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Dec. 5th, 2005 11:47 amIn the middle of the night, the room is awfully damn quiet. The only sound is the subtle in-out of Beth's breathing and the vaguest hum of electricity. Spike sits up and, when his eyes adjust to the darkness, watches Beth sleep so peacefully.
When he was looking for clues to understand Vincent, he went to this place that was all middle-eastern. Morroccan Street, it was called, and he met this guy named Rashid who told him he had a vase that was perfect for him. It turned out it wasn't the vase that was perfect for him; it's what was inside it. It was the clue he'd been looking for: looked like a marble, but it contained the virus Vincent wanted to unleash on the world. That led to a chain of events that he still sometimes doesn't believe and, in the darkness of their room, he rubs those five finger-shaped scars on the right side of his chest and the bullet-hole scar just above his heart.
Vincent could have killed him any time he wanted, but he didn't; Spike still isn't sure why. He doesn't think it was just a question of being toyed with, but he could be wrong and it wouldn't be the first time.
In her sleep Beth turns toward him; her arm wraps around his waist and coaxes his head back down against the pillows but she doesn't wake up. She has that look of sleepy bliss and he's glad; when they first started sleeping in the same bed she'd wake up a lot, looking around like she wasn't sure where she was. Then she'd see him and hang on to him, even in her sleep. It was the first time in a long time he'd felt that needed.
He liked it. He still likes it. Hell, he fucking loves her. If Rashid had told him that instead of a vase that was perfect for him he had a woman who was perfect for him, that woman would be Beth.
He loved Julia. He loved her with all his heart, but she broke his heart and he doesn't really think people who love each other do that. He thinks it probably took him the better part of a year to stop thinking about her every damn day after that time she didn't show up to go with him. A whole year seems about right, and then he had a while where Julia wasn't the only thing on his mind. He met up with Jet and they were pretty good as far as partners went, and for a while it seemed like maybe the proverbial shit wouldn't hit the fan, but then everything happened and it happened fast. Faye, who just wormed her way in and made herself right at home, and then Vicious killed Mao and found him again, and then Ed decided the Bebop was where she wanted to be.
Then Julia's ghost came back to haunt him. All the shit with Gren and Vicious again and he's still not sure why Lin didn't kill him. It wasn't so very long after that when things really started falling apart. He can't really blame it on Faye fucking with the setup he and Jet had; he's really never harbored her any ill will even though she's always been a pain in the ass, right from the start. And what he told Beth is true: Faye thinks she knows him, and she doesn't know him at all, not even a little bit. She knows the act he puts on and that's about it.
The only person who really knows him is Beth. Maybe it's because there was no baggage between them when they met; it doesn't really matter why. She's been so damn good to him. He's been damn good to her, too, but that's just so easy: he loves her and he can't not be good to her. She tells him he's sweet and charming and a romantic and handsome and sexy and smart and daring: all things no one ever bothered to tell him before. He knows she wouldn't say them just to fill up the space with words; she says that shit because she means it. Because she loves him and he's not used to this two people loving each other thing.
But he's doing a damn good job of learning how it works.
There's only one thing that really bothers him, and it's not being stuck here and it doesn't have anything to do with Beth. It doesn't have anything to do with Julia or Faye either, or with the bar: it has to do with his memories.
He can't remember what happened right before he got here. He remembers going to Syndicate headquarters and tearing the place apart, at least as much as he could. He remembers Shin dying in front of him, that whole I was waiting for you to come back and take over crap that he never, ever would have done. He remembers fighting with Vicious. He even remembers making his way back down the stairs afterward, all of Vicious's goons just standing around watching like they couldn't string two words together without instructions or without Vicious's okay.
But he doesn't know what happened between there and here.
The only clue is his trench coat, the one folded up and tucked far away. The one with the bullet holes and katana slashes and blood stains that wouldn't come out. He turns the clues over and over in his mind, trying pretty damn desperately here in the peace of Room 8 to make sense of them: if he was dead -- if Vicious killed him -- no one would have wasted the time or money getting it cleaned up and hanging it in his closet.
But if he isn't dead -- and he doesn't think he is -- how come when he takes Beth back to the ship time always feels different, disjointed, like it's his past replaying? The people they meet out there don't seem surprised to see him; that's one big fucking thing that makes him feel better about things. But other people have gone out the front door and it's been the same time as when they left. Even when he went to Cooksfield with Beth, she said it was that same evening she'd first found herself at the bar.
There, in the darkness, a theory starts to form for him: he can't go back to that time. He can't, because he has Beth with him and she's not a part of that time. He knows it doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense but it's the best theory he has right now and he ignores the voice in his brain that tells him if that's the way things worked he couldn't have gone to Cooksfield with Beth. But maybe it's just his reality. Everyone's is different.
One of these days curiosity might win out and he might just decide to test that theory by opening the door alone, seeing where it brings him. He doesn't have to step through the door, he just has to open it.
But not tonight. Especially not when Beth tightens her arm around him and, even in her sleep lets her lips find his, pulling him closer for a sleep-laden kiss.
Hell, he doesn't know what to make of all the questions. Right now, though, he's going to shut them up and bury them far, far away. He used to think he was definitely living on borrowed time but now that it's been more than a year, he can let that concept go too, like sticks flowing away on a rushing stream. He has more important things to do right now.
Some night, though, when he least expects it, he knows curiosity will win.
He hopes it's not for a really, really long time.
When he was looking for clues to understand Vincent, he went to this place that was all middle-eastern. Morroccan Street, it was called, and he met this guy named Rashid who told him he had a vase that was perfect for him. It turned out it wasn't the vase that was perfect for him; it's what was inside it. It was the clue he'd been looking for: looked like a marble, but it contained the virus Vincent wanted to unleash on the world. That led to a chain of events that he still sometimes doesn't believe and, in the darkness of their room, he rubs those five finger-shaped scars on the right side of his chest and the bullet-hole scar just above his heart.
Vincent could have killed him any time he wanted, but he didn't; Spike still isn't sure why. He doesn't think it was just a question of being toyed with, but he could be wrong and it wouldn't be the first time.
In her sleep Beth turns toward him; her arm wraps around his waist and coaxes his head back down against the pillows but she doesn't wake up. She has that look of sleepy bliss and he's glad; when they first started sleeping in the same bed she'd wake up a lot, looking around like she wasn't sure where she was. Then she'd see him and hang on to him, even in her sleep. It was the first time in a long time he'd felt that needed.
He liked it. He still likes it. Hell, he fucking loves her. If Rashid had told him that instead of a vase that was perfect for him he had a woman who was perfect for him, that woman would be Beth.
He loved Julia. He loved her with all his heart, but she broke his heart and he doesn't really think people who love each other do that. He thinks it probably took him the better part of a year to stop thinking about her every damn day after that time she didn't show up to go with him. A whole year seems about right, and then he had a while where Julia wasn't the only thing on his mind. He met up with Jet and they were pretty good as far as partners went, and for a while it seemed like maybe the proverbial shit wouldn't hit the fan, but then everything happened and it happened fast. Faye, who just wormed her way in and made herself right at home, and then Vicious killed Mao and found him again, and then Ed decided the Bebop was where she wanted to be.
Then Julia's ghost came back to haunt him. All the shit with Gren and Vicious again and he's still not sure why Lin didn't kill him. It wasn't so very long after that when things really started falling apart. He can't really blame it on Faye fucking with the setup he and Jet had; he's really never harbored her any ill will even though she's always been a pain in the ass, right from the start. And what he told Beth is true: Faye thinks she knows him, and she doesn't know him at all, not even a little bit. She knows the act he puts on and that's about it.
The only person who really knows him is Beth. Maybe it's because there was no baggage between them when they met; it doesn't really matter why. She's been so damn good to him. He's been damn good to her, too, but that's just so easy: he loves her and he can't not be good to her. She tells him he's sweet and charming and a romantic and handsome and sexy and smart and daring: all things no one ever bothered to tell him before. He knows she wouldn't say them just to fill up the space with words; she says that shit because she means it. Because she loves him and he's not used to this two people loving each other thing.
But he's doing a damn good job of learning how it works.
There's only one thing that really bothers him, and it's not being stuck here and it doesn't have anything to do with Beth. It doesn't have anything to do with Julia or Faye either, or with the bar: it has to do with his memories.
He can't remember what happened right before he got here. He remembers going to Syndicate headquarters and tearing the place apart, at least as much as he could. He remembers Shin dying in front of him, that whole I was waiting for you to come back and take over crap that he never, ever would have done. He remembers fighting with Vicious. He even remembers making his way back down the stairs afterward, all of Vicious's goons just standing around watching like they couldn't string two words together without instructions or without Vicious's okay.
But he doesn't know what happened between there and here.
The only clue is his trench coat, the one folded up and tucked far away. The one with the bullet holes and katana slashes and blood stains that wouldn't come out. He turns the clues over and over in his mind, trying pretty damn desperately here in the peace of Room 8 to make sense of them: if he was dead -- if Vicious killed him -- no one would have wasted the time or money getting it cleaned up and hanging it in his closet.
But if he isn't dead -- and he doesn't think he is -- how come when he takes Beth back to the ship time always feels different, disjointed, like it's his past replaying? The people they meet out there don't seem surprised to see him; that's one big fucking thing that makes him feel better about things. But other people have gone out the front door and it's been the same time as when they left. Even when he went to Cooksfield with Beth, she said it was that same evening she'd first found herself at the bar.
There, in the darkness, a theory starts to form for him: he can't go back to that time. He can't, because he has Beth with him and she's not a part of that time. He knows it doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense but it's the best theory he has right now and he ignores the voice in his brain that tells him if that's the way things worked he couldn't have gone to Cooksfield with Beth. But maybe it's just his reality. Everyone's is different.
One of these days curiosity might win out and he might just decide to test that theory by opening the door alone, seeing where it brings him. He doesn't have to step through the door, he just has to open it.
But not tonight. Especially not when Beth tightens her arm around him and, even in her sleep lets her lips find his, pulling him closer for a sleep-laden kiss.
Hell, he doesn't know what to make of all the questions. Right now, though, he's going to shut them up and bury them far, far away. He used to think he was definitely living on borrowed time but now that it's been more than a year, he can let that concept go too, like sticks flowing away on a rushing stream. He has more important things to do right now.
Some night, though, when he least expects it, he knows curiosity will win.
He hopes it's not for a really, really long time.
