The showers on the Bebop have run out of hot water, but Jet still stands in the cold.
The droplets pound against his scalp and sting the nerve endings in his arms, torso, legs. The shivers swell then subside within a minute from first blast.
It's refreshing, this chilliness. And it's not like he's never been cold on his own ship before. He's been cold more times than he can count. Consider, for instance, the day after Spike had moved in. Jet had stumbled into the shower after a well-deserved nap and received a shock of ice down his back—a rude awakening in the form of heat used up.
"Spike!" he had snarled, but the other man had not heard. Of course not. He had been too far away, passed out, bare-chested and soggy-haired on the narrow cot in the small room Faye now calls home.
After that event, and though it took a long while, they silently learned to coordinate their dance that was showering times: Jet in the designated "morning"; Spike in the designated "night." Or anytime after he had been bloodied, blown up.
Consider also the day Miss Valentine had moved in, the way Jet had done the exact same thing he had when Spike first moved in and felt the exact same cubes of ice tumble down his spine. Sadly there was no coordinating with that woman. She did as she pleased. So cold became a constant in Jet's life.
As for Ed…well, did that kid even shower? Jet could never tell. She had bounced around the Bebop like a bubble that could not be popped. Ever present, afloat. Too far to burst but too close to ignore.
Now two of the three had vanished. Ed had wandered off on Earth. Spike had wandered off to do something very selfless and very stupid and very brave on Mars. Jet could respect that.
Yeah.
He respects that.
As he lathers his hands, one calloused, one smooth, with the little soap he could coax out of the neon orange bottle decorated in green letters screaming, "so luxurious!" (a purchase of Faye's, no doubt), he thinks about just how much he respects that.
Spike had his burdens to bear. He went to deal with them. And that was four days ago. It has been four days of radio silence.
So, heaven, rest his soul. May you rest his broken, haunted soul. He was a lonely one, that boy. Lonely little Spike, meandering onto the Bebop, coming and going, but never gone gone 'til—
Ugh.
Jet clenches his jaw and breathes out through his nose. Leans toward the wall to avoid the trickle of water scurrying down his cheeks, down the length of his neck.
Goddamned cowboys. Never mind that he's one of them. His own demons, vast and heavily armed, have long died out, the smaller ones buried alive. But Spike…he couldn't leave 'em alone, could he? So now he's died too.
Which is a good reason to put the comm away, Jet thinks. Who's going to call him? Not Faye. She hasn't left her room since Day One. So why does he still have the damned communicator out?
Even in the shower room the thing rests on a bench just out of the water's reach. A hop, skip, and a jump away. Jet tells himself it's to make sure he'll get news as it arises, y'know? Some confirmation or obituary. Or maybe even something hopeful.
He tries not to think about that last possibility too much. It's been four days of radio silence. The possibility of hope died at the end of Day Three.
Yet he can't bring himself to tuck the device away in some drawer or back pocket. One can never know…
Beep.
Reverie broken. He starts because the sound is familiar, is frightening; is the comm.
Jet stumbles from the water, which has grown warmer with each passing second, and curls wrinkly-skinned fingers around the communicator. His thumb pushes hard upon the talk button. White noise crackles before the last voice he'd expect to hear again squeaks out,
"Jet-person!"
"…Ed?" He blinks. And blinks again. "Ed."
"That's me!"
"Right, of course! Ed! Er, what are you doing, Ed? Why are you calling? What's wrong? Where are you?"
"Edward is at the hospital."
Jet's pulse picks up speed, his throat clenching. "H-Hospital? Are you hurt?"
"No, no!" She giggles in that fairy sparkles kind of way. "Edward came to see somebody."
"See somebody? Who?"
"Spike-person, of course!"
Jet breathes in for the first time in four days.
Radio silence no more.
A/N: I love Cowboy Bebop, but I'm ambivalent toward its ending. So here's my attempt to continue the story because, though it's been over for years, I'm not ready to let go of these characters. I'm greedy like that.