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→ TEXTS / OVERFLOW / STARTERS / PSLS ★

( continued from here )

yuo better

[ it's the last text faye sends before setting her phone down. her attention returns to her drink and she empties the last remaining contents down her throat. she sets the glass on the counter and pushes it away out of protest. that was it for the night. the bartender collects it and she leaves him the amount due on the table, swiveling around in her seat so that she wasn't inspired to order another.

the room threatens to spin; she's doing a fair job sustaining poise. while she isn't in the most sober state of mind right now, she also isn't helplessly sloshed either. a comfy middle ground that opens her up to the opportunity of embarrassing herself the moment fang walks through the door.

with confidence, she seizes said-opportunity, lighting up like the damn sun the moment she sees the other woman. as faye gets up to greet her, she realizes, at the last minute, that her heel has caught the stool leg, and before she could realign herself, or perhaps carry some kind of grace, she's tumbling to the ground. ]

[With a huff of amusement at the message, Fang heads over. She's expedient about it, despite her serming lack of concern with most things, and ambles in, hands in her pockets — right in time to see Faye stumble. Her lazy gait changes to urgent in a heartbeat, and she catches her in her arms before she hits the ground. Having captured Faye mid-fall, Fang's own balance is off for a few precarious seconds: she stumbles back a step or two before finding it again.]

Whoa- careful there. I've got you.

[Her tone's gentler than she's usually known for, her voice reverberating close to Faye's ear.] Look at that. Guess you needed my help after all.

Oh, my hero—

[ — a drunken jest, punctuated with a laugh. she holds onto fang, dizzy and still a little wobbly, until her balance is restored. with both feet on the ground, she straightens up, and then immediately moves to slip her arms around the woman's neck, melting her body into hers. ]

I guess I did. Thanks for coming, beautiful.

[ faye is practically beaming when their eyes meet, and she follows that with a big smooch on the lips. ]

[Buoyed by Faye's good mood, Fang can't help but smile, though she raises a quizzical eyebrow.] Hah. Sweet talker. [The quip is in jest too, given the way she relaxes at Faye's weight against her and wraps her arms around her waist.

She tilts her head instinctively to deepen the kiss, finishing it with the graze of her teeth over Faye's lower lip as they part. Then she puts her fingers under her chin to gently tilt up her head. A once-over follows this, and she sees now that she's not completely wasted, just the sort of silly drunkenness that led to talking too much, or starting a tussle one could not finish.]

Didn't want to leave you high and dry. [Is her answer to the thanks, as she begins to corral them both out of the bar. One arm is still draped possessively around Faye's waist as she lets her lean into her.] Figure you haven't had so much of a drop of water, either...

[She was like this sometimes: fussy for her, concerned about other people's well being. It was rare though, and came in moments like this, where she's reasonably certain it won't be remembered.]

[ an effusion of warmth creeps across her chest and flows up to her cheeks. they kiss deeply for a beat, and she would happily continue even longer, showing reluctance to stop when fang pulls away. in the absence of her mouth, her tongue ghosts over her bottom lip, savoring whatever trace of her was left. it was then that her head tips, and their eyes lock, and she is momentarily captivated by the luminous depths of her gaze. fuck. ( careful, girl. you might fall. ) a demure grin stretches across her face; slender arms unravel from her neck and her hands fall to rest on fang's hips while they share this little moment. until she’s lassoed at the waist and they're walking out of there. ]

I think I had a few sips but it probably wouldn't hurt to drink s'more.

[ there's a subtle drag to her words but nothing too obvious. she remains glued to fang's side and follows her lead, trying to be mindful of where she steps but is far too distracted to retain focus. ]

Where are you taking me anyway, hmmmm? Back to your place?

I was thinking about it. Can't have you out and about when you're in a state, after all. [It's said jokingly. Fang's ambling pace guides them to her ship — a sleek little number that had been frankensteined from what she thinks used to be a military grade shuttle — she can't remember, now. The old girl had been through so many fights, upgrades and near-scrapped disasters that it's only her aptitude for repairs that kept it in fair enough condition. She often joked that the thing was held together by duct tape and her own prayers. How true that was remained a mystery.

The cockpit's only just big enough for her to stretch out her legs, so she says to Faye:] Sorry, sweetheart. You'll have to take the trip in my lap — won't be long, though. Hope it's no trouble.

[She has a feeling that it's not much trouble at all.]

No trouble at all. [ fang is correct.] I'd be delighted.

[ miraculously ( and with help from fang no doubt ), she climbs inside without trouble. the decision comes last minute: she chooses to straddle fang's lap. when she plops down, and they're now sitting eye-to-eye, she can't hide the bit of mischief in her smile. as if to lock in her position, her arms will reflexively wrap around the woman's neck and, after a moment of wiggling, she nestles her body as close as possible. ] Is this uncomfy for you? [ is whispered softly into the woman's ear. she seems mindful enough to tilt her head out of view so fang could oversee the control system, but this just provides her the opportunity to nibble gently on her earlobe.

oh, she's a frisky one tonight. ]

[It's not something she's expecting, though she certainly isn't complaining, if the sly edge to her grin is any indication. Her tone is easy, light — like there is nothing particularly out of the ordinary about Faye straddling her.] Oh, I'm just fine. Don't you worry. [Her relative calm aside, she shifts beneath Faye at the nibble to her ear — there is a brief and barely-heard intake of breath.

Even so, her voice is as easy as always when she speaks up, a low and confident murmur.] Hang tight, now. We've got a bit of a way before I can switch to autopilot.

[The ship's engine rumbles and purrs beneath them, and in an instant they're airborne. As a pilot, Fang is as confident in the air as she is on land, and a habitual daredevil — no fighting right now though, and she sees no need to jostle Faye out of her position. Nor does she have the desire to.]

[ faye hums something undefined as a response, too focused on what she was doing to allow herself to be interrupted. in that span of time, from take-off to when autopilot kicks on, faye will have taken it upon herself to start peppering kisses all over the side of fang's face and neck. slow, feathery—as a means to tease, to rouse her up, until they're allowed to go at each other.

she stops for just long enough to express something into her ear in a voice that drips with inrushing lust. ]

I hope that means you'll be putting your hands all over me. I need you to touch me.

[In the midst of this, Fang's focus, which was usually so rock-solid, begins to waver. She finds it split between her navigation and the sensation of Faye's mouth, warm and insistent against her skin, just gentle enough to make her feel impatient. She sighs in the midst of it, unsteadily — her lashes flutter and she tilts her head to one side without thinking, giving Faye more access to her neck.

It's a relief to have her hands free, because the sound of Faye's voice works its way along her spine, as intimate as fingers running down her back. Fang's easy smile widens, showing the flash of teeth, though she's slow to turn the heavy weight of her stare to lock eyes with Faye. The pupils have gone a little wider, making the bright green of them look darker than usual.]

You're eager tonight. [Fang's voice is soft, though they're the only two people in the intimate space of the cockpit — it feels like they're the only people in the world. Her gaze doesn't leave Faye's face even as she undoes her shorts without looking. It's almost muscle memory, the way her hand slips beneath to stroke at Faye's center. It's teasing, this, and Fang pauses when her fingers are coated in the slick evidence of her arousal. Deliberately, she brings those fingers to her mouth to idly lick them clean, savoring it like she's tasted something sweet.]

Hmm... [The sound she makes is content, from low in her throat. It's almost a purr.] Wonder if it's the drink, or if it's me.

[ the ship levels and there's a distinct click of a button that grants her the OK, and in an instant faye stops and leans back. greeted by fang's smile, along with that beautifully piercing stare, means she's grinning like a loon in return. ] When am I not eage—uhn! [ a surprised noise cuts her question short and her body readily buckles to the sensation between her legs. she bites her lip and tilts her hips forward, urging fang to continue without words.

the next noise she makes will be a muffled whimper of protest when fang pulls her hand away. under heavy lids, she watches her lick her fingers clean, and—fuck. that's hot. she can't help but stare, totally mesmerized, and more drunk off lust than alcohol by this point. that's when she holds fang's face in her hands and draws her mouth close, just far enough that she could still speak— ]

No, baby, it's you. [ —before pressing their lips together in a kiss that quickly dips into something desperate and longing. baby. a slip up? no, that must be the booze talking; pet names were just not in faye's vernacular. ( that is false ) it won't be a thought, and maybe not even an after-thought, as her eyes flutter shut and she pushes her tongue past fang's lips, looking to explore—not just her mouth but the rest of her. both hands that once cradled her face will now retreat and slip underneath her top, each palm full with her plush breasts and squeezing appreciatively. ]

[All the noises Faye makes, her reactions — these are their own pleasure. Fang's thighs tense beneath her as she watches and listens, her own breathing gaining a harsh, needy cadence. But it's what she says that gets a real reaction out of her — the pet name makes her eyes widen in surprise and has her lips parting without any resistance. She moans into the kiss, squirming beneath Faye and arching into her hands as she touches her, suddenly all too aware of the cramped space they're in. Each time the kiss is even momentarily broken, she renews it, chasing Faye's mouth with her own until they're both breathless and flushed.

Fang pants against Faye's mouth, her hand squeezing in the scarce space left between their bodies to slip between her thighs again. This time, she doesn't tease — slips two fingers inside her easily, angling her hand so that she doesn't cramp up in the midst of it. Her thumb finds her clit and strokes that sensitive bundle of nerves. It's rushed, messy — not nearly as devil may care as she usually tried to be.]

When we get home, I'm going to wear you out. [Her voice is hoarse, the words a strained murmur against Faye's lips. The hand not between her legs splays out over the small of her back, gently urging her to rock into the slow, deep motion of her thrusting fingers.]

[ each hot breath that paints her lips, every word that escapes into her mouth to be swallowed up and savored —- faye greets with unbridled enthusiasm. the same way fang's wiggling body incites a fervor that spills into another messy chase of lips lapping over lips, and in the sensual, somewhat impatient way she gropes her breasts. ]

You promise? [ are breathy words that get lost in the motion of their mouths. when her hands aren't fondling, she's thumbing over hardened nipples, tenderly pinching and flicking them (if it wasn't for their snug position, she'd have her mouth all over them). her tongue is nearly down fang's throat, attempting to wrestle her tongue into submission, when the ensuant jolt of her body pulls a choked cry out of her. ] A-Ahh ... !

[ her gaze glides over the other woman's face, mouth gaping and hovering, her brows knitted together in a pleasured expression as they search her eyes. even without the encouragement, faye will rock her hips with each delivered thrust. and every time she reaches the hilt of those fingers, a very distinct noise is made, revealing just how dripping wet she is for her. she soon unravels into a panting, flustered mess when her sensitive nub gets attention; the ache of arousal intensifies and spiderwebs up her body. like a cat in heat, she whines and mewls against fang's mouth, greedily nipping and sucking at her bottom lip. ]

[Faye's kisses are eager enough to leave Fang's mouth wet and bruised, and she eagerly welcomes it, her murmurs of encouragement and soft groans captured in between each gasp of breath. She barely blinks throughout, fixated on each twist of Faye's features and the hazy, blissful look in her eyes.]

Promise - whatever you want. [She manages, her voice rough, hissing through her teeth at Faye's eager fondling of her by now oversensitive breasts, nipples peaked and near painfully hard from her teasing. She is all too aware of how cramped the space is and wishes, with a pang, that they could somehow get to her apartment faster.

In the meantime, she makes do with the space they have.] You're already this wet? [It's a question she already knows the answer to but wants to hear anyway.] Already in this state and I've only just started with you — [Her hand moves just a little faster, a little rougher, enough to drag out the slick and sordid noises of their joined bodies. The hand on Faye's back wraps around to her front, sliding under her top until she finds warm skin and the fullness of her breasts that she wastes no time in teasing — cupping them, squeezing, stroking her hardened nipples.] You're beautiful, do you know that? [Said between rough kisses, her voice low and throaty, strained.] Can't wait to do this proper - somewhere we'll have all the space we need.

[ there's something about that husky voice of hers that felt smoother than any prized whiskey this side of the solar system. ] You make me so wet ... [ she declares in a whisper that feels harsh against their swollen lips. even in such limited space, her body is at the beck and call of fang's touch —- bending, urging. frissions of pleasure dance up her spine with each stroke of her clit, heightening her arousal and the amplification of her moans, including the woman's name that's carried in an earnest sigh. ] .. Fang!

[ so fevered with lust, faye's delayed awareness of their cramped surroundings (oblivious only due to her slight inebriation) will come to a sudden halt when she whips her head back and subsequently hits it against the glass. ] Ow! [ which doesn't completely kill the mood but now that she's outrightly aware of how constricted they were, faye is unable to return to that same level of enthusiasm as before. ] Damn it, are we there yet? [ half joking, half bitching. she already regrets breaking from the sweet warmth of fang's mouth as she twists around to look at the coordinates. not close enough. this gives her an idea. ]

[ she turns back and delivers a gentle kiss to flushed lips. ] Hold that thought. [ before reluctantly coaxing the hand out of her shorts and pivoting around fully, now sitting in the woman's lap like she was meant to sit from the start. whoops. so now faye is piloting ( you read that right ), nonchalantly switching off autopilot, hands on the controls, and dialing up enough power to send them zipping off. she'll be too distracted to react to any protesting fang might do, knowing she will thank her later when they've managed to arrive miraculously unscathed and in due time to continue this act where it belongs. ]

[That heated, feverish whisper from Faye causes an answering jolt of pleasure in her stomach, a molten heat pooling between her legs and adding to her own impatience. Fang doesn't stop the rough motion of her fingers, eyes hooded and dark with lust, fixated on the sight of the beautiful woman above her.] That's right... [Her voice is hoarse from desire and breathlessness both.] That's perfect —

[Faye hitting her head against the glass puts an abrupt stop to that, however, and she winces at the sight. Before she can renew their contact or ask if she's hurt herself too badly, Faye's putting an end to it for the both of them. Dazed herself, Fang can only watch, dumbfounded, as she takes over the work of piloting the craft on her own.

Fang can't tell if she's more disappointed by the game ending, or impressed and offended both by her taking over the role of driving on her own — and fast, at that.] Whoa- [Is all she manages at first before the increase in speed has her back pressed against the chair and holding on for dear life.] Hey, don't go too crazy! Be gentle with her. [It's a warning with less heat than she'd normally reserve for someone piloting her ship — in truth, she's a bit delighted about it. Eventually she decides to simply go along for the ride, though she does speak up to murmur in Faye's ear.]

Can't wait, huh?

[It sounds like she's holding back a laugh.]

Edited (fixing some grammar + typos) 2023-08-25 00:18 (UTC)

[ doped up on lust just a moment before, faye was now hilariously laser-focused in a switch-up that could induce whiplash. if there was one thing she was truly skilled in, it was her ability to fly under duress or, in this case, under a very restive libido. the knock on the head definitely brought some necessary lucidity, effectively lowering her buzz a notch or two. you wouldn’t guess it when the ship takes a sudden and questionably sharp nosedive, seemingly with wild abandon. in reality, faye has discovered a shortcut, possibly made one up on the spot, that soon proves successful in cutting time in half. ]

Your precious ship is in good hands. [ faye tells her in a tone that carries enough solace to hopefully assuage any doubts. bereft of fang’s mouth, she’s now painfully aware of the damp heat between her legs, the festering ache, and how the grip on her hips feels almost possessive in nature if it wasn’t mostly a means to hold on for dear life. she visibly shudders when that accented voice spills into her ear. ] You know I can’t wait. Just hold tight for a little longer—

[ the landing may have been a bit rough but everyone, including the ship, arrives unscathed in record time. faye doesn’t even shut everything down before hastily exiting the cockpit—and in the process nearly falling right on her ass once again. she manages to recover herself but not without having a laugh at herself. ] See what you do to me? [ half-joking. she holds a hand out to fang. ]

[Her ship makes a (mostly smooth) landing, and before she can so much as catch her breath from the piloting acrobatics, Faye's hopping out of the cockpit and holding out a hand to her. Fang laughs breathlessly and takes the offer — though not before leaning halfway into the cockpit and taking the liberty of shutting down everything herself. She's particular about her precious ship, that was for certain.

She takes Faye's hand, lacing their fingers together, again hooking her other arm around her waist and tugging Faye closely. Despite her relative calm in comparison, it's soon clear enough that she's just as excited, tilting her head down to pepper kisses along the side of her face and jaw, down her neck, not even glancing up as she swipes the keycard to let them into the building.]

Can't be as bad as what you do to me, [she murmurs into Faye's ear, voice low and tinged with impatient gruffness.

The road to her apartment seems inexorably long, but it's only the span of a few minutes before they're stumbling inside. Fang only barely has the presence of mind to lock the door behind them before she's pulling Faye into a deep, hungry kiss.]

( continued from here )

Appreciate it.

[ the last text before she puts her phone down and trades off to grab her glass. she finishes the rest of her whiskey; a burning cascade travels down her body and inspires her to order another. she's embarking on that point in her inebriety where she feels very warm, which in turn releases the tension in her body. it's not until she's had something to drink that she realizes just how much tension she holds every single time. she's even feeling gregarious—at least for this mystery woman she's invited for a drink.

while faye waits, she skims back over the text exchange. " —most of it is alone. " they have something in common. she might not have been alone if she allowed the couple to pull her into whatever they were hoping to include her in, but it was probably better that she didn't. sparing a quick glance, they seem to have returned to their conversation, their attention settled on one another. a fleeting pang strikes her as she subtly watches them. that is, until the door opens and in walks a startling beauty she recognizes.

every patron seems to turn to look and marvel. can't blame them. especially when faye is doing a bit of that herself. the bartender arrives with her drink just as the woman starts walking her way, and she quickly takes a drink to make her staring less obvious. it turns out to be a mistake when she swallows too fast and the liquid travels down the wrong pipe, causing her to sputter and cough. somehow faye manages to collect herself in time and turns to look at her with a semi-embarrassed smile. ]

Not at all. You got here pretty fast, actually. I didn't think you'd know which bar I was at.

(That time spent alone drinking or not became natural, if she were to admit it. Her world was a world of monochrome and dreary rain engulfing her, drowning her thoughts as it made everything murky. The sight of her so easily looked at then gone in a moment before their very eyes like she never once existed; the patrons each almost seem to wonder if she's real, if someone with looks like hers is really there. Or if someone that looks like her can genuinely be real like pictures from movies, magazines come to life when this unusual wanderer notes Faye did seem to choke from drinking a little too fast.

She isn't going to call her out on staring or anything, just as she wouldn't the other patrons who had gone back to their business. How she managed to find this bar first was because it was the one she had passed by on the way to find a place to relax at for the night until she made herself sleep later, whilst keeping her head down as best she could in hopes she didn't accidentally get recognized too. Doing the things she did does draw attention, a lot of it if she were honest.)

....I actually had just passed it and thought to check here first.

(After getting comfortable, she orders a whiskey on the rocks for herself. Her tendency to order bitter drinks was more a preference on Acheron's part, anyway, something bitter to give her small reminders. Something that can give a natural burn and warmth as the taste washes down her throat before she almost forgets another thing. She hasn't gave her name out just yet.)

Acheron.

(Her real name, if she ever gives it out, is best left a mystery.)

Faye. [ her real name: won't bother including her last name. that one wasn't real. ] Nice to meet you, Acheron.

[ before the exchanging of names, those green eyes of hers had been admiring the way she swallows whiskey like it was as easy as water. manicured brows lift slowly, expressing the level of impressed she was, before a boozy little smile tugs the corners of her lips. ]

So do you always accept drink invites from strange women? What if I'm dangerous?

[ her smoky voice holds a playful flex when she asks. dangerous could describe faye when it comes to the unwarranted violence she's prone to express when she's aggravated. that won't happen here. or will it? who knows! her mood tends to be on a swivel. however, this was mostly a jest toward acheron. she remembers the woman telling her she can handle herself and she has no reason not to believe it. ]

What if you're dangerous? Some of the most beautiful creatures in the animal kingdom are also deadly, you know.

[ she's possibly flirting a little there. trying to be slick about it. she brings her glass to her lips and takes another drink. ]

[ not once did spike look back—several rounds shot into the air and not even so much as a pause in his step that would suggest he was hesitant to leave. wasn’t he listening? there was no other place for her to go. the bebop, the crew, this was all she had. they were all she had. that meant spike as well; he was part of the package. yet he turns and ambles down the corridor like it was all nothing. like she had meant nothing. ( she dragged him from death's doorstep when he flew out the window of that church. it was her. not one of his ghosts. ) like they hadn't shared a vulnerable moment all of two seconds ago, and for what? like she wasn’t standing there pleading after him with every bullet, wishing he would relent and turn around. it's written all over her face. please don't go.

... and it makes her so angry to the point of hate. he was doing this to 'see if he was really alive'? what the fuck does that mean? that stupid, foolish, stupid bastard was already alive. and he had a place to call home. they were his home, weren't they? unlike those times before where his quips about death and dying were dismissed, she knew in her gut this time was different. he wouldn't be coming back. it fills her with a panicky emptiness that she tries to dispel by drawing in a deep breath but it's too painful. she starts to cry.

her memory will glaze over the moments leading up to her finding him: she doesn't remember getting in her zipcraft and speeding off. doesn't remember firing rockets at the remaining syndicate members, or landing red tail directly in the middle of the wreckage between spike's lifeless body and them. won't recall how she tapped into an untouched reservoir of strength or something to pull spike into the cramped confines of her ship. it all just... happened.

( the recollection of events will continue to elude her for some time after and it's something that will bother her. )

spike suffers from a gun shot wound and massive gash across his abdomen. the doctors work incessantly to stop the bleeding and it would be hours before faye gets the chance to see him. they stick her with paperwork she can't even fill out. what's your relation to the patient? it's complicated, she wants to say, but opts for something closer to partners.

it's quiet when she enters the room—aside from the periodic beeping of the machines he was hooked up to. the nurse explains that he'll likely be unconscious for a while but that his breathing is stable. that he's lucky to even be alive. then tells her she'll be back around to check in later. the lights are off except for the one beside his bed which provides a soft white glow that illuminates most of spike's bandaged up body. a scene she's familiar with but now makes her stomach twist in a funny way. at least she doesn't smell blood, his blood anymore. ( she wears her jacket fully zipped up; however, it doesn't do a thing to hide the shorts, or stockings, or her white boots that have blood on them. something faye doesn't notice until she's washing up in the bathroom. she chooses to leave it. )

the nurses come and go, checking mostly his vital signs which have remained stable for the most part, though spike is still unconscious. she's been fighting off sleep, curled up in an uncomfortable chair beside the bed, occasionally watching him as though he'd disappear if she wasn't. but it's a losing battle: for the few seconds she meant to rest her eyes, this time exhaustion sneaks in, and suddenly she's dipping into the waters of sleep, fully engulfed within seconds. ]

Edited 2024-05-05 08:48 (UTC)

[ one eye in the past, one eye in the present. or the future. it's difficult to tell, really, when life is categorized by bounties, hit-men, syndicate members, and the inky black of night turned sleep. he'd left the bebop with gunfire ringing hot and loud in his ears, faye's voice cutting through the hiss.

you've never told me anything about yourself, so don't tell me now. why do you have to go? where are you going?

this was the only place i could go.

he could smell the gunpowder all the way to the cathedral. it cut through the dust, the shouting, the blood. even when his gun went off for a final time, the shot kicking him backwards, he could taste the gunpowder in the stale air of the bebop on the back of his tongue. watching as blood bloomed from vicious' chest, for a moment he could see julia, in stark relief against the stained glass. like she'd been depicted there years and years ago, an ikon of victory for the syndicate.

when he falls, it feels like everything happens in slow motion. feels like he moves through time and space as though on some drifting cloud. he closes one eye, peering up at the window he'd seen julia's face in. the eye in the past sees nothing but dark, shadows, fractured glass and the smoke from fires. the other? glass. smoke. fire. the round hull of a spacecraft, flitting against the sky.

maybe it really was just some wild dream, after all.

he can't help but laugh to himself when he aims his hand out at teh syndicate and the lights of the same spacecraft blind him. bang, he's sure he says, before everything, past and present, swirls into dark around him - only the taste of gunpowder left on his tongue.

he dreams, at first, of voices - a familiar shrill voice (spike you better not die, dammit), a man and woman (his injuries are severe), the beeping and whirring of machines and the flash of white light and the smell of antiseptic. his eyes flutter in and out of the dream - people asking his name, where he's from, what happened, how did he get like this. all this through the ring of gunfire. and he slips away again.

when he does wake up, truly wake up, it's a hospital room. the cathedral has been left behind, so has the fighting, the blood, the gunpowder. his whole body hurts in a way it hasn't in a very, very long time. bandages, dressings, machines, needles. the blankets around him feel suffocating, but he's impossibly cold so he'll deal for now. he wiggles his toes, his fingers. they're still attached, so that's a good sign. he's definitely not on the bebop, and certainly nowhere near syndicate headquarters.

(he'd be tied up and tortured, if that were the case).

he groans, turning his head and trying to blink through the haze of the overhead lighting. his mouth is dry - like the sands on mars once upon a time and even though he can't put together when or where or why he is, when his head lolls to one side, he sees her. faye valentine - the girl with no home, the girl with no memories - waiting at his bedside, exhausted and cold. he tries to sit up, but immediately his body protests and leaves him humbled on his back, like a dog left to die on the side of the road.

there's blood on her shoes. blood on the floor of the hospital room. his eyes shift to his own bandaged body, where blood seeps through in some places. hell, he's not even sure he wants to wake her up to whatever it is he's experiencing now.

he should disappear while her eyes are closed. leave her committed to his memory, when things seemed so clear and sure. vicious is dead, now, isn't he? he has to be. and if spike is alive, then...

shit. ]

You're gonna get wrinkled and ugly sleeping like that.

[ she often dreams of the shadowed silhouettes of her parents. they stand a small distance away and say nothing. a disconnection that keeps them apart. and then they disappear from sight. in their absence, her longing grows twice its size, and she's forced to run from it. more running. all she does is run. in her dreams. in her real life. her legs give out and she stumbles to her knees, now victim to her longing which quickly moves in to envelop her, strangle her. she chokes for air, tries to tear at phantom hands that she discovers to be her own wrapped around her throat. a disembodied voice encourages her to breathe. she starts to cough. keep breathing, it says. that's the trick. in a single inhale, her vitality replenishes, and her hands fall away. her longing slithers back to its corner. she comes to a stand and lifts her head only to be silently greeted by... him.

you're not dead, she says. he responds with a lopsided smile. it's annoying. endearing. he wasn't a shadowed silhouette. i want you to say it, voice unwittingly stern, she's desperate for him to speak, to do something in fear that he may disappear just like the others. tell me you're not dead!! and so, he opens his mouth.

" ̷Y̷̷o̷̷u̷'̷r̷̷e̷ ̷g̷̷o̷̷n̷̷n̷̷a̷ ̷g̷̷e̷̷t̷ ̷w̷̷r̷̷i̷̷n̷̷k̷̷l̷̷e̷̷d̷ ̷a̷̷n̷̷d̷ ̷u̷̷g̷̷l̷̷y̷ ̷s̷̷l̷̷e̷̷e̷̷p̷̷i̷̷n̷̷g̷ ̷l̷̷i̷̷k̷̷e̷ ̷t̷̷h̷̷a̷̷t̷. "

... but she can't make it out.

inexplicably, her eyes snap open and drift by degrees to find spike lying there, watching her. she becomes frozen, frantically trying to piece reality from her dreams to make sense of what she was seeing. it's the antiseptic smell that both draws clarity to her and makes her want to hurl ( she hasn't thought of food since they arrived at the hospital but she's starving ). when she inhales, it's shaky, and her gaze is a startling green against the reddened sclera of her eyes which are round and glossy with what could be unsolicited tears prickling her. now they're watching each other, the whirs and beeps of the machines filling in for the silence that's overcome them. her brows knit so tightly together that it forms a crease, and she frowns. ]

Spike... [ her voice is small and brittle, uncharacteristic to her usual shrill, breaking with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. a small part of her worries that he won't answer when she asks him, ] ... you're really awake?

[ there's a moment of disbelief when he thinks she might not wake up. that she might just stay curled up and snoring in the hospital chair. it would be on brand for her really, not that he's paid any mind. when her eyes open, a blurry sort of emerald in the fog of his own vision, he's absolutely certain he smells gunpowder again.

memory will be the death of him. ]

If I'm not then I'm gonna need to talk to the doctor - should figure out what good shit they have me on so we can haggle it later.

[ his voice runs ragged, filled with the gravel of fatigue, injury, and dry air. he still can't put one piece together in front of another - the puzzle itself is a little unclear - but he sighs and turns his head back to the ceiling, frowning at how bright everything feels. ]

Are you really awake?

[ there's something low, almost playfully wry the way he says it. he shouldn't joke about dreams, about the past or future. now now. not with her - did her eyes always look so sad? ]

If not, I think we're both having some psychedelic nightmare.

[ everything hurts, everything is hazy and there's nothing about this situation that will ever be normal again. he turned his back on the bebop to find answers to a life he knew he could never truly uncover. vicious, julia, the syndicate - a myriad of decisions he made and ones that will live in his bones for the rest of his life. just like the pretty woman with the sad eyes, pointing a gun at his face.

would it have been better if he flinched? if he turned around and told her the answer to her question, even if he didn't know the answer himself? but here he is - laid out in a hospital bed and helpless, with the tired and worried face of faye valentine with a voice small enough to slide right under the first layer of his skin and settle there.

damn it.

she's been there longer than that, and he knows it. ]

So you really want me to answer that question? Pretty sure I broke a rib or two.

Edited (lol i dropped my laptop and grabbed it by the track pad.) 2024-05-15 03:03 (UTC)

[ at least, had he flinched, it would've signaled her to fight harder. the refusal was hers; she doesn't accept his reason for leaving. doesn't accept his death. the unraveling of her home that comes with that. the gravity of which smothers her even still right here in this cold hospital room. a lapse in eye contact and she feels a tear race down her cheek. she wipes away any sign of it with a quiet sniff and wills herself to calm down. breathe.

moving her body helps: her legs unfurl and she stretches a little before pushing herself up from out of the chair. she welcomes the ache in her legs as she walks over to the side table where she's grabbing the handle of a plastic jug— ]

I think you should stop talking and have some water.

[ —and carefully pours into a small plastic cup. shut up you stupid idiot, are the words dancing behind her teeth, laced with the anger that now simmers beneath her grief. she doesn't want to risk the tremble in her voice. all the relief that comes with spike being alive and awake will play as a buffer until it swells out of control. and it will. eventually.

somehow it's easy for her to approach his bedside, cup in hand, and look down at him, at his eyes. hardly enough light to notice the difference in color—now that she knows that about him, she can't help but look for it. her expression is a mix of doleful and tired. she's without her headband so loose strands feather out freely as she peers down at him. she refrains from darting her gaze too much. ]

Think you can manage on your own? [ is he able to do a simple task like drink from a cup? if not, then: ] I can help.

You're just saying that to shut me up.

[ it's a dry croak, a sad attempt at amusement, because seeing the dark circles under her eyes does something painful in his chest. he went to fight vicious, to put an end to all of it in the end, and what? who really won, now? he looks up at faye, the collateral damage, and sighs as she pours the water.

but he begins the arduous task of sitting up, of trying not to think about the ache in his back, his side, his gut as he slides up to sit. broken bones, a few ribs definitely, maybe even a fractured elbow, some angry gun wounds in his chest. his head hurts - concussion. who knew a fall could be so terribly bad at the end of it all?

he should have died.

he knows that, now.

spike muscles his way through it with a grimace and a shuddering release of air. already it's exhausting, and sitting up feels like it was never meant for him by the way his body protests. ]

Gimme a sec.

[ catch his breath, one, and to ignore the look in her eyes. her hair is loose, headband gone, and although he knows by the look and shape of her that the woman is faye valentine, he can see himself reflected back in the green of her eyes. neither of them are who they were yesterday, and it shows in the haunting of their bones. ]

I think I can drink water on my own. Don't trust you not to drown me.

[ he reaches for the cup but his fingers quiver, and at first he sits it on his thigh, eyes falling to the ripples. for a moment he's sure he can see a rose in the rain, a flash of blond, the gritted teeth of a man turned assassin. the past. when he looks back up, the purple of her hair is there instead, and his fingers have wrapped around hers on the cup before he finally pulls away and drinks from it.

the present.

then: ]

How long have we been here? Couldn't keep track of time with all your snoring. You should really get that looked at while we're here.

[ she gives spike that second; waits to hand off the cup she cradles in her hands while watching him struggle to sit up. breath indrawn, urgency pressing into her spine trying to get her to move, to help him, but she remains static. everything in her too afraid to touch him, let alone assist him in drinking water. she would, if she really had to, but part of her is relieved that he wants to do it himself, ignoring how much it bothers her seeing him wade through so much pain just to ready himself, and the fact he might not want her help at all.

spike's smart mouth does wonders easing faye away from that empathy, however. behind those green eyes, she's imagining throwing the water at him and the cartoony YOW!! to follow after the cup flies out of her hand and bonks him on the head. a flittering exchange of touch pulls her from the daydream as spike takes hold of the cup, and she searches herself for the snark to match his own. ]

Fine then. Don't say I never tried to help.

[ actively trying to avoid a wall of emotion, faye backs off, though, physically, not too far—she scoots the chair closer to his bedside and takes a seat. sinks her bones into the cushions and runs a hand through her hair. tender and unkempt and unlike the faye valentine he knows. she still exists below the surface where her anger festers.

her shoulders roll in a halfhearted shrug at his question, barely registering his comment about her snoring. ]

Roughly 18 hours. Probably more. I've lost track. [ her head tilts back and she closes her eyes. ] You were in surgery a long time. The doctor came by a few hours ago to check in. Nurses say your vitals have remained steady, though sometimes your pulse and respiration rate would increase out of the blue. I'm guessing a bad dream.

[ she says it with a nonchalance that would suggest she knows about his reoccurring spell of bad dreams. lurking for too long when he was napping on the couch, always with some sense of regret, playing witness to whatever ghosts he was fighting. with a sigh, she wills herself to move, opening her eyes and lifting her head to look at him. ]

Want me to get the nurse?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

ɪɴᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ↯

@transgressed ( fang )

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cowboy bebop auing it up

yeehaw cowgirl

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the impatience with this one is strong lmao

fang is the Same

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@untohell ( acheron )

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if i had another chance to make you stay. @tigerstripe ( spike )

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