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Rain pounded down, flooding the storm drains and soaking through Spike’s jacket, making his button down stick to his skin uncomfortably. He walked down the dingy, dimly lit street, keeping his head angled down as his ears strained to hear footsteps, the sound of a gun cocking, a sword being slid from its sheath, anything besides the heavy drums of the city rain. Cold seeped through his clothes and into his body, past the layers of skin and muscle and fat, penetrating him down to his very bones, though he barely registered it.
He kept a pace just shy of running, not seeming overtly desperate, but certainly not relaxed either. Every time his foot struck the pavement, he felt it rocket up through him like electricity, booming like a clap of thunder. With every step he swore he could feel someone watching him, from above, behind, and below, like a swarm of snakes in the crushing darkness of night, tracking the movements of an unlucky mouse. There were eyes everywhere, he was sure of it, watching him with a mix of contempt and barely contained glee at the thrill of a hunt. Of a kill.
The calculating eyes of the elders glared at him from the darkened windows of an apartment building.
The measured gaze of his former mentor watched him from a closed convenience store.
The determined bright green of his apprentice stared from an abandoned office building.
The exasperated but caring eyes of his old friend watched him in the shape of the clouds.
The rotting brown of his own missing eye bore down on him from a billboard high above.
The cold silver eyes of—
her blue eyes—
her—
If he wasn’t running before, he certainly was now. The eyes followed him, pressing down on him from all sides until he could barely breathe. He had to get away, had to run, had to hide, had to—
The sudden flash of headlights approaching had barely registered before the car slammed into Spike’s body, sending him flying across the road.
His head struck the pavement with a sickening crack. The sound of rain beating down around him was swallowed up by ringing, impossibly loud ringing. As Spike’s consciousness began to flicker, he felt an odd sense of calm wash over him. It was over now. All over.
The darkness that had previously seemed crushing wrapped him up like a mother tucking in her child, like the jacket of an old friend being slung about his shoulders, and then he…
was…
—
The first thing he was aware of was a low humming that filled his ears, gently tugging him by the hand, trying to lead him back to himself. Julia...? Spike pushed back, wanting to spend just a little more time in the blissful nothingness, but the noise became more insistent, pulling on his consciousness like a thread on a sweater. He felt the darkness unravel around him as he was slowly forced to become aware of his own body.
It was his aching ribs that he noticed first, protesting loudly every time he took a breath, followed by the stiff collar that held his head in place, and the arm pulsing slightly under a layer of plaster, and legs that, while they didn’t have any medical equipment on them, were very determined to make him aware of them, and finally the pain in his head, blooming outwards like a rose. He cracked his eyes open against his better judgment, groaning quietly as his vision was flooded by the bright overhead lights of the hospital— right, he was in the hospital. That made sense— a vague memory of an accident came back to him, twinkling like a distant star on the event horizon of his mind.
He blinked slowly, clearing the sticky film of sleep off his natural eye- the cybernetic one needed less time to adjust, making it feel just as foreign to him as waking always did.
But then again, maybe he wasn’t awake at all.
The humming he had heard took on a more mechanical tone, and the gentle beeping of a monitor filtered into his mind just behind it. He groaned again, feeling like his head was stuffed full of cotton wool, far too full to take on any more input, thank you very much.
The sudden sound of a chair creaking beside him seemed to feel otherwise, though.
He looked over sharply, instantly regretting moving his head so quickly as his vision swam— who would come visit him in the hospital? Maybe Vicious was waiting there to finish the job once he was conscious enough to know who killed him. Or maybe, just maybe—
An unfamiliar pair of tired gray eyes looked back at him with surprise.
“Oh. You’re awake.” The man said lamely, taking on a sheepish look that seemed out of place on a face like his.
Spike paused and took in the man that sat slouched in the uncomfortable looking plastic chair across from him, sizing him up carefully. Tall and well muscled, he was balding and had a thick and very particularly groomed beard with equally thick eyebrows, one of which bore a scar that cut across one of his eyes, accompanied by a cybernetic implant in his cheek— likely to restore function to a severed optic nerve.
It gave him the air of toughness that Spike had seen in many of the guys that the syndicate would send to do simple jobs that required brute force more than forethought. He tensed as the likelihood of the man being sent by the syndicate seemed to grow in his mind, before his eyes slid further down— he was wearing what seemed to be an ISSP issued jumpsuit, judging by the coloring and general aesthetics, though if there was a rank associated with it, it wasn’t one Spike was familiar with.
Spike frowned. While that meant he probably wasn’t from the syndicate, he didn’t really seem like he was ISSP either— the coveralls were clearly weathered and torn, and that certainly wouldn’t do for an ISSP officer. Torn off sleeves revealed a bicep about as thick around as Spike’s head on one side, and a cybernetic arm on the other. It was a touch darker than his skin, and Spike idly wondered if that was a conscious choice, or if he was just paler than he used to be. Extended periods of space travel will do that…
So. Not syndicate, not ISSP, and certainly not a friend- that left only one other option.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly, taking a breath to speak again before Spike interrupted him.
“Dead men can’t sue.”
The other man blinked twice in confusion. “What do you- You’re not dead, kid.”
Spike tried to chuckle, but what came out was more of a weak cough than a laugh. “We’ll see about that.”
The guy shook his head and ignored him. “Okay, look. My name’s Jet Black, and I’m-“
“A terrible driver.” Spike muttered. The man - Jet Black, a name that sounded so fake it had to be real or the guy was an idiot - continued as if he hadn’t heard him, but the slight uptick in the tone of his voice told Spike that he had.
“I was driving back to my hotel last night and I- you came out of nowhere, and I didn’t have time to hit the brakes before-“ Jet interrupted himself with a sigh. “I didn’t see you, and I ran into you before I could stop the car.”
“Sorry I didn’t look both ways before crossing the street, officer.” Spike said, realizing suddenly that his mouth was nearly as dry as his tone.
Jet scowled at him, giving him a look sharp enough for Spike to tell he struck a nerve. “Not an officer.” He retorted icily before looking away. “Least not anymore.” He mumbled, clearly not wanting to speak about it further.
Spike, however, was never one to leave well enough alone.
“They take away your badge for running over civilians now? Thought they just put you on ‘paid administrative leave’ for that.”
Jet snorted sharply. “Don’t be obnoxious.” Spike couldn’t help but smirk at that, remembering the time Annie chastised him for— He pushed the memory back down as the smile faded from his face. Jet sighed. “I left the force years ago.”
Spike hummed idly as Jet looked increasingly uncomfortable, turning the information over in his mind for an advantage to press.
“Well, unless you’ve got a fat government pension, I doubt suing you will get me anything worth my time.” Spike mused, making a show of looking over Jet’s worn out clothes skeptically. Jet burst out into a laugh that was just shy of bitter. “No dice, kid. I’m a bounty hunter, I’m not exactly rolling in woolongs.”
Spike tensed up again. While it was very unlikely that the syndicate would allow the ISSP to investigate anybody as connected to their… enterprises as he was, it wasn’t entirely out of the question that something had slipped through the cracks.
Or maybe they’d decided to let the ISSP do their dirty work for them.
“You here to collect a bounty on me?” Spike asked languidly.
Jet didn’t react, aside from cocking an eyebrow at him. “No. Should I be?”
Spike laughed, surprised at the effort it took do so. Just talking with this man was sapping what little energy he had.
“Nah. Just making conversation.”
Jet grunted in response, fishing in his pocket for a beat-up pack of cigarettes before seeming to remember he was in a hospital, and hospitals will kick you out for smoking— Spike knew that from experience. Jet shoved them back in his pocket with a sigh.
Spike chewed his lip, and decided to try his luck. “Tell ya what, Jet,” he started slowly, “While it would be nice to have a little extra walking around money, I won’t bother suing you if you do me a little favor instead.”
Jet’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kinda favor?”
“You got a ship, right?”
Jet raised both his eyebrows. “Yeah, I do.” He answered slowly. “Dunno how you would know that, though.”
Spike leaned his head back against the pillow. “Get me off this god forsaken rock and bygones’ll be bygones, pal.”
Jet paused, fixing him with an appraising look before reaching back into his pocket and pulling a cigarette out in spite of his prior hesitation. “What’s your name, kid?”
Spike considered his options as he watched Jet clamp the cigarette between his lips, but as Jet pulled out his lighter and lit his cigarette, the idea of lying about who he was to a guy who likely had the means to check him on his shit was probably not his best option.
Not to mention he was too tired to think of a good lie.
“Spike Spiegel.”
Jet took a long, thoughtful drag and exhaled a plume of smoke into the ugly little beige room. Spike breathed in the secondhand smoke, hoping to get at least a little hit of nicotine. After a moment of consideration, Jet spoke again.
“Well Spike, anywhere in particular you’re headed?”
Spike smiled sleepily and closed his eyes.
“Anywhere but here.”