Help me if you can
It's just that this, this is not the way I'm wired,
So could you please.
"I never understood him. I don't think I ever got the chance to. He was here for over three years, but that still wasn't enough time to even begin to crack the surface. I bet he was a pretty interesting guy under all of that protective armor he wore, but I…I guess I'll never know now."
Jet wasn't really sure who he was talking to as he sat in his pilot's chair. Ein was gone, Ed was gone, and Faye had disappeared weeks ago. He was alone. And as he sat, smoking his umpteenth cigarette of the evening, he never realized just how big his ship was. And he certainly never realized just how lonely all of its silence could be.
Help me understand why
You've given in to all these
Reckless dark desires.
"I just can't, for the life of me, understand why he thought this was a good idea. Didn't he know that nothing good ever came from chasing the past?"
Flicking ash onto the metal floor, Jet sighed and wondered if he was going loony. Or if he just really missed having people on his ship that much. He rationalized that he was never a big talker, but he really had something to say at the moment. Moreover, he just needed to voice his thoughts, because he so desperately wanted to find a reason for this rhyme.
He glanced at the little digital clock that was inset on the control panel and did the math in his head. He'd been sitting in his current spot for close to four hours. He'd been stuck in the kitchen for nearly six hours before that. Looking at his still pruned fingers, he recalled how he had scrubbed the kitchen, top to bottom, at least three times, only to find more dirt after every rinse.
Jet twisted his mouth into a slight sneer as old words echoed in his brain.
'I always know when you're really upset, Jet, because you start to clean everything you can get your hands on!'
Alyssa had said that to him. She had said it to him more than once, actually. Thinking back on it, towards the end of their relationship, he cleaned a lot. After she walked out on him, he was sure he had the cleanest apartment this side of the Asteroid Belt.
But Jet didn't want to think about things like that. He had just said that chasing your past never had a good outcome. So if he could figure it out, then why couldn't anyone else?
"It's just…it's just so fucking reckless!" He yelled as he sprung up from his chair. With his metal hand gripping the panel with dangerous force, he silently counted to ten in a futile effort to calm his nerves.
"He was just always so God damn reckless."
You're lying to yourself again,
Suicidal imbecile.
Think about it; put it on the fault line.
Dashing out the lingering embers of his cig, Jet left the bud in one of the Bebop's many ashtrays, and left the cockpit. He wandered around the ship for a while, hoping to find a stowaway in any of the long forgotten rooms. No luck, however. Each empty nook and cranny only let the man down even more, and only illuminated the fact that he was so utterly alone.
He rounded a corner and found himself in the corridor that housed their rooms. Checking inside both, Jet noticed personal belongs strewn over the floors and scant furniture. If he was an optimist, Jet would say that they'd be back eventually, especially the shrew, since she was so attached to her material goods. But Jet was no optimist, not anymore at least. So he closed the doors and locked them up tight, trying his best to preserve the only memories he knew he had left.
"I guess the woman might come back," he lied to himself as he unlocked her door. "Yeah, and maybe genetically engineered pigs will fly out of my ass."
What'll it take to get it through to you precious?
Over this. Why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess. I don't want to watch you.
"I just don't know why he thought this was a good idea?" He continued to voice aloud.
As he made his way to the common room, that last bit of familiarity his ship had left, he flopped on the old, yellow couch and reclined into the cushions. By now, he knew he was going crazy. He figured it all started that night, close to four years ago, when he let a stray onto his ship. He always did have a soft spot for mongrels. Jet made a note, then, to stop being so nice.
But since he had recently come to accept his mental instability, Jet decided he'd talk out loud, as loud as he wanted, and he didn't care who did – or didn't – hear him. Besides, he needed to hear someone speak, or he really would lose it.
"Did he honestly think that he could do this alone? That he had to do this alone? I didn't want to be wrapped up in a syndicate again. Hell, I probably would have lost my other arm this time around, but that didn't mean that I wouldn't have helped him. But that was his biggest problem, though. Well one of them, at least. He was so damn stubborn. Christ, I remember when he came down with the flu a couple of years ago. Puked all over my damn ship. I had to tie him down to the bed, literally, just to get him to rest for a couple of days!"
Jet chuckled as he remembered how furious his comrade had been, and just how bad his rope burns were after he was untied. But it wasn't Jet's fault that he had to result to such desperate measures.
"I'd take gallons of his puke now, if it meant he was still around."
Sighing again, Jet sat up and reached for another cig. As he flicked on the zippo that was sitting next to the pack, he suddenly contorted his face and stuck out his tongue.
"What in the hell am I saying! That's just gross!"
Disconnect and self destruct one bullet at a time.
What's your rush now; everyone will have his day to die.
Flopping back into the couch, Jet took a long drag and closed his eyes.
"He was always floating around like a lazy comet," he said as he blew out the smoke. "But from the moment he heard her name, he was like a ship in hyperspace. He was in such a God damn hurry all of a sudden. And for what? For a woman who died in his arms? For an ex-best friend who was ready and waiting to stab him in the back? Oh, wait, he stabbed him in the front. My mistake."
Jet shuddered, then, as he could only imagine what he friend had looked like. He never went to claim the body. He never saw pictures from the crime scene, even though Bob had offered to acquire some for him. He figured that he didn't need those images in his head. No, that was a set of nightmares that he refused to see.
"He cheated death so many times. I don't know why he had to go and fucking chase the Grim Reaper. It's not like he wasn't gonna kick the bucket one day. I just think he went too soon. But he always did do stupid things, so I guess I really shouldn't be so shocked."
Medicated, drama queen, picture perfect, numb belligerence.
Narcissistic, drama queen, craving fame and all its decadence.
"What I really don't get, though, is that if he was so damn stuck on himself, why'd he go and throw his life away?"
Sitting forward and putting his elbows on his knees, Jet reached for an invisible can of beer, and came to the conclusion that he was thirsty. He pushed himself up then, and headed back to the kitchen.
"After spending so much time around him, it's wasn't hard to tell that he had a bit of a narcissistic streak running through him. I guess if I had his looks or talent, I'd be like that, too. And Christ, his ego was the size of Jupiter! I just can't believe that one woman could humble all of that and so easily lead him to his…death."
Reaching into the fridge, Jet was greeted by actual food and plenty of beer, not just empty containers. Without his resident mooches, the refrigerator and cabinets stayed full a lot longer. Popping the tab on his beer can, he took a long swig and headed back to the couch. He didn't want to stay in the kitchen too long. He might find something else to clean if he did.
"It was like she had some secret key that made him feel again. He was always so damn cold before she showed back up. But I liked him better that way. No matter how uncaring he may have pretended to be, I know he cared. He had his stupid little ways of showing it. Like how he'd always bring back a souvenir for Ed. Or how he'd scratch the mutt's head when he thought no one was looking. Or how he'd always restock the kitchen when he could. Or how he'd always go and find Faye.
Sitting back on the worn cushions, Jet put his feet up on the table and took another sip of his beer.
"That was one thing that always did really confuse me about him. He always made himself out to be the jilted lover or some shit like that, but damn if he didn't flirt with Faye like some horny school boy. I swear, I'd come home sometimes, and the sexual tension would be so thick, I'd think I was gonna choke. A part of me thinks they did it. Probably more than once. But God knows I don't want to know the truth. Nope, that's too much for my heart to handle."
Lying through your teeth again,
Suicidal imbecile.
Think about it; put it on the fault line.
Letting out a groan as he tried to steer his thoughts away from his former roommates sexual habits, Jet found himself very restless and went off for another stroll around the ship.
Begrudgingly, he decided to grab the oak cane that rested on the table. More often than not, he tried to forgo the humiliating instrument, especially when he ventured out into public. But it had only been five weeks since he was shot, and his leg was nowhere near as healed as he wanted it to be. So he clutched the head with his metal hand and limped down the hallways.
"Damn, I hadn't realized how long it's been since everything happened," he ruminated as he went. "Well, I guess five weeks isn't that long. But when there's no one here to pass the time with, five weeks seems like an eternity."
He hadn't actually been alone for the whole five weeks. Faye had hung around for at least a week and a half afterwards.
"I wonder where she disappeared to," he genuinely questioned.
She hadn't taken any money that he couldn't account for, and he didn't think she had anything overly valuable to hawk. She'd been gone for close to a month now, though, and he didn't know if she was that good at taking care of herself.
"For all I know, she's probably in jail somewhere."
His face quickly fell into a frown at the thought of Faye incarcerated. He'd much rather have her back on the Bebop, mooching ways and all, then to have her locked up, or God knows what else.
"But I guess she's a capable woman. She did make it on her own for three years before she ever showed up here. And what is with this 'three' thing, anyway?" He almost yelled. "Three years on her own, three years he was on this ship, three adults running around like chickens with their heads cut off! Well, bad things tend to happen in threes, so I guess that means smooth sailing for me for a while."
He tried to smile to himself at that thought, but he knew that he preferred that chaos of his former life.
What'll it take to get it through to you precious?
Go with this, why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess, I don't wanna watch you.
Jet was mildly surprised when his wanderings landed him in the hangar. He spent a lot of time here, as well. Gazing ahead of him, the reason for his prolonged stays here stared him right back in the face. The Swordfish II sat perched in the corner of the hangar, looking more that ready to take flight.
Jet still wasn't positive how the ship ended up back on the Bebop's deck, but he figured it had something to do with Donnelly. Oh the perks of having friends in high places. The old racer had been rather beaten up, and at first, Jet was content to let it set out on the deck and rot. But after about five minutes of that kind of thinking, he rolled the ship inside.
Starting the week before, Jet had begun to fix up the racer. He decided that he'd gussy it up and sell it in the future. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself.
"Such a fucking waste," he muttered as he hobbled to the crimson ship. "Ain't that right, girl? Nothing but a sad, stupid, terribly planned waste."
Disconnect and self destruct one bullet at a time.
What's your rush now; everyone will have his day to die.
Looking over at his Hammerhead, Jet wondered when he'd get around to fixing his. The engine was shot and the guns were jammed, and basically, it needed a lot of work. But he didn't have anywhere that he needed to go at the moment, so he'd let his hobby be fixing up the Swordfish before he moved on to another task.
"That's a good question," Jet answered the unasked query. "What am I gonna do, now that I'm down two partners. I guess I can do this on my own. But Christ, would it be easier with just one more body on the case. Oh well. I'm the Black Dog, and I work just as well in a pack, as I do alone."
Jet had a good feeling that he was boldly lying through his teeth, but the lie sounded so good at the moment. Lies had started to sound real good in general as of late. Like the lie about his leg feeling better. Or like the lie about him liking his solitude. Or the lie about how he never wanted any of them on his ship in the first place. The last one was the biggest lie of all.
They were right about you.
They were right about you.
"I always knew they were going to be trouble. You could take one look at them and tell. The first time the shrew ever showed up on the ship was in our handcuffs. And after that, she just casually let herself on. And don't get me started on the kid. She let's herself on, too.
"I didn't mind the mutt too much, but he was still too much trouble. He never ate his bean sprouts, even though they were good for him. And when he showed up on my doorstep, bloody and asking for a light, I should have slammed the door on him. Yep, letting him in was the stupidest thing this ex-cop has ever done."
Shaking his head, said ex-cop decided he had spent enough time with steel and grease, and headed out of the hangar. He was tired, anyway, and decided he'd limp to his room and take a nap. Walking out, he quietly whispered to the resting ships.
"But letting them on was also the smartest thing I've ever done."
Lying to my face again.
Suicidal imbecile.
Think about it; put it on the fault line.
Finding his room, though he hadn't misplaced it, Jet softly closed the door behind him and sunk down into his bed. Pulling the covers to his chin, he let the warmth of the blanket wash over him. He ran a cool, fleshy hand over his balding head and let his eyes fall closed.
"God, Spike, what were you thinking? You stupid, stupid idiot! There was another way! There's always another way," Jet choked out, not sure where the sudden lump in his throat came from. "But I don't care anymore. He didn't have enough humanity in him to care about me, so I'm not going to waste my time, crying over a dead man!"
What'll it take to get it through to you precious?
Over this, why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess, come to this, come to this.
"I'm done," Jet almost cruelly said. "I don't want to care anymore. There's no reason to care anymore. He's dead, and the rest are gone. Who gives a flying fuck if 'old man' Jet is left alone, all busted up. Who cares, indeed!"
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jet harrumphed. And then he hummed. And then he sighed. He sudden burst of anger had faded just as quickly as it had come, and he was left with buyer's remorse once again.
"I'd regret ever layin' eyes on 'em," he sighed, "if I didn't worry about 'em so God damn much."
As he thought for a moment, he could have sworn he heard his old clunker, his only companion, spring to some sort of life, but that was just his ears playing tricks on him again. When it was late and the ship was colder than it should have been, if he strained a little, Jet could have sworn he heard Ed and Ein running and barking down the hallways. But those were always just figments of his deteriorating imagination.
"No use crying over spilled milk, I guess," Jet conceded as he turned on his side. Closing his eyes again, he decided he'd really try and get some sleep. Ever since he'd been left alone, he hadn't slept as much. Funny, since he figured he'd get more sleep with everyone gone. But he didn't have anyone around to yell at or run after anymore, so his energy was left to lie dormant, and he didn't tire out as quickly as he used to. Funny how that worked, indeed.
Disconnect and self destruct, one bullet at a time.
What's your hurry; everyone will have his day to die.
"Hey old man. Got room for one more?"
Jet didn't turn over to see the owner of the voice. He didn't have to, since he knew it was just another trick of the mind.
"Did you hear me, or are you going deaf, too? You're not dead, are ya? You know I wouldn't be able to deal with that right now."
His mind was getting pretty convincing these days. He could actually hear the tears that threatened to fall. He could feel the dip in the bed where the body sat. And he could feel the shaky hand that gently rocked his arm.
"You room is where you left it," he grated out, deciding to play into his delusions.
"Thanks Jet. I…I saw his ship in the hangar. He's…he's really gone, isn't he?"
"He's either dead, or really good at faking it."
"…Oh."
Heaving a sigh that melded with hers, Jet sat up and turned over. He'd perhaps been too harsh in his delivery, considering what she was probably going through, as well.
"Sorry," he apologized. "It's just…weird."
"Yeah…weird."
"So…you back for good, or should I not get attached again?"
"I'll stay for as long as you allow."
Staring up at the ceiling for a moment, Jet felt an almost content smirk make its way to his face.
"Your room is where you left if, Faye. And I'd appreciate it if you stayed in it this time."
The green-eyed vixen locked eyes with her partner and the exchanged warm smiles. His flesh hand gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, and her smile widen.
"Thanks for taking me back, old man."
"Hn. And stop calling me 'old man'."
"Just a heads up," Faye called to him as she headed out of the room, "I kinda broke something on my ship, so would you be a doll and fix it for me?"
"We'll see, wench," he smiled at her.
"Until then…do you think I could borrow – "
"NO!" He shouted at her more forcefully than he had anticipated. "I mean…you'll only wreck it, too. And if the bastard decided to go off and leave us, we can at least try and preserve the only thing that he was ever any good with."
"…Guess you're right," Faye whispered, understanding her folly. "Well…g'night, then. And thanks."
"Yeah. I'll have breakfast ready in the morning."
If you choose to pull the trigger, should your drama prove sincere.
"So she came back," he mused as he silently thanked whatever God above. "I guess that's all I can really ask for. It's not like I really want the lunkhead back, anyway. He was the worst of 'em all, and nothing but trouble. And hell, if he wanted to get himself killed, then I'm glad he did it on his own time."
Do it somewhere far away from here.
"But I'd still give just about anything to have that suicidal imbecile back."
YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE HAVING
A HARD TIME ADJUSTING, SPACE COWBOY…
and that's the end of that. how was it? i imagine i'm a bit rusty, but i tried, honest i did. i'd love it if you'd review and let me know how this was, but that's not necessary. but if you do review, nothing harsh, please. oh, and i'd like to thank my dear space raider, since i believe she got me out of my slump! okie doke, then, i think that's enough from me for now. thanks a ton for stopping by!
- phoenix