Gah, well, this was meant to be a drabble. PLOT BUNNIES, AWAY! This was meant to be a drabble of Vicious before or during "Ballad of Fallen Angels" but then it turned into a huge introspective one-shot. Ugh. Me and my inability to write short things. Anywho, please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop and am making no profit whatsoever from this fan story.

Begin

By Gundam Girl

It's time; time for it all to begin. Time for knotting loose ends and binding free souls. So, in a way, perhaps it's time for it all to end. Though, I'm sure, it will be difficult.

Spike has never been one to end easily.

It was impossible for me to believe that Spike was dead when he was reported as so three years ago, although no body had been found. It's impossible for me to believe that now. The Spike I know doesn't die. He's too crazy for that and has too much energy. No, Spike had always laughed at the idea of death. Yet he had also acknowledged it as a sort of challenge. Come and try me. That had been his attitude, and the one I adopted whenever I was with him. With Spike, there was no way to be immune to his ever-going spirit. I know. I had seen it countless times, in Mao, Annie, myself, and Julia.

But it was Julia that had confirmed the immunity to Spike. The first time I really noticed the spark in her eyes when she looked at my friend assured me: if a woman like Julia, who was so calculated and intelligent, could not face Spike stony-faced, then there wasn't a person alive who could.

Instead of Spike, Julia treated me that way – as though she were a block of ice, willing to allow me to shape her into whatever frigid, lifeless form I would, simply because there was no other way for it to be. And then I introduced Spike to her. Maybe that was my mistake. Giving them the means with which to fall in love.

Not that Julia ever loved me. She served me, she no doubt appreciated me, but she never could find it inside herself to love someone like me. No one has ever been able to do that. I've never been able to expect them to.

She also confirmed the truth to me three years ago, that Spike was still out and now, he was free from the Red Dragons. Her lips speak words that have etched into my head like chilled steel now. "Spike has died." But her eyes, the constant blue of them, deny the falseness of those words. They are still too bright for her beloved to no longer live.

Every now and then I wonder just what it is that drives me to him now after such a long time. The two of us can never be friends again. He betrayed me. Both of them did. As a more or less standard person, as a man, I do not wish to say that I envy Spike, that I am jealous of him. But that was the third thing Julia made clear. I look at her, I think of her, and my brain burns with fire, knowing that the one person I had trusted wholly has touched her. He took her from me.

And then I can remember why I want to find him. I despise him, with every particle of my breathing self. That fire in my brain slowly, despairingly slowly, burns away every memory of him, every thought I ever had of Spike. But the one that refuses to become cooling ash is the night I discovered him with Julia. They had been standing outside of her apartment. Julia had been wearing the short silk robe I had given her. He had been leaving, and Julia had held her arms out to him. He'd kissed her, and it had been no friendly touching of lips. It was the kind of kiss that burst into flame and warmed the whole of a person. The kisses Julia and I had shared, I had realized then, had been nothing but smolders that had cooled nearly instantly.

Stop this. I have to stop this. Thoughts like these, flashes of things I want to forget, can drive any man to destruction. And I can already feel myself being massacred.

The base of all of these things is that I hate Spike, and that is why I must, must, get to him again. It's why I need to be able to look into his eyes while I kill him, so I can watch the life she loved so much drain out of him, knowing that I am the one making it that way. It is, I realize, an obsession.

One day, I'm sure, I will kill Julia as well. Such an event is inevitable. Her case is no different from that of her lover's. She betrayed me and the trust I gave her, betrayed the love I almost gave her. But for now, she is easier to forgive. Men are vulnerable to women like Julia, even men as cold and unfeeling as I truly am. So presently, she will survive. But it will not be much longer now, if I can find the courage.

My fingers jerk; these emotions of anticipation, revulsion and nostalgia aren't used very often. For me, no emotions are used very often and I always react poorly. I can still feel Mao's blood on my hands, even though I washed it off hours ago.

Mao had chosen Spike for his favorite a long time before he ever knew me. Yenrai never did take to the strong, silent types, I suppose. The bounty I put on him should have caught attention by now. That had been the easiest part of my plan. Mao's desire for crime had faded years earlier, but his actions had never done the same. Authorities had been more than happy to put a price on the crime lord's head.

Bounty hunters. Hm. That undoubtedly is why it has taken me so long to find Spike. He never approved of bounty hunting. I recall him calling it a mediocre job for people who couldn't think of anything better – or worse – to do with their lives. Perhaps it should have been easier to locate him. What did dead men do besides haunt other dying men?

A very public place would be where anyone would search for Mao. Under his name and tab, I have reserved two seats to the opera for tonight. His colleague, Jet Black, is reputed for being one not to pass up a profitable opportunity. Yet his other associate, Faye Valentine, is more boisterous. Either of them will work as respectable lures.

He will hurt. I will see to that, I swear as I climb out of the car. The valet holds a fittingly black umbrella over my head and escorts me to the door of the opera house. I turn to the ticket holder and give him Mao's name. He extends my little rectangle of cardboard.

"Your private box, Yenrai-sama."

I ascend the plush velvet-covered stairs without a glance or a word to anyone. Preparations have been made. My underlings, loyal as ever, are posted outside the door of Mao's balcony. Calm and collected, I take my seat and turned to look at the person next to me.

I set one hand over his. My flesh is not much warmer than the skin I am touching. I smile at the wide eyes and hanging mouth.

"Do not look so shocked, Yenrai-san." My smile twists and my teeth bare mockingly as the house lamps dim, the stage lightens, and the curtain rises. The music flutters to life, unlike the man beside me, who never will again. "I know you dislike being alone. So, very soon, I will send someone to keep you company." Withdrawing my hand, I shift and watch the tenor onstage.

I hope you have not relaxed in these three years, Spike. Because, my friend, a naïve stag can be easily poisoned by a sharp-fanged snake. And now I've made my decision.

It is time; time for it all to begin.

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