InsaneJournal

RP: The Private Video
Characters: Spike, Jaime (originally open)
Time/Date: Early morning, August 4th
Location: Room 213/lobby/kitchen
Warnings/Rating: character death, language/narrative cursing, angst, Spike in a bad mood
Summary: A mysterious video forces Spike to face the inevitable.
Status: Complete
Note: Sorry it's so long, but my muse is still overactive.


Spike hadn't intended to be awake so early in the morning. In fact, the plan was to be going to sleep around sunrise and eating 'breakfast' somewhere around noon. Unfortunately, he'd left the blinds open after a late-night surveillance of what proved to be absolutely nothing; and while that may have been little more than a slight inconvenience otherwise, he'd also fallen asleep in the chair by the window. The result, of course, was one very-awake cowboy once the first few rays of sunlight filtered into the room.

After a quick shower, some strange-tasting bacon (never trust shelf-safe meat cooked in a microwave), a quick cleaning of his Jericho, and the realization that nothing on the television was worth the effort of watching, he decided to check the network. Ed was supposed to send him something the moment she gained a lead on... anything, really; and he had nothing better to do at such an early hour, anyway. So he turned on the computer, leaned over the desk, and found his way to the newest posts. There were no messages from the quirky, little hacker - which really didn't surprise him, given the complexity of the task she'd undertaken - and no signs of worthwhile conversation to read.

There was, however, a locked post 'addressed' to him. No sender was named, no message attached... Just a video. Somehow, he doubted it was some form of correspondence from Ed; her trademark smilies were nowhere to be found. But who, then, would want to bother him? He really hadn't been a very sociable type, on the network or in person. Who could possibly think he cared about their home movies - or whatever the video was?

Curiosity compelled Spike to click the play button, but curiosity also killed the cat. Being the tiger-striped cat that he often denied he was, he'd have done well to remember such a lesson...

He knew the location well: a small shop where magazines and comics lined the public shelves and crates of guns and ammunition rested in the back. It was a place from his past, a place which he had visited some months ago while tracking down a man who may as well have been his brother. He was but a ghost when there in person, at least by laws of the underworld, and seeing it on the screen made him feel much the same. Though the familiarity tugged at his subconscious self, Spike felt out of place.

Annie was leaning against the counter as she usually did, pretending to be distracted though he knew better than to believe such a ruse. Her demeanor, however, showed a level of tension she only rarely displayed: the same tension which had overtaken her during their last meeting. Something was just... wrong. Off. Not at all how it should be. Anyone else may have assumed such behavior from their maternal figure to be related to a sudden and unexplained disappearance to the confines of a small island, but Spike knew better. He knew there was no reason for word of his disappearance (for he couldn't fathom the concept of placeholders implemented by the Heads) to reach her; and she wouldn't have actively sought to find him. Hard as it was at times, they kept distance. He was a dead man, she an arms dealer... That was how it worked. Plain, simple... So what could have possibly upset her so much?

Spike saw the flicker of a shadow at the very edge of the image, and he knew what it meant. Somewhere deep within, he could feel what was coming - or, at the very least, he knew that nothing good came from shadows which moved in such a manner. And, sure enough, the camera angle changed to reveal faces which were at once familiar and unknown. He didn't care enough to remember the names or faces, but the clothing said it all. Syndicate thugs with guns at the ready were never a good sign, especially not if they were willing to walk around like deranged serial killers in the middle of the day.

He found himself drawn closer to the screen, unable to look away yet uncertain that he wanted to know the ending. It seemed so inevitable; she was out-gunned by three and didn't even seem to notice their approach. Was she... Did she not care? The feeling was something like falling from a roller coaster into cold water: sharp, uncomfortable, and threaded with enough adrenaline to kill a small animal. Spike barely even remembered to breathe; and when he did, his breaths were shallow and strained.

The men entered, and his jaw clenched tightly. He wanted to yell at her, scream for her to grab a gun or run - something other than just standing there as if it were all inevitable. But his teeth were too tightly pressed together, and the most he could say was a sound more like the growl of a guard dog. He was seething on the inside, unwilling to accept what was plainly visible on the computer. It really was inevitable. He knew that, had been an enforcer himself. This was no simple business call...

The tallest of the men asked - in the way only an agitated killer can inquire - where Spike was, and something inside of him snapped. He knew what she would say, and he knew that it wasn't the answer they wanted. His fingers grabbed at the surface of the table, as if trying to claw through it, and his arms shook with visible rage. Seething. Spike was absolutely seething. Annie had nothing to do with him - not as far as they had any right to know. How dare they drag her into this? He'd run off on his own, left her behind to protect her, and now...

"He's dead," she lied, stony-faced resolve somehow in tact. "You're wasting your time, looking for a ghost." He wanted to kill them. He could see the twitch of a trigger finger, the anger in their eyes, and he wanted to kill them for it. He wanted to stop them, to protect her, to reach through the screen and slaughter everyone involved. Every. Single. Person. But he couldn't. He was helpless but to watch, frozen with suspense and frustration and every other emotion associated with seeing the woman who may as well have been his mother putting herself at risk to save him. He wanted to yell at her to just lead them somewhere, anywhere, even to the damn Bebop. He wanted to tell her not to lie for him, not to die for him. He didn't even care about his own life enough; she had no reason to protect what was worthless.

"Do you think we're stupid?" the shortest man asked. Spike couldn't hear the rest over the sound of his own pulse pounding in his head, but he didn't need to know. He didn't care whether they'd known from the beginning that he was something less than dead. Mao had likely protected him, just as Annie now tried... But Mao was a capo. She was... The only word that came to mind was 'mother,' as he watched the way she vehemently protected his life. She was many things, but of them all, that was the most important. The most meaningful. The one that would get her hurt - or worse - if she didn't let go and accept that he was responsible for his own actions. He'd left the syndicate; it was his problem to deal with.

"Vicious has assassinated the Elders..."

Someone had spoken it, but the words alone tore away at Spike's focus. That word-turned-name made his blood boil, his nostrils flare... Vicious was behind this. The fucking fool of a 'brother' and once-best friend was responsible for all of this. It wasn't enough to slaughter a man to whom they both owed their lives or lead a loyal ally to death. Now Annie had to be involved?!

Spike's fingers curled into tight fists, whitened knuckles pressing against the desk as if willing it to break in half. On the screen, Annie tried to fight them off. She tried... but she failed. The shop was quickly wrecked, magazines strewn across the floor with stains of blood on their pages, as she tried to keep them at bay with a mere handgun. Maybe if she wasn't so upset, maybe if she was more used to fighting... But she wasn't, and it showed. Glass shattered, displays were soiled, and then... silence.

They left her on the floor, gasping for air and bleeding from a series of wounds. Each seemed placed with precision, chosen for the sake of making her suffer. As the shadowed figures faded away outside the shop, Annie dragged herself onto the bench. Tears welled in her eyes, but even in her final moments she fought them away. She was a strong woman, a loyal ally... And she had chosen death over putting him in further danger. All for nothing. Here he was, stuck on some god-forsaken island where they couldn't get to him even if they tried.

What had once snapped now dissolved; anger mixed with loss then with realization as the video came to an end. Though Spike's arms still remained unsteady, a knot rose to his throat and what had been an adrenaline rush became a feeling with which he was all too familiar. He'd felt much the same when Julia never showed up those three, long years ago. Loneliness, crushing disappointment, and the all-too-familiar desire to kill the man he still, in some convoluted way, considered a brother.

Annie was gone, and some sick fuck had decided to show him... She was the only family he had left - at least that he didn't wish to slaughter mercilessly. Or she had been. Now she was just a memory. She was gone. Dead... He lowered his head, unintentionally touching his forehead to the computer's lid, and caught the breath which he'd once again forgotten to take. How had this happened? Why had it happened? How did video from Mars get to the island? So many questions, so few answers...

After a long while, Spike regained his posture and returned his attention to the computer with the intentions of having Ed trace the source. But it was gone. The video, the post it was in... It was as if the horrid thing had never existed, except in his mind; but he knew better. There was no logical way to counterfeit something so... He didn't know what to describe it as, and was just as quick to forget the idea of describing it at all. The world could have crashed in on him, and he'd not have noticed right away. He was distracted, devastated, angry, and perplexed all at once.

"Annie," was the first and only word Spike spoke - a hoarse whisper at best. No swears, no promises of vengeance, no mutterings of denial or disbelief. Just her name. But so much could be determined just by the manner in which he said it.

Pushing away from the table slowly, he didn't even bother to turn off or close the laptop. He moved like a zombie: purposeful but lifeless all the same. He grabbed his gun, a pack of cigarettes, his lighter, and the phone then haphazardly shoved them all where they belonged: the gun into the holster at the small of his back, a cigarette into his mouth, and the phone into the nearest pocket. He wasn't sure where he was going or why, but he had to move. He had to do something before he either exploded or broke down. (The latter was his true worry, as avoiding such weakness was all but hard-wired into his psyche.)

He took the stairs down to the lobby, moving more like a predator than his usual, laid-back self; but there was something about his gaze which looked more broken than deadly. He didn't know where he was going or who he might run into on the way; and, in all honesty, he didn't care. He just had to go... somewhere. Anywhere. Far away from that damn computer. He needed to find a way to stop thinking. Not to forget, because she deserved so much better than that, but to... get lost along the way.