Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Lullaby for the Shattered Soul ❯ Ballad of the Siren ( Chapter 7 )

!!!!PLEASE READ!!!! A/N- Okay, here's the deal. I really, really dislike this fic, it's an old one that I believe no longer represents the level of literature I'm at, and thus will finish it for whoever wants to read it. HOWEVER, if I do not get word that people actually WANT the fic to stay up, I will delete it without second thought. If anyone wants to change my mind, feel free to do so. If not, look for my other stories, a few of which will be posted soon.

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~! ~!~!~!~!

Ballad of the Siren

~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~! ~!~!~!~!

The piano woman stood across from the cowboy in the hanger under the shadow of the Swordfish, watching him earnestly. Spike stared back, hands still thrust nonchalantly into his pockets as he regarded the woman with amusement.

"Here." Kirsche tossed him one of her guns, her face stoic. "I want to know. I want to know who really is the best in the business."

Spike caught the weapon deftly and turned it in his hand, feeling the warm steel where her small palm had been. "Huh?"

"They told me you were either the best bounty hunter in the galaxy, or the luckiest bastard alive. I want to know for myself."

The lanky man gave her a lofty smirk before replying, never one to back down from a challenge. He remembered her prowess back on Callisto, and suddenly felt himself craving another taste of it. This should be fun. "Is that so?"

"Damn strait," the mulberry woman returned the smirk, her playfulness returning though her familiar eyes remained cold. "Don't be afraid. Hit me with everything you've got, no holding back."

She paused, and then added as an afterthought, "I'm not her."

Spike tried to mask his surprise and horror with a look of confusion, but the mulberry woman caught the fleeting emotions with ease.

"I'm not Julia."

The words snapped through him bitterly.

"H-how. . ." Spike started, his mind railing. How the hell did she know Julia? His Julia? Words caught in his throat as he started, it had been so long since anyone had spoken the name aloud. Jet, Faye, even Edward had taken pains not to speak of her. It echoed harshly through the hanger and showered down on him again and again. Julia, Julia, Julia.

"Isn't it amazing what plastic surgery can do to a girl? Don't look so surprised. I know everything, Spike Spiegel," Kirsche chuckled, placing a hand on the curve of her hip and grinning triumphantly. "Everything about you, about Faye Valentine's missing past, about Jet Black's little ISSP career, even about eccentric Ed's days as Radical Edward. You four have a lot of skeletons in your closets, but I know them all."

Spike suppressed a growl. He saw her now, the mulberry woman, and this woman was not his Julia. She was nothing like her, not at all. The pianist was walking on eggshells and she knew it. She was taking it upon herself to taunt him with it, smirking his supercilious smirk and throwing it in his face as if it were nothing.

`Stay cool!' he ordered himself. `Don't loose your head.' Instead he smirked, forcing a humorless laugh. "Care to join those skeletons? Because they're dead to me. All of them."

The mulberry woman instantly grew cold. Her lips curled into a snarl as she spoke, the cigarette she had been smoking falling to the floor and quickly forgotten. With one fluid movement she emptied her gun, letting the bullets clatter aimlessly to the floor until there were only three left in the revolver. "Three strikes; three bullets, take one and you loose. Got it?"

Spike emptied his gun in the same fashion and adopted a fighter's stance, the old sass back in his voice. "Ladies first."

With that, Kirsche launched herself at him, fainting to the right before aiming a well-placed kick to his stomach with her right foot. Any other man would have lost his breath to the force of the heavy boot against his gut, but Spike merely allowed his wiry muscles to absorb the impact, neither falling nor faltering. He had her now.

Kirsche looked up at him in surprise just in time to catch the deadly smile he passed her way before he sent her a left hook. His fist connected squarely with her jaw, sending her rolling out of his reach.

The mulberry woman tumbled into a crouch with an almost feline agility, painfully rotating her jaw until it popped back into place. She grinned to herself, knowing that he had reined much of his strength before he hit her. "Not bad, cowboy. But you're going to have to do better than that."

She sprung at him again, tensing her sinewy muscles and aiming a round house at his head. Spike ducked under her leg and sent the heel of his hand towards her nose. Kirsche dodged right and his hand past by harmlessly, cushioned by mulberry curls. Their bodies aligned simultaneously as their intense fighting continued, matching each other move for move.

She felt, more than saw his attacks coming, and dodged, her fist flying in the direction of his solar plexus. He blocked it easily, grabbing her wrist and twisting it.

"Dead or alive, it's your choice."

The mulberry woman took the opportunity to sweep his legs out from under him with her own. She jumped back as soon as she felt his grip on her wrist lighten, crouched and gun poised with a sly grin on her face. Her words were harsh whispers, clipped with breathy precision as she fought to keep her breathing schooled. "Catch me if you can."

Spike bounced back from the ground before she could make another move, leaving her mind reeling for a new attack. With a growl, Kirsche came at Spike with new aggression. Being fluid and relaxed, he found her attack pretty easy to see through and sidestepped her effortlessly.

Seeing an opening, Kirsche fired one of her three rounds. Spike drew back, narrowly evading the bullet. It sliced his cheek just below his eye and sped onwards to embed itself into the wing of the Swordfish. `Damn!' Spike growled, blood coursing down his cheek like a red tear. `She's fast. . .'

"Strike one," the mulberry woman remarked airily, almost pleased that her shot had missed. This was going to be more of a challenge than she had expected. Good.

Spike growled under his breath. She was making things difficult, what a typical woman. He was much larger than her, and probably stronger, but her cunning and speed kept her one step ahead. It was like running up an escalator moving down. He wiped away the blood with the back of his hand, watching her fixedly.

With a grunt he charged, hoping to take her by surprise so that he could get a clear shot. She dodged nimbly, but he took the shot anyways. The bullet passed by harmlessly, ricocheting off the floor.

Kirsche ran to duck behind the vacant Red Tail, Faye's ship, using the beaten up vessel as cover while she fired another round. This time Spike was ready, and he had taken refuge behind his beloved Swordfish, allowing it to take the bullet instead of him. The mulberry woman snarled. Strike two.

Meanwhile, Faye, Jet, and Edward huddled together in the common room, listening tensely to the gunshots that rang through the dead silence onboard the ship. Edward had used her hacking skills to gain the control of one of the surveillance cameras in the hanger; Jet hovered over her shoulder as she pounded mercilessly on Tomato.

The fight was intense, both equally skilled and too headstrong to back down. Faye stared aimlessly out into the endless void of space out the wall of windows, watching it as the Bebop slowly coursed on its way despite the gunshots that echoed dryly throughout its corridors. Spike had to do this. Kirsche was a face from his past. Faye knew this.

Though painful, she knew that he had to confront the mulberry woman before her face haunted him, eventually leading him to his demise. She was like a specter that had become flesh and blood before their very eyes, like an angel from Hell or an angelic devil. Maybe both.

Emerging from her cover, Kirsche followed Spike as the cowboy continued to run, following him blindly to the back of the hanger. Without warning he halted and whirled on her, his foot catching her in the stomach and sending her to the ground. She looked up at him under a mulberry haze, her sterling blue eyes partially hidden from view by her tousled hair. He was still holding back.

Spike raised his gun and fired, but the mulberry woman rolled out of harm's way, leaving the bullet to scorch the floor where she had been only moments before. They were down to a bullet each; Kirsche raised her head to meet his eyes and a wave of understanding passed between them.

For a moment he thought he saw a reminiscent of Julia flicker across her constricted face, but it quickly passed as she rose from the ground and stared at him blankly. Spike returned the stare, his emotionless cinnamon eyes caressing her face and boring deep into her soul. They would settle this now, one of them would fall. No more withholding.

Two shots rang out in unison, reverberating throughout the hanger in an endless reprise and shattering the tension mounting in the air. It was over, and everyone knew it was thus. For a moment, neither person stirred; their breaths held tight to their lungs in an effort to keep time from pushing them forward to an inevitable loss. Their guns trembled at arm's length, lighter in so many ways now that they'd been emptied.

*~In the silence following the shots, Spike's mind began to drift over the face of the mysterious mercenary who's face was identical to his love's. She had known all along. He should have been able to see it.

After having mercilessly beaten him for freezing her out of her shower, Kirsche had hastily donned his borrowed shirt and went out to the hanger for a smoke to calm her nerves. In fact, when he had caught up with her, they were standing just over there, a few feet from where he was standing now.

He remembered how the blue smoke curled lazily from her lips as she released a breathy sigh, oblivious to his presence until he sauntered over and lit a cigarette off her own.

"Y' didn't have to come out here to smoke. You could have stayed inside," he had told her while taking a long drag from his cigarette.

He saw her nod to herself before replying, her sterling blue eyes scanning the sky vacantly. "Yeah, I figured as much. But after living with a non-smoker so long you just… get used to headin' out for a smoke… It becomes sort of a comfortable routine, and if you just keep it up for a little bit that familiarity will wear away all the anxiety."

Spike had nodded in agreement, though he really couldn't relate to what she had said. He let his gaze follow hers to the stars and back, coming to rest on those glassy eyes so filled with sorrow, like her voice when she sang. They broke his heart a thousand times over, just the sight of them, and when she turned to meet his gaze he thought as if his heart would shatter. They had the stars in them, as did her lips, as if she had traveled to the sky and kept the stardust for herself.

"You look at me funny," she had commented, pressing the cigarette to her lips and inhaling deeply. "Like I'm someone special. Do I resemble an old flame, maybe?"

His face must have shown his surprise at her awareness, but also his amusement. Smart, strong and beautiful; a deadly combination. "Yeah, kind of. She had your eyes. . ." He had been lying. Her face was not her own. It was Julia's. "You ever had someone out there? A lover that broke your heart? Ah, of course you did. It's all over your face."

She gave a humorless laugh at that, and had curled her lips into sort of a half smile as she stared out absently. "Hmph. He was a heart-trap to begin with. Handsome, dreamy smile, smart, musical, sweet, considerate, nice body. . ."

Spike had interrupted her by clearing his throat, extracting a small but genuine laugh from the mulberry woman. He decided that he liked her laugh. She continued, her voice lighter than before. "Yeah, anyways, it was like we were made for each other. I was crazy for him. A regular lovesick puppy. But he had his heart somewhere else; he said and did stupid things. . ."

Her voice trailed off and she turned away, her face stoic. Spike blinked, watching her for a moment and trying to find something to say that didn't sound like a cheesy quote from a sappy romance novel. "Sometimes people do stupid things `cause they think they got to do something, just do anything sometimes."

"Sometimes people do stupid things `cause they're stupid."

Spike had chuckled at that, dropping the smoldering remains of his cigarette on the floor and snuffing it out with the toe of his shoe.

"It doesn't matter anymore. He's been dead for a while now. Ah well, that's life. We all have our sob stories, don't we? Something holding us to a memory." Kirsche didn't look at him again for the rest of the night, but her words suddenly sounded in his memory.

"We're a lot alike, you n' me. One day, cowboy, we'll taper down to a single note and finish this blasted song. I'm sure of it." And with that she turned and headed back into the Bebop. ~*

With a grunt, the mulberry woman fell, breaking the moment frozen in time and allowing Spike's lungs to release the breath that he'd been holding. Her shot had missed. His hadn't.

Kirsche clutched the growing red stain on her borrowed shirt, curling into a ball and trying to keep her innards from pouring out. Luxurious mulberry curls spread out around her like a pink halo and her face once again became as pale as porcelain. Spike lowered his arm to his side, letting the gun slide from his numb fingers and drop to the floor with a dull clatter.

Julia.

Julia's image was slowly melting from her face, making Spike wonder if he had merely dreamed she looked like her. The mulberry woman painfully smiled up at him, her bloodied fingers gripping the hole in her stomach.

Her eyes no longer cold and her face no longer stony, it was as if she was once again the woman he had met on Callisto instead of the impassive creature that had been after his blood moments earlier.

He walked over in a slow procession, trying hard to avert his gaze from her bleeding abdomen. Instead, he focused his eyes on her face, which continued its agonizing smile. Her mouth moved; a pained whisper lost in the low hum of the Bebop. Spike crouched down next to the mulberry woman, reaching out to move her bangs out of her face and straining his ears to hear her hushed voice.

"S-strike three," she murmured, eyes closing sleepily. Her breathing was uneven and shallow, what was going on? She looked so tired, her eyes adapting a jaded glaze. She hadn't been that sluggish before. He tried to move her to her back, but she cried out when his hand touched her injured shoulder. It was still bleeding.

"Damnit! What's wrong with you? Jet stitched it up!" Spike's voice was growing frantic as he tried to pull the shirt down over her shoulder to look at the old wound. "Jesus, woman, stay with me! Don't die yet, you hear? I'll go get help. . ."

The mulberry woman shook head gently, silencing him.

"More secrets, secrets, secrets." She was starting to sound like Edward. Spike tensed as one of her hands unclamped itself from her stomach and rose to her breast pocket. Mistrust. Fear. His muscles wound like springs; he was like a wild animal unsure of whether to pounce or flee.

But the mulberry woman only flashed him a brilliant smile, reaching into the pocket and pulling forth a slightly crinkled cigarette box. He took it from her and shook it in his hands, feeling the weight of a few cigarettes still left inside. The edges of the pack were stained with bloody fingerprints, and a flicker of guilt wrote itself across his stoic face.

"You didn't hold back. Good for you. I'm free of it all, Spike, I found the coda at last. . ." her voice was distant as she peered up at him through hooded eyes. "Now I know. Thank you."

Her eyes flashed to his for a moment, those pretty sky-colored eyes glazing over again. This time, he saw Kirsche. Her face. Her eyes. Her smile. And no one else's. It was strange, like seeing her for the first time, seeing her without Julia's memory behind every action, without Julia's face shadowing her own. And he saw. She was beautiful. Those eyes were so sad, filled with something he couldn't quite describe. A mixture of pain and bleak contentment, swirling together in the depths of sterling blue.

Then the crystal orbs fluttered close and her breathing became even again. Her elegant face relaxed and she lay in peaceful stillness, a blood-soaked hand lying near her face with spindly crimson fingers curled gracefully towards her cheek.