Disclaimers: Cowboy Bebop characters are not my creation. If you do sue, I got to warn you that I own nothing except a couple wall scrolls of Spike, Van, and the RK boys and some miscellaneous burned anime episodes.

Rating: PG-13. Might be up for discussion if I continue the story.

Something Beautiful

I see it around me, I see it in everything.
I could be so much more than this.

With one hand high, you'll show them your progress.
You'll take your time, but no one cares.

I want to be so much more than this.
No one cares.

Goodbye lovely time.
Goodbye tin sunshine.
Goodbye I'll be fine.

-Jimmy Eat World "My Sundown

Chapter One: Naifun

It was going to be one of those nights.

Faye needed her alcohol fix, and she needed it badly. She had a persistent itch on the back of her right hand and an uncontrollable tick on her left cheek. Fingers snapping nervously as she made a harried midnight inspection of the cupboard's contents, she searched for something strong. In her room there was a bright red circle scrawled on her pink Porsche calendar, marking today's date with a brief inscription that she intended to forget with the help of a little alcohol.

"Damn it!" Faye screeched, the sound echoing loudly in the empty ship. None of the shelves yielded anything stronger than vanilla or cough syrup. However, after a moment of calmer contemplation, she made a few tentative glances to secure the perimeter of the kitchen, crouched down and then proceeded to pick the lock to the ice box underneath the stove where Jet's private stash was stored. As she unhinged the cover, it revealed the booty with a dull thud, allowing Faye to make a quick getaway with a plastic goblet, a bottle of red wine, and a flask of tequila. Once her mission had been accomplished, she settled down in one of the plastic chairs around the dinner table and rewarded herself for her stealth with a drinking binge.

Time passed and with a satisfied smirk that would put her lanky shipmate to shame, Faye raised her glass in the air for the umpteenth time in a salute to her crewmates that were missing from this late night, or rather early morning affair. She made quick work out of the bottle, but before she progressed to the tequila, she sluggishly fumbled around for the pack of cigarettes that she knew was lying in wait somewhere on her person. The only problem was that it just involved too much effort, and for all she cared, Faye would much rather use the ones that were in the left pocket of Spike's frayed blue jacket which hung over the chair next to her. Slumping to the side, she plucked out the cancer-stick box and a lighter, and lit the last one with a maniacal grin, knowing full well that he didn't appreciate her "borrowing" habits. With a deep inhalation, Faye closed her eyes and let the smoke slip back out in a full-bodied sigh.

Faye sat there, frozen in place, dangling the burning cigarette from numb fingers. Her moment of peace had been snatched as quickly as it had come, and left her with an uncomfortable stillness. In a matter of moments, Faye felt as if she could feel the impact of the aging of those lost years in cryogenic sleep.

I'm pathetic, she thought, struck by the ironic poignancy of her position: sitting in the dark, smoking and drinking, and surrounded by all of the empty chairs which were supposed to be filled with friends and family.

She knew then what it must be like to be old and forgotten. The lonely empty quiet eventually gave way to pulsing silences, filled to the brim with bittersweet memories.

Someone must have really pissed God off, Faye decided with a sigh as she took a long drag, carelessly tossing the now empty cigarette container at the waste bin, but missing the basket by a good five feet. Either that or he doesn't give a damn. Coming to her feet with a heave, she approached the trash, and without bothering to expend the effort of bending down to pick it up, kicked it under the big yellow couch.

Instead of returning to her seat, she wandered over to the window, placed a hand over the cool glass, and marveled at the sparkling heavens before her.

Faye was not religious by nature. In fact, she almost had solid proof that if there was a god, He would have interfered long ago…unless he had a personal vendetta against her as Fate and Chaos seemed to have. It was just one thing thrown at her after another: one more debtor to dodge, or another memory to visualize, or more verbal abuse to withstand, until she became accustomed to the constant barrage, and liked the steady pace. Although it hurt like hell when the memories remained hazy, like an unfocused shadow, or a stray comment hit too close for comfort, Faye supposed that it kept her on her toes. After all, being bitchy took an effort, and Faye had a reputation to maintain.

But there were always those times when she wished that she was mute and invisible to the rest of the crew. Then she would be free to wreck havoc on the tiny cell that was her room, tearing the sheets, beating the walls, screaming her lungs hoarse to vent the pent-up tension that reached a zenith every so often without anyone the wiser. With that outlet, she could walk out and act every inch of the cold-hearted bitch that the rest of the crew perceived her to be without any insecurities and doubts inhibiting her performance.

I have no such luck, though. Faye had long since resigned herself to a perpetual state of aggregated anger, confusion, and fear. But every so often, she noticed with an uneasy sinking feeling in her gut. She soon recognized it as a growing apathy born from the violent moroseness that she carried around day to day. It traveled cold throughout her veins, making her all too aware of the void within her. It was almost as if there was a separate parasitic entity within her using her as a host. Voracious in its appetite, it would gradually consume her from inside out until there was nothing left. She was all too aware that something had to be done to stop her mad descent, but what it was she didn't know. She didn't think she would ever know.

She had tried everything to dissipate the stark realization that she would be forever half empty, a pretty face on the outside, but from the inside rotten and on the verge of collapse. Gambling only served to increase her monumental debt, and the series of faceless men and one-night stands only proved Spike right. Liquor was the only thing that was able to block out the caustic tone in his voice and pushed every biting comment and inconsiderate action to the back of her mind, save the hazy image of him trying to suppress a half smile.

Or was it sneer? I'm too drunk to remember the difference, Faye mused drunkenly.

Faye dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out. Turning to grab the tequila in one hand and Spike's lighter in the other, she strode to her room at the end of the hall, boots clicking softly against the cold tile, and shut the door. Inside it was barren save a small banged up television, a punching bag, and a sparse vanity. On top of the vanity lay the calendar, flipped to the month of August with the 14th circled and marked with a simple message.

Faye took a good look at herself in the dirty mirror of the vanity. Was there anything different about that face? Any gained hidden wisdom that she was unaware of? Or was it just the mask that it had always served as before? Her eyes, dark and hard, sparkled dimly in yellowed light.

The clock beeped. It was now 12:00. It was the beginning of a new day: August 14.

With a violence that burst from the center of her being she ripped the page of the calendar from the seam and proceeded to rip the page into pieces, rendering the photo of the car into a pile of black and red. As she lit the papers ablaze, the flame transformed into a candle in her blurred eyes, and phantom music played in the background as the message on her calendar that she had been trying to avoid once again rose up in her alcohol-induced mind, following her to bed. An image rose up in her mind of the same day a lifetime ago when she was young. She dreamed of a garden in the fall, sunny smiles and warm hugs, and a group of children with party hats and presents singing a song off key. What were they singing? Straining to hear the fading notes, Faye finally grasped their meaning and saddened.

Happy Birthday.

She woke up shivering, cold and alone. Looking up at the smooth blank wall she willed herself to sleep, but it just would not come. Moving to a fetal position, Faye glanced at her clock.

Faye groaned and cursed.

3:45 AM.

It was going to be a long year.

End Chapter One

Author's Note: I was thinking of expanding this into a series. Should this just stay as a one-shot or should it be a prologue leading to something more? Constructive criticism would be most appreciated.

Naifun roughly translates into "internal strife/ storm in a teacup". Isn't that imagery amazing? :o)