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AN: I hope this comes together concisely, I haven't edited and I wrote it in a flow during a day when life was a lot. Living with trauma is hard, but I wrote this to remind myself, and others, that we aren't alone in our suffering, and that there is a floor at the bottom of the spiral. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is ride out the storm. You, me, we're gonna be okay :)
It’s that time of season when the wind feels cold and lonely, chills your bones with an inescapable gloom you spend a while trying to figure out. There’s that little accompanying voice that wonders how long it’s gonna last this time and the more you hope to drown it out, the less of anything you really feel. Even that third, fourth, fifth glass of birthday wine dries out and leaves you more jaded than relieved.
Maybe it’s just the season of hibernation that’s got you dragging your feet. Maybe this emptiness just comes with the territory. Another year drawing to a close and what the hell have you been doing? What is there to look forward to?
Well, rationally speaking, a lot. It’s been a productive year of chasing bounties and kicking Jet and Spike’s asses at board games, and Spike has been hinting at having something up his sleeve for New Year’s Eve. It still amazes you that Spike Spiegel of all people, angst extraordinaire and connoisseur of deprecating humor, had actually found some kind of home in you. He’d kind of just popped up one day with that talk to me and you die kind of aura, but he’d impressed Jet with his bounty-hunting capabilities and, by extension, had become a worthy rival to you.
It was a blast to compete with Spike. His wit hit like a cracking whip, sudden and unexpectedly cruel at times, yet it kept you on your toes on hunts. Plus, you couldn’t lie, it was wildly entertaining to watch this guy go to town dancing around bounties like Bruce Lee on open mic night. Maybe it should have pissed you off that he was so much better at this, and it kind of did, especially at first when he’d interrupt your operations, doing whatever the hell he wanted. He’d gotten you hurt because of his unexpected antics a few times, but got his shit together pretty quick (and petulantly) after Jet found out and threatened to drop him.
It really seemed that he couldn’t have cared less about you in the beginning. But the more you studied him, the more you noticed how little he seemed to care about himself , jumping into unbridled danger like he was looking for a reason to die yet simultaneously waiting for a worthy opponent to finish the job. The man was dead-walking through the motions. He was smoking a pack of cancer sticks almost daily. He was angry and hurting pretty fucking badly, his spite the signature crutch of a limping dog. You could tell. You’d been there yourself not too long ago. Sometimes you still stumbled back in, but there isn’t a worthy opponent when it’s just you sitting at the bottom of a pit.
So, you learned to not take his sort-of-fuckups too personally. It didn’t have a thing to do with you and everything to do with whatever hell he’d crawled out from. You’d also been a pain in the ass in the beginning, and Jet was miraculously there with a water bottle, open ears, and fatherly wisdom. He knew when to crack the gavel, but he did it with a look that reflected the kind of care you’d been insatiably craving for most of your life, and it didn’t take long for the realization that Jet understood what hell felt like to bring down your walls. Now, it felt like it was your duty to pass that onto Spike.
When you’d catch him brooding, another cancer stick stuck between his lips, you sucked down whatever you would have said and passed him a mug of coffee or a glass of water. The first morning, he stared at you for a long moment, eyes hard, and you could feel them following you as you wordlessly joined him at the coffee table. You scrolled through your phone, reviewing whatever news was happening out in the galaxy, and eventually, Spike started nursing his mug. You knew you’d likely put up with all that cancer smoke again if you got to experience another victory like that.
And you did. Every other morning, you’d find Spike sitting at the coffee table, sometimes Jet before he was off doing something (he could never sit still in the mornings). You and Spike fell into a routine of comfortable silence. Soon, he was smoking less and drinking more. Then, he was sitting there every morning, and your insides swelled with glee at the realization that he appreciated you. His gazes had grown softer, betraying how exhausted he really felt inside, and when you slid a mug across the table, he’d shoot you what you interpreted as a grateful glance.
The mornings after big bounties were always the most relaxing. The Bebop felt safer somehow and more comfortable. The expenditure of all that physical energy meant you’d be sitting around languidly for a while, which made for warm serenity between you and Spike, simpering over your victories while relaxing into a tensionless present. Spike seemed the most grounded during these times. You’d noticed over time how comfortable he was becoming with you and Jet, still guarded but less withdrawn, but on these mornings, it was like the weight of the world had sunk down past him and he could finally stoop his shoulders and take a deep breath. He’d look haggard if he didn’t look so relaxed.
It was during one such time that he breached the silence: “What’re you looking at?”
It came out a bit roughly, but when you looked up, you saw how tired he was. And, surprisingly, earnest. You set your phone on the table and swapped it around for him to see. You watched his brows rise at the video of a litter of kittens you’d pulled up.
“I like to remember that there’s a lot of good in this place,” you told him quietly. “Sometimes it’s hard to not get cynical…So in the mornings, I try to set some kind of intention to be kind. Seeing the good out there helps bring me back to myself.”
When he looked up and caught your gaze, you felt like he was seeing a whole different person.
“Didn’t take you to be the sentimental type,” he gruffed out.
You smiled, feeling a bit impish to get him back for all his smugness. “Then you haven’t been paying attention.”
Again, there was something that flashed in him, like someone waking up from a dream and realizing there’s a world around them.
After that, Spike was contemplative. Even on the following bounties, he seemed more in his head and you were left wondering what exactly you’d said or conveyed that had hit him so hard. It didn’t seem like there was anything else connected to his sudden introspection.
But it was because of this introspection that a bounty went south. Badly wrong.
You were talking up the guy, tall and broad with wrestler’s shoulders. Terance Bright. He was a quarterback in college but dropped out and was on the run after being caught transporting hard drugs in his duffle bags. Stuff that apparently helped kids take exams without all the terrible anxiety but had some devastating side effects he “forgot” to mention. It sucked. The guy was on his way to living his dream and he’d gotten caught in this bullshit instead. What’s worse was he was still peddling to young students and had pummeled many people into pulps, especially agonized youths who were desperate to end their addictions. He was obviously a runner for a larger operation, but a bounty is a bounty and they wanted quite a pretty sum for him.
The beachfront bar was packed and you knew you’d need to lead him away to avoid anyone else falling into the crossfire, so you suggested he take you to his place, a penthouse he’d been talking up that was just a few blocks away into the city. He was eager, eyes hungry as he led you out the back and down a street bustling with people basking in the sunset. You knew Spike would be right behind you, having been watching from his own seat at the bar, and Jet was on standby. Still, that familiar feeling of adrenaline began to rush along with that vodka cocktail.
You never made it to Terance’s place. He urged you down an alley “shortcut” and you felt the prickle of apprehension. It was deserted back there and the first corner he led you to was a dead end.
Well, this wouldn’t be the first time you’d be giving concussions.
But just as you readied your elbow to slam into his temple, he pushed you hard into one of the stone walls, disorienting you for a second. There was a click of a gun close to your ear. He laughed and as you glanced at the mouth of the alley, you saw Spike, gun up and aimed. He looked startlingly pissed off, dark eyes swallowed with hate, and you almost felt scared of him. The guy was always a smoking gun, but this felt different, like he was a snap away from feral and emptying every round into a corpse.
“You really think I’m stupid?” Terance exclaimed. “You’re a shit tag-along, I saw you following us!”
“Put down the gun, Terance,” was all Spike said.
“Uh, did you not notice?” Terance waved his gun before your face. “I’m lethal, buddy.”
“You had dreams, too,” you said, catching him off guard. “Was it the exams that got to you? If you couldn’t pass them, you’d flunk off the team? You tried to help other students struggling, but got caught up in something greater that you couldn’t run from - “
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Terance knotted a hand in your hair and slammed your face into the wall. A hot trickle ran from your brow down to your neck. “The fuck do you know about it?! They don’t care - no one fucking cares in this world! What are we even doing this shit for? They make us jump through all these hoops for what?! And it never ends! We get shit on every day and we’re supposed to just keep going and die some honorable way? Fuck that, I just wanna be happy and live my life! But this world doesn’t care about that! Dreams are dead!”
There was a gunshot and then Terance was on the ground yelling. His pistol hit the ground nearby and went off, too, biting a hole through your thigh. You cursed loudly. You were aware of Spike shouting your name above the rush in your ears and with the last bit of adrenaline, you kicked the pistol toward the back of the alley, away from Terance’s searching hands. Immediately, you stumbled to the side and collapsed onto your hip. The impact was painful against the hard ground and your head swam from everything besieging you at once.
That was close that was close that was close -
You were brought back by a hand on your neck. For a moment, you feared Terance was about to strangle you, but the specks floating across your vision could not obscure the wide, piercing eyes of Spike. (Vaguely, you noted they were two slightly different colors.) He desperately sought your pulse as if reassuring himself that you were alive. He was holding his breath. It hit you then in full color that he had lost someone before.
The world melted away as you cupped his wrist and stroked your thumb up the inside, hoping to convey to him that you were both okay, that you were safe and he could trust that. He stared back, still for a beat, almost disbelieving, and then he expelled a heavy breath.
The next morning, you were stopped from hobbling out of bed by Spike, who was in your room with two hot mugs. The gesture was pleasantly surprising and you allowed yourself to melt back into the mattress. Jet had bandaged you up nicely and ordered you off your feet and any potential bounties for a while. While it was infuriating, you couldn’t argue with him, though it made you wonder why Spike had waited to disarm Terance. You’d seen him hit hands from meters away. At ten feet, you’d expected Spike to have a wide window of opportunity. You supposed that maybe he just wanted Terance distracted, but something didn’t sit right still.
In fact, the entire time Jet was patching you up, Spike never made an appearance.
“He’ll come around,” Jet had said with a slight, knowing smile. “I think he just…well. I won’t assume. But he seemed pretty worried.”
And now, here he was, sitting by your bedside like a concerned spouse. He looked ragged, probably hadn’t slept in a day, and smelled like cigarettes and BO.
You’d never seen anything so attractive.
“Hi,” you said with a smile.
He smiled back and your heart swelled. “Hey.”
And here you are, presently sitting in the cold on the wing of your small ship, watching the clouds fading against the sun’s final rays. The first sprinkling of stars is visible above your head and the distant city skyline is beginning to glow, welcoming the night. Despite the beauty of it all, you can’t stop feeling so empty. You wish it felt more cathartic to admit. In such a vast universe, how can you not feel so small and helpless?
This old curse will follow you to the grave, you’re sure. Maybe you’ll start seeing a therapist again or a psychiatrist. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it would help much, but you know you’ll eventually come out of this hollowness and appreciate the support. Still, for the time being, all you can do is sit with yourself while the storm rages on in your heart.
“Hey.”
You turn to find Spike walking toward you with two glasses of water.
“Hey,” you manage.
He regards you with a sad smile as he gently presses a glass into your hands and jumps up to sit beside you. For a time that seems to stretch on infinitely, the two of you sit quietly and watch the setting sun. If you weren’t so down, you know your heart would be pumping, as it does whenever he’s close by these days. Ever since that morning in your room.
The sun is gone when Spike finally speaks again. “You don’t have to say anything, but…I’m here for you. And if you don’t wanna talk, we can just sit. I’ll talk, if you want me to.”
You inhale deeply as something begins to unfurl in your chest. “...I’d like that. To sit. And listen for a bit.”
“Okay.” He inhales as if steadying himself. “I’ve spent a lot of time like this. Aimless. Wondering what I’m here for. Sometimes I still do. Doesn’t feel like I’m any closer to an answer, but maybe I never needed one. It would be nice, though.”
He chuckles humorlessly.
“These days, I’m starting to believe that I don’t really need a reason,” he continues softly. “It’s enough to just wake up and see what trouble the day’s gonna bring this time.”
“Too true,” you hum mordantly.
“I like life a lot better that way. Maybe it’s nihilistic of me, I dunno. But it helps, in a life like this, when things can go south so quick. Just to take it a day at a time. Sometimes our best is just taking it moment by moment, moving forward one step after the other. Like having coffee together and watching dumb cat videos.”
You glimpse his smile fading.
“I’m not trying to make this about me. I just need to tell you…I’m sorry for freezing. With Terance.”
Finally, you turn to him, surprised. He ruefully stares ahead.
“You said something a while back that really got me. That I wasn’t paying attention. You were right. I was just stumbling through life like it was all a dream. Nothing felt real. And when Terance grabbed you, I thought I might…”
His hand tightens into a fist around his glass.
“He said, dreams are dead. You’re either disillusioned with life or living in your head to get away from it all. And maybe he didn’t mean it the same way, but I realized that I don’t just want to accept a life in my head. I lost a lot before the Bebop. Life was this one, big dream that didn’t want to wake up from. And then it became something I couldn’t escape from. Still is.
But when Terance had you, I…I realized I was…that I had to let go. I wanted to try again. Give this whole living thing another shot. Because I figured there’s more to life to see that I just didn’t know about back then. Maybe I’ll lose it all again, but when Terance had you, all those moments of us together were in my head. It was like I woke up and all I could think about was how important you’ve become in my life.”
Your heart is fluttering now, stirred to life by his sincerity. You once thought he’d never be vulnerable with you, but you’re beginning to understand that he has been all this time, shying away from you to avoid his own raw wounds.
“I’m not saying this to make things better for you,” he says, turning to you. “Well, maybe I am, a bit. But what I’m really trying to say is…You’ve been there for me from the start. And I’m not here for you as a favor. I’m here because it’s more than you deserve.”
He smiles shyly, making him look so sweetly boyish. “Life is a lot. Too much, sometimes. Maybe escaping is the only logical response. But there are reasons to come back to it. Losing your footing doesn’t mean there won’t be another landing. You’ve shown me that. So I want to remind you that there’s a landing here - “ He gestures to the tarmac. “ - too.”
A warm little trickle of life is seeping back into your heart.
“I appreciate that,” you murmur, returning his smile. “Thank you, Spike. For everything. It means more to me than anything to hear you say that.”
Redness tinges his cheeks. “Yeah. Course. Uh…Is there anything I can do or…?”
Your heart swells. He was so sure of himself just a moment ago. He’d said more all at once than he ever had before! Perhaps…
You scoot a hand forward, hoping he’ll meet you halfway. “Would you sit with me for a while?”
He soothes his hand over yours with surprising delicacy. His eyes are deep and warm despite his bashfulness when he says, “For as long as you want me to.”