Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction / Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Once More, With Pirates ❯ Mother, May I? ( Chapter 23 )

 

A/N: Yes, Heist gets kudos for this title, too! She's managed to get me hooked on Coheed and Cambria. Tch, see how she is? On another note, I want to apologize to my dear readers for the sporadic uploads of late. I managed to get a job, and they insist I take the morning training class. So, needless to say, I don't have as much time to write as I did before, except on the weekends. All I ask, is that you be patient. I promise I won't abandon the story. Too many characters would come back and haunt me, if I did.

 

Mother, May I?

 

Could you ever really wish of them? One of your games and counts of truth; With every moment you'll trace the doubt; And of the premise what about? Will they ever really see an end; Or does it matter now from then? What of their love for once pronounced; And of this love a loss without - Coheed and Cambria (Good Apollo, I'm Burning Star IV: Volume 1. From Fear Through The Eyes Of Madness)

 

As the fog lifted from Spike's brain, he realized that the only pain he felt was a headache. He experimentally flexed his ankle, and while it was still a bit tender, he didn't feel the grinding of shattered bones and stiffness of swelling. He gingerly touched at his cheek where Fullmetal had slashed him in the throes of his alchemic seizure, and discovered that it was completely healed. He was mildly disappointed to discover there wasn't even a scar.

 

A moment later, he also noticed he was in the brig.

 

He sighed, and slowly sat up. Memory returned; but it had a surreal quality to it. Almost like he'd been drugged. He couldn't recall ever giving into blind rage like that. Usually, when he was that pissed things blew up, but he remained lucid.

 

He sat back on the narrow bunk, and stared up at the ceiling. A small laugh escaped his lips at the irony of Scar protecting McKenna. He wanted her dead as much as Spike did, and he felt his face heat up at the thought that a zealously religious serial killer might have a bit more decency than he did. Scar was at least abiding by the rules the Captain had laid down.

 

He couldn't even keep a promise to a kid.

 

Spike felt his throat clench, and he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He blamed the clouding of his vision on the sedatives they'd used on him. But he knew that was a lie.

 

He rested his head back against the bulkhead, and closed his eyes. He's dead, Spike thought. He tried to cement this fact into his own mind, but it rejected it out of hand. Like a ghost pain from an amputated limb, one part of him knew that Edward Elric was no more, but he still felt like he could just reach out and ruffle that blonde head. He allowed himself a small laugh at the imagery, because he knew that if he ever attempted something like that, he'd come away with a bloody stump. Somehow, that idea was appealing. And so much better than the current alternative.

 

It was odd, he thought, how the two of them had become so close. How he'd come to just accept the presence of the boy in his life, as if he'd always belonged there. They were from two different worlds; two different universes, and the time they actually had inhabiting the same space was relatively short. But he still felt the ghost of the boy's presence and influence, even when they were apart. How had something like that happened?

 

If asked, Spike Spiegel would tell you that he hated kids, animals, and women with attitude. He would tell you this even if you didn't ask. And he believed it. But he also admitted to a bemused affection toward the String Bean, and a deep caring for Faye. Spike took his time to decide if someone was worthy of his love, but once they were judged so, he loved them deeply. Just always at arm's length.

 

It was habit. And it was safer. He loved Julia; was haunted by her, even before she was killed. He mourned her death in his own way; by facing down Vicious, and being killed by him. He'd intended to be killed, even as he intended to take Vicious out along the way. It was right. They were intertwined in life; they should have been intertwined in death as well.

 

He unconsciously rubbed at the long scar on his abdomen, and thought about how his life was now divided into two parts. Most people go through the different phases in their lives seamlessly. Spike didn't. Before he died and was resurrected, there was Julia and Vicious looming over him like a thick black cloud. Jet, Faye, and Ed were just white noise for the most part. Soothing, comfortable, and easily ignored.

 

But afterwards; after Jet went through hell, and Faye nearly died saving his ass, they weren't just background noise. He'd found himself laughing a little more… loving a little more. Allowing them to come a little closer than just arm's length.

 

But Edward had slipped in under Spike's radar and skin before he'd faced down Vicious for the last time.

 

He stared down at the palm of his left hand; at the thin silver line he'd put there with Edward's help and smirked at the memory of their first meeting. He'd made an offhand comment about the boy not using his size to his advantage, and the look he gave him hit him right in the gut. There was more behind those sparking gold eyes than offence at a “short” remark. There was a fierceness there that Spike once had in his own eyes… way back when he was still young, and dumb enough to think he was immortal. But after his first close encounter with death, that fierceness and feeling of immortality fled. Intensity remained, but it was banked and little more than glowing embers.

 

It was what had him walking the shadows between death and life, and never knowing for certain which side he was supposed to be on for years. He told Faye he wasn't going after Vicious to die, but to find out if he ever lived. His death, of course, would answer that question. He knew this. He understood it. He even welcomed it.

 

What he'd never told anyone though, was that he'd tasted life… pure and untainted… for just a brief moment while he was in Edward's world. The uncertainty, the newness, and the danger of not knowing exactly what the rules were surged through him. But it wasn't his to keep. It wasn't his own acknowledgement that he was ever alive; it belonged to a short, temperamental kid who allowed him to join him for a short time on his own adventure.

 

Edward Elric knew he wasn't immortal. He had an intimate relationship with death, in fact. But he continued to remain out of that grey, fuzzy shadow Spike had been in. There was no question of whether the boy lived. He lived completely. Fully. And gave everything he had to the side of life. Even at the end, when his natural fierceness was mixed with confusion the one time he opened his eyes in sickbay. Right before…

 

His breath hitched in his throat, and he stopped the memory from returning fully formed. The last thing he wanted was to dance right over the edge, and spend the entire time he was in this universe in the brig. And as much as he hated to admit it, Scar was right. He needed to serve his vengeance cold and somewhere other than on this ship. He knew he'd be encountering McKenna again. With or without Edward Elric in tow.

 

He gasped softly, and his eyes went wide. This was wrong. All of it. Suddenly his mind was awhirl with the paradox. Edward had come back, and they became blood brothers. Spike still had the scar as proof. Plus he saw him on Morocco Street not more than a couple of days ago. Older, a little taller, and shadowed by someone who looked amazingly enough like him that Spike just knew it had to be a restored Alphonse.

 

And then Spike realized that it wasn't McKenna who was at fault. Someone was pulling her strings. Playing a game with her, just as he was playing a game with everyone else. Just the same way he shattered Alphonse, and sent him to this ship, completely reformed, and not even a ghost of a memory of what had transpired not more than a few minutes before.

 

“Q” he hissed.

 

“When you say it that way, it sounds just like a curse,” the entity said from the other end of the bunk.

 

Spike glared at Q for a long silent moment. The entity just looked at him, impassive; with just a little bit of a smirk.

 

“You made your point,” Spike said. “Bring him back. Now.”

 

With a look of badly feigned innocence, Q slid off the bunk and crossed to the force field at the entrance to the cell. “Who?” he asked as he leaned over and casually peered at the slight distortion that was the only visual evidence of the field. Then he lightly tapped at it with a single finger, and was rewarded with a hiss and a few sparks. Q raised a brow, then glanced back at Spike as if he'd just remembered the other man was in there with him, and a false dawning crossed his face. “Oh, you mean the Fullmetal Pipsqueak?”

 

It was all Spike could do to keep from taking offense on behalf of the boy. No one got away with calling the kid a Pipsqueak, except him… Okay, and Pinako; but she was shorter than Ed so it didn't count.

 

He got to his feet, and stalked Q. “He has a name,” he said. “It's Edward Elric. You might try to remember that.”

 

Q leaned casually back against the wall near the force field, and crossed his arms. He sighed disdainfully. “Names. You humans are all about the names, aren't you?”

 

Spike leaned in close, and rested the flat of his palms on either side of Q's head. “We are also all about our own free will,” he said. “And we don't take too kindly to some one who thinks he's a God playing games with our lives.”

 

Q smirked, but didn't try to get away. “Yes, I've noticed. But it's so entertaining to watch you all flail and rant about the injustice of it all.”

 

Spike's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Q was suddenly no longer there. He spun and found the entity standing right behind him; once more, he was dressed as a State Alchemist.

 

“You seem to have a fascination with playing dress-up in military uniforms,” Spike said.

 

Q closely examined his fingernails, and cocked a brow. “Ah, yes. I admit it's an affectation.” He shifted to parade rest, but the smirk remained. “The military is an amazingly efficient entity. Wouldn't you say?”

 

“I wouldn't know.”

 

“Wouldn't you?” Q's clothing smoothly morphed into the red-lapelled black suits and gold shoulder ropes that the higher ranking Red Dragons wore. “Wouldn't the syndicate be a military organization of a sort, Spike? Rank and file, following orders without question… being placed in strategic positions?”

 

“So what's your point? And what does this have to do with your stupid little game?”

 

Q didn't say anything right off. He just started strolling around in the small cell with his hands behind his back. He cast a glance at Spike, and let out a small laugh. “I understand that the Fullmetal boy is a genius.” He looked Spike up and down, and seemed to find him wanting. “Although, the fact that he seems to idolize you makes me wonder just how intelligent he really is.” He cocked a brow, and added, “You really are rather dull, aren't you?”

 

Q waved a dismissive hand, and returned to his idle pacing. “Never mind, I'll just spell it out for you.” Before Spike had a chance to even blink, Q had him pinned back against the wall, and came nose to nose with him. The look was intense, even if the voice was mild. “I had nothing to do with Edward Elric's little misadventure. And because I had nothing to do with it, I cannot just bring him back.”

 

“Can't? Or won't?”

 

Q chuckled and leaned back away from Spike. “It's one in the same. Although I admit I wish I had thought of it. It was quiet elegant; and oh-so touching.”

 

“Bastard,” Spike hissed, and came forward.

 

Q stood his ground with an infuriating smile, and the other man aborted his own move. “You are a slow learner,” he said. “But at least you learn.”

 

A smile tugged at Spike's lips, and he held up his left hand showing Q his palm. The entity looked at the thin silver line across it, and raised an appreciative brow. “Oh, touché.” His eyes met Spike's again, and he added, “But I told you, Edward's condition isn't by my hand. If he comes back, it won't be by my hand, either.”

 

Spike was briefly distracted by the sound of people approaching, and when he looked back at Q, the entity was gone. He settled back onto the bunk, and waited.

 

Jet stopped in front of the force field, and scowled down at his partner with his arms crossed. The two men just stared at each other in silence for a moment, while Worf waited patiently nearby.

 

“Do you have any idea how much talking I had to do to get your ass out of here?” Jet asked.

 

Spike just looked down briefly. “Sorry.”

 

Surprise flitted across Jet's face, then he nodded at Worf. The force field dropped, and Spike got up from the bunk. At the entrance he stopped, and waited patiently. Spike knew Jet was trying to decide if he was making a mistake in getting the younger man out of there, and he calmly allowed the scrutiny.

 

After a moment, Jet stepped aside to let Spike out. “Thank you,” Spike said, as he exited the cell.

 

The three of them headed down the corridor, and Jet said, “Don't thank me. I couldn't convince the Captain to do anything less than space you in your underwear. Thank Dr. Crusher, and…” He hesitated, and a slight smile quirked at the corner of his lips. “…Scar.”

 

Spike's head snapped around, and his brows shot up. Jet chuckled low. “Don't ask. I couldn't explain his reasoning if I tried. Must be some bizarre Ishballan logic.”

 

“'The strength to give the last of your water to save your enemy's life',” Spike quoted.

 

“Huh?”

 

Spike smiled slightly. “Something I read years ago. About a warrior's sense of honor being the ability to give the last of your water to your enemy in the desert, and to be able to kill the one you love the most.”

 

Jet cocked a brow. “Still sounds bizarre to me.”

 

Spike cast a quick glance up at the Klingon. He caught a slight nod, and a look of approval. It didn't surprise him at all to find out that the alien's own race had a similar code.

 

The three of them stepped onto the lift, and when the doors closed, Worf said, “Sick bay.”

 

Spike shot him a bemused look. “I didn't think I'd be allowed anywhere near that place,” he said.

 

“Dr Crusher wants to make sure you're healing properly,” Worf said. “You won't be able to get anywhere near McKenna.”

 

Spike winced a little, and gave the Klingon an apologetic look. “We've been having your security working overtime, haven't we?”

 

The look he got from Worf spoke volumes. It promised that he would most definitely be paying him back for all the trouble. One way or another.

 

“Seems the guards on Scar are now doing double duty,” Jet said. “He's decided to plant himself next to her bed, and isn't moving.”

 

Spike's brows shot up, and Worf explained. “His logic is impeccable. There is no point in having a set of guards on McKenna, and another set on Scar if he's in the same vicinity. My staff is not being overextended, and I am grateful for his foresight.”

 

“Aren't you worried that he might try to kill her, though?” Jet asked.

 

Spike let out a small laugh, and shook his head. “He's too smart for that. He'll wait until the right time. When we're all back where we belong.”

 

“You mean if we get back?” Jet asked.

 

Spike leaned casually back against the wall of the lift, and stared down at the scar on his palm. “We'll get back,” he said. “And Ed'll live to fight humunculi another day.”

 

Jet stared at him, puzzlement furrowing his brows; suspicion shadowing his eyes. “As far as you were concerned when you got your ass tossed in the brig, Ed was dead. How do you know he's not?”

 

Spike continued to stare down, and chuckled softly. “Because if he was dead we'd all be caught in a paradox and an infinite loop that we couldn't get out of.” He looked at Jet, and smirked. “Q wouldn't stand for that. I have a feeling reruns would bore him to tears.”

 

“Maybe we are, and we just don't know it, yet.”

 

Spike shook his head. “We're not.” The lift slowed, and he straightened. “Call it a gut feeling. But we'll get out of this. All of us.”

 

The doors slid open, and the three occupants froze.

 

Worf growled.

 

Jet cursed.

 

Spike just smirked.

 

What lay before them wasn't the corridor leading to sick bay on the Enterprise, but the Ishballan temple where they'd all met.