Cowboy Bebop, Spike/Faye - #4. our distance and that person
Fandom: Cowboy Bebop
Theme: 4. our distance and that person
Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop owns me, but not the other way around.
Notes: This happens some time after Jupiter Jazz Part II. Very strange and riddling, and I like it that way.
He sits two inches from her, two inches that to her are worse than two miles. Miles she might take some comfort in; inches she cannot bear.
It is hot. It is always hot, it seems, with the air conditioner breaking down every time someone breathes wrong. His head hangs over the back of the couch, waving languidly from time to time to try and catch phantom breezes.
Her hose are long discarded, lying on the back of the chair. Every once in a while, one of Spike’s phantom breezes catches one, sending it swaying and spinning slightly.
Except Faye doesn’t notice any of this, except for the godforsaken vacuum between her and Spike. In her mind it is cold, very cold. A light snow is falling on Callisto, the place where her mind seems to live these days. But she does that, finds her home in places her mind should leave. She traces her way up the stairs to Gren’s apartment, untouched, empty, half the lights still on.
She’s looking for Julia- but it’s not Julia she’s after. She’s looking for Julia because she holds Spike. She figured that one out all on her own. Maybe she doesn’t even know that she knows, but she keeps looking.
All her life, that she can remember, she’s been looking. Something strange with her memory, something she can’t quite understand, all this looking. Maybe it’s insulation, keeping her mind and her body separate. Maybe it’s that she still wants a home. Maybe it’s not even true, the half conscious babble of a heat-addled brain. No matter. She is on Callisto now.
Until Spike moves again, and she’s jarred back. He’s closer now, another half an inch and a couple million miles. And it’s so very hot that she shivers. A bead of sweat rolls down Spike’s neck and into his shirt, and Faye wishes in that instant that she was there.
He’s just staring at the ceiling, past the ceiling, off into nothingness. And in the corners of a jealous mind Faye thinks she knows what he is seeing. Julia, all Julia. She must be in Faye’s mind as often as Spike’s these days. And for a split second, Faye wishes she were Julia, that she were hunted, not hunting.
Spike gets up slowly, and in moving, his hand comes to rest on her leg. Only it’s not really resting at all. It is the slow drag, the rough kiss of damp skin on damp skin. And it burns, more than she thought was possible.