Faye was staring into the blank Martian landscape. Everything was red and quiet, nothing moved. In the kitchen, Jet was making dinner. Time had passed very quickly.
Just twenty-four hours ago, she was trying to convince him not to go, not to throw away his life for a fragment of memory. He had walked out, without thinking twice, shutting her up with just a few words, in his usual neutral, tone-less voice. Now she was alone. She felt alone like she had never felt before, as if a part of her soul had been taken away. She had never suffered like this when he was away, but this time, it was different. She knew that this time was the last time, that he wasn't coming back. Maybe it was simple logic, or maybe it was feminine instinct. She simply knew.
"Dinner's ready". Even Jet's voice sounded harsher, rougher than usual. They ate the stew in complete silence, as usual. Except… This time, the silence was different. It was the kind of silence that masks regrets and pain, uncertainty and fear. It was the kind of silence that no one likes, a façade they created for themselves to act tough.
After dinner, each of them retired into their own rooms. They were both expecting bad news, maybe a phone call from Jet's friends in the Martian Police. But that night, they couldn't wait more. They were both drowsy, and the long hours were killing them.
When she woke up the next day, it took a while for her to realize she was still sad and hopeless. She felt she had slept for a really, really long time. Ideas tried breaking into her mind, but she kept them aloof for a while. She just sat in her bed, thinking only of her debts and the next bounty they would catch. Then, suddenly, everything rushed back to her, and her head slowly slumped on her shoulder. Without even checking the time, she walked into the Bebop's "living room".
Jet was there, sitting on the yellow couch. He had a cigarette squeezed tightly between his fingers. He wasn't really smoking, he was just letting it burn. He was staring at something, but she couldn't tell what.
She sat as far away from him as possible.
"Give me a butt, will you?"
Without saying a word, Jet tossed her a cigarette from a white pack.
"I'm not gonna light this with my fingers, you know…"
He gave her his lighter.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.
"I just got a call…"
"A call??" she almost interrupted him.
"Yeah. There was a huge battle two nights ago. A lot of people died, a lot more injured. The whole top floor of a building was burning by the end of it."
He fell silent again. Faye found it difficult to keep acting tough. She completely forgot about the cigarette in her fingers. Her eyes were fixed on Jet's face. She was trying to find some faraway, obscure hint of anything positive. Maybe he was just playing a dirty trick on her, maybe he was trying to fool her…
"So… He's hurt?"
"Dead". The word came out without even the slightest fluctuation in Jet's voice, as if he was still trying to challenge the truth, still trying to think that the word "death" didn't really mean dead… That the whole thing was just another one of those corny soap operas he never watched.
"Dead" Faye repeated, blankly.
She stood up, walked to her room, and locked the door from the inside.