Work Text:
The fact he didn’t remember passing out on the couch told Spike he was more worn down than he originally thought. Their last bounty had been brutal in a way most of them just weren’t. The entire Bebop Crew was suffering from cuts, bruises and scrapes that would take weeks to fade. Nothing fatal. Nothing that didn’t require more than their first aid kit; but still beaten all the same. Spike was pretty sure that Jet had managed to sprain his ankle; he’d seen the older cowboy trying to hide a limp like his life depended on it. The tv was on, but it had swapped to a late night telenova sometime after he had fallen asleep. Hearing a sound coming from the couch across from him, Spike blinks. Once. Twice. Three times as he takes the sight in front of him in.
“Is that my shirt?” Faye startles at his words, nearly knocking over her drink in the process as she glares at Spike. Setting her drink down on the coffee table, Faye huffs as she reaches for her pack of smokes, lighting one up and not bothering to answer his question. She’s dressed in one of his wife beaters; the ones he uses when he’s working on the Swordfish. Raising an eyebrow at her choice of attire, Spike rubs the sleep from his eyes as he grabs her pack of cigarettes from the table, not caring that they’re Faye’s. It’s too late at night, and if she’s stealing his clothing, she owes him a cigarette as far as he’s concerned.
“Well?” Faye sighs, as she kicks her feet up on the coffee table before she answers.
“It’s hotter than hell and I can’t stand anything touching my tits right now.” Spike eyes her in that way he does; when it seems like he’s looking right through her instead of at her. Faye finds it unnerving on the best of days, let alone after a day like this. Spike inhales sharply as something crosses his mind.
“The bounty….he didn’t…” Spike can’t seem to force the question out past his lips. There’d been a few moments when they’d been separated. Long enough that something could have happened anyway; it unnerves Spike in a way that settles deep in his gut. It’s a rather unpleasant feeling. When Faye shakes her head, he merely raises an eyebrow at her silent reply.
“Gadjo, I promise. Nothing happened. He copped a feel and I kicked him in the nuts. That’s all.” Spike feels his blood boiling that their bounty had managed that much. His irritation must be showing on his face because Faye sighs as her face softens. “He tried to twist my breasts. So yeah, they hurt like hell, but I’ll be okay.” Spike idly wonders if he can work out ten minutes alone with their former bounty, but the laugh Faye lets out pulls him from that line of thought. “Spike, I swear, I’m okay.” His eyes lock on hers and something seems to pass in the silence between them.
“If you say so, Romani.” Something in Spike’s tone tells Faye he’s not going to let this go so easily. But she’s had it worse since she woke up from her cryosleep. Most men are pigs; it was why it had been so refreshing when Spike and Jet had pretty much left her to her own devices when she joined them on the Bebop. When the storm clouds don’t seem to want to leave Spike’s eyes, Faye moves her foot, which was now stretched out on the coffee table next to his, to knock their feet together.
“Promise.” It’s one word, but it seems to relax his tense muscles. Faye watches as Spike goes boneless and relaxes into the couch. The storm clouds still seem to haunt his eyes; but it’s like he’s lost in a distant memory. Faye decides it’s better not to interrupt whatever train of thought he’s wandered down. The silence stretches so long that Faye starts to zone out. When Spike taps her foot with his hand, she nearly jumps out of her skin.
When had he moved?
She’d been so lost in thought, she’d never noticed him getting up from the couch. When he presses a bowl into her hands, Faye raises an eyebrow until she notices the cookie dough ice cream.
“Where’d you get this?” They haven’t bought sweets in weeks. Money had been too tight to buy anything other than necessities. They’re barely managing to keep themselves in smokes as it is. Another question is on the tip of her tongue, but Spike cut her off in his reply.
“Last time we went to the store.” There’s a hint of a smirk on his face; it’s all Faye can do not to come up with a snappy retort to wipe that smirk off his face. They don’t do overt feelings. It’s just not how things are done on the Bebop. It’s what Faye had liked about the ship when she first came aboard. They didn’t ascribe to social niceties for the sake of pretending to be pleasant people. Sure, they care about their fellow shipmates in their own ways. It’s just never spoken aloud. She watches out of the corner of her eye as Spike settles back onto his spot on the couch.
He’s pretending to watch a rerun of Big Shots; Faye’s astute enough to tell he’s watching her out of the corner of his eye. She’s just glad he’s not looking at her like she’s going to break.
Faye doesn’t realize it when she falls asleep. One minute she’s eating ice cream. The next she’s waking up with a threadbare blanket tossed over her thin frame, laid out across the couch. There’s noises coming from the kitchen, and a cup of steaming tea sitting near her head on the coffee table. She’s too drowsy to tell which of the two men are in the kitchen. Faye doesn’t have the energy to spare to focus her hearing enough right now.
All her brain registers is that she’s safe.