Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

Time Moves Slow

WARNING: angst. 

- 

After turning the living area into an emergency med bay and cleaning back up, Jet finally settled down from the careful assessment of your injuries. All he could really say is that you were out of commission for a minute, and in dire need of a lot of attention and pain meds. Sliding the computer closer to the couch, he began to type in all the information he had managed to get out of a distracted Spike.

Hearing the call that something was happening first meant an alarm for Jet to hurry back to Earth and get you both out of it. But then to be told that something happened to you, it was more dire than ever for the Bebop to haul ass into the action. Your limp body was pale, plagued by wounds on your face. It was a relief to hear you mumble and croak some words at least. If no sound came from you whatsoever, then the problem was going to become far worse.

Spike paced back and forth in front of the table, his hands on his hips. It was safe to say that had help not come any sooner, plans for a grave were to be in order. He typed carefully into the computer, praying that some results will come to light. Glancing up, Jet felt a pang of sorrow for Spike. He had never seen him so worried before.

"She's a fighter." Jet said, leaning on his fist. "You know that."

Spike stopped, turning to him. "Do you need me for anything else?"

Jet shook his head, hearing footsteps retreating back upstairs to your room. It paid him no heed to Spike's response, the poor thing was going to do whatever it took to be by your side.

- 

It has been a week.

The most you've moved has been to the bathroom and back, and even so someone has to guide you to the toilet and back. Lifting your hands would be no problem, but they would ache as you tried to grip onto a cup or plate. Sore and helpless, you were eternally grateful for the patience of your lover. You saw how desperately he wanted to hold you and kiss it all away, but held back. For your sake, he wanted you to get better.

As you witnessed Spike as your light in a dark room, the running shadows of the truth drove at full speed to crash into you. It was kind of funny to say out loud that your former boss burned down your ride. And really at this point on the Bebop, it really shouldn't matter since you had built yourself back up, dare you say, better than ever before.

It was valid to still feel a sense of loss.

You bought that ship yourself. It was an independent milestone as you broke from your syndicate, freeing from the chains of a corrupted idea of "unity". It was your home, made just for you. The bruise was still there alright.

The sudden wave of calm would rush in as you realized you were home. This was where you belonged now. There was no dread in the thought of a creaky old vessel that housed a band of misfits and short tempers, instead it brought the most joy. This home didn't judge you or misguide you to make a decision they felt was right. It was home where you felt loved.

Don't worry. I'll be sure to send your new family a message.

Sooner or later, they were going to find out who you were and what you used to do. Keeping a lid on your secret was what you were hoping to do until the day you die, but there was no use in doing that anymore. But this had to be an "okay" thing, right? Spike almost did something of the sort, and made it out in one piece. But then again, he also didn't lie about it, and spilled out his dirty laundry upfront, while you had been feigning a clean closet.

This prompted you to wake up. Nothing was going to be done as long as you were laying down. You'll be damned if this was taken away from you too. You would hurl flaming asteroids into planets if it meant you could feel a glimmer of happiness again.