Chapter Text
The night air on Mars was frigid as you left The Hydrogen Bomb, a nightclub in Alba City with good music and overpriced drinks that would be worth the woolongs if you could share any of their food with someone who really valued your time. But it was still early-- the sky was dark, but the night was young, and you were heading home. You were wearing a long coat, one that almost reached your knees, but the cool breeze swept up under the hem anyway to chill you. It made you shiver.
As you rounded the next corner, you saw him. He was leaning back on a bench taking a drag from a cigarette, lounging with his eyes closed like he belonged there, like it was his. He had this messy, fluffy head of dark hair that seemed almost greenish in the dull light, and as you watched, he exhaled white smoke, let it curl slowly from his lips and onto the wind.
Something about him had sent a shock through you. You couldn't move. There he was, and you could only stand there, waiting, and when nothing happened, when it really seemed like he hadn't noticed you, you slowly approached. His eyes cracked open, but he didn't look in your direction until you stopped and just stared at him.
“Need something?” he asked, and you took in a sharp breath at the sound of his voice, clenched your fists in your pockets. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.
He watched you for a moment, taking another drag from his cigarette, and then stood to leave. He walked right past you, and something like fear made you gasp quietly.
“U-uh,” you forced a noise out through your mouth, and you turned in time to see him stop and look back at you, cigarette burning in one hand, “Actually... yes. Are you from around here?” you forced out a laugh, “I'm looking for this club, it's called The Hydrogen Bomb--”
“No, sorry,” he said, voice monotone, eyes closing for a second before he turned away, gaze downcast, “I really need to get going.”
“Oh, but...” you watched him walk away and felt tears well up in your eyes. Why? You looked back at the bench he'd been relaxing on, and you imagined he was still sitting there for a moment. You were just passing by, and you didn't say anything. Just looked at him, then carried on.
“What's your name?” you heard him ask, looked back to see him standing a little farther away, but fully turned now to face you. He looked neutral at first, then saw your expression and seemed surprised for a second before it melted into something still calm, but less closed off. He started back towards you.
“Andy Devi,” you said, not even trying to hide the fact that you were almost in tears as you reached up to dab at an eye with your sleeve. He stopped a few feet away.
“Common name,” he commented.
“Andy Rose Devi, then!” you added, taking a step towards him with a small smile. A beat of silence passed.
“Rose, was it?” he said, then glanced away, considering. He took a slow inhale from his cigarette, then exhaled it as you watched him. “Hmm. Do you need something?” he asked again. You could only look at him for a moment, inexplicably drawn to this man.
“I just...” you took a few steps towards him as you spoke, “there's something familiar... about you. I want to get to know you, if that's alright.”
He didn't reply for a long moment, and you waited while he smoked.
“Do you know me?” he asked, and you shook your head.
“Not really,” you hedged, “It's more of a feeling.”
He turned his head as he inhaled from his cigarette, dropped it as he exhaled and stubbed it under a black boot.
“My name is Spike Spiegel,” he said. You laughed.
“Ah! I can't believe I forgot to ask,” you replied with a smile, “Spike Spiegel... Then, if we never meet again, I'll never forget it.”
He watched you, then moved a little closer.
“Why?” he asked, and stopped walking when he was only a foot or so away, “Why do you want to get to know me?”
You could only gaze at him for a moment, frozen like you were when you first saw him. A frigid breeze ruffled between you, flirted with the hem of your jacket. Not a car went past, not a person walked by. It was like the world had stopped just for the two of you.
“There's just something about you,” you said in a breath, then repeated, “Something familiar.”
He smiled a little, and though it didn't seem to touch his eyes, it sent a feathery feeling through you, like floating on plush down. Spike chuckled.
“Listen... I'm really not on the market right now,” he said. It didn't seem to phase you.
“That's really okay! When I saw you sitting there, it was like I'd been struck by something,” you told him, and he watched you passively, “I suddenly just wanted to go wherever you're going.”
He looked slightly taken aback by this, and then he suddenly moved towards you, then dodged around you, as if inspecting you.
“Huh, is that so?” he asked, moving in a circle around you with a coy smile, never taking his eyes off of you, “You want to see my ship, then? Is that it?”
“You have a ship?” you asked excitedly, and his smile finally reached his eyes, “That's so cool, I'd love to see it.”
“Sure,” he said, turning away and beginning to walk down the sidewalk, his hands partially tucked into his pockets, “I'll take you there, then,” he went on as you followed along, keeping pace beside him, “You came from this direction, right?”
“I did,” you told him as the two of you rounded the corner. He hummed and smiled knowingly at you, then paused to point down the street. You glanced over and saw the familiar neon of The Hydrogen Bomb's signage, large and jutting out over the sidewalk and nearly impossible to miss. You sent him a small smile and chuckled, shrugging.
“You weren't meeting someone there, were you?” he asked, “Unless you're alright with ditching them for a stranger with a spaceship.”
“No, I only heard about it from a friend,” you lied. The two of you continued walking, “They said the music's really what you want to visit for... but I can hear it fine from the street.”
“Chicken out on going in?” he asked. There were a few people hanging around outside with drinks and cigarettes, a short line was still waiting out front. You even recognized a face or two, people who had been waiting there for hours, and the bouncer glanced at you, expression neutral. He nodded. You waved, not wanting to ignore him. Spike hummed.
“I really just wanted an excuse to talk to you,” you admitted as you passed the club, and you looked at him. He was still smiling.
The farther you got from the nightclub, the more quiet the street was. Down by the liquor stores and apartment buildings, various commercial businesses like auto shops and insurance agencies dotted the street. The few restaurants around here were still open, you could see their lights from here, but this part of town was dead, otherwise. That wasn't unusual for a weekday, wasn't unusual for this type of weather, wasn't even unusual for this time of night, either, but it still felt really empty. You checked the time idly, your slow steps falling in time with his.
“Do I... hey,” you stopped for a moment and so did he, both of you standing under the sign for a convenience store that was almost right on the corner. The shuttered, metal covers were down, but you could see a gentle sliver of light glowing inside down at the bottom. Someone was in there, not making much noise. Apartment windows dotted the street like glowing reminders that there were people here still, on this cold night. “Do I look familiar to you... at all?”
His back was straight as he looked at you, and he leaned in towards you suddenly, humming as if he were considering your face. You didn't even start when he invaded your personal space, caught by his gaze, but before you could even really study his eyelashes, he was gone. He leaned away and reached inside his suit's jacket and pulled out his cigarettes. You stood there looking like he'd just kissed you.
“You don't usually wear that much makeup,” he said as he turned away and fished out a lighter, “Do you?”
“I don't!” you exclaimed hopefully, rushing around to get in front of him. He sent you an indulging smile, flicked his lighter to illuminate his face in an orange glow, the little flame standing tall between you. The harsh streetlight was far enough away that it was almost soft, white light reaching you from a few feet away. It lit his features from two directions for a second. You watched its reflection in his brown eyes. And then it was gone, soft red embers glowing from the end of his lip. He tucked the lighter and his pack of cigarettes back in his jacket, closing his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked, chuckling, “Did you dream of me? Or maybe it was... that you saw my face somewhere... In a crowded place, maybe?” You only watched as he took a deep pull from his cigarette, the ember flaring bright for a second as it burned down, then turned his head to blow out a gusty breath of smoke, “'Cause I already told you I'm not really on the market.”
“No, you did, I know,” you said quickly.
“And I really haven't seen you before,” he went on, gaze settling on you, “Sorry. You don't seem familiar.”
For a moment, but only for a moment, this was heart-wrenching news. You weren't sure if it showed on your face or not, but you withdrew slightly. A car rumbled past and he started walking again in silence. So did you.
“Listen...” you glanced up at him, and his expression seemed downright endeared to you. “You should probably just head home now. You'd be fine from here, right?”
“I thought you were going to show me your ship!” you exclaimed, and he chuckled.
“Changed my mind, sorry,” he said, “I've got places to be anyway.”
“No... I just. You, uh,” you struggled, frowning at the sidewalk, and when you looked at him, his smile seemed almost sad. “Can we at least exchange some contact information?”
“What, is this a hit and run?” he joked fondly, and his tone became sympathetic. “No can do. Really, Andy... I'm just some guy.”
The breeze fluttered between you again, and Spike seemed to chew at the end of his cigarette, then lifted his hand and closed his eyes to take a pull.
“I can feel that you're not,” you replied, and he turned away slightly. Grey smoke drifted up in the dark. “You look... I... I swear I've drawn you.”
“What?” He looked back at you, perplexed.
“You look just like this man I draw all the time,” you admitted nervously, and his face was outright bemused, “I really don't want you to leave and then I never see you again... I know we've never met. I've never even seen a picture of you. But--”
“Can I see?” he asked, cutting you off, and you brightened as his eyes swept over you, as if you might materialize a sketchpad or something.
“Yes!” you exclaimed, “my apartment isn't too far--” and he huffed a put-upon sigh.
“Andy...” he grumbled, almost sounding disappointed in you, and familiarly so despite still being strangers.
“It won't take long! If you want, you can wait outside and I can meet you on the steps, maybe we can...” the words 'get something to eat,' drifted between you on the air, implied, and you bit your tongue. He looked at you for a moment out of the corner of his eye, then frowned at you tiredly.
“And if I disappear?” he asked, frown lifting slightly. You watched him quietly, then smiled sadly.
“I'll never forget you,” you responded, and it was a promise, “Spike Spiegel.”
💫
“Hmm,” he was thumbing through your sketchbook, the two of you perched on the stoop to your apartment building. The occasional car went past, mostly quiet, some with blacked out windows like objects that held no driver. He glanced up every single time, and when he saw a picture that looked like him, he'd pause. He felt at the bridge of his nose when he looked at one, ruffled his hair occasionally. Mostly he was quiet.
You'd drawn this man a lot over the past few years. You unearthed an old drawing of him at one point, and it rekindled some kind of love for the design. You started drawing him all the time for a while, figure studies, funny moments, facial expressions. Even if you stopped for a while, you always came back to him.
Saying that seemed outrageous. But there it was, and here he was. You couldn't get him out of your head, and you didn't even really know anything about him.
“Guess these do kinda look like me, huh,” he murmured finally. You opened your mouth to say something. Nothing came out. Spike was staring at one of your drawings, and then he turned his head to look at you instead, “You said you suddenly wanted to go wherever I was going.”
“That's right,” you answered firmly. He gazed at you.
“Does that mean you want to go to space?” he asked, “Leave everything here behind? For a stranger with a spaceship? A drawing on a page?”
You stared at him for a moment, hope sparking in your chest. Alba city wasn't a bad place to wind up. It wasn't a bad place to live out your life. It was beautiful. Sprawling. Yours. But it was endless. Inescapable. It stretched on for so long, and everything around here looked the same to you.
You looked up at the sky. It was a pitch black canvas of nothing, and it always was, not a single star to be seen. Space might as well not even be there, just a cover encasing the city at night.
“You're not really gonna take me to space, are you?” you asked, and he stood, handing you your sketchbook.
“Yep. You knew it,” he answered, monotone. You sighed.
“You know, I haven't really seen the stars in such a long time,” you commented, flattening your hands against the sketchbook on your lap, and he listened quietly, “I used to dream of owning my own ship. Going out there like it was a boat on a river. I haven't been on the water in a long time, either....”
“That's life,” he replied when it seemed like you weren't going to say more.
“If I had my own ship... I could go with you, right?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. He didn't reply at first, and then he smirked at you.
“Or you could go right now,” he said slyly, “sneak on my ship when I'm not looking, if you can. Be a stowaway.”
You lowered your head to really look at him, and stared wide-eyed for a moment.
“Wait. Hang on,” a smile pulled at your features, and his smile widened, “Really? You're really going to take me to space?”
“I asked you, didn't I?” he said, pulling out his pack of cigarettes again. He looked inside it as he spoke, “I asked if you were really willing to go anywhere I was going.” He put the pack back into his jacket, then leveled you with a serious expression, “Why did you show me this? Go ahead, pack an overnight bag, take the things you like the most... leave all of this behind. Do you really want to?”
“It's just that the way you word it makes it sound like a trap,” you admitted sheepishly, and he only continued to look at you. Waiting, maybe, for an answer. A moment passed, or maybe it was a few, and when you stood, you almost bounced.
“Really?” you were having trouble controlling the volume of your voice, and he closed his eyes and shrugged.
“If you don't want to...” Spike trailed off with a small smile, “I did think you wanted to see my ship.”
“W-wait right here!” you exclaimed, and he turned his head to watch as you fumbled for your keys to the front door, your sketchbook tucked under one arm, then stopped yourself and took a deep, calming breath.
“You coming?” he asked.
“I just need to grab some things!” you went on, tone a little shaky, “and I'll be right back down!”
You flung open the door and rushed inside.
💫
“Something you need to know about me before we rocket off,” he said when you came back out, a bulging bag dangling from your hands, “and you should hear this before we head over to my ship.”
“I am all ears,” you said seriously, and he smirked. There was an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He chewed it absently.
“I'm a bounty hunter. Don't know how much you know about the profession, but it's dangerous work,” he began. You nodded. “The others on my ship are bounty hunters, too... and none of us are overly friendly. So don't take anything personal, okay?” You nodded again.
“You're really gonna take me to space,” you said with quiet, excited awe, and he smiled tiredly and huffed out a breath.
“If it feels wrong, you can leave any time,” he said, and started walking. You hurried down the steps after him, hefting the bag up so it didn't bang against your knees, then slowed to match his pace. You were still in your clubbing outfit underneath your jacket, still wearing makeup. The only thing you'd changed, on a last minute whim, were the shoes you were wearing. Boots seemed more appropriate if you were going to be around a ship. “No one has to stay, and we all come and go as we please. I'll bring you right back if you change your mind.”
“And I can stay? For as long as I want to?” you asked. He nodded, fiddling with his unlit cigarette. “Should we stop? You're running low on smokes, right?” He glanced at you, grinning.
“Supporting my bad habit, hm? You'll fit right in,” he looked away, and before you could respond, he continued, “Nah. I don't have the money on me, and you should save yours. Maybe think of how you're going to make money up there.”
“Well,” you hesitated, glancing at some passersby, then went on more quietly, “You said you were a bounty hunter, right? Maybe I could do that, too.”
“Bounty hunting isn't illegal, you know,” he said, tone amused as he glanced back at the people you'd passed, “It's not all hush hush... best if not too many people know if they don't need to, but you don't have to be secretive. Your name will get around eventually if that's what you wanna do.”
“Should I get a code name?” you asked, feeling a little silly even as you said it.
“Like I said,” he replied, “It's not something you really need to hide. We work alongside the police. You gonna wear a costume, too? You can't go on any bounties with me if you're wearing a costume. Actually...”
“Not even a mask?” you jokingly asked, and he sent you another grin.
“Gonna have to think about how you're going to be a bounty hunter without your own ship,” he said, “Can't always get rides from someone. Can't always make room for you... You might be able to convince someone to lend you theirs, but that's not always an option, either.”
You paused to consider this, thinking of how many woolongs you had in your bank account versus how many it would cost to buy a ship. Even a junker would be expensive. The thought was disheartening, and on top of that you had to think about fuel.
“But hey,” he said, as if noticing your expression, “Get a couple big bounties under your belt, you might be able to get ahead and buy yourself one. Easier said than done, but... why worry about it right now. Right?”
You nodded, some tension easing out of you.
“I wouldn't bring you up if there wasn't room for you,” he went on as the two of you walked along. “You don't seem like you'd be much trouble.”
Parking for ships was everywhere in Alba, but you'd never actually been to a port for long, on account of never knowing anyone who owned a ship and never owning one yourself. There were classes to learn how to fly one, and you'd taken a few courses when you were younger, but you'd never managed to save up enough to buy your own.
When you finally came up to Spike's ship, he patted the side with a smile.
“This is the Swordfish,” he said. It was a sleek-looking red ship with a long nose and folded wings. You raked your eyes over it with something close to wonder, “There's enough room for two if we squeeze in there...” he scratched the side of his head, “Actually, it... might be an uncomfortable ride back....”
He seemed miles away for a second, then shook his head and grinned at you.
“You'll have to sit behind me. If you're uncomfortable with that, then...” he trailed off.
“I'm not,” you reassured him, “It's like getting a ride on a motorcycle, right? Just in more close quarters.” He looked at you for a long moment, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, gaze a little far away. “Unless... you're having second thoughts. It's okay if--”
“No,” he said, then turned away and hopped up to open the cockpit. “I brought you out here. Just didn't really think it through.” He sent an easy grin over his shoulder, and it didn't touch his eyes, “Get used to that, I guess.”
💫
It was not an uncomfortable ride. There was an inch or so of space between you on the seat, and you were able to lean back, putting more distance between your torsos. You had the bag you'd packed clasped against your chest, an extra barrier between you. He was leaning forward, and the urge to close that distance was strong enough to make you fight it off more than once.
“Who's this?” a hulking man spoke, tone almost accusatory when you docked on a much larger ship and landed in the hangar. It was an old fishing vessel, by the looks of it. Spike had called it The Bebop on the way over. This man was taller than Spike, and missing an arm, a sleek robotic prosthetic in its place. Hanging from his metallic fingers was a lit cigarette.
“New friend,” Spike muttered in a monotone, and you followed along behind him with a smile. The two of you stopped below the larger man, who was leaning against the railing of an upper level to watch you.
“Yeah, looks like it! They're all packed and everything. And you were just gonna bring this person on without asking me,” he said before you could say hello, frowning down at the two of you.
“What can I say?” Spike responded, grinning back at you, “They sweet talked me.” You felt your face heat up slightly, and the man grunted from above.
“Where are they gonna sleep?” he demanded.
“We've got empty rooms,” Spike replied, like a person who knows they're overstepping, but also knows that it won't matter. The man grumbled, and didn't respond. “Jet, this is Andy Devi... Andy, this is Jet Black. He owns The Bebop.”
“First the dog, then Faye, then the kid... This place is getting crowded,” Jet muttered, then let his irritable gaze shift to you. “Well, it's good to meet you, I guess. How long are you gonna be here?”
“I don't really know yet,” you replied. Jet inhaled from his cigarette as you spoke.
“Another stray?” he asked through a plume of smoke.
“Hey now, Jet, come on, you know you like the company. You even hunted Faye down to keep her here,” Spike said, tone sly. Jet looked less than pleased and abruptly turned away to leave.
“You get this one settled. I'll be in the kitchen,” he said, and then he was gone, disappearing through one of the doors.
“Well, there you have it,” Spike said to his back, then smiled at you over his shoulder, “Less than friendly, was I right?”
“It's really okay for me to be here, right?” you said in response, and he snickered a little, then gestured for you to follow him down a nearby hall.
“Don't worry about him,” he said. Your eyes traveled from the way his back moved underneath his jacket to the walls, visible pipes and wires decorating them all the way down. The floor was metal grating over pipelines, and it didn't change as you went further into the ship. It reminded you of the industrial parts of Alba City, and you wondered where the ship was made. “He's all bark, no bite. And he really doesn't mind the company, no matter what he says.”
He led you down a series of halls, then down something that seemed like a service tunnel, then up a ladder and through another hall.
“Am I gonna get lost?” you mused through a laugh to break the silence as you climbed the ladder, heaving your bag up through the porthole while he waited for you to catch your breath.
“You'll learn the layout if you hang around long enough,” Spike said, “ At least to the parts everyone frequents... Unless you change your mind about all of this. Alba City's really nice. Not like this heap of metal.”
“As of now, I don't think I'll be changing my mind any time soon,” you replied with a smile. Spike grinned.
He waited for you to pick up your things and follow, then showed you down the next hall to an empty room. There was a bed laid into a metal frame that was built up from the floor, and pipes running up the walls. Something that looked like a fuse box without a hatch, and a few vents near the ceiling. The whole ship was pretty warm, but this room seemed a few degrees warmer. You finally took off your jacket.
“I'll let you get settled,” Spike said then, turning to leave as you contemplated a change of clothes, “Then I guess... I can show you around a little. Let you get your bearings.”
“Thanks,” you said, and he hummed a response, swinging the door shut.
You peeled off your clubbing outfit and found something more comfortable, but still light. You weren't sure if it was okay to hang your clothes on the pipes, but then you saw a compartment under the bed for your things, so you unpacked them and laid them out inside. There was some dust, but you ignored it as you arranged your clothes. You'd brought your sketchbook, which you kept out and laid on top of the mattress, some drawing supplies, a music player, toiletries, cosmetics... You weren't sure if you'd have an occasion to wear makeup again, but it didn't hurt to have it along. Why not do whatever you wanted, after all, since you lived in space now?
You suddenly smiled, eyes creasing as you continued unpacking your things. In spite of his gruff demeanor, you really did have a feeling that Jet Black would never kick you out. And neither would Spike. You didn't know who Faye or “the kid” were, but if none of them had a problem with you being here and you were able to earn your keep... Why not just stay indefinitely?
The number in your bank account suddenly felt like more than enough as you pulled your boots back on, seated on your bed with the compartment underneath closed. That wasn't a feeling familiar to Alba City, not that you knew how much rent or expenses here would be, and not that you were really prepared for this kind of life. You'd have to ask about all of that, talk it out with Spike.
You hugged your empty bag to your chest tightly for a moment, eyes landing on your sketchbook-- and then the door cracked open, making you start.
“I don't mean to rush you, but,” Spike's voice drifted through, but he wasn't peeking inside, “if you wanna eat now, Jet's yelling for us downstairs.”
“Oh-- sure thing!” you exclaimed, a little more cheer in your voice now, “I'd like to wash my face afterward.” You stood as you spoke and left your bag crumpled on the bed as you moved to push the door open further. Spike nodded.
“I'll show you around,” he said again, gaze traveling down and then back up when he glanced at you. You pretended not to notice, quietly falling in step behind him as the two of you made your way back through the halls.