Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Suicide Is Stainless ❯ Who Wants To Live Forever? ( Chapter 11 )

11)

The door of the bathroom slid back, and Spike emerged into the corridor. He brushed the residual water from his hands against the back of his trousers, then slipped his hands into his pockets and made his way towards the sitting room.

It was another slow afternoon. This afternoon would have been like most others, had it not been for the calamity of the night before. It was quite eerie in a way. Jet had fretted so vehemently about how vitally important last night's pick up was to be, to the point of labelling it life-and-death. And yet, in the shadow of their ultimate failure, everything seemed to have an odd normality about it. Things were quiet, but normal. Perhaps it was resignation to a fate they had always expected in their heart of hearts, or maybe it was all just a facade, a death shroud of routine draped across their doomed way of life.

But then again, what was he to expect? It wasn't as if anyone was likely to break down in tears, or beseech the heavens for divine intervention. It wasn't as if any of these things would have done any good. The only thing really worth doing was carrying on as usual, until they finally chose to go out into the world and try to make a way for themselves.

Spike had been running something of a pool in his mind. He had been trying to anticipate which of his shipmates would be the first to abandon ship and go and seek greener pastures. First of all there were those with the shortest odds, Ed and Ein. There seemed little point in distinguishing between the two, since for some reason they seemed to relate on a level that was difficult for anyone else to fathom. But then again, Ed and Ein as individuals were difficult to fathom. The eccentric hacker and the strangely knowing Welsh corgi, a double act that no imagination could have dreamed up.

Ed had spent much of her young life fending for herself on this very planet. She had more than proven herself in the independence stakes, and was probably better capable of looking after herself than anyone else on the ship, Spike included. She hadn't relied on a spouse or a career for her purpose in life, she hadn't spent her years feeding on what scraps she could cheat and steal from a decadent underworld, and she had never sought protection and belonging among the morally destitute. Her existence had been both pure and simple, a flawless study in self-sufficiency.

In a respectable second place in the league was Faye. She had not been aboard the Bebop long. At least, not as long as he and Jet. But even so, she had an attachment to this place that she would never, perhaps even could never put into words. When she had been born into this late twenty-first century world, she had been little more than a child. And that had only been three short years earlier. In many respects, this world must still be as frighteningly alien to her as it had been the day she had been released from the comforting embrace of ice, and thrust alone into a world of debt and exploitation. It was small wonder that this ship and her peculiar roster had become a family to Faye. Thanks to the detrimental effects of long-term cryogenic suspension, it was the only one she had ever known.

The longest odds fell to Jet, the eldest crewmember and the owner of the ship. The man may not have been old per se, but still, life had aged him further than his thirty something years. He was inflexible and set in his ways. And what was more he adored the old crate. Most likely, scavengers in years to come would strip the Bebop, only to find a bleached skeleton sat in the pilot's chair with a metal arm on the floor at its side.

Spike hadn't included himself in the pool. First because it would have made for unfairly waited odds, but also since he wasn't affected by the same emotional attachments as the rest of the crew were. The reason he was sticking around was because he wanted to see who would be the first of them to go off on their way. There was just enough fuel left in the swordfish for a trip to the nearest settlement. There was always going to be work for a man of his considerable and diverse skill.

Of course, it probably wouldn't come to that. If worse came to worst they could always make their own way on this world, and simply reconvene after however many months and pool what they had made. And besides, Spike wasn't quite ready to let another life die. Not just yet.

Looking down the corridor, Spike could see Faye leaning cross-legged against the wall. Her left arm was folded across her chest, and a smouldering cigarette that she held with a limp wrist before her face tipped her right arm. That cigarette was probably one of the last few left on board, which was likely why Faye seemed to be savouring it so.

Spike strode down the corridor towards her. He did his best to maintain an air of disinterest, consciously trying to hide the envy with which he viewed the little white roll of paper. His own stock had been depleted earlier that morning.

"Didn't expect to see you around here." Faye said, glancing up at Spike.

Spike didn't reply. He just leaned up against the wall opposite Faye, and placed the sole of his left shoe against it. Now that he was there, he could also hear the soft tapping of Edward on her computer.

Faye took a slow draw upon her cigarette. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and allowed the smoke percolated in her lungs. She then opened her eyes, and blew the smoke out in a fine stream.

"You know, you don't have to worry." Faye said. "He's not in there."

"Who, Jet?" asked Spike.

"Yes, Jet." Faye stated. "Don't play dumb with me Spike. I know you've been avoiding him."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Faye." Spike lied dryly.

"Come on, Spike. You're afraid."

"Afraid? Why would I be afraid?"

Faye inhaled another breath of smoke.

"Because what happened last night." she said, each word drowning in a haze of grey fumes. "Your afraid that Jet's mad at you."

Spike let his head drop back against the unforgiving metal bulkhead.

"It's not like Jet's never been mad at me before." he replied.

"No, Spike. I'm not just talking about regular mad. The kind where Jet yells at you, calls you troublesome and obnoxious, then storms off and trims those mini tree things of his. This is serious. You screwed up big. Really big."

"It wasn't my fault." said Spike as a knee-jerk reaction more than anything.

"Those two tracer holes in Jet's fuel tank say otherwise." Faye replied.

Spike gave a tormented sigh.

"Look, Jet told me he'd fixed all the damage to the Hammerhead. I can't be held responsible for what happened after that."

"Well then why don't you go find Jet and tell *him* that?"

Spike didn't reply. He could have scoffed at Faye's claim, or stamped and moaned and protested his innocence. But at this stage, there didn't seem to be much point. When it came down to it, what had happened *was* Spike's fault, and he knew it.

Faye recognised the expression on Spike's face, or rather, the lack thereof. This was the look that came over Spike when he was feeling something that he didn't want anyone else to know about. When such an emotion came over him, it was as if the muscles behind his face would simply turn off as part of some interlock mechanism to prevent his feelings from being betrayed. But then, the context of the moment made those feelings all too obvious to Faye regardless.

"You know, I don't blame you." she said.

Spike looked up at Faye with some slight surprise at her compassionate tone.

"For being worried about Jet, I mean." she continued. "He's the only one around here that you really give a damn about. After all, you didn't choose to be around Ed and Ein and me. But you *did* choose to team up with Jet."

As always, Spike was finding it easier to let someone else do the talking. But still, he couldn't help but be a little taken aback by Faye's insight. Perhaps it was a woman thing - that infamous female intuition that gave them an unfair advantage over the rest of nature's more rational creatures. Maybe that was why he was so suspicious of them. Well, that and the obvious.

Faye caught Spike taking a longing glance at her cigarette. She sighed as she realised that he most probably hadn't been listening to a word she'd said.

Grudgingly, she reached around behind her back with her left hand, and pulled a near empty box of cigarettes out from between her back and her braces. Bringing it out into the open she flicked the lid open, revealing her three remaining cigarettes.

"You're gonna owe me big time for this." she said, as she reluctantly extended the box towards Spike.

Spike leaned forwards and, giving Faye a hybrid look of gratitude and suspicion, plucked one of the cigarettes from its nest. Quickly, almost a little desperately, he slipped the filter end into his mouth and reached into his jacket for his lighter.

"You hear me, Spike?" Faye reiterated.

Spike looked up at Faye as he raised the lighter flame to the cigarette.

"Don't worry." he said. "I always make good on my debts."

Faye ignored the backhanded nature of the reply, and went back to enjoying her own cigarette.

Spike shut the lid of his lighter, and drew slowly upon his cigarette. The warm vapour spilled down his throat and pooled in his lungs, comforting him from within. There were times when the bitter taste of tobacco smoke was his best friend. It was unfortunate that this friend could potentially end up killing him. But then, that situation was not entirely alien to Spike.

Exhaling the smoke skyward, Spike turned back to Faye.

"So what about you?" he asked.

"What *about* me?" Faye replied.

"Aren't you mad at me?" Spike asked. "I kind of expected some reaction."

"Oh I'm mad alright." Faye replied in a deceptively even tone. "It's just, the way I see it, Jet's mad enough for the both of us. And besides, I can't be bothered getting on your back right now. Life's too short."

Spike gave a short, laughter-like grunt.

"Tell me about it."

Faye looked across at Spike in puzzlement.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"You know what I mean, Faye." said Spike. "We've got no money, not fuel, and virtually no food."

Spike didn't feel it necessary to say anything else. The insinuation was there.

Faye beheld him with a look of mild surprise.

"Being a little melodramatic, aren't we?"

Spike gave a sideways smirk.

"Maybe." he said.

"I'm surprised at you Spike." Faye said. "I really didn't figure you for the defeatist type."

"Defeatist?"

"Yeah. I thought that of all of us, you'd be the one who'd cope with this best. You never seemed that bothered by staring death in the face before. What is it you always say? `Whatever happens, happens'."

Spike had to think about that for a moment. Was she right? Was he really having difficulty coping with the realities of what might happen from here on? All those other times when whatever happens almost did happen, he had been confronted with near insurmountable odds. If he had defeated the odds, and he always had, he would emerge victorious, smirking smugly at the thwarted reaper. And should he fail, then instant death in a blaze of self-destructive glory. Perhaps that was why he was having such difficulty. This failure had not granted him the quick and easy escape of death, but instead subjected him to the humiliation of life. Maybe that defeatist attitude was, in reality, some form of perverse optimism.

"Anyway, I wouldn't worry about dying." Faye said after a short while.

"Why's that?" Spike asked.

"Because dying would be too easy." she replied, and then threw a brief glance skywards. "He's not about to let us off that easily."

She always found someone else to blame. It was one of the few character traits of Faye's of which Spike was envious.

"You mean God?" he asked rhetorically. "What makes you say that?"

"Because He doesn't like us. Surely you've noticed the way things never quite go the way they're supposed to. The way something always nips in at the last moment to deny us. Let's face it Spike, God's got it in for us in a big way."

Spike took a breath of smoke.

"Maybe it was something we said." he commented.

"Hmm." Murmured Faye.

Spike and Faye returned their attention to their respective cigarettes, between the two of them covering the ceiling of the corridor with a veil of smoke.

After a few quite moments, Spike caught wind of a faint sound. His ears pricked up as he attempted to resolve it from the ambient hum of the ship's electrical systems.

"Do you here that?" he asked.

"Here what?" Faye asked distantly.

Spike did not reply straight away. Instead, he continued to try and identify the noise. It was a low pitch rumbling, which Spike was fairly sure was emanating from beyond the hull of the Bebop. It was unsteady and intermittent, probably as a result of being carried on the changeable sea winds, but it was there, and it was getting louder.

"That sound." he replied, finally.

By this time, Faye too had picked it up. It sounded like the lament of a ship's engine, and was drawing close at great speed. Neither she nor Spike reacted to it, choosing instead to wait and see whether the sound passed. Within a few moments however, the sound reigned over all the existing background noise, reverberating through the bulkheads and drowning out all but the sound of their own breath. Then it reached a constant level.

"It's landing here." Faye observed.

And indeed she was right. Moments later, a dull thump rang through the ship's metal skeleton, and shortly after the engine noise cut out.

Silence was restored. But it was short lived. Both Spike and Faye leaned over and peered into the sitting room as the door to the bridge rolled aside with a mechanical rumble revealing Jet on the other side.

Jet placed his right hand against the frame of the door and placed one foot over the threshold.

"It's Steele." he said sternly. "He's back."

Faye and Spike looked at Jet as they assimilated the information, then both leaned back into the corridor and looked at one another.

"You might want to hang on to that funeral deposit." Faye said.

Both bounty hunters quickly dropped their cigarettes to the ground and stamped them out before Jet emerged into the corridor, each leaving their foot upon the cigarette so as to conceal the evidence.

Jet stepped through the door and marched past between them.

"Get your guns." he said. "We've got a bounty to catch."

At this the tapping of computer keys ceased.

"Ed, stay here." Jet added before Ed get a word in. "It's too dangerous."

There came a disappointed whine, followed by the sound of angry pounding of computer keys as Ed reluctantly returned to her surfing.

Spike and Faye leaned away from their walls and began to follow Jet down the corridor. Then Jet stopped and glanced over his shoulder, prompting them to stop also.

"And you can clean up that mess later." he said.

***

The trio of bounty hunters entered the hangar in time to hear the sound of three metallic raps on the access hatch.

"You know what to do." Jet said, addressing Spike without turning to him.

Spike didn't respond. He did know what he had to do. That much went without saying. Now was the time to prove that he *could* do it, without hesitation or regret.

Purposefully he strode on ahead of colleagues, both of whom already had their guns drawn and at their sides. He paced quickly across the hangar, to the beat of the repeated knocking that echoed through the hull of the ship. Upon reaching the access hatch, he took one final second to purge any residual emotion. There was simply no room for such things now. This wasn't about money anymore. This was about survival, which was something Steele was sure to understand.

Spike almost adopted an expression of disgusted surprise at himself. It didn't matter whether or not Steele understood. Quickly, he reached out and thumped the panel before his strangely active conscience could throw him another curve ball.

The door slid back revealing Steele, dressed in exactly the same manner as that in which he had been only the week before, minus the jacket. The man instantaneously wore a look of concern, which quickly changed to one of relief and pleased surprise as saw Spike standing before him.

"Oh, hey there Spike." he said.

"Hey Stainless." Spike replied. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I just thought I'd stop by to see how you guys were doing."

"Are you sure you didn't just come back for Jet's cooking?" Spike joked.

He could feel the glare of his comrades as they willed him to get on with what had been planned.

Steele gave a short laugh, and then smiled as he succumbed to having the real purpose of his visit wheedled from him.

"Well, as good as Jet's cooking was, that's not the real reason I'm here." he confided. "The truth is, I was a little worried about you.

Spike raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Worried?" he said.

"Yes." Answered Steele. "You see, when I came out for my match, I didn't see you or Faye in the seats I got for you. And when the match was over, I heard from one of the stewards that there'd been some trouble outside."

"So you came to check up on us?" Spike said with a slight smile.

"Yeah, I guess so." Steele replied, sounding a little embarrassed. "So, where did you guys get to anyway?"

This was it.

"Why don't you some in?" Spike said. "Everything will be explained."

"Thanks." Steele said.

Spike stepped aside and allowed Steele to step in from the hot sun to the cool air of the hangar. The fighter walked past Spike, turned, and made his way a few steps into the ship. Then he stopped suddenly, as he was confronted by Jet and Faye, both stood before him with guns trained. Swinging his gargantuan frame around, his gaze fell upon Spike who too had drawn his firearm and had it pointed at the fighter.

For a moment he stared into Spike's eyes, his face painted with surprise. However, the surprise slowly melted away, revealing an undercoat of disappointment. What struck Spike however was that the disappointment did not carry any hint of that momentary surprise. Instead, it was accompanied by a sorrowful resignation, as if what was happening had not been entirely unexpected.

Steele closed his eyes and lowered his head mournfully. As Spike looked on, the fighter's battered face aged immeasurably. And yet, this newly defeated figure of a man was not unfamiliar. This was how Steele had looked on the evening that Spike had first met him. It was only then that Spike realised just how great a difference there was between the man at the Polish fights, and that with whom he had shared a dinner table.

Then, almost appearing to smile slightly, Steele uttered the words.

"Bounty hunters."

"Yep." Spike responded, his flat tone laced with a modicum of regret. "Surprised?"

Steele looked up at Spike, and sighed.

"No, I guess not." he said, and after a brief pause added. "I, uh. . . take it that was you outside at the fight?"

"Yeah, that was us all right." said Spike.

"That friend of yours, Yukawa, he had a pretty hefty price on his head." Faye intervened. "It was just too good to pass up."

"So, you were just using me as a way to get to Victor." Steele sighed. "Guess you needed all the help you could get."

Faye's gloating expression changed to one of displeasure.

"Yeah, he got away." Jet stated, and then glared over at Spike. "Your friend got lucky."

"If you say so." said Steele. "He said that after he got chased out of the building, some lunatic in a fishing boat nearly ran him down."

This time it was Jet's turn to adopt a look of displeasure.

For a moment, the situation lost a little of its pathos for Spike. It seemed that even now, Steele retained his uncanny knack for unintentionally offending members of the Bebop's crew.

"Still, I guess his luck was a little better than mine." Steele sighed, and then turned back to Spike.

"So, I guess this makes me the second choice." he said, with a soft, ironic laugh. "It's not really something I'm used to."

"It's nothing personal." Spike replied. "Its just good business, that's all."

"Yeah." said Steele. "So. . . what now?"

"Now you put your hands on your head and do as your told." Faye snarled. "Then we take you to a police station, turn you in, and get some chump change for gas."

Steele slowly raised his hands, and clasped them across the back of his bowing head.

"Prison." he muttered. "Some retirement."

"Don't worry." Jet said. "The penal colony on Titan isn't so bad. A guy like you would have no problem surviving there."

"I don't want to survive!" Steele snapped, taking all by surprise. He then continued in a moderate tone. "I've spent the last forty years surviving. Now, I just want to live."

There was a momentary silence. These words had reached all of the bounty hunters, whom too had at times tired of their life of survival, and pined for a more comfortable existence. But none could claim to have had to live that way for nearly as long as Steele had. For all the success and wealth his profession had brought, his existence was still as tenuous as any of theirs, perhaps even more so.

"Come on," Said Jet solemnly, beginning to pace backwards. "Let's go."

Faye began to move aside to allow Steel to pass, while Jet remained some meters ahead thus preventing him from lashing out at both.

As Spike watched Steele begin to trudge away, he felt a twinge of regret. This regret was of a more selfish nature however, as he began to realise he might never know what it was that had been troubling him about Steele. As it stood, talking to Steele was not really an option, since a betrayal of trust was hardly an ideal icebreaker. But there didn't seem to be any other way of finding out.

At that moment Spike realised that he had been overlooking the obvious. There was a way, the one way in which one could find out the most about a man.

"Wait." he called, lowering his weapon.

Steele, Jet and Faye all stopped what they were doing and looked back at Spike. Though Faye and Steele were both as curious as each other as to what was going on, Jet looked decidedly worried.

"Stainless, you want to retire, right?" he said. "Then how about one last fight before you do?"

"Spike. . ." Jet said warily.

But it was too late. Spike's mind was made up.

"If you want to leave, then you have to fight me for it." he said.

"What!" Steele and Faye said in unison; Faye's contribution being the louder of the two, but sounding no more surprised.

"What are you saying?" Steele continued.

"I'm saying that if you can beat me in a fair fight, then you're free to go." Spike replied.

Steele looked pensively to the ground at Spike's feet.

"Fight for my freedom." he said. "That's a new one."

Steele then turned around cautiously and lowered his hands from his head.

"You do realise what you're saying?" he asked of Spike. "I mean, you know what will happen if you lose. Once I get started I. . ."

Spike smiled knowingly.

"Yeah. I know." he said.

"Wait a minute." Faye butted in. "Nobody has to fight for anything. We caught Steele fair and square. There's no reason to start playing these stupid games now."

"Sorry, Faye." Spike said insincerely. "It's just something I have to do."

"Something you have to. . Spike, you. . . I. . ."

Faye stopped, held her breath for a moment as she composed a rational argument, and then spoke.

"All right then, Spike." she said. "What if you fight Steele? What if you fight him and you lose? Then what are we supposed to do? Starve to death because of your barbaric need to prove yourself in battle?"

"Now who's being melodramatic?" Spike said.

"You didn't answer my question, Spike." Faye pointed out angrily.

"Okay. If I lose, then you have my permission to sell the Swordfish." Spike replied, glancing momentarily at his trusty steed. "She'll fetch a good few hundred grand over the internet."

"What?" Faye barked, and then turned to Jet. "Jet, you're not gonna let him do this are you?"

Jet had already lowered his gun however, and was looking down at the ground and rumbling to himself softly. There were times when he cursed all of those macho vows and bonds he and Spike had made when they had first joined forces; all those pacts that prohibited interference in each other's personal affairs, as it seemed now he was about to have one pulled against him.

Seeing that she was not going to get any back up from Jet, Faye raised her gun and pointed directly at Steele's head.

"Fine!" she said. "Then I'll do it myself."

"Put the gun down, Faye." Came Jet's low, resigned tone.

Faye looked briefly at Jet, and then back at Steele.

"Jet?"

"I said put it down!" Jet snapped. "If Spike wants to get himself killed then let him. God knows it'll be one less thing to worry about around here."

Faye glanced back and forth uncertainly between Jet and Steele before grudgingly deferring to Jet's command. She then sent a narrow eyed glare Spike's way.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell us why you're doing this." Faye hazarded.

As expected, she got no reply.

"Sometimes I really hate you, Spike Spiegel." she muttered.

Spike looked across at his partner.

"Thanks, Jet." he said.

Jet did not respond to Spike's show of graciousness in kind.

"Yeah well don't expect us pay for a funeral if you lose, Spike." he said, resisting the urge to use the W-word. "If you get killed then your sorry ass is going straight into the sea."

Spike responded to Jet's angry tone with a sleepy smile. He then reached for the panel at his side, and thumped it once causing the access hatch to hiss open. Looking at Steele, he gestured to the open door.

"Right this way."

Then, stepping through the door, he walked out onto the dazzlingly sunlit flight deck, and what might very well be his final battlefield.