zebralittle52 | One bunny down

Here's the last half of my latest Cowboy Bebop bunny.

Same warnings as before...

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Gren had memories of Titan.

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Wind whipped through their dessert wraps, sand scraping dragon claws across their eyes and down their backs.

Some things never change.

Half buried under the shifting sand, the two came across their old unit bunker, squat and bare. Long abandoned.

Gren slid-shuffled through the ever-moving earth, eyes taking in the familiar low building. This was where the better memories were born. Mow many stolen moments had they found there, quick fractures in time, before Vicious was called outside, the door handle slamming against the hard brick wall, as it always did when caught by the wind?

A half step ahead, urged on by the memories becoming something new in his mind, Gren held open the door so they could get out of the storm.

Inside, the building was bare. Rows of metal frames, what used to hold hard, thin mattresses and hard, sweating men, now stood bare. Grit and sand had made there way inside, coating the once clean floor.

"Where are they, Gren?"

It was colder now, too.

It hurt to stand under that hard, cold stare, hurt to squeeze his fingers around the skeletal frame and not look away, but he somehow managed. Defiant blue eyes flashed as Gren slid the thick all-weather cloak off his shoulders. "You didn't think I'd make it this easy, did you?"

There wasn't even enough light to glint off the gun Vicious aimed at Gren's head. "Where are the drugs?"

The musician ignored the threat, or maybe the adrenaline was keeping his fingers steady. Soon his shirt drifted to the floor as well.

"You screwed me over to get what you needed last time, remember? Believe me, it's something I'll never forget." He finally looked up, fingers pulling at buttons and zippers. "Well, guess what you're about to again."

It had to be something that doctor had pumped into him. Of maybe his brain had gotten twisted like his body. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. Vicious needed to get the drugs and get off the planet, and if fucking the half-dead pretty boy would get him what he needed, so be it.

He didn't even have to undress, just shove down his pants, push Gren against the wall, and drop him when he was done.

It wouldn't be the first time.

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Gren often had dreams of returning to Titan.

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Somewhere between his last boot hitting the floor and his back hitting the wall, Gren found himself drowning in memories. Was the troop going to be back soon, would they have enough time? Clutching at Vicious' rough cloak, he held onto the man and let go of his mind.

If there was blood, it didn't matter. The tearing bites only reminded him who he was with. The pounding thrusts, that he was alive.

He spread his legs further, unfocused eyes staring at something long gone, left alive only in his memories, able to ignore the middle years. Ignore what had happened to him, to them, to everyone.

As long as there was familiar white hair under his fingers, softer than silver had a right to be, he could pretend. As long as that voice was growling in his ear, deep as thunder and just as overwhelming, he could pretend.

Vicious didn't give him long.

Sudden warmth filled him, strange from such a cold blooded creature, and Gren's body followed, still remembering the rules and doing what it was told. Then reality came rushing back again.

It wasn't all those years ago, no troops outside practicing drills, they were alone, and so many things had changed.

"Where did you hide the drugs?"

Gren lay on the sandy cement bunker floor, his breathing ragged, barely able to focus. He wouldn't last the next hour. With a shaky hand, he pointed to an old cabinet still hanging on the wall.

Vicious clipped on his belt, holstering his gun and giving a parting scowl before turning away.

"You're not worth wasting the bullet."

He watched as the hazy, indistinct blur that was the snow haired man found the case of Red Eye and left without another word.

The last thing he heard was the door to the compound being pushed open, then snagged by the howling wind outside, torn from the devil's hand to slam against the concrete wall.

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He sometimes talked about going back.

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Hours had passed between the ship's monitors picking up the explosion and Lin getting planet side. Squinting against the wind, he followed the tracker to Vicious' last known position.

And found a war zone.

At first glance, it looked as though the front half of a small cement bunker had been shoved through a jump gate. Iron chips and shattered glass lay strewn about a huge crater where the building's entrance would have been, the remnants of door handle connecting wires and wall mounted contact plates scattered at his feet. There were other things down there too, though less recognizable. Less pleasant.

Pulling his coat tighter against the wind, he moved on.

Somehow the back wall still stood, rising like a marker at the head of the gravely grave. In its shadow, he found Gren's body, bare but for a cover of ash and the smile he'd worn as he slipped away.

A discarded cloak became his shroud, the sand already at work, covering the musician from the sun. Lin took one last look, then turned back to the ship. There was nothing he could do here.

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Gren sometimes talked about going back ...but he never said alone.

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