Chapter Text
“You’re kidding me? Space pirates?”
Her blue eyes closed as she laughed, cranking the wrench she was holding in her right hand ten times counter-clockwise.
“Yup, you heard right! Space pirates,” boasted the young man standing beside her, hands on his hips. “And that wasn’t even the best part —” Miles would go on for hours if you let him.
The girl snorted, from beneath the small silver spacecraft, letting him finish. “I was just teasing you, Miles. I believe you. But really, you guys didn’t die?”
Miles grinned down at his friend as she slid out from beneath the ship, making sure she was far enough away from the undercarriage before sitting upright. As she sat up, she wiped sweat from her forehead, smearing grease across her skin in the process.
The sun was high in the sky, being the peak of noon and parked in the middle of the blazing desert of Venus. It probably wasn’t the best idea to start working on a ship at high noon in the scorching heat, wearing full on mechanic garb: blue jumpsuit and all.
Amber sighed, stretching her arms high above her head as she took a look at Miles, hoping the scowl hanging across her lips would convince him to shut up.
But it never did.
Miles wasn’t very tall, even shorter when he stayed perched on a stool for most of the morning, jabbering in Amber’s ear about... whoever the fuck Spike Spiegel was and Miles’ adventure with him about six months ago.
It was the greatest thing the young mechanic-in-training had ever seen! And he refused to let his “senior advisor” hear the end of it.
Amber rose to her feet, cracking her shoulders and neck, and trying to crack her back against the Red Tail, but failing to do so as she leaned against the ship’s hood.
“Miles, why don’t you make yourself useful and go get me a glass of water.” It was more of a demand than a question.
Miles’ eyes lit up, practically shimmering beneath the bright sunlight. “Will you let me help you work on the ship if I do?” He leaned forward on his stool, and Amber hoped he wouldn’t tip himself too far and topple over.
“Maybe.” She bit her bottom lip, rethinking the statement. “Only if there’s ice in that glass of water.”
If his eyes could sparkle any brighter, they would have. A wide grin pressed to his lips, and he was gone in a matter of seconds, disappearing into the garage where he and Doohan — the mechanic he worked under — lived.
Amber was Doohan’s apprentice before Miles, but only for a few years. She quit when she got a better offer at a space travel company located on Mars. As much as she enjoyed listening to the old man bicker about new technology taking over the old, she couldn’t pass up the offer to work for NASA as a mechanic-in-training.
Of course, the mechanics fixing the ships at NASA noticed Amber’s high level of skill and had her working on larger projects right away: rockets, space shuttles, even a few planetary rovers — but those were done in teams, with multiple engineers working alongside her.
She’d come back to the expansive desert of Venus where Doohan had his garage about six months ago. According to the grouchy old fart, he expected people who wanted him to fix their ships would come to him — if they really wanted his business, they’d make the trip.
That had been his motto since Amber worked for him, and likely for countless others before her time.
Another thing about Doohan Amber couldn’t quite put her finger on was his evasion to move forward. He hated, absolutely hated, new technology. He refused Miles’ attempts to try and convince him to add a new, more capable computer system into the Red Tail... one benefitting both the pilot and the mechanic fixing the ship.
“Do you want to hear more about the guy who drives the second Swordfish” Miles asked, an eager look in his eye she wished so deeply to ignore. “Or would you rather hear about the Blue Sox?”
Having no interest in either, she dismissed his enthusiasm with a wave of her hand, taking the glass of water with the other.
“No, I’m good.” She wrapped her knuckle against the ship’s left wing. “When’s the owner of this hunk of junk coming to pick it up anyway?”
“Right now,” said a gruff voice.
Amber jumped, practically shivering as she turned to meet the jet-black gaze of the Red Tail’s owner.
Jet Black was a tall man, with distinguished muscles beneath his sleeveless blue vest. He looked like the type who always wore the same clothes, plain and boring. But his prosthetic arm caught Amber’s interest.
Rather than geeking out over the older form of technology, Amber winced, rubbing her left arm. She didn’t regret what she said, just that she had been caught.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jet said, holding a hand out to her. “My name’s Jet. Is Doohan around? I’ve got an old friend who’s here to see him.”
“Old friend?” Amber questioned, clasping Jet’s non-prosthetic hand.
Her interest was quickly overshadowed by Miles’ curiosity as he bounded forward, practically shoving her out of the way.
“Long time no see, Jet. I was disappointed when you dropped off the Red Tail last night without saying a single word — I wanted to see if Spike was around.” Miles spoke quickly as Jet quirked an eyebrow, looking from Miles to Amber, hoping she could translate his fast-paced words.
“Miles, repeat that again, but slower, please.” Amber blinked at her friend, sighing as she slipped the wrench into her pocket.
“Is Spike with you?” he asked simply, meeting Jet’s bewildered stare.
Jet blinked. “He’s sleeping back on the Bebop. You can go inside and see him, if you want.”
Miles was ecstatic, another bright grin plastered to his face. Amber watched in slight amusement as he all-but bounded onto the giant, spacious ship.
She whistled, removing her goggles from the top of her head, pulling her light brown hair free from its low ponytail in one swift motion as her and Jet stared up at the ship, he called the Bebop.
“So, this is the infamous Bebop?” Amber asked, sliding her goggles into one of her pockets.
“That’s right,” Jet beamed, a small smile passing over his usually stony complexion.
He looked so hard and rugged... though, this was the first time Amber had laid eyes on the black dog from the Inter-Solar System Police (ISSP). She thought about mentioning Jet’s retirement from the ISSP but knew better. He probably didn’t want to talk about it anyway.
When Jet’s smaller ship, the Red Tail, was dumped on Doohan’s doorstep the night before, Amber questioned the drop off. She’d seen ships like the Red Tail — but silver and yellow were an odd colour combination... not exactly what she would call complimentary.
“Now that’s what I call a fine piece of machinery,” Amber said, hoping Jet would laugh.
“Unlike this old piece of shit, right?” He tapped the hood of the Red Tail, peering in through the glass at the cockpit. Nothing was wrong with the inside, other than the fact that it could only fit one person, but it was designed for solo missions.
Amber rubbed the back of her head. “Yeah, sorry about that. If you want, I can install a new communicator in it for free. The old one was acting glitchy earlier.”
Jet blinked, again. His brain appeared to be short-circuiting, in a sense. And Amber couldn’t quite figure out what wasn’t connecting. “Wait, you fixed the engine?” Jet asked, scratching his bald scalp.
“Yeah. Surprised?” Amber folded her arms over her chest, leaning her hip against the left wing of the ship. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, wiping the sweat from her face with it, evidently smearing more grease across her cheeks and forehead.
“No — I just —"His lips quirked at the corners. “Uh, you’ve got a little —”
Amber swore, pulling her black gloves off using her teeth. “Grease?” she finished for him. “Always happens.” She took the gloves and stuffed them into the same pocket as her handkerchief. “Want to take a look?” She tapped her knuckle against the ship’s hood.
Jet shook his head, placing his hands back on his hips. “No need. I trust your work, little lady. Are you Doohan’s apprentice, too?”
Amber shrugged her shoulders. “Not anymore. I worked under him for a couple of years, and then I was offered another job on Mars.”
“Are you from Mars?” Jet asked, taking another look inside his ship to make sure nothing was damaged.
Amber shook her head. “I was born on Earth, actually.”
Jet lifted his head, slightly baffled, but curious, nonetheless. Not a lot of people were from Earth nowadays. “How’d you end up all the way out here?”
She grinned. “I just told you.”
Realizing that he was asking too many questions, and probably making Amber uncomfortable, he chuckled to himself, glancing over at the Bebop. He turned back at the sound of Amber unzipping the upper half of her coveralls, revealing a loose-fitting tank top underneath. As he watched Amber’s small but nimble fingers wind an elastic around her thick strands of hair, he asked her name.
“Oh, sorry. I forget to introduce myself to customers most of the time. They usually talk to Doohan, so I just keep quiet while they do.” She sunk her hands into the lower pockets of her coveralls. “My name’s Amber. Nice to meet you, Jet.”
“You too, Amber.”
Just as the two shook hands for the second time that afternoon, Doohan stepped out of his garage, holding a coffee mug in his right hand and a stern glare in his eyes. “Jet Black,” he muttered. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Nice to see you, too, Doohan.”
The old man took a sip of his black coffee. “Where’s that apprentice of mine?” He was referring to Myles.
“He’s in the Bebop bothering Spike,” said Jet.
“So, who is Spike exactly?” Amber questioned, sounding more interested than she intended.
Jet sighed, muttering, “A pain in my ass, that’s what he is.”
Doohan took another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you ask him yourself.”
Amber blinked at her former teacher, scrunching up her face as the tall shadow of a man loomed behind her. Instinctively, she jumped back, quickly retrieving the wrench from inside her pocket and wielding it as a weapon, spinning to face the stranger. She brought clenched fist back, aiming to strike his temple.
Unfortunately for the mechanic, her opponent was faster, and fluid — like the glass of ice water she’d long since abandoned on the stool sitting beside the Red Tail.
He grabbed her wrist, reacting on pure instinct rather than ill-will. His firm hand grasped her wrist, and, in one swift motion, he stepped forward, flipping Amber’s body over his shoulder and onto the fresh earth beneath them.
As Amber collided with the sand, a small cloud of dust blew up, the feeling of someone pressing their palm into her shoulder to hold her down and the silhouette of a man with fuzzy dark brown hair were the only things she noticed as a long face took shame above her. That and the fact he was crouched over her, brown eyes staring into her blue. He blinked a couple of times before releasing his grip, rising to his feet and dusting the dirt off his yellow dress shirt.
“Remind me to never ask you to be my dance partner,” he said offhandedly, sneering at Amber’s bedraggled appearance as she lay on the ground, stunned.
“Who’s a pain in your ass, Jet?” he barked over his shoulder.
“Wait!” Amber cried, jumping to her feet in an instant, pointing an accusing finger at the newcomer just as Miles rushed out of the Bebop. “You’re the guy Miles keeps yapping in my ear about?”
A smug smirk crossed Spike’s lips as he lowered his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “Depends on who’s asking.”
Amber was completely dumbfounded. All answers and everyone’s reactions pointed to the obvious fact: this guy standing in front of her in all his stupid, fuzzy-haired glory was Spike Spiegel.
“Me. I’m asking,” she answered automatically.
“I can see that,” Spike chuckled, leaning down to get a better look at Amber’s face.
His eyes scanned her like a viper sizing up its prey — except Spike didn’t have eating her on his mind.
His examination started at her black, steel-toed boots, moving up to her baggy coveralls, noting the multiple patches of grease staining the bright blue material that brought out her greyish-blue coloured eyes. When his gaze reached her shirt, he quickly lifted his attention to her face, landing on the numerous black stains dotting her cheeks and forehead.
Spike took Amber’s face in his left hand before she could react, running his tongue over the tip of his right thumb at the same time. He wiped the same thumb across her forehead in an attempt to get the grease off. “You’ve got a little grease... all over your face,” he stated with another smirk.
Amber’s pale cheeks lit up with colour as she placed a palm to her forehead, glaring into Spike’s eyes, eyebrows furrowing. “You — You — that’s gross!” She fought the urge to slap him across the face.
“Someone had to clean you up,” he said, clearly amused at her disgust.
Without so much as an introduction or further questioning, Amber breezed by the men, disappearing with a low growl into the garage.
That sorry excuse for a human was Spike?!