Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Simple Man ❯ Against the Wind ( Chapter 3 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Faia Saiyajin 
Anime/Manga: Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Martial Arts / Adventure / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 11.12.2002 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.7K | Visits: 248 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Martial Arts / Adventure / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 11.12.2002 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.7K | Visits: 248 | Status: Completed
title: Against the Wind
author: Faia Saiyajin
rating: R
series: Cowboy Bebop
song: "Against the Wind" Bob Seger
-methinks you know what's supposed to go here.
NOTE: "Against the Wind", to me, is the ultimate song, concerning Cowboy Bebop. Well... mostly for Jet. It fits Spike damned well too, of course. Just read the lyrics, and tell me if this song doesn't get ya thinkin' of Jet. X3
---------------
"Seems like yesterday
But it was long ago
Janey was lovely,
She was the queen of my nights
There in the darkness
With the radio playin' low
The secrets that we shared
Mountains that we moved
Caught like a wildfire out of control
Until there was nothing left to burn
Nothing left to prove"
Angelina struggled fruitlessly in the corner, her hands bound behind her back. She was unable to cry for help, gagged by a handkerchief tied around her mouth. Her ankles were tied as well. Her eyes were full of tears.
Jet Black wasn't in the same dire predicament, thankfully. Actually, it was worse.
He was only tied at the wrists, but there was enough incentive for him not to move. Perhaps it was the cold muzzle of a gun, pressed to his forehead.
Both of them were behind the bar, Angel in the right-hand corner, Jet in the left. Quince stood against the wall, sipping daintly from a glass of Wild Turkey. Jet's head was bent slightly, but his eyes were shooting a vengeful glare at Quince and his men.
"What luck. Not only do I manage to capture my beloved Aunt, but I also find the biggest bounty head in the galaxy." Quince chuckled. Jet's eyes went wide in surprise.
"What?!" Even though his words were angry and alarmed, he didn't move an inch. "Bounty head? What are you? Nuts?!"
Quince set his glass down on the shelf, and walked, with a spring in his step, to Jet. The thug that was guarding him growled and dug the gun deeper into his skin. Jet clamped his mouth shut.
"Yes, Mr. Black. You have got yourself a 300 Million woolong bounty on your shiny head."
Jet didn't say a word.
"Well, just between you and me..." The hardness of the steel against his flesh was lifted, as Quince took the gun. He put it to Jet's chin, and lifted his head to look in his eyes. "You're lucky I found you first. Rumor has it that Jet Black doesn't like to follow orders. And that would have gotten you killed on the spot." He had taken the fedora off, his blonde hair slicked from his face, a helmet-like mass, gleaming with oil. His handsome, clean-cut face was full of jovial, sadistic glee.
Jet's lips twitched, as he did all he could to keep his mouth shut. Instead, his teeth flashed in a momentary snarl. His hands, tied at his back, clenched into tight fists.
Quince Lee Tarone Jr. enjoyed Jet's reaction. "You've got amazing self-control, sir. Any other man would have gotten their head blown off by now, I'm sure."
The Black Dog strove to keep a civil tone. "Why... was the bounty issued? Who wants me killed?"
Quince used the gun to tilt Jet's head back until his neck was fully exposed. He then looked Jet in the eye. "My boss and the other heads of the Rising Pheonix want to see you. So they put a bounty out on you. Easiest way to track down a scumbag. Send a hoard of other scumbags out on his trail."
Jet snarled. He had figured it would be syndicate-related. The wheels of his mind were turning at a frantic pace, trying to figure a way out of this. And what did the Rising Pheonix want with him? And with Angel and her bar? "What's your payoff on this, man?" His Adam's apple rolled as he swallowed hard. *Keep calm, Jet. Act funny and you get your brains laid out on the bar.*
"Me? A raise in pay and a promotion is enough." Quince flashed an icy smile. Jet would have spit in his face, had he the desire to die. "The Rising Pheonix wants this bar for their own reasons. What they are, I don't care. The bitch of it was that my dear Angelic Aunt didn't want to turn it over without a struggle. Ah well. The end is the same. This shithole belongs to the Rising Pheonix, and you get turned over to the officials. Two birds with one stone, as they say."
Angelina had stopped struggling. The bandana that prevented her speech was nearly soaked with the tears that ran down her cheeks. Jet watched her out of the corner of his eye. *Don't do anything foolish, Angel. I'd never forgive myself if you get hurt.* "...What are you going to do with Angelina?" he asked aloud.
"Hmm... she'll either wind up in the holding cells at the headquarters, or just ...dead." he was almost cheerful in his delivery of Angelina's sentence.
Jet's eyes went wide.
"Ah well. Enough chitchat. You have an appointment to keep." He stood up, removing the gun from Jet's chin. He looked over his shoulder at his cronies. "Put her in the transport. She'll be no trouble, the old bat." The two men nodded, and lifted Angel, one at her shoulders, the other at her feet. She offered no resistance.
Jet watched helplessly as she was carried out the back door. "You bastard... You foul rotten BASTARD!" He roared, tearing violently at his bonds, the rope pinching his wrist. Quince's mouth pressed into a thin line. His arm lashed out, the butt of the gun meeting with Jet's temple. His head jerked violently, the opposite side thudding against the hard wood of the bar. The smiling image of Quince blurred, and vanished, as Jet's world sank into blackness.
"And I remember what she said to me
How she swore that it never would end
I remember how she held me
Oh so tight
Wish I didn't know now
What I didn't know then"
The Bebop sped along silently, approaching the Gate that would take them to Ganymede. Inside, Spike Spiegel watched the stars go by, in the same place Jet had been standing when he'd made the decision to leave. There was a small cloud of smoke around him, the cigarette between his lips burning down to the filter.
"Jet, man... what did you do to get a whole goddamned syndicate after you?"
"He has something they want. Probably information." came Faye's heavy whisper from behind him. Her heeled boots clicked as she stepped forward. She and Spike locked eyes, using their faint reflections in the window.
"Probably." Spike spit his cigarette out, orange sparks flying, cold ash before they hit the floor. He could already hear Jet reprimanding him for the ordeal. 'Ashtray, Spike-O. That's what they were invented for.' Spike smiled bitterly, his eyes sad.
"Men..." Faye sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears.
"Juvenile. I know." Spike grinned a little.
"He'll be okay, right Spike?" Faye murmured, clasping her hands behind her back.
Spike's arm wound around her shoulders, in an unconcious display of comfort. "Yeah." Spike's smile widened a little. "Jet'll take care of it, 'n next thing you know, it'll be back to normal."
"Normal..." Faye whispered. She found herself drawing closer to Spike's warmth, resting her head on his shoulder. "Normal. It sounds so funny. But you're right. To us, this is normal."
"Yep." Spike grunted, and lit another cigarette, his arm tightening around Faye.
"Against the wind
We were runnin' against the wind
We were young and strong
And we were runnin' against the wind"
'Jet, hon, wake up.' A woman's voice called softly. 'Wake up or you'll be late for work.'
"A-Alisa?" Jet's words were groggy, as he used all his strength to open his eyes. The room was dark, the only light source was a small lamp above his head. It was strong enough to barely light his body. "Where are you...?" He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the offending light. His mind was swimming, his body aching in various places. Mostly in his head.
He turned his hand over, the dull metal of his arm glinting in the light. That's when he realized what was going on. There was no Alisa. "Oh damn." he grunted. He was laying in the far right corner of the room, and he pushed himself to a sitting position, slowly. He felt like he was going to puke.
He was in a room, somewhere in the main building of the Rising Pheonix. He'd been pistol-whipped, knocked unconcious. Jet lifted his hand, touching the center of the throbbing pain in his head. His temple was encrusted in a gooey layer of blood, the stuff that had run down his face already stiff and dry. The small wound hadn't scabbed yet, and every movement of his face made the injury bleed a little more. "Damnit all to hell."
Resting the back of his head against the wall, Jet went limp, blinking slowly. His eyes closed, as he took several deep breaths. His chest burned a little from where he'd tried to rip free of the ropes that had secured him. Then there was the hangover. It was only slight, a dull ache in the background, but it was enough to make him woozy.
The sound of the door being unlocked made his head jerk up. It opened slightly, throwing a thin spear of bright light over his face, making him squint.
"Oh. You're awake, Mr. Black." A woman entered the room, dressed in a pristine black suit. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a French twist, strands of hair framing her youthful face.
"No thanks to you people." he managed to grunt, rubbing his eyes.
She came closer, a tray in her hands. On the tray was a glass of water, and a small packet. "Please, Mr. Black. Don't cause a scene." She looked over her shoulder, at the burly man in the doorway. "We don't need you to act foolish."
"Whatever you say." Jet watched her carefully, as she knelt beside him.
"Here." she smiled a little, setting the tray on the floor. "You must be in pain." She held out what seemed to be painkillers, in sterile packaging.
"Hmph." he snorted. "Poison? A drug?" He looked the parcel over suspiciously.
"Not hardly, sir." she said with another pretty smile. "You are an important guest of the Rising Pheonix. Why would we do such a thing to you?"
"Guest, eh?" he scowled. "Hate to see what you do to your prisoners." His body hurt enough for him to trust her words, as he tore open the foil material, dumping the three pills onto his palm. He tossed them into his mouth, and took the water from the woman, drinking the entire glass. "Thanks..." he said with a sidelong glance.
"My pleasure, Mr. Black."
"Jet." He said drily. Having such a young woman call him 'Mr.' made him feel ancient. Besides, he was a prisoner. *Spare me the formalities and cut to the chase, lady.* he snapped mentally.
"As you wish, Jet. You may call me Elenie."
"Sure. Why am I here?"
The woman sat on her haunches, setting the empty package and glass on the tray. "You have something that we want. You will know more at a later time." she stood, and turned, leaving slowly. "Get some rest, Jet." Elenie paused at the door, pulling it halfway shut. "You'll need your strength."
The door closed, leaving Jet in darkness.
"Wait, Spike!"
"I can't. Every second I wait, the closer Jet comes to getting nabbed by the syndicate. It's a risk I can't take." Spike tried not to scream. He gave one last tug on his gloves, prepared to leave the Bebop in his Swordfish. Testing the controls, he waited for the magnetic deck to disengage. Behind him, in a canvas bookbag, lay an assortment of grenades and ammunition. To save Jet, Spike was breaking out the big guns.
"But you don't even know what they want with him! How can you just leave?" Faye pleaded with him over the communicator.
"How can I leave? ...like this." Spike's face was humorless, as the timer rang, and the hatch opened. The racer known as the Swordfish II took off into space, destined for the surface of Ganymede. Twenty minutes earlier, Edward had pinpointed the location of the Hammerhead. Five minutes later, Spike placed a call into Bob, to discover the address of the Rising Pheonix' headquarters. If Jet wasn't in the vicinity of his craft, then it was safe to assume he'd already been taken. Faye screamed after him, but Spike paid no attention.
"That asshole. Complete and total asshole." Miss Valentine huffed, sitting on the couch. She crossed one leg over the other, her arms open, resting on the back of the sofa. "What in the HELL do I see in him?!?" she growled, watching as Edward plodded around the room. "Ed, stop pacing. You're making me nervous."
"Edward cannot. Edward thinks best when she is walking."
"Thinking about what?"
"Why Papa Jet is in trouble."
Faye's eyebrow twitched violently for a moment, but she decided to humor the child. "Oh?"
"Yes. Bad people who want Papa Jet want this." Edward fished a piece of green plastic-like material from the back pocket of her spandex shorts. "But Edward doesn't know what this is."
Faye sprung up off the couch, plucking the object from Edward's hands. It was a chip, or something electronical. About 7 inches long, 3 wide. One side was a complex network of electrical junk that Faye didn't bother to try and comprehend. "Where did you get this?!"
"From the analyzing gadget-wadget over deeeerrrrrrrre." Ed pointed.
Faye didn't move. She was too busy trying to remember the events of last week. Specifically, where Jet had been, and where he could have acquired such a thing. She remembered something about some low-rank bounty, in a resteraunt. But where would he get a chip?
Edward stared, blinking, at the backside of the device, as Faye held it between her manicured nails. "Dom Perignon."
Faye didn't even acknowledge it as a sentence. Just more of Ed's dribble.
"One bottle. Nintey-five thouuuuusand woo-wongs." Ed continued. Ein perked his head up. He looked once at the thing in Faye's hands, and barked several times. Faye blinked.
"What?"
"Lookie." Edward touched the tip of her finger to the circuit. Faye turned it over. She hadn't even checked out the flipside of it yet.
"I'll be damned." There, printed on the smooth side of the plastic, was a bunch of faded writing. A wine list. The letters were peeled and chipped, like the lamanating coating had been peeled off. Faye snapped her fingers. That covers the resteraunt. But how'd he get it? Faye smiled a little. Knowing Jet, it probably just fell into his lap. This ...whatever it was... was what the syndicate wanted from him. And bringing this to them meant Jet wouldn't get hurt.
Edward stared blankly at her. "Does Faye-Faye have a plan?"
"Yes she does." Faye smiled slowly. "Ed, I want you to stay here. By your computer. I'll contact you when I need you. Got it, Ed?"
"Yessssss May'am!!"
Faye turned, and ran to the dock as fast as she could. Tucking the switchboard safely into her top, she climbed into the Redtail, and was following Spike's path in moments. She grit her teeth, leaning into the controls. "Testosterone driven idiot. The both of you."
"The years rolled slowly past
And I found myself alone
Surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends
I found myself further and further from my home
I guess I lost my way
There were oh-so-many roads
I was livin' to run
And runnin' to live
Never worried about paying
Or even how much I owed"
Touchdown on Ganymede. The transparent circular hatch opened, and Spike climbed out, standing on the nose of the Swordfish. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, as he hopped nimbly off his starcraft.
The Hammerhead was at the end of the row he'd parked the Swordfish in. They were in a parking garage, which lay two blocks away from Gumble Channel. He strolled idly to the street-level exit, pausing at the attendant in the control booth.
"You've got permission for three hours docking, Mr. Spiegel." The teen said, sitting in the middle of a three-sided plexiglass viewing window. A small ticket popped from the slot below the window pane. Spike plucked it from the opening with the index and middle fingers of his left hand.
"Gotcha." He shoved the ticket uncerimoniously into the left back pocket of his slacks, and continued out into the open air. "Now the real fun begins..." he grumbled, watching as an old man on a byciycle peddled by. Spike checked his watch. Jet had been missing for close to 8 hours. "Gaaahhh!! Jet! You're as possible to find as a needle in a stack of needles."
A young lady, walking by him with an armful of grocieries, stopped and looked at him curiously. "Jet who?"
Spike blinked. What luck. "Jet Black."
The woman pushed a strand of her black hair from her face. "Are you a friend of his?"
"Yeah. You know where I can find him?"
"Hmm..."
"He came here on vacation. But I need to see him. It's important." Spike said, lighting a cigarette. He growled a swear when he realized it was the last one in his pack. And that he'd forgotten to bring another.
"Ah. I see." The woman smiled prettily, but there was a hint of remorse in her eyes. "If he's on a holiday, he's probably at The Waterfront."
"Eh?" Spike scratched his head, confused for a moment.
"The Waterfront Bar. About two blocks up," She pointed north, in the direction of which she was standing. "and across the Channel. You'll see it when you get there."
Spike eyed the woman. "How do you know?"
She shifted the groceries in her arms, sighing. "I'm Alisa."
Spike almost dropped his cigarette. So *THIS* was the woman Jet was so torn up over!! "Ah. I see. Nice to meet you. I'm Spike. His partner." Spike finished the pleasantries in a hurry.
Alisa smiled. "Give him my best when you see him, would you please?" She loooked into her parcel, saddened.
Spike managed a smile. "I will. Take care." He added hastily, before taking off full tilt towards the Bar. Alisa continued on her way, to continue on with her own life's problems.
The bag he was carrying thudded and jolted across his back, as he stretched out his spindly legs as far as they could. People stopped in their journeyings to look at him quizzically. Why was the young man running at such a breakneck pace, and on such a beautiful day?
"Moving eight miles a minute for months at a time
Breaking all of the rules that would bend
I began to find myself searching
Searching for shelter again and again
Against the wind
A little something against the wind
I found myself seeking shelter sgainst the wind"
He nearly fell headfirst into the Channel, balanced precariously on its edge. He'd been running he hadn't seen the water come up until it was almost too late. He teetered for a moment, windmilling his arms. "DAMNIT." He spat, throwing himself backwards, to the saftey of more solid ground. The Waterfront Bar, advertised in a blue script, was three buildings down from where Spike was standing. He ran east, pushing past the crush of people trying to cross at the nearest bridge.
"Move it! Come on! Man on a mission! Make a hole, make it wide!!" He called, winding his way through the 9 to 5-ers, who crowded the walkways, making his job harder. He had finally reached the other side of the bridge. Spike withdrew his gun, keeping it somewhat concealed from the bystanders.
He crept close to the buildings, until the Waterfront were directly off to his left. There was an alley leading to the backs of the buildings. Spike took it, keeping his back pressed to the Waterfront's neighboring buisiness. There was a door, located behind a blue dumpster. Spike darted across the narrow alley, until he was on the right side of the door. His gun held at the ready, Spike twisted the handle, and threw it open.
He waited for gunfire from syndicate goons. None came. Leading with his gun, he entered the back room, the exit to the kitchen. The immaculate stainless steel cabinets lining the back wall served as a mirror, and Spike could see the men in the front of the Bar. Lots of men.
Men in black suits, each with an arm band on their right bicep. Spike couldn't see the insignia clearly, but it was safe to say that these were the members of the Rising Pheonix. As for Jet... Spike couldn't see him yet.
The thugs in the front of the store were packing things up, hastily. Tables and chairs were stacked up, bottles and glasses being tossed into boxes. Spike's eyes narrowed. What were they after. Just then, the door, still open, and to his left shut slowly.
Spike leveled his gun with the closing door. Someone was behind it, and Spike was prepared to fire. The door closed with a click, revealing the person behind.
Flashback. He was lying in the rain, after he had killed Vicious. There was that young man, his brown hair dusty with soot, face smeared with blood. A low, harsh whisper. "Spike-senpai! Hold on!"
It was him. Spike's mouth dropped open.
"SHIN?!?!"
"Well those drifter's days are past me now
I've got so much more to think about
Deadlines and commitments
What to leave in, what to leave out
Against the wind
I'm still runnin' against the wind
I'm older now but still runnin' against the wind
Well I'm older now and still runnin'
Against the wind"
--And So the Past Returns...
author: Faia Saiyajin
rating: R
series: Cowboy Bebop
song: "Against the Wind" Bob Seger
-methinks you know what's supposed to go here.
NOTE: "Against the Wind", to me, is the ultimate song, concerning Cowboy Bebop. Well... mostly for Jet. It fits Spike damned well too, of course. Just read the lyrics, and tell me if this song doesn't get ya thinkin' of Jet. X3
---------------
"Seems like yesterday
But it was long ago
Janey was lovely,
She was the queen of my nights
There in the darkness
With the radio playin' low
The secrets that we shared
Mountains that we moved
Caught like a wildfire out of control
Until there was nothing left to burn
Nothing left to prove"
Angelina struggled fruitlessly in the corner, her hands bound behind her back. She was unable to cry for help, gagged by a handkerchief tied around her mouth. Her ankles were tied as well. Her eyes were full of tears.
Jet Black wasn't in the same dire predicament, thankfully. Actually, it was worse.
He was only tied at the wrists, but there was enough incentive for him not to move. Perhaps it was the cold muzzle of a gun, pressed to his forehead.
Both of them were behind the bar, Angel in the right-hand corner, Jet in the left. Quince stood against the wall, sipping daintly from a glass of Wild Turkey. Jet's head was bent slightly, but his eyes were shooting a vengeful glare at Quince and his men.
"What luck. Not only do I manage to capture my beloved Aunt, but I also find the biggest bounty head in the galaxy." Quince chuckled. Jet's eyes went wide in surprise.
"What?!" Even though his words were angry and alarmed, he didn't move an inch. "Bounty head? What are you? Nuts?!"
Quince set his glass down on the shelf, and walked, with a spring in his step, to Jet. The thug that was guarding him growled and dug the gun deeper into his skin. Jet clamped his mouth shut.
"Yes, Mr. Black. You have got yourself a 300 Million woolong bounty on your shiny head."
Jet didn't say a word.
"Well, just between you and me..." The hardness of the steel against his flesh was lifted, as Quince took the gun. He put it to Jet's chin, and lifted his head to look in his eyes. "You're lucky I found you first. Rumor has it that Jet Black doesn't like to follow orders. And that would have gotten you killed on the spot." He had taken the fedora off, his blonde hair slicked from his face, a helmet-like mass, gleaming with oil. His handsome, clean-cut face was full of jovial, sadistic glee.
Jet's lips twitched, as he did all he could to keep his mouth shut. Instead, his teeth flashed in a momentary snarl. His hands, tied at his back, clenched into tight fists.
Quince Lee Tarone Jr. enjoyed Jet's reaction. "You've got amazing self-control, sir. Any other man would have gotten their head blown off by now, I'm sure."
The Black Dog strove to keep a civil tone. "Why... was the bounty issued? Who wants me killed?"
Quince used the gun to tilt Jet's head back until his neck was fully exposed. He then looked Jet in the eye. "My boss and the other heads of the Rising Pheonix want to see you. So they put a bounty out on you. Easiest way to track down a scumbag. Send a hoard of other scumbags out on his trail."
Jet snarled. He had figured it would be syndicate-related. The wheels of his mind were turning at a frantic pace, trying to figure a way out of this. And what did the Rising Pheonix want with him? And with Angel and her bar? "What's your payoff on this, man?" His Adam's apple rolled as he swallowed hard. *Keep calm, Jet. Act funny and you get your brains laid out on the bar.*
"Me? A raise in pay and a promotion is enough." Quince flashed an icy smile. Jet would have spit in his face, had he the desire to die. "The Rising Pheonix wants this bar for their own reasons. What they are, I don't care. The bitch of it was that my dear Angelic Aunt didn't want to turn it over without a struggle. Ah well. The end is the same. This shithole belongs to the Rising Pheonix, and you get turned over to the officials. Two birds with one stone, as they say."
Angelina had stopped struggling. The bandana that prevented her speech was nearly soaked with the tears that ran down her cheeks. Jet watched her out of the corner of his eye. *Don't do anything foolish, Angel. I'd never forgive myself if you get hurt.* "...What are you going to do with Angelina?" he asked aloud.
"Hmm... she'll either wind up in the holding cells at the headquarters, or just ...dead." he was almost cheerful in his delivery of Angelina's sentence.
Jet's eyes went wide.
"Ah well. Enough chitchat. You have an appointment to keep." He stood up, removing the gun from Jet's chin. He looked over his shoulder at his cronies. "Put her in the transport. She'll be no trouble, the old bat." The two men nodded, and lifted Angel, one at her shoulders, the other at her feet. She offered no resistance.
Jet watched helplessly as she was carried out the back door. "You bastard... You foul rotten BASTARD!" He roared, tearing violently at his bonds, the rope pinching his wrist. Quince's mouth pressed into a thin line. His arm lashed out, the butt of the gun meeting with Jet's temple. His head jerked violently, the opposite side thudding against the hard wood of the bar. The smiling image of Quince blurred, and vanished, as Jet's world sank into blackness.
"And I remember what she said to me
How she swore that it never would end
I remember how she held me
Oh so tight
Wish I didn't know now
What I didn't know then"
The Bebop sped along silently, approaching the Gate that would take them to Ganymede. Inside, Spike Spiegel watched the stars go by, in the same place Jet had been standing when he'd made the decision to leave. There was a small cloud of smoke around him, the cigarette between his lips burning down to the filter.
"Jet, man... what did you do to get a whole goddamned syndicate after you?"
"He has something they want. Probably information." came Faye's heavy whisper from behind him. Her heeled boots clicked as she stepped forward. She and Spike locked eyes, using their faint reflections in the window.
"Probably." Spike spit his cigarette out, orange sparks flying, cold ash before they hit the floor. He could already hear Jet reprimanding him for the ordeal. 'Ashtray, Spike-O. That's what they were invented for.' Spike smiled bitterly, his eyes sad.
"Men..." Faye sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears.
"Juvenile. I know." Spike grinned a little.
"He'll be okay, right Spike?" Faye murmured, clasping her hands behind her back.
Spike's arm wound around her shoulders, in an unconcious display of comfort. "Yeah." Spike's smile widened a little. "Jet'll take care of it, 'n next thing you know, it'll be back to normal."
"Normal..." Faye whispered. She found herself drawing closer to Spike's warmth, resting her head on his shoulder. "Normal. It sounds so funny. But you're right. To us, this is normal."
"Yep." Spike grunted, and lit another cigarette, his arm tightening around Faye.
"Against the wind
We were runnin' against the wind
We were young and strong
And we were runnin' against the wind"
'Jet, hon, wake up.' A woman's voice called softly. 'Wake up or you'll be late for work.'
"A-Alisa?" Jet's words were groggy, as he used all his strength to open his eyes. The room was dark, the only light source was a small lamp above his head. It was strong enough to barely light his body. "Where are you...?" He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the offending light. His mind was swimming, his body aching in various places. Mostly in his head.
He turned his hand over, the dull metal of his arm glinting in the light. That's when he realized what was going on. There was no Alisa. "Oh damn." he grunted. He was laying in the far right corner of the room, and he pushed himself to a sitting position, slowly. He felt like he was going to puke.
He was in a room, somewhere in the main building of the Rising Pheonix. He'd been pistol-whipped, knocked unconcious. Jet lifted his hand, touching the center of the throbbing pain in his head. His temple was encrusted in a gooey layer of blood, the stuff that had run down his face already stiff and dry. The small wound hadn't scabbed yet, and every movement of his face made the injury bleed a little more. "Damnit all to hell."
Resting the back of his head against the wall, Jet went limp, blinking slowly. His eyes closed, as he took several deep breaths. His chest burned a little from where he'd tried to rip free of the ropes that had secured him. Then there was the hangover. It was only slight, a dull ache in the background, but it was enough to make him woozy.
The sound of the door being unlocked made his head jerk up. It opened slightly, throwing a thin spear of bright light over his face, making him squint.
"Oh. You're awake, Mr. Black." A woman entered the room, dressed in a pristine black suit. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a French twist, strands of hair framing her youthful face.
"No thanks to you people." he managed to grunt, rubbing his eyes.
She came closer, a tray in her hands. On the tray was a glass of water, and a small packet. "Please, Mr. Black. Don't cause a scene." She looked over her shoulder, at the burly man in the doorway. "We don't need you to act foolish."
"Whatever you say." Jet watched her carefully, as she knelt beside him.
"Here." she smiled a little, setting the tray on the floor. "You must be in pain." She held out what seemed to be painkillers, in sterile packaging.
"Hmph." he snorted. "Poison? A drug?" He looked the parcel over suspiciously.
"Not hardly, sir." she said with another pretty smile. "You are an important guest of the Rising Pheonix. Why would we do such a thing to you?"
"Guest, eh?" he scowled. "Hate to see what you do to your prisoners." His body hurt enough for him to trust her words, as he tore open the foil material, dumping the three pills onto his palm. He tossed them into his mouth, and took the water from the woman, drinking the entire glass. "Thanks..." he said with a sidelong glance.
"My pleasure, Mr. Black."
"Jet." He said drily. Having such a young woman call him 'Mr.' made him feel ancient. Besides, he was a prisoner. *Spare me the formalities and cut to the chase, lady.* he snapped mentally.
"As you wish, Jet. You may call me Elenie."
"Sure. Why am I here?"
The woman sat on her haunches, setting the empty package and glass on the tray. "You have something that we want. You will know more at a later time." she stood, and turned, leaving slowly. "Get some rest, Jet." Elenie paused at the door, pulling it halfway shut. "You'll need your strength."
The door closed, leaving Jet in darkness.
"Wait, Spike!"
"I can't. Every second I wait, the closer Jet comes to getting nabbed by the syndicate. It's a risk I can't take." Spike tried not to scream. He gave one last tug on his gloves, prepared to leave the Bebop in his Swordfish. Testing the controls, he waited for the magnetic deck to disengage. Behind him, in a canvas bookbag, lay an assortment of grenades and ammunition. To save Jet, Spike was breaking out the big guns.
"But you don't even know what they want with him! How can you just leave?" Faye pleaded with him over the communicator.
"How can I leave? ...like this." Spike's face was humorless, as the timer rang, and the hatch opened. The racer known as the Swordfish II took off into space, destined for the surface of Ganymede. Twenty minutes earlier, Edward had pinpointed the location of the Hammerhead. Five minutes later, Spike placed a call into Bob, to discover the address of the Rising Pheonix' headquarters. If Jet wasn't in the vicinity of his craft, then it was safe to assume he'd already been taken. Faye screamed after him, but Spike paid no attention.
"That asshole. Complete and total asshole." Miss Valentine huffed, sitting on the couch. She crossed one leg over the other, her arms open, resting on the back of the sofa. "What in the HELL do I see in him?!?" she growled, watching as Edward plodded around the room. "Ed, stop pacing. You're making me nervous."
"Edward cannot. Edward thinks best when she is walking."
"Thinking about what?"
"Why Papa Jet is in trouble."
Faye's eyebrow twitched violently for a moment, but she decided to humor the child. "Oh?"
"Yes. Bad people who want Papa Jet want this." Edward fished a piece of green plastic-like material from the back pocket of her spandex shorts. "But Edward doesn't know what this is."
Faye sprung up off the couch, plucking the object from Edward's hands. It was a chip, or something electronical. About 7 inches long, 3 wide. One side was a complex network of electrical junk that Faye didn't bother to try and comprehend. "Where did you get this?!"
"From the analyzing gadget-wadget over deeeerrrrrrrre." Ed pointed.
Faye didn't move. She was too busy trying to remember the events of last week. Specifically, where Jet had been, and where he could have acquired such a thing. She remembered something about some low-rank bounty, in a resteraunt. But where would he get a chip?
Edward stared, blinking, at the backside of the device, as Faye held it between her manicured nails. "Dom Perignon."
Faye didn't even acknowledge it as a sentence. Just more of Ed's dribble.
"One bottle. Nintey-five thouuuuusand woo-wongs." Ed continued. Ein perked his head up. He looked once at the thing in Faye's hands, and barked several times. Faye blinked.
"What?"
"Lookie." Edward touched the tip of her finger to the circuit. Faye turned it over. She hadn't even checked out the flipside of it yet.
"I'll be damned." There, printed on the smooth side of the plastic, was a bunch of faded writing. A wine list. The letters were peeled and chipped, like the lamanating coating had been peeled off. Faye snapped her fingers. That covers the resteraunt. But how'd he get it? Faye smiled a little. Knowing Jet, it probably just fell into his lap. This ...whatever it was... was what the syndicate wanted from him. And bringing this to them meant Jet wouldn't get hurt.
Edward stared blankly at her. "Does Faye-Faye have a plan?"
"Yes she does." Faye smiled slowly. "Ed, I want you to stay here. By your computer. I'll contact you when I need you. Got it, Ed?"
"Yessssss May'am!!"
Faye turned, and ran to the dock as fast as she could. Tucking the switchboard safely into her top, she climbed into the Redtail, and was following Spike's path in moments. She grit her teeth, leaning into the controls. "Testosterone driven idiot. The both of you."
"The years rolled slowly past
And I found myself alone
Surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends
I found myself further and further from my home
I guess I lost my way
There were oh-so-many roads
I was livin' to run
And runnin' to live
Never worried about paying
Or even how much I owed"
Touchdown on Ganymede. The transparent circular hatch opened, and Spike climbed out, standing on the nose of the Swordfish. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, as he hopped nimbly off his starcraft.
The Hammerhead was at the end of the row he'd parked the Swordfish in. They were in a parking garage, which lay two blocks away from Gumble Channel. He strolled idly to the street-level exit, pausing at the attendant in the control booth.
"You've got permission for three hours docking, Mr. Spiegel." The teen said, sitting in the middle of a three-sided plexiglass viewing window. A small ticket popped from the slot below the window pane. Spike plucked it from the opening with the index and middle fingers of his left hand.
"Gotcha." He shoved the ticket uncerimoniously into the left back pocket of his slacks, and continued out into the open air. "Now the real fun begins..." he grumbled, watching as an old man on a byciycle peddled by. Spike checked his watch. Jet had been missing for close to 8 hours. "Gaaahhh!! Jet! You're as possible to find as a needle in a stack of needles."
A young lady, walking by him with an armful of grocieries, stopped and looked at him curiously. "Jet who?"
Spike blinked. What luck. "Jet Black."
The woman pushed a strand of her black hair from her face. "Are you a friend of his?"
"Yeah. You know where I can find him?"
"Hmm..."
"He came here on vacation. But I need to see him. It's important." Spike said, lighting a cigarette. He growled a swear when he realized it was the last one in his pack. And that he'd forgotten to bring another.
"Ah. I see." The woman smiled prettily, but there was a hint of remorse in her eyes. "If he's on a holiday, he's probably at The Waterfront."
"Eh?" Spike scratched his head, confused for a moment.
"The Waterfront Bar. About two blocks up," She pointed north, in the direction of which she was standing. "and across the Channel. You'll see it when you get there."
Spike eyed the woman. "How do you know?"
She shifted the groceries in her arms, sighing. "I'm Alisa."
Spike almost dropped his cigarette. So *THIS* was the woman Jet was so torn up over!! "Ah. I see. Nice to meet you. I'm Spike. His partner." Spike finished the pleasantries in a hurry.
Alisa smiled. "Give him my best when you see him, would you please?" She loooked into her parcel, saddened.
Spike managed a smile. "I will. Take care." He added hastily, before taking off full tilt towards the Bar. Alisa continued on her way, to continue on with her own life's problems.
The bag he was carrying thudded and jolted across his back, as he stretched out his spindly legs as far as they could. People stopped in their journeyings to look at him quizzically. Why was the young man running at such a breakneck pace, and on such a beautiful day?
"Moving eight miles a minute for months at a time
Breaking all of the rules that would bend
I began to find myself searching
Searching for shelter again and again
Against the wind
A little something against the wind
I found myself seeking shelter sgainst the wind"
He nearly fell headfirst into the Channel, balanced precariously on its edge. He'd been running he hadn't seen the water come up until it was almost too late. He teetered for a moment, windmilling his arms. "DAMNIT." He spat, throwing himself backwards, to the saftey of more solid ground. The Waterfront Bar, advertised in a blue script, was three buildings down from where Spike was standing. He ran east, pushing past the crush of people trying to cross at the nearest bridge.
"Move it! Come on! Man on a mission! Make a hole, make it wide!!" He called, winding his way through the 9 to 5-ers, who crowded the walkways, making his job harder. He had finally reached the other side of the bridge. Spike withdrew his gun, keeping it somewhat concealed from the bystanders.
He crept close to the buildings, until the Waterfront were directly off to his left. There was an alley leading to the backs of the buildings. Spike took it, keeping his back pressed to the Waterfront's neighboring buisiness. There was a door, located behind a blue dumpster. Spike darted across the narrow alley, until he was on the right side of the door. His gun held at the ready, Spike twisted the handle, and threw it open.
He waited for gunfire from syndicate goons. None came. Leading with his gun, he entered the back room, the exit to the kitchen. The immaculate stainless steel cabinets lining the back wall served as a mirror, and Spike could see the men in the front of the Bar. Lots of men.
Men in black suits, each with an arm band on their right bicep. Spike couldn't see the insignia clearly, but it was safe to say that these were the members of the Rising Pheonix. As for Jet... Spike couldn't see him yet.
The thugs in the front of the store were packing things up, hastily. Tables and chairs were stacked up, bottles and glasses being tossed into boxes. Spike's eyes narrowed. What were they after. Just then, the door, still open, and to his left shut slowly.
Spike leveled his gun with the closing door. Someone was behind it, and Spike was prepared to fire. The door closed with a click, revealing the person behind.
Flashback. He was lying in the rain, after he had killed Vicious. There was that young man, his brown hair dusty with soot, face smeared with blood. A low, harsh whisper. "Spike-senpai! Hold on!"
It was him. Spike's mouth dropped open.
"SHIN?!?!"
"Well those drifter's days are past me now
I've got so much more to think about
Deadlines and commitments
What to leave in, what to leave out
Against the wind
I'm still runnin' against the wind
I'm older now but still runnin' against the wind
Well I'm older now and still runnin'
Against the wind"
--And So the Past Returns...