, Mr Steele," he said as he passed by the dinner guest. "But the. . . uh. . . fishing hasn't been so good lately, so we've had to make a few cut backs."

"Don't worry about it." Steele said. "I'm not much of a gourmet anyway. Oh, and er, call me Stainless."

"Right." Jet uttered softly.

He was beginning to see what Faye meant when she complained of having to fraternise with a walking meal ticket. The whole situation just seemed so fundamentally wrong. But he had to be professional about it.

Setting the tray down on the table, Jet turned to the door.

"Ed!" he yelled past his stiff upper lip. "Dinner!"

He then set about placing a dish and fork before each of those sat at the table.

A short time passed after this summons before the sound of rapid footsteps began to echo from down the corridor. These grew louder and louder until, finally, Ed burst into view. Her enthusiastic sprint almost took her straight past the door, but with several slippery footfalls, she was able to control her momentum and enter the room. Trotting up to the table, she took up a position at one end and dropped cross-legged to the floor.

Jet placed a bowl in front of Ed, in so doing earning himself a beaming grin from the child.

Steele watched as Jet continued to set each place, his eyes strangely transfixed by Jet's actions. There seemed to be a question lingering at the tip of his tongue. After a few moments of quiet observation, he spoke.

"Say, that's a nice arm. Where'd you get it?"

Spike's eyes widened slightly with surprise. Even Faye, who had been busying herself with her filing so as to avoid conversation, looked up at the sound of this question.

Jet ceased all activity, and an awkward hush settled over the room.

Spike tried to make eye contact with Jet, but his partner just stared down at the table distantly. Seeing the fifteen million bounty beginning to slip away, Spike resolved to take action.

"It's, an old fishing injury." he lied then continued in a hushed tone. "He doesn't like to talk about it."

"Oh, right." Steele said. "Sorry about that. It's just that, you don't see many of those on fighters anymore. It's got kind of a retro look."

Jet finally came out of his trance.

"It wasn't meant to be a fashion statement." he grumbled, and continued to set the table.

Spike leaned back into his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. In the space of twenty-four hours, his esteemed guest had managed to alienate two of his fellow crewmembers.

Something in the hallway caught Spike's eye. It was Ein. The little corgi was slinking past the door, head down and ears lowered, keeping one suspicious eye on Stainless Steele.

Three.

Spike took a deep breath. It was going to be a long evening.