The bar door swung open and a beam of white sunlight screamed across the grimy floor. It was the filthiest, lowest place in the universe, and the light only illuminated what everyone there was trying to hide; all backs were turned, no one spoke, no one moved except to raise a glass to cracked lips or hold up a hand for more booze. Only the barman was active, silhouetted against the static red light behind the bench, wiping a glass seemingly for something to do.
With a heavy sigh weighted by the load of a full mind, Faye allowed the door to close behind her and trudged down to sit on a stool at the end of the bar, ignoring the bloodshot eyes that followed her.
'Back again, Ms Valentine?' said the barman wryly.
'Whiskey on the rocks,' she replied dully, keeping her eyes averted from the room.
'The usual...' muttered the barman, but he turned his back on her before she could retort.
Faye sighed again, resting her chin on her arm. Here she was again, doing just the opposite of what she vowed not to do. How pathetic... but she was too tired to care. Her mind was so full of conflict and confusion and doubt that it was although she had gone into survival mode and become completely numb; she couldn't even begin to analyse her thoughts for her brain would not allow the stress of it.
'One whiskey for the lady.'
The barman clunked the glass down upon the benchtop and lingered for a moment, leaning against the front.
'What's on your mind, girly? You've been comin' 'round here pretty often, is there somethin' you need help with?'
No, I'm only here because I really enjoy the atmosphere and small talk.
'Everything's fine, thanks.'
The irate edge to her voice told the barman to shrug and get back to wiping glasses. Faye pressed her fingers into her temples, inhaling through her nose, before taking downing the whiskey and gesturing for another.
Spike awake, lying there in hospital, functional, blinking, breathing, thinking, feeling, his skin warm, his fingers moving. The shock of seeing him look back at her was still bracing. It was as though the image had been burned onto her retinas so that no amount of blinking could rid her of him. And then that feeling of overwhelming relief tainted by fear, fear at how relieved she actually was that he was alive. She shouldn't feel so strongly about anything to do with Spike, he was just a friend – no, a colleague. But if he was only that then why had she confronted him before he left? Why had she collapsed when she heard what had happened? Why had she spent all these nights sleepless and all the days in bed?
Regardless, she didn't dare visit him again. She didn't think she could bear the intensity of his living gaze again.
And then there was the irrational anger towards him; the stupid, rash man that had deserted her to meet his death, or what should have been his death. Obviously she meant nothing to him or he wouldn't have gone, or he would have at least said something before he left. And she had confessed her need for him… How stupid! This is why trusting men was always a bad idea. This is why needing people was always a bad idea.
Faye knew that she should leave, and leave now, but something held her to the bar stool and kept the glass in her hand no matter how much she despised her predicament.
Glaring sunlight pierced the bar momentarily as the door was opened and closed again, and Faye didn't need to look up to know who sat in the stool beside her.
'Scotch,' said Jet's deep rumble. 'Straight.'
The pair of them drank in silence for a time. Only when he ordered another glass did Jet speak again.
'Ed's back. She was looking for you, thought you'd taken off.'
'I'm not like her,' Faye replied wearily. 'I wouldn't take off.'
'I know, that's why I'm here.'
'Why are you here?' asked Faye, looked over at him.
Jet's expression revealed nothing as he prolonged her expectation with a thoughtful sip of his drink.
'I turned in a bounty last night. I just thought I'd let you know that I'm cooking.'
Faye narrowed her eyes. He wouldn't come all this way to tell her he was cooking.
'And?' she challenged.
Jet downed the rest of his glass and took out a cigarette. Faye did not relinquish her suspicious stare from him as he slowly extracted a lighter from his pocket, sparked the flame, inhaled and flicked the lighter closed.
'And Spike was asking about you,' he said through a cloud of smoke.
Oh God. Faye faltered, dropping her gaze an inch. Her heart beat picked up double time and she looked down at her fingers. Her thoughts spiralled, became erratic and impossible to distinguish one feeling from another. He was asking, that must mean he cares… Though he probably asked about Ed and Ein as well.
'What was he asking about?' she said, trying to keep her tone light and dismissive.
'Just how you were,' shrugged Jet. 'If you were doing okay.'
'Why wouldn't I be doing okay?'
Shit, answered too fast.
Jet shrugged again, but she knew it was only to appease her. The inquiries sat between them like an elephant in a tutu but neither would address them, neither would acknowledge that they were there. Both merely sipped on their drinks, upholding a mutual silence.
'He wanted to know if you were still around, that's all,' Jet said finally. 'He said you hadn't been in to see him since the first time.'
'I haven't,' said Faye, slightly shocked.
'Why not? Actually, don't worry about it.'
Jet finished his drink with satisfaction and stood up to go.
'Dinner's at seven,' he told her over his shoulder. 'Don't be late or Ein will get your share.'
Faye waved her hand to show she had heard and Jet left the bar into a blaze of sunlight.
So Spike had been asking about her. It made her slightly nervous knowing that he inquired about her wellbeing; perhaps he knew she would be suffering over him. Perhaps she was just over-thinking everything…
After another hour of drinks and deliberation, Faye resolved to return to the Bebop with mild hunger as an excuse. She refused to acknowledge any more honest reasoning behind the decision as she paid the barman and sauntered out into the deep orange light of a setting sun.
She hugged her waist as she walked along the riverside, ignoring pedestrians that passed like drones, or like shadows behind glass. The beams of golden sunlight stretched their fingers across the sky and Faye began to walk with her head a little higher. Only now that she was moving did she realise how hungry she actually was, and she began to look forward to Jet's dinner; and Ed and Ein would be there… She hadn't seen them in so long. Of course, Spike's memory would be lingering in the walls of the ship, haunting her and dogging her steps, but she was drunk so she didn't care so much for the man. Who was he but just a work partner? A comrade, even? He was no more than Jet, or Ed; just carrying out their obligatory duty to one another in raking in enough cash to keep the ship and their bodies going. She couldn't be stagnant in misery forever, she had to do something; get back on board, so to speak.
As she saw the Bebop stationed by the dock, all its wear and imperfections emblazoned across its side by the sun, she couldn't help the smile that turned up her lips. Home. There was no other word for it. That gritting familiarity, the memories nailed deeper into the metal hull than the very nails themselves, all spoke of solidarity to her. Spike or no Spike, the ache in her heart was closer to happiness than regret.