wordhost​:
Spike’s more or less given up with the concept of PERSONAL SPACE when it comes to Ed, and he doesn’t bother with resisting at this point. If only Jet could see him now.
His body aches, largely due to the hits he’s taken earlier at the hands of his latest bounty-that-got-away. This job’s beginning to become a real pain in the ass! “Yeah, yeah,” all monotone as Spike steps his way through the Bebop’s latest mess, the kid still dangling from his shoulders, hands jammed in his pockets, “I took a hit. Or two.”  His eye ( the real one ) is already beginning to swell shut. Great. Faye was going to give him hell and he was going to be put out of commission until he could SEE again. Maybe he should have taken up the opportunity to get a cyborg eye while he had the chance.
He doesn’t bother with asking what the mess ( cables and cords and keyboards and who knows what else ) is this time. Not like he’ll understand any of the words Ed throws around–he never does. “Grab me an ice pack?” Question / not a demand.
She giggles brightly as he wander through the Bebop but allows her her perch — hehe, all worn down and sweet now!! Sweet Spike! Those long - long legs swing idly against his chest, hands settling beneath his chin to keep steady. And yet, the question — not a demand — is met with loosening hands and loosening grip, and Ed slides off of Spike with ease, prancing into the kitchen with a whoop and a cheer, all but dancing around the mess she’s made. Ein follows.
It doesn’t take long for the child to return, though Ein leads this time; two ice packs in the genius’s hands, actually, and they waltz up to Spike, steps huge and grin matching, and hold both out.  “One for Spikes eye - eye!! And ——” Those eyes take on a mischevious / malicious? oh, no, spending too much time with Faye / glint.  “One for Spikes pride!”