title: Triangulate
fandom: Cowboy Bebop
characters/pairings: Gren/Vicious, Spike/Vicious
rating: Teen
warnings: introspection, Vicious, mentions of sex
summary: Three final strains of the melody, dying slowly. Introspective, during and post Jupiter Jazz.
notes: this is an episode-based fic. Three Points of View.
channeling Vicious is scary.

Faye was a nice enough girl, really. I hope she doesn't mind too much. I only bound her hands, though she didn't seem too vivacious. I suppose I shocked her.

I don't want to think about that now; I need to be focused.

His voice still echoes in my bones. God, I am such a fool. So many years, and after all he's done to me, and the sound of his voice still makes my knees quiver.

God damn him. Damn him to hell.

Now, if only I believed in God...

I need to get my head together, because soon, I won't just be hearing him, I'll be seeing him again.

His coarse, white-gray hair. His piercing eyes. His hard, boney face.

I am such a fool.

Bad enough to sleep with a fellow soldier; ok, I've done brighter things in my life. But let's face it, I was fighting for my home. Trenches are a bad place to be in a war, no mistake.

And I was such a patriot. Oh, yes, fighting for my home, so I could get away from my home. Away from my father, who was so proud of his faggot musician son, and away from everyone who ever knew me and hated me...

Fighting and dying for the home I was running from. How fucking poetic.

And no one else in that trench gave a damn about me. They could smell it on me. My weakness. My fear.

They knew they could get me on my back if they needed to.

I hate that I clung to him. I was the little bird in the mouth of the alligator, but what choice did I have? No sane, rational person says 'hi' to someone who gleefully introduces himself as Vicious, and sticks around to ask how his day was. No one went within ten yards of him if they could help it, so I was 'safe' with him.

Until I stupidly fell in love with him.

God, I am an idiot.

But, it doesn't matter any more. I'll see him tomorrow, and as long as I don't make a fool of myself, I can end this.

This foolishness.

God, please don't let me make a fool of myself. I can't help it if I love that bastard.

Julia was here.

In this very town.



Damn, it's fucking cold here. Fucking blood loss. Fucking Vicious.

Julia was here.

Didn't say how long ago, or how he knew.

He knew that I would come here if he used her name. Damn him.

He knows me too well.

And by the way, since no one is here to listen to me anyway, I'm sick of that damn 'life flashing before your eyes' shit. I don't want to see any of it. Julia at my bedside. God, Faye at my bedside. Julia rejecting me.

Vicious at my back as we blasted our way out, together. Vicious as he sat up in bed.

Damn it, I need a new cigarette. Damn it, lying in the snow all night is not good for a man's cigarettes. And I'm moving like an old man, like Jet, for crissake, and I need to get to the damn ship so I can get to Vicious. He's not the type to linger anywhere.

Damn it. Vicious and Julia. Had he seen her? Were they fucking?

Damn it!

I wouldn't blame her, damn me. How can I blame her, when I've done the same thing myself? Damn me, and damn him for making me, and for wanting me...

Damn damn damn.

Julia. I can still hear her voice. So clear, like a bell. And her smile. Damn.

Ok, blood loss is definitely getting put on the list of Things Not To Do. Getting shot in general is getting old.

If I could just see her again... If I could just...

Of course, it wouldn't be like before. But that would be good. We don't need Vicious. I don't need him.

Not like he needs me.

I need him to just die already. I don't even have to be there; it would be nice, but I just want her again.

The fact that I keep seeing him half-naked in my 'life flashing before your eyes' shit means nothing. The fact that I use Jet the way Vicious taught me to use people means nothing. The fact that he can still make me like I was means nothing.

I love Julia. I need Julia.

I never needed him. Heh. That's always bugged the hell out of him. But so what? He never needed me, either.

Damn. Now I'm getting distracted. Focus.



Kill Vicious; find Julia.

Ok, I just need a cigarette now, and I'm good to go...


All I can see is blood. The blood of the weak, pooling at my feel like a beggar.


Gren. He was a woman before I sold him out. Since he didn't have the sense to die before, it's about time he got to it.


And I had been looking forward to watching him die. What a waste.

Lin. Another fool. No one dies for the Syndicate; you kill for the Syndicate, you don't die for it.

But then, he was handpicked by Spike, back when Spike was still Spike.

But then, he's always been Spike.


Spike is so lovely when he is ready to kill. He looks just like I imagine I look in that moment before the blade makes contact with the flesh. But Spike has always kept more distance in his trade. He has always had that desperate edge to his blood as it chases him in a circuit through his body.

He was like that when I fucked him, too, his back against the wall, his feet on the console, as I moved in him, made him mine.

I never kissed Spike. It was never about sex, or emotion. It was about blood; his and mine, pumping together after the kill.


I don't know what Spike tastes like. I never needed to know that. I had to kiss Gren to get him to spread his legs, and I'm still spitting the taste of his tears out of my mouth. Gren had a beautiful body, and beautiful eyes, always ready to spill tears for me. But Spike bled for me.


Spike's continued existence taunts me.

I want to drink his blood. I want to tie him to the ground, his body broken, and I want to cut him and rape him and make him swallow my come mixed with his blood and shit.


I want to find that cunt Julia, that lying, thieving whore, and I want her to beg me to fuck her again. I want her to scream and to moan for me, and then, when her mess and my come are still stinking between her legs, I want to put a bullet in her pretty, stupid head.



I want to show Spike her twisted, mangled corpse. I want to wake up the predator in him, I want to see his eyes sparkling with the thrill of the kill again, once more to feel that spark that comes from knowing that death is trying to seduce me, before I beat him to a pulp.



There is no true blood left in my life. I see the blood at my feet, in between my toes, and it does nothing to me. There are no true beasts left. The teeth of the dragon have fallen out from disuse, and the claws of the tiger have been torn out to protect the carpets of the corporate king.


I want to wash my skin in the blood of the warrior. I want to cook the heart of my enemy, and eat it with rice. I want to cut out the bi-colored eyes of my nemesis, so that the last thing he sees in this life is my face.


Gren. I hope you enjoyed your death. It was the best that I could offer you.


Spike. I hope you are looking forward to our next encounter as much as I am.



The fool shivers as he is forced to look at me, and I don't bother to hide my grin. Why should I? The weak should cower before me. Soon enough, I'll have him licking my boots clean.

"Yes sir!"

"Clean up in there."


Fools. Weak fools.

Spike, I need you. I need you to fight me; I need you to bleed for me again. My own blood is getting sluggish in the company of all these fools.

I want to feel my heart pounding again, like it did today. Your heart was pounding, too, wasn't it?

When the end game is played, my oldest friend, our hearts will pound loudly enough to bring the Gods out of heaven in fear.

Don't keep me waiting.