Disclaimer: Don't own it, so don't sue.
Spike is, hands down, my favorite character in Cowboy Bebop, but I love them all regardless. However, I noticed that there are stories at ff.net dealing with Spike's past, with Vicious's past – either with Julia, Spike or Gren – and fics with Julia giving her feelings on events in her/their past. There aren't any stories though that go into depth with Jet's past and I think that's a crime. Having recently seen 'Ganymede Elegy' and then listening to Matchbox 20, something snapped in my brain and put the two together. I had wondered about what happened to Jet before meeting Spike, and how the two had met and spent the first three years together bounty hunting and we all know that the sessions don't really get into depth about the exact happenings, be it the Alisa/Jet thing or just about everything with Spike. I've taken the opportunity to pick apart Jet Black and to get a bit of information on Alisa. Be aware that I don't know exactly how long it was between when Alisa left Jet and when Jet teamed up with Spike, only that the Black Dog hadn't been back to Ganymede in about eight years since Alisa left him. I also wasn't sure whether he had lost his arm before his time with Alisa or after, but I put it before. This might not be too accurate but …I tried my best. Enjoy, folks and feel free to review with suggestions of what I can do in the future to make my writing better. Hey …maybe a series dealing with the three years Spike and Jet were by themselves before the Bebop got a little crowded …
What The Eyes Cannot See
Hang
she grabs her magazinesshe packs her things and she goes
she leaves the pictures hanging on the wall, she burns all
her notes and she knows, she's been here too few years
to feel this old
Alisa reached out for the bottle of whiskey and kept her gaze locked beyond the walls of the apartment, refusing to look upon the now-bare walls as her small hand closed around the neck of the bottle and she brought it to her lips for a hearty swig that might dull the pain. But the bottle slipped from her grip and tumbled to the floor, rich amber liquid spilling forth and soaking into the eggshell carpet, the bottle still whole. Her burgundy eyes slipped from her dreams and wishes to watch the bottle for a moment, almost expecting it to shatter into a million jagged pieces. Why not? Her life certainly had. A sudden rage filled her and she picked up the half-empty bottle, watching the sullen liquid swish about inside and she rose languidly, almost gracefully, and went to the small window that had been opened to air out the apartment. It always smelled of smoke and love, the greedy smell of passionate lovemaking that made her heart long for her to change her mind.
She supposed she was being greedy …in bed they were both so selfish, demanding everything and giving it all back at the same time, always a wild ride, always a rush that nothing else could equal. Yes, she was being greedy right now, but it was a type of greed brought on by desperation, the greed to attain that which one could not have. For her, it was independence, freedom, strength that she could draw from herself. With Jet she could never have that. With Jet, she was a pampered creature, something stuck in a bell jar as the seasons turned, a goddess on a pedestal guarded from afar. At first, she had been able to look past it, after all, that was the way Jet operated, caring for others so he wouldn't have to care for himself, but it couldn't work anymore. She was a free thing, a bird with wings to fly, and he was trying to keep her in a cage. Was that all their love was anymore, a gilded cage? She shivered against the thought and threw the bottle out the window, turning away before she could watch it break against the wall of the other apartment complex across the alley.
Everything was becoming stale, becoming old. No longer could the love that existed between them keep her happy, keep her from longing to be her own person. It was time to go. Her shoulders shook as she fought to maintain her composure, but it was useless. Her body trembled as she snatched the suitcase from the double bed that they shared and tossed it towards the door. Her hands fumbled when she came across the gift she had meant to give him that night in her search for a pen and a slip of paper. The pocket watch. Biting her lower lip, she hastily scrawled out her final message for her lover and folded the piece of paper in four, tucking it beneath the weight of the pocket watch on their bed.
She didn't spare a glance back as she grabbed her suitcase and fled, slamming the door shut and shaking. It seemed strange that no tears rose to her eyes, strange that already she was coming to gripes with the actions she was taking. Strange, that she felt so old.
he smokes his cigarette, he stays outside 'til it's gone
if anybody ever had a heart, he wouldn't be alone
he knows, she's been here too few years, to be gone
The cigarette was burning quickly, though he wasn't really smoking it. The ember flared to life with each chilly gust of wind and turned more of the paper and tobacco to ash. He closed his eyes as his grip on the railing tightened, feeling the rusty metal digging into the flesh of one hand, his real hand. It hardly seemed real in his mind, hardly seemed possible. They'd been so happy, and then suddenly they were no more, they were one with a piece of parchment with only one word: Sayonara.
His first thoughts had been that it didn't matter, it was nothing. Of course, he was horribly wrong. It mattered more than he cared to admit and for a few minutes he cursed the fates and the stars and whoever had written up the script for the bitch of a life he was leading. She had meant so much to him …he wanted to pretend that maybe she hadn't loved him at all, that she'd been leading him on this whole time. At least then he could pretend to hate her as well, but it wasn't that simple. She had loved him, possibly still did. It was the softness in her eyes, the gentle teasing of her voice, the little things she would do that bespoke of how she felt towards him. So, after a while, his first thoughts turned to ash and smoke and he began to question himself, wondering where he'd fouled up, where everything had started to go wrong.
It obviously hadn't been something she'd decided suddenly, no, Alisa was too dedicated for that. She was a smart girl, not one to do spur of the moment things, or at least, not when it came to matters of the heart. They had done everything slowly, working to achieve perfection, like working on pottery, trying to get the last delicate shavings to peel away in order to reveal the masterpiece, the soul of the clay that had begged to be released, to be given form. They had been meeting for meals or going out on little excursions together for months before they'd even realized that they were a couple in the eyes of everyone except themselves. Even after the initial breaking of the ice, they had gone slowly. They were making love before they shared an apartment and they'd lived in it for nearly half a year before giving any thought to marriage. It wasn't a concept particularly imperative to either of them, so they set it on the back burner and went, as always, slowly about the whole matter.
'Of course,' He mused bitterly, letting the burned out cigarette fall from his lips, 'there will be no more idle conversations about eventually tying the knot. No more waking up at midnight to find her lying asleep in my arms …no more afternoons spent lazily making love.' He ground his teeth together and slammed his metal fist down on the railing before slumping down to bury his face in his real hand. 'The dream …over so soon? Of course, the music box never plays forever …but …it was soon, too soon…'
and we always say, it would be good to go away, someday
but if there's nothing there to make things change
if it's the same for you I'll just hang
The message was scribbled out in her elegant handwriting, painfully final. Something in the note, in the quiet tick-tock of the pocket watch, in the air, something cried out to him, letting him know that the truth had lain in her heart at the end. There could have been nothing done to avoid this heartbreaking fate. She had known them both so well it seemed while he was lost. Apparently he hadn't known her at all …or was he just a stranger to himself?
He had never liked not knowing all the facts. He'd never liked going into a situation without being fully prepared, sure of each and every detail, every possibility having been taken into consideration. It was what had made him such a good cop …and now he was beginning to wonder if it had made him a bad lover, or if he had never known a thing. It was control. He was rarely if ever confident about anything unless he had control over it, from his job to his personal life …but Alisa had never voiced any complaints she might have had, and so he was stuck at another dead end in his thinking.
Hell with it. It hurt too much to try and figure out why she was gone so abruptly from his life. It hurt to imagine going back inside, back into their apartment …his apartment …and to be confronted by the loneliness therein. It hurt to see the emptiness and it hurt more than it had when he lost his arm to feel the loneliness and emptiness inside. He remained on the balcony for only a bit longer, watching the old fishing ship he'd purchased not long ago rise and fall with the waves in the harbor. If she was gone, then there was nothing here for him. If she was gone, then he would be as well. 'Someday though, I'm going to come back here …when time is stopped.'
the trouble understand, is she got reasons he don't
funny how he couldn't see at all, 'til she grabbed up her coat
and she goes, she's been here too few years to take it all in stride
but still it's much too long, to let hurt go (you let her go)
and we always say, it would be good to go away, someday
but if there's nothing there to make things change
if it's the same for you I'll just hang
the same for you
I'll always hang
well I always say, it would be good to go away
but if things don't work out like we think
and there's nothing there to ease this ache
but if there's nothing there to make things change
if it's the same for you I'll just hang
"I didn't even know anything was wrong …until she was gone. Until it was too late to change things, to fix whatever went awry." He muttered into his scotch on the rocks, slamming it back without even seeming to register the taste or the kick the drink had.
"Love," A new voice commented from somewhere off to his left, "is not what the eyes see, for love is blindness. Love is what the heart sees."
Frowning darkly at this unwelcome intrusion to his private mourning of the love he lost, Jet Black turned in his seat to find the speaker. A lean, lanky young man was leaning against the pool table closest to Jet's seat, idly spinning the pool cue before eyeing the eight ball, the last one on the table, and shooting it into the right center pocket. The stranger gave him an easy smile, rusty eyes both friendly and wary as he waited to see what Jet would do in response.
"Who the hell are you?" Jet demanded at last.
The stranger laughed, running a hand up through his tangled Afro of viridian. "I'm just an old fashioned cowboy…"
There was something oddly melancholy about the younger man, something about him that made Jet want to take him under his wing, but also to up and leave, forgetting the encounter entirely. Before he could frame another reply though, the stranger was speaking again. "It's no good to just wash loneliness away …works like water, you see …it always comes back with the tide of regret."
Jet was becoming increasingly agitated at the – wise – stranger. "What would you know of loneliness, kid?" He wanted to know, his voice harsher than he'd intended. Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, he regretted them, for suddenly he could see. There was a weight on this young man's shoulders, a heavy burden he was carrying alone. A burden that seemed more to make who he was than to be trying to break him.
"I know the ache that resides in the heart where there once was warmth. I know about that empty, useless feeling that drives a man to do stupid things." His gaze strayed pointedly to the glasses littering Jet's table. "I know about needing to get away but having nowhere to go." He face was serious, his voice deadpan, but only for a moment because the next he was grinning again. "Don't you know? A cowboy's life is being lonely."
Jet scoffed at that. "Cowboys have been dead and gone since they became useless, way back before the Gate Incident even. You're a bounty hunter," A pause. "I think I am too. Loneliness as a way of life, eh?" He closed his eyes a moment. "It'd be good to get away."
The stranger was watching him with his rusty eyes again and he tipped an imaginary cowboy hat in polite greeting. "Spike Spiegel."
The man was trouble, no doubt about that, and Jet was reasonably sure he'd regret it later, but he held out his hand to shake and cracked a slight smile. "Jet Black," And somehow, in blaming his behavior on the alcohol and the pains of suffering alone, in shaking Spike's hand, Jet unwittingly understood something in his heart. The melancholy young man before him, Spike Spiegel, was truly an old fashioned cowboy, and perhaps the very last of his breed. A friendship was something he'd not had in a while, and a partnership was something he missed from his ISSP days. And besides that, it was good to get away, if just until time stood still.
Owari.