Christmas on Venus

Spike's dreaming. In his dream he's falling, falling, shards of glass around him, but there's no pain and there's no fear. There's only falling and just before he reaches the ground, he finds his hand held by an angel with green eyes and yellow hair and a mark of power across her face and together they fly away from the ground, from the glass, to a place high up above that's safe and warm and sunny and bright and dry. And in that place the angel takes him into her arms and tells him that she loves him and that she'll keep loving him no matter what. And she touches her fingertips to his many scars, tracing them so gently: his arm, his leg, his left shoulder, his chest.

His heart.

When she touches his heart, he feels it open. He feels sunlight pour in and it makes him so happy he could almost cry for the sheer joy of it, but then the angel leans forward to kiss him and...

Don't want to wake up.

Wait. I changed my mind. I do.

In the early-morning Venusian daylight, he turns to watch Beth sleep, marveling over his luck. After all, it sure as hell isn't an everyday thing for dreams to come true.

Happy Christmas, Beth. I love you like you wouldn't believe.

(Even if the clothes strewn around the room beg to differ.)

Beth's Christmas Present

Sometime in December, end of the universe

Hey Beth, I never know what the hell to get anyone for Christmas. One year I got Jet a bottle of whiskey, and another year I gave Ed and Ein dog biscuits. I'm not very good at this shit so really, the thought of oh, fuck, it's Christmas and I ought to get something for Beth kind of fills me with this nameless dread I never get anywhere else.

But then I remember: it's you. It's for you. There's nothing hard about that. I know you don't really give a damn about things like jewelry and clothes, and we have books and we've traveled. So I thought I'd take you to that other spa on Mars, the one I went to when I was younger, but there's no guarantee we can go and fuck if I want to give you some maybe some day present.

So, what can I come up with here at the end of the universe that's unique enough and special enough and perfect enough for you? See, I fall asleep every night and wake up every morning with the same thought in my brain and it goes something like this: Beth, I love you. You're my favorite person in the whole damn universe and I'm so fucking lucky. I love you. I love you. I love you for so many reasons, I couldn't even begin to tell you what they are.

But you know what, Slim? I can.

And I will.

So. Here are a hundred things I love about you. Oh, yeah, and I reserve the right to add onto the list any time. And they're not in order or anything.

1. your hands.
2. your eyes.
3. the smile on your face when you're sleeping.
4. the way you think.
5. showering together.
6. your left breast.
7. your right breast. (hey, this isn't cheating.)
8. you asked me about my hair.
9. you're fearless, or pretty damn close.
10. you make a hell of a bounty hunter.
11. you can fly the Swordfish.
12. lighter. hairspray. enough said.
13. the way you touch me.
14. the thought of you in that green dress with nothing underneath.
15. having sex with you, or making love, or fucking, or whatever you want to call it.
16. the way you know what you want.
17. and that you're not afraid to go after it.
18. the way your arm wraps around me when you sleep.
19. the way your leg drapes over me when you sleep.
20. the way you look in Venusian vanilla
21. you like lava birds.
22. my magic tricks make you smile.
23. your smile.
24. the way that little piece of hair always slips into your face.
25. you on top.
26. you in a hot tub.
27. the expression on your face when we landed in Eleuthera.
28. you gave me birthday presents.
29. sharing martinis.
30. watching you eat chocolate strawberries.
31. the way you look in nothing at all.
32. running with you by the lake.
33. watching you swim.
34. watching you watch me.
35. touching you right there.
36. making s'mores together.
37. Singing Deer.
38. when you bury your fingers in my hair.
39. your laugh.
40. when you sing and you don't know I'm listening.
41. your passport says Marie Browning.
42. the way your backside looks in jeans.
43. when you watch me across the room with that little smile on your face.
44. trading scar stories with you.
45. trading all stories with you.
46. imagining you as a little girl in your Princess Leia hairdo.
47. the way your skin feels when it's wet.
48. when we have movie dates: who knew a five-dollar milkshake could be so much fun?
49. waking up with you on the Bebop.
50. waking up with you in Room 8.
51. waking up with you in Room 31.
52. waking up with you in Cooksfield.
53. waking up with you anywhere in the whole damn universe, that ought to cover it.
54. you took me to Cooksfield with you.
55. Sim Beth, on the Bebop's computer.
56. your attitude.
57. when you tug me toward you by my tie.
58. that I love you so damn much I'm making a list of how and why.
59. you let me teach you how to fire a gun.
60. sex during earthquakes, or asteroidquakes, whatever you want to call them.
61. parasailing over Lake Orion with you.
62. that cute little dimple you get when you smile.
63. your scar.
64. you're a hell of a fine pilot.
65. your willingness to go anywhere on a moment's notice.
66. the way we fit together.
67. the way you look in fig leaves.
68. your curiosity.
69. your resolve.
70. the way your toes like to tuck under my legs.
71. reading poetry with you.
72. you're great.
73. the feel of your heartbeat against my chest.
74. how soft your lips are.
75. the way you feel inside. This isn't the same as #15.
76. your mind.
77. you're not afraid of ghosts.
78. you're the first woman I've ever met who's loved me just the way I am, without expecting me to change.
79. you don't judge my past.
80. never finishing a plate of potechi.
81. you could kick my ass.
82. you don't take shit from anyone, me included. Not that I would ever give you shit about anything.
83. that little hiss of breath and you know what I'm talking about.
84. you look like an angel.
85. watching you surf the SSW for information about me.
86. Venusian feather silk suits you so well.
87. you're mine. In a manner of speaking.
88. I can have my moments of insecurity with you, and you don't think any worse of me for having them.
89. you never seem to get tired of hearing me tell you I love you.
90. you went to Mars with me.
91. the way my heart skips a beat every time I see you walk into the room.
92. you painted stars on my ceiling.
93. you take care of me.
94. the way you feel through your underwear.
95. when you wake me up in the middle of the night, all hungry for me.
96. the way you fit right in no matter where we go in the solar system.
97. you're perfect.
98. the way you rest your forehead against mine.
99. the way you react when I trace the curves of your body without touching you.
100. you picked me, and that makes my heart fly.

Hey. Know what? That's a pretty good list. And it's just the start. So happy Christmas, Beth, and if I haven't said it enough times yet, I sure as hell love you. You're the best. The best.

I love you with all my heart (even the parts that have been shot at).
Spike