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Gren goes to meet Vicious ready to die.
He doesn’t want to, really, but he doesn’t think he has much time left either way, so…better to go out with a bang, right? He’s tired of hiding out on Blue Crow, playing saxophone in bars to make enough money to get by, and waiting for a bounty hunter to discover him. He’s scraped by with nothing to do, nowhere to go, nobody to talk to. Callisto has always been freezing, and money has been tight on Blue Crow for years now. Nobody has anything anymore.
Then, Vicious comes back. He makes a deal for Red Eye, and Gren accepts immediately. He doesn’t care what Vicious wants with the drug—he just needs to know if Vicious was really behind everything. His framing, imprisonment, and…well.
Secretly, Gren wonders if there’s a part of himself that wants to see Vicious again—the part that idolized Vicious, that would do anything for a bit of his attention. He pushes the thought away. He doesn’t want to consider the possibility that Vicious still means something to him all these years later.
Either way, Gren makes the deal. Let Vicious think he’s desperate enough—or stupid enough—to come crawling back after everything Vicious did. They wager back and forth, enough that Gren feels the old anger crawling up his chest. Vicious has never been one to make things easy. But just when he’s waiting to hear back a final time, Gren meets the woman.
There haven’t been any women on Blue Crow for years, so the whole bar is staring at her—she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s sitting alone, drinking enough that Gren gets curious. He plays his sax, eyes wandering over to her ever so often. Sometimes, he sees her looking back. Women aren’t his thing, but she’s the most interesting thing that’s come here in a while.
They talk at the bar, and he takes her back to his apartment after a brief scuffle with a group of men outside. He doesn’t expect that they’d both reveal things they’d never said before, that he’d reveal something he’d only shown one other person.
He doesn’t expect Vicious to call while he’s in the shower. The woman picks it up, and she knows Vicious for some reason. He never makes anything easy.
The woman tries to stop him from going, so Gren has to restrain her. He leaves to make the deal with a hood on his head and a bag of Red Eye in his hand. There’s a bomb in the bag—one final goodbye to the man he’d fought beside, the man who’d betrayed him when he’d least expected it. The man he’d loved. He’s ready to die—if he can take Vicious down with him, all the better.
.oO0Oo.
And yet, after his confrontation with Vicious, his eyes flutter open. He remembers shooting at Vicious, remembers chasing after him in his ship when Vicious tried to escape. He remembers the impact of his ship getting shot, and the next impact of hitting the ground. He remembers seeing the bomb in Vicious’s ship go off, and the sense of relief that washed over him. Finally, he'd thought as his eyes slipped closed.
He’s in a ship…and it’s distinctly not his own. He tilts his head to the side and sees a man piloting the ship.
A memory is tugging at Gren’s brain when he sees the man’s face, but he can’t place where he’s seen the man before. He tries to ask where he is, but the only sound that comes out of his mouth is a raspy grunt.
The man’s head whips over to him, eyes narrowed. “Don’t move,” he says. “You’ll make it worse.”
Gren’s mouth opens and closes for a moment as he tries to make sense of what is happening. He clears his throat before hunching over, spiraling into a coughing fit.
“Shit,” he hears the man next to him mutter. Gren’s head swims. He manages to stop coughing and pulls his hand away from his mouth. There are a few specks of blood. Shit.
His eyes start to slip closed. He blinks them open when fingers snap in front of his face.
“Try to stay awake,” the man tells him distractedly. “We’ll be there soon. I saved your life, so you owe me some answers.”
Gren doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t have any answers, only questions. Like what the fuck is happening and why am I alive.
He doesn’t get to ask them—he’s pretty sure his throat is on fire at the moment, as well as the right side of his torso. The ship leans to the side, and Gren’s body knocks into the wall beside him. He manages a pained whimper, and hears the man curse again.
The rest of the trip is a blur of pain and hazy vision. Gren breathes through his nose as best as he can and tries to concentrate on not coughing. It gets harder as the ship jostles more. At some point he looks down and sees that the right side of the white dress he’s wearing is stained with blood. Shit. The man assures him that they’re close at least three more times, and Gren tries to believe him. He just wants to rest.
Eventually, they make it to wherever the man is taking him. It doesn’t look like a hospital. Gren wonders if he came all this way just to be delivered to a cop. It would be ironic, and unfortunately just his luck. When the door to the ship opens, they seem to be…on another ship. The man carefully lifts Gren up and pulls him out—another grunt of pain escapes his throat, and he tries to stay as still as possible. His eyes slip shut.
“Don’t you dare,” the man mutters. Gren stares up at him and something clicks in his mind. His eyes are slightly different colors. This must be Spike, he thinks to himself. Julia’s Spike. His time with Julia had been short, but she’d made quite an impression in just a few months. He opens his mouth to tell Spike this, but it hurts too much to talk. When they make it to a door, there’s another man waiting. “What’ve you got?” he asks. Spike nods his head at Gren, who’s struggling to stay awake in his arms. The other man crosses his arms but grunts and lets them through.
Inside the door is a hallway, then another door, then a set of stairs. Gren’s starting to slip again when he feels himself being laid down on something soft. A bed? No, it’s a couch. He glances warily around his surroundings and is surprised to see…the woman from the bar, who looks just as shocked as he is.
“Gren?” she asks, looking at Spike. He shrugs and sits down in a chair next to the couch. “Found him after Vicious shot him down.”
Did he? Gren can’t remember anything about that. Vicious, however…that he remembers clearly. He opens his mouth, then turns his head to the side and curls in on himself as another coughing fit takes over his body. The man from the door swears under his breath. “I dunno if he’ll make it too much longer, Spike. You know, the bounty is only if he’s alive.”
Gren freezes. Bounty hunters. So they did plan on taking him to the police. He could barely move, so it’s not like he could hatch an escape plan anytime soon. If he even made it that long.
“He’ll be fine if you patch him up a bit,” Spike said flippantly.
“Spike, I swear to—”
“Anyway, I have some questions I need to ask him. You can patch him up while we talk.”
The man let out a huff of frustration, but leaned close to Gren. “He’s getting blood all over the couch,” he mutters. “Faye, get the first aid kit.” The woman is still staring at Gren in confusion, and it takes her a moment to move. “Yeah, I’ll…I’ll do that.” She walks out.
“Okay,” Spike says as the other man inspects Gren’s side, which feels like it is repeatedly being stabbed. “You said you knew Julia.”
Had he? Gren doesn’t remember, but he nods his head slightly.
“Fuck’s sake, Spike,” the other man says, sounding even more frustrated. “If this is another attempt to—”
“Just fix him up, Jet.” So that was the man’s name. Gren’s eyes focus on the man’s hands, which are currently poking into Gren’s side—he hisses, and Jet pulls back. One of his arms is metal. It glints under the overhead light.
“Hey,” Spike snaps his fingers in front of Gren’s face again and Gren’s eyes snap back to him. “You knew Julia. Do you know where she is now?”
Gren shakes his head.
“Fuck,” Spike hisses and the woman—Faye—comes back in with a box. Jet chimes in, “Spike, leave him alone for now. This needs to be done fast.” He takes the box from Faye and riffles through it, pulling out a roll of bandages, a needle and a bottle of pills. Gren grimaces. He sees Spike stalk over to the other side of the room. “Alright, this is the best I got for now,” Jet continues. “Faye, help me get his clothes off.”
Alarm shoots through Gren’s body. He’d shared his secret with Faye, but that had been when he’d expected to die immediately after. He isn’t sure how he feels about these strangers having any more leverage on him.
“Oh, actually…” Faye starts, meeting Gren’s panicked eyes. He flinches when Jet’s hand lands near the wound. His shirt is loose enough that they haven’t noticed his…situation yet, and part of Gren can’t give up his last piece of security. “Maybe…I could do it myself?” Faye continues, voice trailing off in uncertainty.
Jet stares at her. “Why? If he can’t sit up on his own, we’ll need two people.”
“...Privacy?”
“What does that—” Jet starts, but Gren curls up again, coughing. Fuck’s sake, he thinks. It’s better than dying. He tries to push himself up, and Jet eases him back down. “Woah, woah. Easy now, I can help you up.” He gently lifts Gren’s torso and leans him back against the couch. Faye hands him some water, and he raises it to Gren’s lips. “Here, drink.”
Gren does, feeling helpless. Warily, he meets Faye’s eyes and nods slightly. He doesn’t have a choice either way—better to get it over with. Clearing his throat—the water helped a bit—he manages to tell her, “It’s okay.” She swallows.
He turns to Jet. “I have a…special condition. At the moment.” His throat burns, and he clears it again. “She was trying to help me.” He nods at Faye.
“Listen, I’ve seen it all,” Jet tells him gruffly. “Used to be with the ISSP. Whatever it is, I can handle it.” Gren holds back his questions at that—why is Jet a bounty hunter when he used to be a cop?—and nods. Jet pulls a pair of scissors out of his box and gently pulls the collar of Gren’s dress away from his skin. He holds the scissors carefully and stands up to get a better angle, leaning over Gren. He has a clear view down Gren’s shirt—Gren clenches his jaw and endures it.
“Oh,” Jet says, surprised. Gren looks up at his face, eyes narrowed, and Jet seems to realize that now is not the time. “Alright, I’m going. Could’a warned a guy.” The snip of scissors against the fabric is agonizing, but there’s nothing else Gren can do.
Jet is nice and clinical about the whole thing, moving quickly from Gren’s collar to his waist. He lifts the scissor to Gren’s shoulders and cuts the sleeves open next, and Gren crosses his arms over his chest as soon as his arms are free. He keeps his eyes trained on Jet, refusing to back down and show his discomfort on his face.
When Jet is finished, he gently twists Gren’s shoulder towards his chest, trying to get a better look at his side. He grimaces. “Damn, that’s bad. At least we got somehting to help the pain a bit.” He reaches down and picks up the bottle of pills he’d gotten from the first aid kit. He feeds it to Gren, along with more of the water from before. Gren gulps it greedily—his throat still hurts. He’s not sure why, now that he can think a bit more clearly.
Jet gently presses on the wound with his finger and Gren’s whole body flinches. Jet pulls back as if he was burned. “Shit, sorry. Faye, I’m gonna need you to help him sit up so I can reach all the way around..”
Faye’s eyes meet Gren’s own, and he nods hesitantly. If anyone was going to put their hands on him, better for it to be her. She manages to get him upright with her arms under his armpits, and he tries to keep his arms above her shoulders and out of the way as much as he can.
“Jet, were those painkillers expired?” Gren hears Spike call from the side. He shoots Spike a worried look, but before he can question it, Jet touches a rag to his wound. Gren immediately flinches again—it’s cold and wet, but it burns like nothing he’s ever felt before. His years since being a soldier have made him soft—his body isn’t as used to pain. He bites his lip and tries to stop the grunts crawling up his throat, clenches every muscle in his arms in his attempts to stay still.
When the needle comes out, Gren’s world narrows to the burning in his side and the sting of pain when Jet starts another stitch. He doesn’t feel anything else, doesn’t see anything else. Time freezes.
Eventually, Jet seems to be satisfied and moves to wrap the wound up. The bandages wind around his torso, and Gren ignores every brush of Jet’s hands against his chest. The pain makes it hard to focus on anything else, anyway. When Jet finishes—finally—Gren exhales the tension from his body. Faye drops her hands and he collapses against the back of the couch, breathing heavily.
“Yeah, you’re done. Anything else bothering you at the moment?”
Gren’s chest burns and his head feels like it’s been boiled in a pot, but he doesn’t know what Jet can do about that besides give him more—possibly expired—painkillers. He shakes his head and a wave of dizziness rushes through his head. “Woah.” He closes his eyes against the sensation.
“What are we gonna do with him?” He hears Faye whisper to Jet. “We can’t just turn him over.”
“And why not?” Jet doesn’t bother whispering back. “We made sure he wouldn’t die. ‘Far as I’m concerned, I’ve already done my part.”
“And how do you know him?” Spike chimes in. He sounds amused when he adds, “Must’ve made quite the impression in the one day you were gone.”
“It’s not like that,” Faye sounds irritated. “He helped me when neither of you did.”
“You mean when you ran away and stole all our money?”
Gren’s eyes peel open to see Spike and Faye in each other’s faces, glaring. He clears his throat. “Well whatever’s going on here,” he grumbles, “could I have some clothes now? It’s cold in here.”
They all know that isn’t why he wants a shirt, but thankfully none of them say anything. Faye storms off somewhere and comes back a minute later with a loose blue shirt and grey pants.
“Hey!” Spike’s eyes narrow. “That’s my shirt.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Jet huffs as he packs the first aid kit back up. Faye helps Gren sit up long enough to get the shirt on, then pulls the remains of his dress off and pulls his legs through the pants. Normally Gren would probably protest more, but the painkillers finally seem to be kicking in, and his eyes are having trouble staying open. He blinks rapidly, giving his head a shake—bad idea, as nausea starts churning in his stomach. He stays still.
After a minute of trying valiantly to hold his eyes open, Gren finally lets them slip closed. He doesn’t know if he’ll still be on this ship when he wakes up.