[for Rogue]
A space station falls from the sky, and then Faye Valentine falls back into his life. If she can be qualified as being in it now; Spike, frankly, has no idea where to place her in whatever loose mental schema he applies to his life, with no Bebop. They're still stuck in the same place, he supposes, it's just a little bigger, and it's a different
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It wasn't exactly the picture she'd had in her head, once she actually found him, though.
"Do cowboys make good sailors?" she asked as she approached, stopping a few meters from where he stood, behind him, kicking one foot behind the ankle of the other and hitching her thumbs into the belt loops of her cutoffs.
She'd consciously reintroduced herself to the sun and, now that she had a schedule, and even though McCoy wasn't necessarily sure the exertion was good, had started running and doing yoga again. The fact that she could look in the mirror every day and see herself, and be reasonably sure of who that was, meant that the cumulative months of not knowing, and not sleeping, and just curling up in quiet places hoping to stay lucid and in control had become glaringly apparent in how thin and pale she was. She was still thinner than she liked, and she was still paler than what had ever been normal for her- her, a girl that went around covered up practically head to toe- but it wasn't as bad as it had been five days ago, when she'd decided she was going to go looking for him with the intent of finding him.
It took a lot of conscious effort not to try and tousle her hair up a little bit, or adjust her tank top, or fidget in any way before he turned around. It wouldn't have made much of an effect, anyway. The urge was still there.
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"Sailors, sure," he says, "one ride's as good as another. Builders, that's another thing."
Then he turns around. She looks better, he thinks, than the glimpses he catches of her around, that's he's pretty sure are her, and not a trick of his head, because she hasn't been looking as well as he remembered.
But maybe that's just him putting a new spin on the past. They say that happens; your memories shift, like stories, change in the telling. He's wondered if that's true for him, too, or if his thing with the eye prevents it. Maybe he's the only person who remembers what happened as it actually happened. That'd be enough to skew anyone's view of the world.
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He figures she'll work up to whatever brought her out there. And, frankly, he doesn't know what he's dealing with yet. He's pretty sure it's Rogue, which relieves a slight tension inside him somewhere, and she seems less fractured. Least, on the evidence of a couple of seconds.
Maybe she's just hiding it better. Maybe she picked that up from him.
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"Nope. Matter o'fact, I know so little about boats I can't even come up with somethin' snappy or cute t'say 'bout it."
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It did involve a little too much being told what to do for him to have ever been comfortable with it, though. The best parts were when everyone knew what they were doing. A group of people that just happened to be working towards the same thing. No boss, as such.
"Shame," he says. "Haven't heard a lot of snappy or cute lately."
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So he could at least have the option of trying to get the hell out of dodge.
She stopped her circling of the would-be-boat when she was maybe two feet from Spike, and stood not facing him, but wanting to.
"Guess I oughta just out with it, huh?" she said more quietly.
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"That's up to you," he says. He's always favored talking around things, when he's in similar straits, but it doesn't work for everyone. Not even for him, also.
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"Dunno if anythin'll come of it really, but at least 'm sleepin' again. It's... somethin', it's a start." She lifted her head, not looking at the boat anymore, but couldn't quite bring herself to look over at Spike, either.
"I don't even know how long it's been since we talked. How sad is that?" She bit back a wince, and frowned.
"Sad ain't the right word, that's not what Ah meant. Just... 've been real messed up 'n Ah don't know how to come back from it, exactly, but Ah... I think about you all the time, 'n I miss you."
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Yeah. He's been concerned. That's what life does to you. He's never afraid for himself, but other people, sometimes they work their way in there.
"I haven't gone anywhere," he says, which means a couple of different things.
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"Ah know," she said.
"Thank God," she added, then glanced him a sideways glance because she knew he wasn't the island's biggest fan.
"Sorry."
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Which means a couple of different things, as well.
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"I don't if it's gonna work. I don't know if it's gonna fix anything long term or, shoot, if it'll fix anything short term, come to that. D'you hear what I'm sayin'?"
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"Whatever happens, happens," he says. Has he ever struck anyone as the kind to be distressed that an outcome is unsure?
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"Spike-" she started, ducking her head, fingers finding each other to twine and twist together, place for all her sudden nerves to focus. She wanted to put her arms around him but wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't be missing a step.
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Maybe he should take a step, but he sort of feels that this particular one is hers to take, the way things have been shaking out.
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