A/N: This is my first Cowboy Bebop story in a while, and I'm very proud of it. I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop is a licensed trademark of Bandai Inc. I gain no profit from this publication.
Broken Wings
By: Rynn Abhorsen
Faye.
Oh he hated her.
He hated the way she chain-smoked, how she'd waste her money on something stupid, betting on horses or dogs. And he hated how he wished that she didn't, how he wanted better for her.
Damn her.
He hated the way she looked when she was dancing, spinning around in the living room. He hated the spark in her eyes when she was angry. He hated when she cried, he hated the measure of wickedness in her. He hated her fake grin, the cracked mask she wore.
But how he loved it when she smiled. He loved the calluses on her palms that came from holding her Glock. He loved it when the innocence shone from her eyes, the deep pools of green like stagnate water. He loved the child that she kept in inside, the weakness that even she didn't acknowledge.
And yet he hated her.
He hated the clothes she wore, the strips of fabric that she donned by absolute necessity. He hated that he knew why she dressed that way. She did it because she thought it was pointless to cover herself, because she thought she was worthless. She figured that it wasn't valuable enough to cover, so why waste cloth? He hated how he understood her perverse logic. He hated when he heard her crying late at night, when he found her passed out on the couch, or throwing up into the toilet.
Live fast, Die young, and leave a good-looking corpse.
It was a strange motto that she lived by, living in excess so that death would come quicker. She was slowly dying, she knew it, he knew it, and yet she hid from it like a child from a nightmare.
He wondered if Faye lived in a dream world, if maybe the child within was grasping at straws, hoping that this woman she had become was only just a nightmare, she'd wake up soon. But what would she wake up to? Bright green eyes open to embryonic fluid, broken like a bird from an egg, landing on the hospital floor. Then she'd stand up to see something other then that man who'd betrayed her. She'd known that he hadn't loved her, but she wouldn't let herself admit it.
It was cruel, waking her up to a nightmare.
She should have stayed there, frozen eternally young, a child who's whole life was dreaming. What memories would she have kept, her wealthy home that was gone, all the places and people who she didn't know, and who didn't know her. A child woke up to this world, this cruel place.
She'd grown up too fast, had to make up for the fifty years kept in ice. He knew it hurt her, the growing up. All her innocence stripped away, her childhood wings pulled off, scar tissue lying underneath the surface.
Faye was a fallen angel.
And so she tried to fit in, though she didn't know how. A faceless and nameless figure, living in a broken mirror.
Fallen Angel, Woman that he hated.
He was in the majority, he knew that. Was there anyone that she'd come in contact with that didn't hate her? No, and that hurt her. Try as she might he saw the spark in her die, the coals that didn't let her sleep at night, slowly burning over her own fire.
Surrounded by people she didn't know, the Angel was lonely. A wicked smile, sharp as a knife blade, was the only thing that she would show. She wouldn't show her tears, her silent screams, her deep and horrible hatred for everything,
Everything, including herself.
To the onlooker Faye was vain, preening and showering obsessively. But to him, he knew her for something more. He saw all the scars on her body, the various nicks and cuts that scattered her pale skin. Sick as it was, she loved those scars. Like her children she watched them grow, perverse happiness gained at the sight of her own blood.
He wanted better for her.
He wanted her to be happy, to stop trying so hard, he wanted her to live; he wanted her to stop killing herself slowly.
He wanted better for her, and yet he hated her.
Hs hands met the railing; he looked over into the living room. It was like a fishbowl, he observed her like an interesting specimen. But when had he stopped being an observer, and started being a friend?
Sure, they covered it up with bickering, with heated glances and childish pranks, but underneath it he cared.
But he'd rather kill himself than tell her that.
She was reading a magazine, and humming that haunting wordless tune, the tune that she used to sing.
He supposed that was why he hated her the most, because she reminded him of her.
She reminded him of his golden one, his perfect one, Julia.
But why was he surprised, she had a lot of Julia in her, even if she was Faye,
Even if she was a fallen angel.
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Now please, review. It would make me very happy.