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[not_that_spike]

Spike's sitting at the bar, three empty shot glasses and a full ashtray in front of him.

And another full shot of whiskey in front of him, and another cigarette in his hand.

Guess I'll be here a while.

Another lousy night's sleep, another Friday with no sign of Elaine.

He's not smiling.

Comments

[ms-w-harker.livejournal.com]

Mina glides up behind him, then moves around so he can see her. "Hello."

[not_that_spike]

He looks over slowly: it's not Beth.

"Mina. Hey."

It's been a long time since he saw her. Pretty much since right after Joe disappeared, and he's not really sure what to say.

Drink makes for unsteady conversation. "Haven't seen you in a while. Doing okay?" He gestures to the next bar stool over. "Buy you a drink."

[ms-w-harker.livejournal.com]

She smiles and sits. "I've been home, spending 50 years making a peace that people here seem to feel is somehow evil." She shrugs. "A pint of blood with a shot of gin, if you insist."

[not_that_spike]

He nods to the bar. "You heard her."

Resting his head on his hand, he watches her. "How the fuck can peace be evil?" Even he knows better than that. "It's not like you can force it on people if they don't want it."

Violence and pain are always the easy solutions. Always.

He knocks back the fourth shot of whiskey. It's bitter and it burns as it goes down his throat and that's just fucking fine with him.

[ms-w-harker.livejournal.com]

She toasts him with the glass, then drains it quickly. "Yes, you can. Kill enough leaders when they send armies across the border, and peace is enforced."

[not_that_spike]

"Well, shit, Mina. That's not peace. That's just an enforced pause in battle."

Bound to be some bloody coup or other: that shit always happened. Has since the dawn of time, and he's never met a planet or moon that didn't have some group of insurgents or other. Just because in his time they've colonized into deep space, it doesn't mean it's without its own struggles.

People will never change.

He lets out a deep breath and has to ask. "You ever think about the past?"

[ms-w-harker.livejournal.com]

"Over the course of fifty years, the longest battle has been three months. I call that a victory for my goal of world peace."

She looks to him curiously. "About Joe, you mean?"

[not_that_spike]

"About Joe... about any of it. You have regrets?" He looks down at the cigarette, eyes narrowed.

Does it bug the hell out of you? Does trying to figure it out keep you awake at night? Or during the day or whenever the hell it is vampires sleep? Does it fuck with your brain, your thoughts, make you question the purpose of any of your reality?

[ms-w-harker.livejournal.com]

"It's been fifty years. Until I came back, I hardly thought about it. When it was fresh, yes. I hated this place." She looks around. "I hated it for letting us think we could have been happy, then taking it away at the worst moment. If I'd have thought I could have stood a chance, I'd have tried to destroy it."

She sighs. "Now? I just wonder why. No heat, no anger. Just curiousity."

[waiting-there.livejournal.com]

She sits down on the corner stool. It luckily happens to be the one right next to him.

She doesn't speak, instead she takes out and lights a cigarette as well as obtains a scotch on the rocks.

She just sits. He'll talk when he's ready.

[not_that_spike]

None of it's her fault.

That's what his fourth shot of whiskey tells him.

It also tells him she's still that dangerous kind of beautiful, even though she's dead.

"Julia."

He's so fucking tired.

[waiting-there.livejournal.com]

She takes a drag off her cigarette and a sip of her scotch. Neither taste as strong as they used to.

Must be the due to the fact that she's a walking corpse.

"Spike."

She wonders if something's happened with Beth.

Part of her hopes they've broken up. But if they had, it wouldn't be Spike's doing. Spike never leaves.

They leave him.

[not_that_spike]

"Room 35 treating you okay?" He fumbles for the ashtray, moving it closer to her.

He knows better than to drink when he's not sleeping. But he couldn't help it: had to do something to numb it all.

Seeing her hurts.

And he thought that was all as dead and buried as she was.

[waiting-there.livejournal.com]

Was she buried? Or was she left there on that roof? Was she left to be picked up by Cleaners and left in a ditch somewhere to rot? Was there a funeral? Did anyone go?

She nods a thank you as she taps her ash into the full tray.

"Treating me fine."

[not_that_spike]

Rubbing one temple with his free hand, he turns to face her, finally. "I'm in a bad fucking mood, Julia."

She's seen him in bad fucking moods before; it's nothing new.

She's seen him hurting before too. She ought to recognize it.

"That's not your problem, though. Talk to me. What are you thinking about?"

[waiting-there.livejournal.com]

She looks at her drink.

"I'm thinking about how I can barely taste this drink. It's either not strong enough of my taste buds died when I did."

It's a dark attempt at lightening the mood.

She was never very good with jokes. That was his department.

[not_that_spike]

He studies her.

And it all spills out. "Julia, if you'd come here with me, when I did, it wouldn't be this way. Things wouldn't be this way and I wouldn't care if you were alive or dead. I loved you. I loved you. You broke my fucking heart when you ran away but even after that, I loved you. Two and a half years later when I heard your name mentioned, I followed the trail back to Mars. I came out of hiding because I wanted to find you so fucking bad. Because I thought that maybe, just maybe, you still loved me. Even though you never told me you did. Not once."

He lets out a bitter laugh. "What a fucking asshole I was. How stupid. I waited and waited and waited, like some teenager sure his crush wasn't unrequited. But it was, because you never came back. I followed you from Mars to Callisto and back again. I heard stories and I heard your name and I looked everywhere for you. And every time I didn't find you, it was like my damn heart broke all over again. Until I couldn't stand it any more. Until it hurt too fucking much for me to want to let you back in."

He downs the shot.

"I'm sorry."

[stbethadettes]

Beth takes the seat next to him, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"Martini?" she asks the bar.

She doesn't quite smile when she turns to Spike, but her eyes are soft. "Somebody tell you your bounty hunter tattoo's not valid anymore?"

He's been smoking and drinking and smoking and drinking. And hell, neither is anything new, but he's obviously been sitting here and doing little else for a while now.

[not_that_spike]

Beth.

He puts out his smoke and reaches for her hand; his head's starting to pound a little bit. He blinks a few times.

Is it really you?

"Hey." He moves his chair so it's right next to hers and rests his head on her shoulder. "Still no sign of Elaine."

That's one thing.

He ought to stop drinking: that's another. But nightmares bring up all sorts of shit and today at least, alcohol makes it a little less painful.

He looks down at his hand on hers.

"You doing okay?"

And then, "I love you." It's not drink talking: he means it like he's never meant it before. "I love you, Beth."

[stbethadettes]

She turns her hand over so their fingers can lace.

Her martini appears, but she's busy leaning her head against his and looking at his shot glasses and ashtray.

She knows how much they both care for Elaine, but she finally says, "All this for Elaine?"

It could be, sure; Spike has had quite a week. Maybe the fact that it's another Friday and Elaine's still missing is kind of the last straw.

Or maybe he just saw Julia again.

[not_that_spike]

One hand finds the back of her neck and fingers tangle in her hair. He likes the way her head rests against his: it's comforting.

"All this for... Elaine. And for old time's sake."

He's used to burying his feelings. He's used to nobody really giving a shit about how he feels.

He won't play that game with Beth, though.

"It's been a hell of a week, Beth. A lot of old shit I thought was gone, you know?" Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. But he sure as hell bets she's got some idea about it.

His hand feels like it's in the exact right place, resting there on the back of her neck. "I wish we could have stayed on Venus."

Today, I wish we could be anywhere but here. Anywhere, so long as we're together.

[stbethadettes]

She'd nod... but she doesn't want to.

Her head's against his, his is on her shoulder, and his fingers are in her hair. There's more than enough reason to stay just as she is.

Within that first day or two after he came upstairs, covered in blood, and told her about Julia, she might have been a little bothered by his for old time's sake.

And if so, she would have hated herself for feeling that way.

"Old scars," she starts. And then stops. She knows it must hurt.

She doesn't love him any less, and maybe more, and now she'd shrug but she's still not quite ready to disturb him.

Her free hand goes out to her martini glass, but her fingers just play around the base of it.

"Venus would be a fucking great place to be," she agrees.

[not_that_spike]

"You still have your passport." That damn thing's like a lifeline. "So next time we can go wherever you want. Wherever's close enough to wherever the Bebop is, and try the martinis there, and check out the luxury hotels, and..." his voice trails off abruptly as a wave of sadness washes over him.

Fuck it. Just... fuck it. He swallows it back, his fingers still playing in her hair.

"Old scars." Maybe he says it by way of explanation, and maybe he says it just to echo what she said, but it feels like it bears repeating. "Hurts like hell when they open up again. I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for you."

When he's ready to move, he's going to hold her like she's never been held before.

[stbethadettes]

"Marie Browning will get her martini tour of the solar system."

She smiles to herself. It's a pretty goddamn romantic notion, and she doesn't think she'll ever have total faith in the idea that it'll happen.

But it's nice to think about. And Spike's always full of surprises.

She still doesn't move. "I figure there'd be a good chance that you'd go back to her."

It's just the first thing that comes to mind.

[not_that_spike]

That gets him moving: eyes widened, he pulls back and studies Beth.

He feels like crying, except he doesn't do that.

"Not a chance in hell."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck. His hands go automatically to either side of her face, caressing her cheekbones, and he leans forward and kisses her on her lips, her eyes, her lips again, her eyes again. "Dammit, Beth, I love you. I don't go back and forth on that. It doesn't waver. It doesn't go away."

Don't say that.

He holds her close then, as tightly as he can, almost desperate. For a moment he says nothing more: he just holds her. And when he does speak it's softly so only she can hear him; it's like the sounds of the rest of the bar just fade into nothing.

Just me and you, Beth, the way it's supposed to be.

"I used to love Julia. I loved her a long time ago, but I don't love her any more." He buries himself against her, his hand in her hair again. "I've never been the kind of guy who played games like that. When I love someone, I love them. Until they leave, or until they tell me to fuck off or get lost. I love you, Beth."

He can feel his heart breaking just a little bit.