A Little Bit of Sympathy
Spike slouched on the rickety chair in his kitchen, restlessly drumming his fingers on the worn and shabby table. He looked down at the linoleum floor, adorned with dirty smudges from the constant traffic of his feet as he moved in and out of the room to eat, smoke, or drink. He supposed he should clean it one day. Today was not going to be that day. The walls of the kitchen were peppered with cooking stains from the previous tenant, and the landlord had not bothered to paint when he moved four months ago. Hell, he’d be willing to bet that the place hadn’t been painted in years.
Not that he really cared either way. The apartment came furnished with a couch and television in the living room, had a pantry large enough to store food and weapons, and a small bedroom that he hardly ever slept in. He used the place to clean his guns and to sleep on the couch after a job. And the price was right.
Most of the time, he would head down to the Glowing Sun for eat a meal, drink booze, and maybe play a game or two of pool before coming home to sleep.
As he thought about it, he realized he was hungry, but he was too lazy to go back out. He stood up to stretch the stiffness from his legs, and trudged over to the refrigerator to find something to eat. He looked inside, knowing already what he would find: not much, since he disliked shopping for food. Anyway, he wasn’t much of a cook – that had been Jet’s job.
I guess it’s instant noodles with cheese, he sighed, taking out a block of cheese. At times like this he would have settled for some of Jet’s bell peppers even without beef, but since he had detached himself from his past life on the old fishing trawler, it was not an option.
He examined the cheese closely, wondering how long it had been in the fridge, but, finding no hints of green, concluded that it was safe to eat. He broke off a chunk and popped it in his mouth, chewing on it while he retrieved a container of instant noodles from the pantry. He pulled the cord on the noodle container and peeled off the top, watching as the noodles hissed to life. He broke off another piece of cheese and dumped it into the hot container, watching the cheese melt into the noodles. He fished his chopsticks from the kitchen sink and scooped into the container, slurping down the contents. Not exactly a gourmet meal, but at least he was no longer hungry.
Afterwards, he leaned back against the chair, being careful not to lean too heavily. When he had first moved in, he’d learned the hard way, on the back of his head, how unsteady the chair was. He rubbed his head absently as he remembered, and ruefully thought about his yellow couch on the Bebop, and how much more comfortable it would have been to this chair. He frowned as he realized how often he had been thinking about them lately. He wondered how well they were getting on without him, if they missed him. The feeling was hauntingly familiar, this dull ache in his chest.
He hated the fact that he missed them.
