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Bleeding Heart Blues	By : bagoas Category: +. to F > Cowboy Bebop Views: 1379 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Session #27: Bleeding Heart Blues
TITLE: Bleeding Heart Blues

AUTHOR: Bagoas

SUMMARY: Spike Speigel had his hands on 20 million woolongs and didn't even know it. Jet sends him back for that bounty head but instead the crew of the Bebop discover that the 20 million is a drop in the bucket compared with a life that happened to be disrupted by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Cowboy Bebop are the property of Bandai Entertainment and their affiliates. All other characters are the products of the creative nuttiness that is Wolfie. No infringement is intended; this work is a work of amateur fiction. No profit is made. Please do not use original characters without prior permission from the author. 2004

RATING: Definitely R (possibly X, depending on you POV)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The song "Bleeding Heart Blues" was sung by the legendary Bessie Smith. It was recorded in June of 1923. The lyrics to this song can be found at http://www.heptune.com/bleeding.html. The other songs can be found at http://nfo.net/ogg.htm, a website that has a lot of the original jazz recordings from the 1890s to the 1930s in .ogg format. It's fascinating to hear some of the great jazz and blues artists that are usually just a name in the history books, as they usually had no recording contracts to help them put out albums. Also, I'm making this post-Real Folk Blues, which was the final episode. Spike, as you can see, lived through his battle with Vicious. Ed and Ein are back (I'll explain why eventually). Faye and Jet, naturally, never went anywhere. If you're a "Spike died in Session #26" believer, then, take this as an alternative universe story. If not, you're good to jam!

Session #27: Bleeding Heart Blues

It never ceases to amaze anyone that docks on Oberon that a moon of one of the farthest planets in the solar system could be so hospitable. Fifty-five years ago this moon of Uranus was just another crater-pocked, cliffed, icy-ball of a satellite around the eighth planet in the solar system. The terraformers who started on the planning on Oberon used the latest techniques and ideas and be ane anyone knew it, three cities had sprung up, comfortable, cozy and clean.

Well, sorta clean.

The city of Theseus isn't exactly in pristine condition. If there could be a wrong side of the track on Oberon, then Theseus was the place. Woodland never made it. The trees refused to grow on that side of the moon so when the oxygen filters went down without warning, there was an immediate and messy population decrease. That left Athens and Theseus, the good and the bad sides of Oberon.

Where did Bebop land, you ask? Take a wild guess.

Theseus isn't much to look at. Int, it, it is typical of someplace you wouldn't want your children growing up. Every crook, murderer, and con artist heads straight for Theseus. Theseus probably has its share of good eggs, but where such gems would be hiding is anyone's guess. If they're smart, they moved to Athens with the rest of the snooty crowd.

But Theseus has the best blues and jazz joints in the system, no doubt about that. This place is perfect for a lost soul like Spike Speigel.

Downtown in the heart of the club district is a rockin' little joint called the Memphis Blues. Everything from ragtime to swing blares from live bands and prerecorded albums, depending on the night. Every Saturday evening, though, the Memphis Blues is packed to the rafters for a very special performance by Theseus' most popular talent, The Nymph. With her husky alto mixed with the classical dance moves of the 1920s Jazz Age, The Nymph is a must see on every jazz and blues lover's sightseeing tour of Oberon. It was said she was more than worth the trouble of getting to the Memphis Blues, let alone finding someplace to stand or sit for the performance.

Spike had gotten to the Memphis Blues at noon. His partner, Jet Black, had been there two hours eer ter than that. Neither man was willing to take a chance on missing this opportunity; who knows where they would be next Saturday night. Spike nodded to the bartender and placed his order for whatever was on tap in the form of beer. Once the bartender finished his five minute list of brews, Spike ordered a Mars Milwaukee. He knew what that was, the rest sounded suspicious at best.

"You could have ordered a scotch or a whiskey, you know," Jet told him, taking a delicate sip of his own brew.

Spike grinned laconically, his eyes searching the bar, alert as always for trouble. "Sometimes, you just crave a beer, no matter what your tastes in alcohol."

Jet shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do," Spike agreed. "This place is..."searsearched for a word, couldn't find it and shrugged.

"Retro, I think is what you want to call it." Jet turned around on his bar stool and looked around himself. "The bartender says the owner's a big fan of the original Jazz Age. Did a lot of research into getting the look of a Chicago gin joint down perfectly. No expense spared. Some of these objects are actual antiques from the early 20th century too. Like the decor?"

Spike eyed the old movie posters, taking particular interest in a poster featuring a guy dressed as a tramp with a kid sitting next to him. The title of the old movie was "The Kid" and the stars were some guys named Chaplin and Coogan. Another featured a cowboy on a white rearing horse, the title proclaiming that Ken Maynard was "The Upland Rider". Neon signs lit up the inside, proclaiming that people needed to drink various sodas, visit their local drug store, and to indulge in filling gas at the local gas station.

"It's interesting," Spike commented.

"A real piece of history," agreed Jet.

Over the next few hours the bar began to fill up. Spike and Jet jockeyed for a table fairly close to the front, but not too close that they'd miss some part of the performance. This was a special treat for the space cowboys and neither wanted to miss a single detail. Spike splurged and ordered what he was assured was a traditional gin joint appetizer, oyster cocktails. Jet watched in disgust as Spike slurped the entire batch down.

Eight o'clock rolled around and the Memphis Blues was stuffed to the rafters. The music was fast-paced and dancers were gyrating and shaking where ever they found room. By eight-o-five, the lights had dimmed and two spotlights crossed each other to fill up the stage at the front. All attention was focused on the entrance of The Nymph.

The song was soulful, sad and haunting, the way blues should be sung. The husky alto voice slid through the crowd, seeping into their hearts, causing the room to freeze as if a mosaic.

"When your sad and lonely,

Thinking about you only,

Feeling disgusted and blue,

Ah, your heart is aching,

Yes, it's almost breaking,

No one to tell your troubles to,

That's the time you hang your head,

And begin to cry."

The voice was everywhere and nowhere. Spike's brown eyes met Jet's stunned blue ones. Neither could speak but both knew the other felt the same: monumentally depressed. As one they sagged peacefully into their seats, content to let the blues wash over them. Without warning though the beat changed, charged suddenly with energy. It tidal waved over the crowd, galvenizing every member and the curtains opened to reveal a flag pole with a woman perched on top. Her hair was bobbed and her costume dripped fringe and sequins. Her eyes were an undetermined color but the smoky liner around them made her eyes huge and waif-like.

The Nymph was glamour and sophistication in one hell of an exciting package.

Before Jet and Spike knew it, they were stomping to the beat of a jazz tune that had the little gin joint rockin'. It was a fun little ditty that once they paid attention the words, the two hardened space cowboys were laughing hard. It was ludicrous but they couldn't help but enjoy it.

"When you hear sweet syncopation,

And the music softly moans,

T' 'aint no sin to take off your skin

And dance around in your bones

When it gets too hot for comfort

And you can't get an ice cream cone

T' 'aint no sin to take off your skin

And dance around in your bones..."

Other songs came and went. The Nymph gyrated through shimmys, toddles and trots. She sidled, she shook, and she oozed sensuality. No man in the joint could take his eyes off her; every woman wanted to be just like her. It was like the Roaring '20s had come back to life.

As the music for the Charleston started a roar grew from the back of the hoppin' gin joint and came forward. Jet and Spike found themselves on their feet, clapping and hollering with the rest as The Nymph, dark brown hair flying and fringed skirt swishing, maneuvered through the fast paced dance, never missing a step, never missing a beat.

It was wild, it was nostalgic... it was fantastic. She finished with a flourish, grinned at the cheering crowd and with the help of the advanced sound system that had nothing to do with antiquity, giggled "oop oop be doop!" with a swish of her nicely rounded derriere, waved to the crowd and exited stage right. The crowd continued to cheer their approval and beg for an encore.

But The Nymph never did an encore.

"Holy God!" laughed Jet as the two bounty hunters resumed their seats. "I never knew that old jazz could be so heartstopping!"

"Me neither," laughed Spike, his heart still pounding. "She's quite the show-woman."

"That she is, my friend, that she is." Jet tossed back the rest of his gin-and-tonic and stood back up. "I'm heading back to the ship. You comin'?"

Spike was still grinning as he shook his head, euphoria still coursing through him. He hadn't felt this alive in a very long time. He watched as his partner fought his way through the milling crowd, listening to the excited chatter of people reviewing the performance. The waitress took more drink orders and Spike decided to splurge and ordered a glass of the joint's homemade gin.

He sipped the sharp tasting liquor as the bar slowly emptied out. By two o'clock, Earth Standard Time, there were only about 50 people left, conversing, enjoying the live band that remained following The Nymph's performance. His plan fully formed in his mind, Spike made his move. Without a soul noticing, he left his table, leaving the right amount of woolongs for the tab, and disappeared backstage.

He had to meet this Nymph.

* * *

Nerina Karakinos hung the sequined and befringed dress on the hanger and zipped up the thermal sealing bag that protected it. The dress had been expensive even as a replica and it was one of her favorite costumes. She sagged into her dressing room chair and stared pensively in the mirror for a long moment. It had been a good performance; the crowd was appreciative as usual. She'd enjoyed herself immensely.

Radney Acren, the Memphis Blues' owner, had been skeptical about the new song numbers and the set layout but Rina felt vindicated. The show had been successful and Rina was feeling good about herself. She hadn't felt that way in several weeks.

A knock on her dressing room door caused her to grin. She grabbed her satin dressing gown and hastily put it on, calling out as she did so, "Gimme a second, Rad!" She jerked open the door, smiling triumphantly, ready to give her friend hell for doubting her, but the smile slipped from her face.

It wasn't Radney.

"May I help you?" she asked politely. The stranger lifted an eyebrow, though it was hardly noticeable underneath the frizzy blackish hair that topped his crown.

"You sure can," the man replied smoothly. "I'm a huge jazz fan, but I have to say, I've never heard those songs that you sang out there. I was wondering where you get your material?" He lounged casually against the doorjamb like he owned the place.

Rina studied him a moment. She was usually a good judge of character and her senses were telling her that this was just another fan of The Nymph's. After a second consideration, Rina added more: he was also a lost soul like so many blues and jazz hounds. Something happened in his past, something that profoundly affected him to the core. A loner, a dangerous loner, and trouble with a capital T.

The thing was, Rina was always a sucker for a lost soul, trouble or no.

She held the door open slightly wider in a silent invitation to enter. The stranger took it the gesture for what it was and sidled in easily, as if he'd been sneaking into dressing rooms his entire life. Maybe he had, she reflected.

"Research."

The man blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Where I get my material," Rina explained. "I do research and lots of it. You have to know the roots of what you love to really understand its complexity."

"I see." The man considered this. "May I sit down? I smell a long discussion in the making." Rina looked at him again. Definitely trouble, but trouble she could probably handle. He seemed mild enough, for the moment. She nodded and he gingerly sat on a straight-backed chair that she had tucked in the corner. Rina turned her dressing table chair around to face him and sat down herself.

"So what are the roots of what you sing?" He seemed genuinely interested so Rina explained the complex origins of jazz and blues from their roots in African-American slave music and the uniqueness of American society in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

"So when Prohibition was forced upon the country following World War I, the setting was ripe for good times and good booze, even if it had to go underground."

The man grinned.You You can't stop a good time."

"No," Rina agreed, "you can't.

"Spike Spiegel."

Rina blinked at the sudden introduction. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Spiegel. Glad you enjoyed the performance but I -" She was about to politely show him the door but he interrupted.

"Just call me Spike. Do I just call you Nymph?" His brown eyes, one a more amber color than the other, glittered invitingly at her. 'Play with fire, I won't let you get burned,' they seemed to say.

"Hey, Rina!" Radney Acren slammed open the door. "You bitch, I hate you. You were right all along. That show was just the -" Rad's words faded as he took in Spike's presence and Rina's skimpy clothing. "Oh. Didn't mean to interrupt." Rad's voice indicated otherwise and his watery eye eyes had an accusing look to them when they focused on Rina.

"Mr. Spiegel wanted to know where I got the material for tonight's show, Rad," Rina explained, inwardly sighing. She was never going to hear the end of this. Rad had been trying to bed her for two years, though lately without much gusto. His interest was apparently waning, much to Rina's relief and amusement. "We were discussing the beauty of jazz and blues. Care to join us?"

Rad looked bilious at the thought. Spike merely looked amused. Rina had no doubt he'd figured out the situation between Rad and herself without any trouble.

"No, no, you go ahead. I was just going to apologize for doubting you. You're The Nymph after all, you know your stuff." Rad gave Spike another look, this one more threatening in tone. "Jay said he'd walk you to the cab when you're ready but don't make him wait too long. He's got that new baby at home, y'know."

What Rina knew was that Rad's words were an outright lie, but she was somewhat grateful for the opening Rad gave her. "Yes, I know. Thanks, Rad. Good of you to notice that I'm capable." She teased him out of his bad humor for a few moments more Rad Radney left reassured that his star and good friend could take care of her 'fan'.

"Got a thing going on there?" Spike asked nonchalantly.

Rina smiled derisively. "No, not really. I helped Rad get the Memphis Blues put together. We're old friends. He's been trying to make it more but lately his attentions have thankfully directed themselves elsewhere. He's still protective though." Rina gave Spike a warning look. "Don't let his frantic personality fool you. He's kept this joint running and successful in one of the roughest neighborhoods on the planet. He's not someone to be taken lightly."

Spike held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I have no intention of starting trouble. I just wanted to talk, honest." Rina eyed him closely and Spike reiterated in a firm voice. "Honest."

"Okay. You can stay then. It's nice to have someone else to talk too, I have to say." Rina stepped behind the old-fashioned dressing curtain to get into her clothes.

"What's a girl like you doing in a gin joint like this?" Spike asked.

"Ha, ha, very clever line, Spike," teased Rina. She peeked around the cloth curtain to see Spike's confused look. "Apparently you never watch the old movies."

"Not unless there's nothing else on the tube," Spike admitted.

"It's an old turn of phrase, usually a line from a guy to a girl," Rina explained. "For a guy who seems to be pretty worldly, you're pretty ignorant."

"Um, thanks?" Spike's eyes narrowed in the direction of her dressing curtain. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't mean ignorant as in stupid. I mean ignorant as in uneducated. You know about life, modern life, how to survive in whatever environment is your element. You might have a special hobby or skill that you are a master at but you don't seem the type to broaden your horizons much." Rina stepped out from behind the curtain only to have Spike grab her shoulders and pull her forward.

"I hope you don't mind if we test that theory, do you?" he asked, his lips a few centimeters from hers.

Warning bells jangled in her head but her body ignored them. She knew she shouldn't be doing this. Last time she'd had a one night fling it had been a disaster that had almost blown all she'd worked for up in her face. There was something about this Spike Spiegel though, that Nerina Karakinos just couldn't resist.

They kissed, softly at first and then with heat. Spike's mouth slanted roughly over hers, causing them both to groan. Passion flared as unexpectedly as the attraction that drove Spike to pull her to him. Their bodies melded together, the sensual dance of sexual tension pressing them tighter and tighter to each other. Hands threaded through hair and Spike's mouth broke from Rina's to trail down her throat.

Nerina undid Spike's tie in one practiced movement, flinging it toward the dressing room. His jacket followed. His white shirt was quickly unbuttoned so she could skim her hands down his chest. Her fingertips found each scar, gently caressing each one. What she felt confirmed what she'd suspected at the beginning: this was a man who lived a dangerous life.

As Spike suspected, this was a woman who was all curves, all soft skin, but steel underneath. Her muscles were well-honed, her body neat and trim from her dancing. Her shirt was easily undone, as was her bra. Her breasts were perfect mounds, filling his hands as if they were made for them. She gave a giggly gasp when he brushed his fingertips over her ribcage. Ticklish, was she? Her skirt, wispy and clingy was pulled down her hips with a flick of his wrist. As he nuzzled her neck, he helped her step out of them.

He hadn't done this e Jue Julia.

Nerina moaned as his tongue hit a sensitive spot and Julia fled from his mind. A shadow, a ghost...a past long gone.

They clung to each other, exploring, tasting, touching. Their breaths came out in pants, eyes focused on the other, each seeking the other's release. There was little foreplay, neither had a taste for it. Spike entered her like a knife into a sheath. Back and forth they rocked, in and out was the smooth motion. The explosion of their climax came for Nerina first but Spike soon followed. Her nails scored his back, turning him on even more, pushing him over the brink.

Then it was over. Spike collapsed in Nerina's arms, slumping to the floor. Nerina realized that the scratching on her back had been the wall, not the floor. She started to chuckle and Spike raised his head up to look at her. "What's so funny?"

"I've never done this standing up before," Rina said around another chuckle.

"You weren't standing," Spike pointed out with a satisfied grin. "I was."

Rina nodded. "So you were, I stand corrected."

Spike cushioned his head on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair. "I didn't intend to do this when I came to your dressing room, you know."

'He's probably telling the truth, but it doesn't matter,' Rina thought to herself. "That's okay. It takes two to tango, to coin a phrase."

"I've never tangoed. Well, not the dance anyway." Spike's words were mumbled into her hair.

"Maybe someday you'll learn," Rina pondered. "If so, come back. I love to tango."

She moved, pushing away from him. "You're leaving?" Spike's eyes were drowsy.

Rina gave an apologetic smile. "I've got someone holding a cab for me, remember?" She paused. "Look, Spike, I -"

"No regrets?" Spike gave her a crooked grin.

Rina smiled back. "Okay, no regrets, but that's isn't very bluesy of us."

Spike gave a fatalistic shrug. "I've lived enough of a bluesy life for the two of us. I think I can afford to skip one moment."

Rina only laughed as she got dressed again. "The place shuts down fifteen minutes after I leave," she explained. "I'm always the last one out, so the security is keyed to my exit signature."

Spike lumbered to his feet and began to dress quickly. "I'll take that as a hint to get the hell out."

"I don't mean it that way, but yeah." Rina opened her dressing room door and looked over her shoulder. "I'm going to use another old line, if you don't mind?"

Spike looked up. "Yeah?"

Rina smiled softly. "Here's looking at you, kid." The door closed behind her. By the time Spike made it out two minutes later, The Nymph was nowhere to be found.
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Bleeding Heart Blues