Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction / Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Once More, With Pirates ❯ The Fuel ( Chapter 11 )

A/N: I want to thank metgear5 for the suggestion of adding Bruce Lee into the mix. As well as the idea of the bloody nose. I also want to thank Heist for her assistance and suggestions on certain parts, too. She saved me from making a grievous error. She also kicks much ass in finding perfect song titles and lyrics. Also, more references to “Play Me Some More of that Old Blues” by dragonnan. If you haven't read that story yet, you may not get the references made in this chapter. Shame on you! That's a fantastic story, and you should be reading it!

 

Anyhow…can you see where each of these single-POV chapters are leading?

 

Chapters: 11

Word Count, This Chapter: 2238

Word Count Total: 31,905

Words Left: 18,095

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fuel

 

I've got the fuel in my head from the flesh; I need to break sweat; I've got the feeling I might get offensive; I might be some threat - Sneaker Pimps (Bloodsport)

 

It had been a little over six months since Dr. Wilde had helped Spike escape the nightmare limbo that was the tank at Mechatronics. Six months since he'd reunited with his friends… his `family'. Recovery had been a slow, arduous process, and he still wasn't yet 100 percent. It was frustrating.

 

He'd been working on the Thai-style heavy bag in the Enterprise gym for half an hour; and he was feeling every minute of it. His loose sweat pants and tank top were clinging to him, and every muscle was screaming. His movements weren't nearly as fluid as he would like. They were good enough at this point to keep him alive and to cause most bountyheads some damage; but he wasn't satisfied with `good enough'.

 

He stepped back from the heavy bag, and pulled the bottom of the tank up to wipe the sweat from his brow. He stared down at the shirt, and thought about how much had changed in the past year. His habit of wearing the tank was just the most obvious of them. He never used to bother with a shirt when he worked out. He saw no need for it, and the sweat the shirt absorbed was irritating at any rate. But when he'd tried working out after returning to the Bebop, the new scars he'd collected elicited emotional responses from his partners that he really didn't want to deal with. Silent looks that spoke more eloquently of the pain they went through when he died, than any words ever could. So he started wearing the tank to cover them up.

 

He stretched, and walked around the gym to cool down. He was relieved the place was empty except for the sparring match in the center. For some reason that he couldn't really fathom, he was embarrassed by his rusty, stiff movements. His skills in Jeet Kun Do were a source of pride for him. It was one thing he knew he did exceptionally well.

 

He suddenly stopped, and blinked. Then he chuckled softly. Pride, he thought. Hubris. Figures.

 

He wasn't paying all that much attention to the match, but there seemed to be a pattern of dull thuds, one of the opponents saying, “Pause,” then a moment later, saying “Resume”; only to be quickly followed by another dull thud as he hit the mat again. Spike's curiosity got the better of him, and he watched for a bit.

 

It didn't take long for him to recognize the discipline as being Tae Kwon Do. It wasn't his, but he could still appreciate the skills involved. As the first man hit the mat yet again, Spike had to smirk. This guy is way out of his element, he thought. Hardly a fair match. He had to give a measure of respect, though. The guy had balls to try and spar against a master of the art.

 

Almost as soon as the first man hit the mat, he said, “Pause,” again. The master froze in position and flickered briefly. Spike's brow shot up.

 

He felt someone come up beside him. He glanced over, but didn't see anyone at first… then he looked down. “Oh, there you are,” Spike said, and grinned.

 

Fullmetal gave him a narrow-eyed glare, and flipped Spike a one-fingered, automail salute.

 

“I have a feeling I'm going to regret ever showing you that,” Spike said, with a chuckle.

 

The boy gave him a wicked grin, and said, “You're more likely gunna regret it when we finish what we started the other day.”

 

“The other day?”

 

Fullmetal blinked, and then comprehension flooded his face. His hell-bent for leather grin softened, and he said, “Heh. I keep forgetting it's been a year since then, for you.”

 

“Time flies when you're having fun,” Spike said.

 

He started fidgeting, then. His back was beginning to itch, as the sweat-soaked tank top dried, and it was seriously beginning to get on his nerves. He figured he could really do with a nice hot shower, but he wanted to play with the sparring program, first. At the rate the first guy was getting dropped to the mat, he figured it wouldn't be much longer.

 

He rolled his shoulders in an effort to get the fabric to scratch the itch, but that didn't help. He finally reached back, and squirmed while he tried to reach an itch that was just out of his reach. That didn't do much good either, and he growled low in frustration.

 

He caught the bewildered look on the boy's face, and he said, “What?”

 

Fullmetal smirked and asked, “You have fevers with those fits?”

 

Spike flipped him off, and the boy snorted. “Still looks more impressive with automail.”

 

Spike looked the boy up and down, and said, “You need all the help you can get, too… Pipsqueak.”

 

Next thing Spike knew, his feet came out from under him, and he hit the deck on his back with a great explosion of air being forced from his lungs. He coughed in an effort to catch his breath, and it quickly turned into a laugh. Fullmetal leaned over him, with a triumphant look on his face, and said, “You were saying?”

 

Spike raised a brow, and then quickly returned the favor. With little effort on his part, he swept Fullmetal's legs out from under him, and was up on his feet in one smooth motion. He leaned down over the boy, and said. “Nice job, Ed. But you still need all the help you can get.”

 

The man who was working out against the holographic `master', said, “Computer, end program.” The he slipped through the ropes, and clapped Spike on the shoulder. “It's all yours,” he said, as he left the gym.

 

Spike glanced over at the ring, then back at Fullmetal. He gave the boy a hand up and said, “Take off the boots and the jacket.” Then he stepped into the ring and said, “Computer, I need a sparring partner.”

 

The boy stared at him as if he'd just lost his mind, but Spike ignored it.

 

“Please state the discipline,” the computer said.

 

“Jeet Kun Do.”

 

“What level?”

 

“Master,” Spike said.

 

“There are currently fifteen Master-Level sparring programs for Jeet Kun Do in the system. Please indicate which program you prefer.”

 

Great, he thought. I had no idea I was going to have to be that specific.

 

“Computer, name the programs,” he said, as Fullmetal leaned on the ropes.

 

The computer started listing off names that Spike had never heard of, and went into great detail of where the master was from, what time period, and a few other bits of trivia that meant absolutely nothing to him. He was thinking he was just going to have to pick one at random, when a familiar name poked through his annoyed musing.

 

He was suddenly very alert, and interested. “Computer, repeat that last one again?”

 

“Master Lee Hsiao Lung. Born Old Earth date, 1940 in Hong Kong—“

 

“No way!”

 

Fullmetal looked at him curiously, and the computer chirped in what certainly sounded like annoyance to Spike.

 

“Please rephrase the question,” the computer said.

 

Spike barely heard the request. His heart raced, and he felt like a kid on the morning of his birthday. Is it even possible? he wondered. Could he have been a master in both universes?

 

“C-computer, run the Master Lee Hsiao Lung program.” He was so excited at the prospect, he could barely breathe.

 

“Spike?” Fullmetal said. “Is there something wrong?”

 

As Spike watched the Master materialize, he felt wide grin spread across his face, and briefly wondered if he looked as insane as he suddenly felt. The Master was a slight-built Asian man dressed in just the bottom half of a black gi; corded muscle belaying the casual stance.

 

“Edward Elric,” he said, finally. “Meet Bruce Lee,”

 

Fullmetal looked at the master, and was supremely unimpressed. “What's so great about that guy?” he asked. He climbed into the ring, and grinned when he was nearly eye-to-eye with him. “No automail. No Alchemy, I'll bet. And he's as short as I am.”

 

“Actually, I think he's a couple inches taller.”

 

Fullmetal shot a dirty look back as Spike.

 

Spike just nodded at the simulation and said, “Remember what I said about using your height to your advantage?”

 

“What are you going to do? Throw the match just to prove your point?”

 

Spike rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, and pointed at the master. “Look at him. He's not that big, either. But he's arguably the best Jeet Kun Do master ever. He's nice and relaxed, but he can kick your ass quicker than you can clap your hands, and you'll never see him coming.”

 

Spike made a fluid gesture with his free hand, and said, “He never telegraphs his moves. He just flows. Like water.”

 

“Like water, huh?” Fullmetal said, casting Spike a doubtful look.

 

“Exactly,” Spike said, as he left the boy's side, and slipped through the ropes. “Just relax. Be fluid. Computer, begin simulation.”

 

“What? Wait a mi—“

 

Fullmetal never had a chance, and never saw it coming. The master had whipped around, and landed a kick to the right side of his face. Between the kick, and the boy's automail leg, he was completely taken off balance, and flew to the opposite side of the ring. He landed in an ungraceful heap on his side.

 

“Pause,” Spike said, biting back the laugh. The master returned to his starting position, and Spike climbed back through the ropes. He knelt next to Fullmetal as the boy rolled to his back, and chuckled at the annoyed scowl on his face.

 

“That was a cheap shot.”

 

Spike offered him a hand up, and said. “You're right. But real life is full of cheap shots. No one is going to ask you if you're ready before trying to kick your ass.”

 

Once Fullmetal was back on his feet, Spike said, “You can control excessive force through fluid motion, and if you remain relaxed, your body will react instantly. Without thought. It'll flow, just like water.”

 

As Spike exited the ring again, he heard Fullmetal mumble, “Just like water. What if you always just sink like a stone?”

 

“Resume,” Spike said, and the master became active again. Spike had to give the boy credit. He'd followed his advice, and relaxed. He managed to last about three moves, before he tensed up again. Spike could only sigh. That boy's temperament is what's going to get the better of him, he thought. He's too impatient. He mentally counted down the seconds before he was going to pause the program again.

 

Instead of defense, and waiting for the opening to fight back, Fullmetal had chosen to go on the offense. And the instant he did, he was brought back down to the mat with another resounding kick. Spike winced in sympathy. That one's gotta hurt.

 

He paused the program, and squatted down next to Fullmetal. He helped him sit back up, and said, “You were doing pretty good until you went on the offensive.”

 

The boy looked down and didn't say anything at first, but the tension in his shoulders told Spike all he needed to know.

 

“I know. `Flow like water',” he said, then made a coughing noise that worried Spike. Fullmetal's left hand came up, and gingerly touched his nose. “What if I flow like blood, instead.”

 

It was then that Spike saw the blood dripping down the boy's arm. “Aw, shit,” he said, and tilted Fullmetal's face up. The boy looked at him through one pained eye; the other was squeezed shut, and his nose was already swelling nicely. Spike pulled off his tank top, and stuffed it into the boy's hand. “Here, hold this under your nose. Can't have you bleeding all the way to sick bay.”

 

Fullmetal grimaced and said, “Ugh, smells like sweat.”

 

Spike chuckled. “Well, if it's any consolation, you won't be smelling much of anything soon.” Then he saw the look of growing horror on the boy's face, and realized he was staring right at the long scar across his abdomen. Spike's hand went to it instinctively, and the boy's eyes darted up to his. “A gift from an old friend,” he said, and helped Fullmetal to his feet.

 

“And you lived through that?”

 

Spike hesitated a moment, then solemnly shook his head. “Nope.” He led a stunned boy off to sickbay without another word.