Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop and its characters belong to their respective owners. I lay no claim to anyone but those who do not appear in the series.
They Were Trained To Forget
By LuLu
Julia looked at her watch. It was nine am, and for some reason, she wasn't asleep.
It was strange for her to be back on Mars. She hadn't been there for so long, she had almost forgotten the mapping of the streets of Tharsis. 'Almost' was an inappropriate word, though; she was lost. She was leaning against an old, red brick building near a busy intersection, with no idea where she was or why she was there.
It had been a tragic day the last time she had visited this planet. A horrible, fateful day. She had sworn never to come back here after that, but fate always had a different decision for her.
She was only thankful that this time, it wasn't raining.
"God," she breathed, throwing beautiful curls behind her head. She looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful blue. Suddenly angry, she spat at the ground. "This is so damn unfair."
It was always that way - unfair - for Julia Spiegel, age thirty-three and, as usual, alone without a place to go.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was only a few days old, but looked ancient and tattered from her nervous folding and re-folding. Once again she opened it up and read the contents out loud to herself.
"I still know the sound of your voice, just as you know the place to find me," she whispered. "FUCKING HELL!" She had at last given up as she tore the paper into as many pieces as she could and flung them into the path of unsuspecting pedestrians.
"Watch what yer doin'," hissed an annoyed male passerby in a trenchcoat.
"Go screw your mother," she called after him.
So much for charm school.
Besides, she didn't know if he had heard her or not, and Julia was starting to regret tearing up that piece of paper.
It had come to her late a few nights before as she had settled into bed at some women's shelter on Titan. It was a place to stay, that's all she had known, so she didn't bother with its name. She had just gotten back from using the toilet when she found something on her pillow. She hadn't recognized the name written on it at first, or the handwriting, but, curious as she had been, she opened it anyways. Inside was that cryptic, sorry excuse for a note. She had read it at least a hundred times that night as it deprived her of any sleep she could have hoped for, but she still did not understand its meaning. Mars wasn't the only place she had ever known intimately, but with the history she had with it, she figured it was as good place to start, at least.
"...the place to find me," she recited again as she gazed around. In the distance, she thought she saw something familiar, beckoning towards her like...what was that word again? A lighthouse, that's right. Well, sort of right. There was no light.
She'd been through a lot in these long ten years, and the fact that she seemed to be having some kind of loss of the memories she _needed_ all of a sudden didn't make it any easier. But, memory loss or not, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling she had inside, that maybe it was a signal, that she was supposed to go towards it.
It took Julia nearly an hour to reach the feeling. Just her luck, Tharsis's train systems decided to take the opportunity to break down, and every single driver in the above-ground transportation system was on strike. Life isn't fair for widows and charm school rejects.
It's too bad that she was both.
The widowing had been an accident. Of course, Julia considered her birth to be one also sometimes, so the word "accident" didn't hold much water. Charm school, on the other hand...she'd started charm school classes somewhere on Venus (she couldn't remember the exact spot) when she was twenty-four, shortly after the widowing, to occupy her time. However, some trouble with her teacher's no-cursing policy, and the fact that Julia didn't seem to quite comprehend the meaning of the word "modest", sent her on her way soon after. It had served one good purpose, though - she'd finally stopped smoking.
Now, standing in the middle of a graveyard overrun by weeds, she was suddenly wishing she had a cigarette.
Julia looked around at her scenery. She had memories of visiting here before, though she couldn't exactly place them. But, no matter how vague they seemed to her, they at least were able to confirm that her feeling was right, that she was sure she was supposed to be here. Many of the gravestones around her were swamped with grass, so much that she couldn't read the names engraved on them from the place she was standing. Curiosity (though perhaps a passerby could mistake it for boredom) filling her, she knelt down and parted the long blades with a hand on a random tombstone.
"Vicious Orlend..." she read quietly. "What a strange name."
Inside, she wondered what a man with the name "Vicious" would look like. She imagined a muscular build, with deep, dark eyes and light, lengthened hair...very handsome, yes, but at the same time with a deadly air to him...something that could terrify you...as if he had put a gun right to your back...Julia shivered slightly as the eerie image came into her head. Something told her that she had known this man once. Maybe ten years ago. Maybe it was one of the things she had forced herself to forget.
"There's no use paying attention to someone dead that you didn't even know," she told herself sternly as she stood and looked at her watch again.
Just barely past noon, and she hadn't eaten breakfast yet, or lunch either. A crunch of dead grass, or possibly large, thick-stemmed weeds, reminded her of that.
Wait a minute. Crunch? Julia's feet had been stationary ever since she has stood up. She looked around, trying to figure out who on earth would be making noise in a graveyard, and with her, of all people.
Her question was answered by a figure that happened to be walking briskly in her direction. Much to her displeasure (come on! There _were_ men on Mars that could be here, weren't there?), it was a short, slim, curvaceous (and incredibly tan) woman much younger (and maybe even prettier, though Julia would never admit it out loud) than herself, clad in a long, flowered skirt and white blouse that clashed horribly with Julia's dark flared pants and leather jacket. On the stranger's feet were white heeled shoes, and on her head, a white straw hat with an imitation bird on the brim.
"Hi~!" she called to Julia, taking off her hat and waving it in a friendly manner. Julia could see the woman's bright red hair, pulled in a bun at the nape of her neck. "How are you?" she asked warmly as soon as she was face-to-face with her.
Julia blinked. "Pardon me?" she asked. She didn't know this woman, no matter how well she seemed to know _her_.
"How are you?" the redhead repeated.
"Why are you wearing white in a cemetery?" Julia asked nosily, trying to buy time to place the woman's face.
"Hm?" The woman looked down at her clothes, obviously rather confused. "Oh. Isn't it appropriate?"
"Black is more suitable."
The woman's golden eyes widened. "Oooooooooh...well, I've never been in a cemetery before, so I didn't know," she apologized clumsily, smiling. "I wasn't even planning on being here to begin with."
"Then why did you come?" Julia asked.
There was something about this woman, Julia thought to herself. Something familiar...the energy and openness in the way her eyes sparkled...something that made Julia temporarily bring down her defenses. Now, if only she could place her face...
"Well~..." the woman mumbled, biting her lip in thought. "For perspective, I guess. I'm on my way to the hospital."
"Did someone die?"
"Oh! Oh no. Nonononono." Her voice was quick and insistent. "But how are you?" she asked again, coming back to the original question. "It's been so long!"
Julia let out a frustrated breath, not sure who the anger in her exhalation was pointed towards. "I'm sorry," she admitted. "But I don't know you."
The redhead blinked. "You don't know me?"
"No..."
"It's me."
"I don't know who 'me' is," Julia snapped, starting to grow impatient with this game. "Would you mind telling me your name, at the very goddamn least?"
"Françoise Allaine," Françoise said meekly.
"I've never met anyone named that in my life." She was firm.
"Really?" Julia confirmed her question with a nod. "Isn't your name -"
"My name is Julia."
Françoise blushed furiously. "Ohmygoodness! I'm so sorry! I really _don't_ know you...I'm so sorry!!" she rambled frantically. "I thought you were someone else!! Sosorrysosorrysosorryso-"
"It's alright," Julia interrupted, unable to do anything but smile at the childishness the other woman was exhibiting. "I'm sorry to have led you on like that." Why was she suddenly feeling the need to apologize? And to someone she had just met! Narrowing her eyes, she noticed the redheaded woman...Françoise?...was staring at her intently. "What is it _now_?"
"I-I was just thinking," she said, kicking the ground a little. "That Julia is a beautiful name."
"Thank you," Julia said, flushing slightly at her rudeness.
"In fact," Françoise continued, "my husband wants to name our first child that."
"Are you pregnant?"
It was a personal question, but Françoise gave a comfortable aura around her that she couldn't shy away from. The redhead looked down at her belly.
"Sorta."
"How can you be 'sorta' pregnant?" Julia asked, snorting at the silly word. "You either are, or you aren't."
"Well, I'm a little over three months along right now...but I don't wanna be pregnant." She bit her lip again. "I was going to the hospital to have an abortion."
"Won't your husband find out?" Assuming she had a husband, that was.
Françoise frowned. "He's a dog breeder and I came with him here for a business trip. He's out with a client right now, so I figured that I could make it there and back and he'd never know and if he finds out I'll just tell him I fell down some stairs and miscarried," she let out all at once. "I don't want kids."
"You seem quite the opposite," Julia said honestly. "The way you act...you'd be great with them."
"I already had one, and I don't want the responsibility." Before Julia could question her again, Françoise looked upwards. "It's so blue...the sky, that is."
"Yes, it is," Julia, not bothering to confirm it, agreed.
"I haven't seen a sky this blue for such a long time...not even when I was living on Earth."
"You're from Earth?" asked Julia, a little surprised. Françoise nodded. "How funny. So am I."
"Really? Wonderful!" The other woman was elated at such a small thing. "Maybe that's where we know each other?"
"Maybe." Julia smiled at the possibility of having a friend from the past that wasn't dead yet. "Where are you from?"
Françoise blushed slightly. "It's embarrassing..." she began.
"What is?"
"I really don't know. My mother died when I was born, and my father took care of me until I was about five, and then he took off. He was a researcher, after all. No, wait, that's not right. A..." She struggled to find a more appropriate word. "A cartographer. It was his job to map the Earth after the Gate Accident. With all the meteors constantly crashing, he had to find the place where it happened so he could fix the maps. I tried to find him, but when that didn't work, I went to an orphanage and stayed there."
"How sad..." Julia mused softly. "I'm sorry, that's rude of me," she corrected herself, putting a manicured finger to her lips. For the first time, she had just put her charm school to use.
"It's alright," Françoise soothed. "Where are _you_ from?"
"A city by the sea."
"Really?" She looked interested. "What city?"
Now it was Julia's turn to blush. "I've forgotten the name. It's been so long since I've been there."
Françoise giggled, and as soon as she did, Julia had a sudden recollection. A tomboy with short red hair...wearing violet-black shorts and a cutoff white shirt...Earth...it must have been ten years ago, at the very least...but still desolate...a hole in the ground...children's faces...a rundown shack...and an old woman's kind eyes...and...and...
"The water-sploosh," Julia whispered, feeling as if she was in a haze.
"Pardon?" Françoise asked, arching an eyebrow. "What did you say?"
The other woman snapped back to attention. "Nothing," she corrected herself. "Nothing important, anyways."
She had no need to remember this. She had trained herself to forget it.
"You said something earlier about having a kid, but not wanting kids..." Julia mumbled, trying her best to change the subject.
"Did I?" Françoise asked. The other woman nodded. "It's funny, I know I just met you, but I feel like I could tell you anything," she smiled, and then continued. "I found my father ten years ago, and took off from where I was staying to be with him. I was thirteen then, and when I was sixteen, he died."
"I'm sorry," Julia said immediately.
Françoise waved her hand. "It's alright. He was struck down by a meteor. He was killed on impact, so there was no pain." Julia blinked nervously at her relaxed attitude. "In his will, he gave guardianship of me to his assistant, McIntyre, who was supposed to continue the mapping work and who thought my father left him so much he could father a child with me against my will."
Against her will...Julia sorted through the run-on sentence to gain meaning in those words...against her will...wasn't that...
"Wasn't that rape?" Julia asked.
"Probably, but when you're in the middle of nowhere, it's hard to enforce it," Françoise said was traces of bitterness in her voice. "Anna Maria Cosette Filippa Lufen McIntyre lives in the orphanage I grew up in, at the last I checked. She would probably be six or seven now...but she's the only kid I'll ever have," she finished firmly.
"That's horrible," said Julia sympathetically, batting an eyelid at the long, curious name but not giving it a second thought. "No kids at all?" The other woman shook her head. "I'd love to have children, but my husband died only a few weeks after we married."
Françoise's eyes widened. "Killed? That's terrible! How did it happen?"
"He was murdered by an ex-girlfriend."
"How awful...I'm so sorry."
"I've come to learn to live with it," Julia told her. "I just wish I could have had children with him. You should take the chance to do it; you'll miss it."
"I think children would be happier without me. Besides, I prefer my husband's dogs." Françoise broke into a gentle smile. "That's how we met, actually. When I was nineteen and walking my corgi."
"A corgi?"
Françoise nodded. "Welsh."
Julia stopped all trains of thought again as another image came into her mind. This corgi...small, and brown...with white trimming its body...a good listener...perfect to tell your secrets to and knowing it would never tell anyone...unless, of course, there was someone eavesdropping nearby...baka, baka, baka...the bouncing tomboy again, with the ridiculously long name...Julia looked at the woman in front of her again. These memories...they couldn't be her own. They just couldn't. She never experienced these, she told herself firmly. Never. Not ten years ago, not ever. But did not stop herself from speaking. "Her name?" she croaked, her throat suddenly dry.
"His name," Françoise corrected, "was Ein. He died just this year."
"Ein," Julia repeated. "Ein."
She had forgotten the name a long time ago, but it all - the dog, the girl, the water sploosh - eroded against the barriers around her mind, forcing their way into her brain, trying to convince her that it _was_ all important, that they should never have been rejected. The uplifting woman in front of her nearly symbolized proof of that, if Julia was willing to believe it. Perhaps she had been the one to send her the note. Perhaps she had wanted to make her remember the things she had once known...ten years ago.
"Françoise," she began, tucking a long black curl behind her ear. "when you saw me, who did you think I was?"
"It doesn't matter," Françoise said, blushing again. "I was wrong so I guess it really isn't worth repeating since I wasn't right."
"Please," Julia begged, ignoring the immature sentence. "Just for the fun of it."
"Well, if you really want to know, I thought that -"
"HEY!!" a loud, nearby masculine voice broke into Françoise's speech, and their heads turned towards the sound. "Can't you two stop this thing?!" the two women heard, a bit softer than the first yell, but no less stern. Julia thought that maybe he was talking to them, but was obviously mistaken when she heard the sound of another female voice complaining,
"We're doing the best we can!!"
Coming around the corner of the cemetery path was a suit-clad older man in a wheelchair being held onto as tightly as possible by two young, very sexily-dressed women, younger than even Françoise. The cross-sounding man must have been near fifty, at the very least. His face was full of lines signaling age. At the same time, his entire head, with the exception of his eyebrows (and, by Julia's judgment, the hairs in his nose), was devoid of hair, and it was easy to see that a missing leg (his right) was the reason he was wheelchair-bound in the first place. In fact, it even drew attention away from...
"Jesus," Julia breathed.
The main's prosthetic metal arm, shining in the sunlight as the wheelchair stopped only a few feet from them.
"It's not our fault," one of the young women, a brunette in a blue tube top and short denim shorts griped.
"We didn't see the hill coming!!"
The man looked at Julia and Françoise briefly before turning his attention to his companions. "Girls," he said gently, but firmly, "I think you have some _business_ to attend to...isn't that right?"
The girls stared at him blankly for a moment.
"_Girls_," he repeated, more severe.
"Oh!" the other girl, a longhaired blonde, realized. "That's right." She recited a strange address to the man, paying no attention to Françoise or Julia. "Is that the right place?" He nodded. "Five hundred woolongs per throw each, right?"
"Seven-hundred and fifty this time, just because he wants both of you."
"Right," the blonde nodded. "C'mon, Rebeckah," she said to the brunette, who was putting a hat on the man's head.
"To protect you from the bright lights," she explained cheerily.
"We'll see you later, sir!" the blonde called as she pulled Rebeckah, waving, away. As soon as they were around the corner, the man in the wheelchair looked over at them.
"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Julia snarled at him.
Françoise blinked. "What's wrong?" she asked Julia. "Who is this?"
"Someone I'd care not to mention," Julia muttered. She looked over at the man. "This is my friend, Françoise Allaine," she told him coolly. "We met earlier this afternoon."
The man blinked. "Are you telling me you don't recognize Ed?" he asked Julia.
"Ed?" Surprisingly, this shock belonged to Françoise not Julia. "No one has called me Ed for a long time now; ten years, at least."
"It's really been that long," the man smiled. Did you marry?" he asked. She nodded slowly. "And what about Ein?" Another slow bob of the head, this time negative. "That's too bad...I liked him too. I suppose you don't recognize me without the beard, though, or your friend with her longer hair." He stroked his chin. Julia looked at him, almost as if she could have burst if he hadn't stopped talking then.
"Julia and I just met," Françoise told him.
"Julia?" the man blinked. "This isn't Julia. This is Faye. You remember Faye, don't you?"
"My name isn't Faye," Julia said slowly through gritted teeth. She looked over to Françoise, whose golden eyes again were widening.
"I...no...not I..." she corrected herself. "_Ed_. Ed was right! You're Faye-Faye Valentine!"
That use of third person. The childishness that suddenly awakened itself in every aspect of her voice, and in her features. It was without a doubt her. The name rang clear in Julia - no, Faye's head: Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the Fourth. And the man in the wheelchair...
"I hope you know that I hate you so fucking much right now, Jet Black."
The man nodded. "I'm sure you do."
"Jet..." Ed mumbled. "Jet-person!" she exclaimed loudly, breaking into a large smile, which faded quickly when she realized that Jet was wheelchair-ridden. "What happened to Jet-person's leg?"
"Oh, _yes_," Faye said dryly, rolling her eyes. "I can't _wait_ to hear this story."
"Faye, please cut the sarcasm for now, would you? You haven't been around for nearly ten years, so you have no right to comment."
For once, Faye held her tongue.
"It's not a very exciting story. I was involved in an accident during a bounty," he said, his words more directed at Ed than Faye (to her he offered nothing more than a mean-spirited glare). "I didn't go for the right medical treatment right away, so it became infected, and they had to amputate."
"Didn't go for another metal limb?" Faye smirked.
"When you have to spend your money on somebody else's medical bills, luxuries like that are not an option," he replied curtly. "I had to sell the Bebop to pay for them, you know."
Faye shrugged. "So, whose medical bills were those? Those two ho's you sent off?"
"Don't be so coy, Faye! Certainly you remember Arcadia."
"That's not my name! My name is Julia Spiegel," Faye insisted.
"And _that_," Jet remarked heatedly, "is why I dropped you off at the loony bin six months after Spike died."
"Six months after _my husband_ died, I signed up for Arcadia Charm School."
Jet laughed loudly. "Charm school!? Funny, Faye. You were at the Arcadia Hospital for Mental Deficiencies, if I remember the name correctly."
"MY NAME ISN'T FAYE!" she shrieked, her voice harsh and piercing.
For a few minutes, there was silence, until one member of the trio spoke again.
"Ummm..." said Ed quietly. "Ed's not sure if she heard this right, but did Jet-person say that Spike-person died?" Jet nodded, but, surprisingly, Ed cried no tears. Or maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise. It _had_ been ten years, after all, and no matter how Ed acted around them, the other woman knew that maturity (and a man named McIntyre) had taken its toll on her.
"He was killed by Vicious," Jet told her.
"Vicious," Faye echoed, her mind and gaze drifting once again...
"Faye-Faye said that she and Spike-person were married, but Ed doesn't remember this," Ed continued. "Did it happen after Ed and Ein left?"
Jet shook his head. "Faye and Spike were never married. I don't think they even kissed, if anything. Faye became delusional after he left and started convincing herself that they had been married," He explained. "That's why she went to Arcadia - she was too mixed up in fantasy to stay around on the Bebop."
"And then...?"
"And then, after about a year or so, she escaped during the night and has been wandering around ever since, from what I can tell." He shrugged. "At least I'm not paying her bills anymore. Isn't that right, Faye?" he asked, looking over to her. She paid no attention to him.
"Vicious," she repeated, seeming to be heavily concentrated on her goal, and kneeling...
...to where she had bent down earlier and parted the blades of grass...green, and cool between her fingers...
"Vicious Orlend," she said again, her voice loud and sure as she read from the headstone. "Died 2071." Her fingers drifted to another tuft of grass, and read out loud for all three to hear as she revealed what the green had been hiding:
"Spike Spiegel. Born 2044. Died 2071. See You, Space Cowboy..." The last phrase was barely a whisper, surrounded and nearly snuffed out by her breath.
"Spike-person..." said Ed softly.
"Spike," said Jet solemnly.
Faye said nothing. She simply let her hand go and allowed the grass to cover the headstones again. There was more silence. Silence that could have gone on forever, if there hadn't been another player to suddenly enter the game.
"FRANÇOISE!" It was a man's voice, coming from the opposite direction everyone else's had, and then a tall man's lean, young body.
Ed snapped back to reality when she realized who was calling her. "Jean-Paul, over here!" she called to him.
"Françoise, I was worried about you!" he said as he placed his arms around her waist, completely oblivious to Jet and Faye. "You didn't leave a note! I've been searching for hours!"
"I'm so sorry," she said, slipping briefly back into her 'adult demeanor' and giving him a quick kiss. "Did the deal go well?"
"Perfect," he told her. "He and the two took to each other immediately."
"And _my_ pups?"
"At the hotel."
"Wonderful," she smiled brightly and looked over at her two friends. "Ein sired a litter of pups five years ago. Now Ed and Jean-Paul sold all but three - Valentina, Kuro, and Épi."
Faye looked surprised.
"Ed thought she had forgotten when she grew up, but now Ed knows that she never forgot," she told her. "Never."
"Ed?" Jean-Paul inquired. "Françoise, I thought you had stopped with this 'Ed' bit a long time ago," he scolded sternly.
Ed looked at him like a wounded puppy. "These are Ed's friends!"
"We need to get back to the hotel, Françoise," he told her, ignoring the remark, but soothing her by patting her head. "Kuro misses you especially."
Ed nodded. "Will you give Ed - oh - me one minute?" she asked, correcting herself under her husband's gaze.
"Of course," he said, releasing her from his arms and stepping aside.
She stood in front of them, Jet in his wheelchair and Faye kneeling near the gravestones, and the smile on her face was lined with hints of sadness. "Ed hopes it won't be another ten years before she sees Faye-Faye and Jet-person again," she said in a low voice her husband couldn't hear. Both of her companions gave her expressions that showed the same sentiment. "Ed and Jean-Paul live on Io, and her friends are always welcome."
"I'll remember that," Jet smiled at her.
Faye nodded, but there was something she just had to ask. "What about..." she began.
"Ed forgot what it was like to be young," she giggled, looking down at her belly. "And _my_ child...no...children will know what it's like to be young as well. Thank you, Faye. Goodbye." She turned and walked to her husband, who held out a hand that she gratefully took. Faye could vaguely hear their conversation as they walked away together, in the direction of the sinking sun.
"Did you have a long day?" he asked her.
"It was a good day."
"I'm glad."
"Jean-Paul?" she asked tentatively.
"Yes?"
"When we go home, I'd like to make a stop on Earth..."
And then there were two. Faye stood up and dusted off the leather she was wearing, her eyes studying the headstones. She said nothing. Neither did Jet. But finally, he asked,
"Do you hate him?"
Neither of them even had to ask who he was talking about.
"Why would I hate him?" Faye asked.
"You remember that day as well as I do. I thought you did for a long time, until you started believing you were someone else."
Faye let out a tired breath, one she had been wanting to let out for ten years. "I tried...goddammit, I tried, Jet. I tried to make myself forget. I tried to tell myself that it didn't hurt, that if only he hadn't gone away to do that stupid thing and if he'd forgotten about her, we could have been happy together..."
"Is that why you started to believe you were Julia?"
"I had to believe in _something_," she rationalized, "and that seemed like the best thing."
Jet nodded. "I understand." She knew that he didn't, but she was feeling too tired from this whole experience to argue. "After all, whoever said you and I, or anyone else was supposed to lead well-adjusted, satisfying lives? Deep down, we're just cowboys." He took out a cigarette and lit it.
"Hand me one of those, would you?" asked Faye. "They took away all my smokes at Arcadia." He handed her the one he had lit and took out another. "Thanks."
"Sure."
"Say..." Faye took a long drag on the cigarette. "Whatever happened to those little trees you used to trim?"
"The bonsai? When they started to die, I gave up. It started to remind me that one day I was going to die, too, and -"
"And so you started pimping to make up for that?" Faye cocked a smile.
"That was an accident," Jet defended nervously.
Faye laughed. She hadn't done it for such a long time, but God, it felt so good. "I'm not even going to ask about that."
"It's a noble profession," he said as he fixed his hat. "I saved those two from getting killed."
"Whatever you say, Jet."
"Would you mind if I asked another question?"
"Sure."
"I know why I'm here, but why are you?"
Faye paused. "Someone sent me a note. It said, 'I still know the sound of your voice, just as you know the place to find me.'"
"That's pretty cryptic," Jet noted as he took out another cigarette.
"It makes sense to me, though...I tried singing to Spike once, and he called me tone-deaf. God, I got so mad at him for that..."
"I remember," he smiled. " But what about the other part?"
"'Where to find me?' I've got no clue. I guess whoever sent it to me knew that no matter how much I blocked out after Spike's death, I still knew where he had been buried."
"But who would know that much?" Jet was curious.
"Don't you think that's what _I'd_ like to know?" she snapped.
Suddenly, there was a whistle, a man's gung-ho yell, and the fading sound of hooves...the two comrades in its hearing range blinked.
"It couldn't be."
"Be who?" asked Jet.
Faye arched an eyebrow, surprised that _she_ may be the only one to have remembered this man. "Nobody," she smiled. "Just nobody." She looked at her watch. Nearly seven o'clock. "I've got to get going."
"Where?" asked Jet, knowing that even thought it had been ten years, she still had no place to go to.
"I've been thinking of catching a shuttle to Earth."
"Why Earth?"
"Ed reminded me of somewhere I haven't been in a long time." She smiled gently at the thought. "So I think I'll pay it a visit." Jet nodded. "What about you?"
"Rebeckah and Nancie should be done soon, and I imagine I'll be spending my night with them."
Faye chuckled. "I still can't believe you can say that with a straight face..." she smirked. But it was good to see you again, Jet. Even after everything."
"You too, Faye...or is it Julia?"
She paused for a moment, and then said, firmly and clearly, "Faye."
"I'm glad," he admitted, starting the wheels of his chair on his own. "Do I have to worry about you anymore?"
"Only if you want to," she told him. "Goodbye, Jet."
"Goodbye, Faye."
She watched him as he wheeled his way around the corner from which he came, wondering if maybe she should be there to assist him with that hill he had had trouble with earlier...but she knew Jet could take care of himself, just as she could.
Faye glanced up at the sky again. The beautiful tapestry of gold and red was vanishing, and a dark hue, speckled with white stars, was taking its place. She knew that within the hour it would be completely dark, and the stars would fill the sky as if someone had thrown a handful of salt into the heavens, the thousands of flecks dusting everything between the horizons. But for once, she didn't hate it. She thought that maybe now, she could even love it - the sky, and the person she had rediscovered.
Life was starting to look up again.
------------------
For Someone Special...Maybe Even You.
-------------------
Post-story notes (I can't help but do these):
This was actually my first Bebop fanfic, written in July 2001, but I always wanted to do a rewrite. Now, after not reading it for a few months, I realized that it's not as bad as I thought.
First, if you didn't catch the dog names: Valentina - self-explanatory, Valentine, Kuro - means black in Japanese.. I couldn't find "Jet Black". Épi - "spike" in French.. actually, it's technically used to mean 'a spike of hair'...I didn't want to use a metal spike meaning, and, well, Spike has spiky hair ^^
In defense of my actions: People change over ten years. I always thought Faye went a little crazy at the end, so I took that and played it up a bit (I also believe that she was in love with Spike at the end, but, because of Julia, the feelings would never be returned). I figured that Ed would settle down eventually (and I've got nothing against McIntyre, but he seemed like a character with a capacity for evil), but you always have ties to when you were young. Her husband was created as a contrast to that, though, and I don't really like him. And Jet...that was an accident, actually, but the way it turned out, I'm not complaining, though I know some people will.
That was supposed to be Andy at the end. Why, I do not know, but I felt someone had to send Faye that note. I haven't seen Bebop for a long time, so I don't remember everything about him (or certain aspects of the series, in case there are continuity errors).. I thought it would a strange twist, though o.O; It was either that or make Spike come back to life, and that was the reason I wrote this - there aren't enough post-series Bebop fanfics in which characters that are mean to be dead STAY dead.
PLEASE REVIEW! Good or bad, I need to know what people think.
They Were Trained To Forget
By LuLu
Julia looked at her watch. It was nine am, and for some reason, she wasn't asleep.
It was strange for her to be back on Mars. She hadn't been there for so long, she had almost forgotten the mapping of the streets of Tharsis. 'Almost' was an inappropriate word, though; she was lost. She was leaning against an old, red brick building near a busy intersection, with no idea where she was or why she was there.
It had been a tragic day the last time she had visited this planet. A horrible, fateful day. She had sworn never to come back here after that, but fate always had a different decision for her.
She was only thankful that this time, it wasn't raining.
"God," she breathed, throwing beautiful curls behind her head. She looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful blue. Suddenly angry, she spat at the ground. "This is so damn unfair."
It was always that way - unfair - for Julia Spiegel, age thirty-three and, as usual, alone without a place to go.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was only a few days old, but looked ancient and tattered from her nervous folding and re-folding. Once again she opened it up and read the contents out loud to herself.
"I still know the sound of your voice, just as you know the place to find me," she whispered. "FUCKING HELL!" She had at last given up as she tore the paper into as many pieces as she could and flung them into the path of unsuspecting pedestrians.
"Watch what yer doin'," hissed an annoyed male passerby in a trenchcoat.
"Go screw your mother," she called after him.
So much for charm school.
Besides, she didn't know if he had heard her or not, and Julia was starting to regret tearing up that piece of paper.
It had come to her late a few nights before as she had settled into bed at some women's shelter on Titan. It was a place to stay, that's all she had known, so she didn't bother with its name. She had just gotten back from using the toilet when she found something on her pillow. She hadn't recognized the name written on it at first, or the handwriting, but, curious as she had been, she opened it anyways. Inside was that cryptic, sorry excuse for a note. She had read it at least a hundred times that night as it deprived her of any sleep she could have hoped for, but she still did not understand its meaning. Mars wasn't the only place she had ever known intimately, but with the history she had with it, she figured it was as good place to start, at least.
"...the place to find me," she recited again as she gazed around. In the distance, she thought she saw something familiar, beckoning towards her like...what was that word again? A lighthouse, that's right. Well, sort of right. There was no light.
She'd been through a lot in these long ten years, and the fact that she seemed to be having some kind of loss of the memories she _needed_ all of a sudden didn't make it any easier. But, memory loss or not, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling she had inside, that maybe it was a signal, that she was supposed to go towards it.
It took Julia nearly an hour to reach the feeling. Just her luck, Tharsis's train systems decided to take the opportunity to break down, and every single driver in the above-ground transportation system was on strike. Life isn't fair for widows and charm school rejects.
It's too bad that she was both.
The widowing had been an accident. Of course, Julia considered her birth to be one also sometimes, so the word "accident" didn't hold much water. Charm school, on the other hand...she'd started charm school classes somewhere on Venus (she couldn't remember the exact spot) when she was twenty-four, shortly after the widowing, to occupy her time. However, some trouble with her teacher's no-cursing policy, and the fact that Julia didn't seem to quite comprehend the meaning of the word "modest", sent her on her way soon after. It had served one good purpose, though - she'd finally stopped smoking.
Now, standing in the middle of a graveyard overrun by weeds, she was suddenly wishing she had a cigarette.
Julia looked around at her scenery. She had memories of visiting here before, though she couldn't exactly place them. But, no matter how vague they seemed to her, they at least were able to confirm that her feeling was right, that she was sure she was supposed to be here. Many of the gravestones around her were swamped with grass, so much that she couldn't read the names engraved on them from the place she was standing. Curiosity (though perhaps a passerby could mistake it for boredom) filling her, she knelt down and parted the long blades with a hand on a random tombstone.
"Vicious Orlend..." she read quietly. "What a strange name."
Inside, she wondered what a man with the name "Vicious" would look like. She imagined a muscular build, with deep, dark eyes and light, lengthened hair...very handsome, yes, but at the same time with a deadly air to him...something that could terrify you...as if he had put a gun right to your back...Julia shivered slightly as the eerie image came into her head. Something told her that she had known this man once. Maybe ten years ago. Maybe it was one of the things she had forced herself to forget.
"There's no use paying attention to someone dead that you didn't even know," she told herself sternly as she stood and looked at her watch again.
Just barely past noon, and she hadn't eaten breakfast yet, or lunch either. A crunch of dead grass, or possibly large, thick-stemmed weeds, reminded her of that.
Wait a minute. Crunch? Julia's feet had been stationary ever since she has stood up. She looked around, trying to figure out who on earth would be making noise in a graveyard, and with her, of all people.
Her question was answered by a figure that happened to be walking briskly in her direction. Much to her displeasure (come on! There _were_ men on Mars that could be here, weren't there?), it was a short, slim, curvaceous (and incredibly tan) woman much younger (and maybe even prettier, though Julia would never admit it out loud) than herself, clad in a long, flowered skirt and white blouse that clashed horribly with Julia's dark flared pants and leather jacket. On the stranger's feet were white heeled shoes, and on her head, a white straw hat with an imitation bird on the brim.
"Hi~!" she called to Julia, taking off her hat and waving it in a friendly manner. Julia could see the woman's bright red hair, pulled in a bun at the nape of her neck. "How are you?" she asked warmly as soon as she was face-to-face with her.
Julia blinked. "Pardon me?" she asked. She didn't know this woman, no matter how well she seemed to know _her_.
"How are you?" the redhead repeated.
"Why are you wearing white in a cemetery?" Julia asked nosily, trying to buy time to place the woman's face.
"Hm?" The woman looked down at her clothes, obviously rather confused. "Oh. Isn't it appropriate?"
"Black is more suitable."
The woman's golden eyes widened. "Oooooooooh...well, I've never been in a cemetery before, so I didn't know," she apologized clumsily, smiling. "I wasn't even planning on being here to begin with."
"Then why did you come?" Julia asked.
There was something about this woman, Julia thought to herself. Something familiar...the energy and openness in the way her eyes sparkled...something that made Julia temporarily bring down her defenses. Now, if only she could place her face...
"Well~..." the woman mumbled, biting her lip in thought. "For perspective, I guess. I'm on my way to the hospital."
"Did someone die?"
"Oh! Oh no. Nonononono." Her voice was quick and insistent. "But how are you?" she asked again, coming back to the original question. "It's been so long!"
Julia let out a frustrated breath, not sure who the anger in her exhalation was pointed towards. "I'm sorry," she admitted. "But I don't know you."
The redhead blinked. "You don't know me?"
"No..."
"It's me."
"I don't know who 'me' is," Julia snapped, starting to grow impatient with this game. "Would you mind telling me your name, at the very goddamn least?"
"Françoise Allaine," Françoise said meekly.
"I've never met anyone named that in my life." She was firm.
"Really?" Julia confirmed her question with a nod. "Isn't your name -"
"My name is Julia."
Françoise blushed furiously. "Ohmygoodness! I'm so sorry! I really _don't_ know you...I'm so sorry!!" she rambled frantically. "I thought you were someone else!! Sosorrysosorrysosorryso-"
"It's alright," Julia interrupted, unable to do anything but smile at the childishness the other woman was exhibiting. "I'm sorry to have led you on like that." Why was she suddenly feeling the need to apologize? And to someone she had just met! Narrowing her eyes, she noticed the redheaded woman...Françoise?...was staring at her intently. "What is it _now_?"
"I-I was just thinking," she said, kicking the ground a little. "That Julia is a beautiful name."
"Thank you," Julia said, flushing slightly at her rudeness.
"In fact," Françoise continued, "my husband wants to name our first child that."
"Are you pregnant?"
It was a personal question, but Françoise gave a comfortable aura around her that she couldn't shy away from. The redhead looked down at her belly.
"Sorta."
"How can you be 'sorta' pregnant?" Julia asked, snorting at the silly word. "You either are, or you aren't."
"Well, I'm a little over three months along right now...but I don't wanna be pregnant." She bit her lip again. "I was going to the hospital to have an abortion."
"Won't your husband find out?" Assuming she had a husband, that was.
Françoise frowned. "He's a dog breeder and I came with him here for a business trip. He's out with a client right now, so I figured that I could make it there and back and he'd never know and if he finds out I'll just tell him I fell down some stairs and miscarried," she let out all at once. "I don't want kids."
"You seem quite the opposite," Julia said honestly. "The way you act...you'd be great with them."
"I already had one, and I don't want the responsibility." Before Julia could question her again, Françoise looked upwards. "It's so blue...the sky, that is."
"Yes, it is," Julia, not bothering to confirm it, agreed.
"I haven't seen a sky this blue for such a long time...not even when I was living on Earth."
"You're from Earth?" asked Julia, a little surprised. Françoise nodded. "How funny. So am I."
"Really? Wonderful!" The other woman was elated at such a small thing. "Maybe that's where we know each other?"
"Maybe." Julia smiled at the possibility of having a friend from the past that wasn't dead yet. "Where are you from?"
Françoise blushed slightly. "It's embarrassing..." she began.
"What is?"
"I really don't know. My mother died when I was born, and my father took care of me until I was about five, and then he took off. He was a researcher, after all. No, wait, that's not right. A..." She struggled to find a more appropriate word. "A cartographer. It was his job to map the Earth after the Gate Accident. With all the meteors constantly crashing, he had to find the place where it happened so he could fix the maps. I tried to find him, but when that didn't work, I went to an orphanage and stayed there."
"How sad..." Julia mused softly. "I'm sorry, that's rude of me," she corrected herself, putting a manicured finger to her lips. For the first time, she had just put her charm school to use.
"It's alright," Françoise soothed. "Where are _you_ from?"
"A city by the sea."
"Really?" She looked interested. "What city?"
Now it was Julia's turn to blush. "I've forgotten the name. It's been so long since I've been there."
Françoise giggled, and as soon as she did, Julia had a sudden recollection. A tomboy with short red hair...wearing violet-black shorts and a cutoff white shirt...Earth...it must have been ten years ago, at the very least...but still desolate...a hole in the ground...children's faces...a rundown shack...and an old woman's kind eyes...and...and...
"The water-sploosh," Julia whispered, feeling as if she was in a haze.
"Pardon?" Françoise asked, arching an eyebrow. "What did you say?"
The other woman snapped back to attention. "Nothing," she corrected herself. "Nothing important, anyways."
She had no need to remember this. She had trained herself to forget it.
"You said something earlier about having a kid, but not wanting kids..." Julia mumbled, trying her best to change the subject.
"Did I?" Françoise asked. The other woman nodded. "It's funny, I know I just met you, but I feel like I could tell you anything," she smiled, and then continued. "I found my father ten years ago, and took off from where I was staying to be with him. I was thirteen then, and when I was sixteen, he died."
"I'm sorry," Julia said immediately.
Françoise waved her hand. "It's alright. He was struck down by a meteor. He was killed on impact, so there was no pain." Julia blinked nervously at her relaxed attitude. "In his will, he gave guardianship of me to his assistant, McIntyre, who was supposed to continue the mapping work and who thought my father left him so much he could father a child with me against my will."
Against her will...Julia sorted through the run-on sentence to gain meaning in those words...against her will...wasn't that...
"Wasn't that rape?" Julia asked.
"Probably, but when you're in the middle of nowhere, it's hard to enforce it," Françoise said was traces of bitterness in her voice. "Anna Maria Cosette Filippa Lufen McIntyre lives in the orphanage I grew up in, at the last I checked. She would probably be six or seven now...but she's the only kid I'll ever have," she finished firmly.
"That's horrible," said Julia sympathetically, batting an eyelid at the long, curious name but not giving it a second thought. "No kids at all?" The other woman shook her head. "I'd love to have children, but my husband died only a few weeks after we married."
Françoise's eyes widened. "Killed? That's terrible! How did it happen?"
"He was murdered by an ex-girlfriend."
"How awful...I'm so sorry."
"I've come to learn to live with it," Julia told her. "I just wish I could have had children with him. You should take the chance to do it; you'll miss it."
"I think children would be happier without me. Besides, I prefer my husband's dogs." Françoise broke into a gentle smile. "That's how we met, actually. When I was nineteen and walking my corgi."
"A corgi?"
Françoise nodded. "Welsh."
Julia stopped all trains of thought again as another image came into her mind. This corgi...small, and brown...with white trimming its body...a good listener...perfect to tell your secrets to and knowing it would never tell anyone...unless, of course, there was someone eavesdropping nearby...baka, baka, baka...the bouncing tomboy again, with the ridiculously long name...Julia looked at the woman in front of her again. These memories...they couldn't be her own. They just couldn't. She never experienced these, she told herself firmly. Never. Not ten years ago, not ever. But did not stop herself from speaking. "Her name?" she croaked, her throat suddenly dry.
"His name," Françoise corrected, "was Ein. He died just this year."
"Ein," Julia repeated. "Ein."
She had forgotten the name a long time ago, but it all - the dog, the girl, the water sploosh - eroded against the barriers around her mind, forcing their way into her brain, trying to convince her that it _was_ all important, that they should never have been rejected. The uplifting woman in front of her nearly symbolized proof of that, if Julia was willing to believe it. Perhaps she had been the one to send her the note. Perhaps she had wanted to make her remember the things she had once known...ten years ago.
"Françoise," she began, tucking a long black curl behind her ear. "when you saw me, who did you think I was?"
"It doesn't matter," Françoise said, blushing again. "I was wrong so I guess it really isn't worth repeating since I wasn't right."
"Please," Julia begged, ignoring the immature sentence. "Just for the fun of it."
"Well, if you really want to know, I thought that -"
"HEY!!" a loud, nearby masculine voice broke into Françoise's speech, and their heads turned towards the sound. "Can't you two stop this thing?!" the two women heard, a bit softer than the first yell, but no less stern. Julia thought that maybe he was talking to them, but was obviously mistaken when she heard the sound of another female voice complaining,
"We're doing the best we can!!"
Coming around the corner of the cemetery path was a suit-clad older man in a wheelchair being held onto as tightly as possible by two young, very sexily-dressed women, younger than even Françoise. The cross-sounding man must have been near fifty, at the very least. His face was full of lines signaling age. At the same time, his entire head, with the exception of his eyebrows (and, by Julia's judgment, the hairs in his nose), was devoid of hair, and it was easy to see that a missing leg (his right) was the reason he was wheelchair-bound in the first place. In fact, it even drew attention away from...
"Jesus," Julia breathed.
The main's prosthetic metal arm, shining in the sunlight as the wheelchair stopped only a few feet from them.
"It's not our fault," one of the young women, a brunette in a blue tube top and short denim shorts griped.
"We didn't see the hill coming!!"
The man looked at Julia and Françoise briefly before turning his attention to his companions. "Girls," he said gently, but firmly, "I think you have some _business_ to attend to...isn't that right?"
The girls stared at him blankly for a moment.
"_Girls_," he repeated, more severe.
"Oh!" the other girl, a longhaired blonde, realized. "That's right." She recited a strange address to the man, paying no attention to Françoise or Julia. "Is that the right place?" He nodded. "Five hundred woolongs per throw each, right?"
"Seven-hundred and fifty this time, just because he wants both of you."
"Right," the blonde nodded. "C'mon, Rebeckah," she said to the brunette, who was putting a hat on the man's head.
"To protect you from the bright lights," she explained cheerily.
"We'll see you later, sir!" the blonde called as she pulled Rebeckah, waving, away. As soon as they were around the corner, the man in the wheelchair looked over at them.
"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Julia snarled at him.
Françoise blinked. "What's wrong?" she asked Julia. "Who is this?"
"Someone I'd care not to mention," Julia muttered. She looked over at the man. "This is my friend, Françoise Allaine," she told him coolly. "We met earlier this afternoon."
The man blinked. "Are you telling me you don't recognize Ed?" he asked Julia.
"Ed?" Surprisingly, this shock belonged to Françoise not Julia. "No one has called me Ed for a long time now; ten years, at least."
"It's really been that long," the man smiled. Did you marry?" he asked. She nodded slowly. "And what about Ein?" Another slow bob of the head, this time negative. "That's too bad...I liked him too. I suppose you don't recognize me without the beard, though, or your friend with her longer hair." He stroked his chin. Julia looked at him, almost as if she could have burst if he hadn't stopped talking then.
"Julia and I just met," Françoise told him.
"Julia?" the man blinked. "This isn't Julia. This is Faye. You remember Faye, don't you?"
"My name isn't Faye," Julia said slowly through gritted teeth. She looked over to Françoise, whose golden eyes again were widening.
"I...no...not I..." she corrected herself. "_Ed_. Ed was right! You're Faye-Faye Valentine!"
That use of third person. The childishness that suddenly awakened itself in every aspect of her voice, and in her features. It was without a doubt her. The name rang clear in Julia - no, Faye's head: Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the Fourth. And the man in the wheelchair...
"I hope you know that I hate you so fucking much right now, Jet Black."
The man nodded. "I'm sure you do."
"Jet..." Ed mumbled. "Jet-person!" she exclaimed loudly, breaking into a large smile, which faded quickly when she realized that Jet was wheelchair-ridden. "What happened to Jet-person's leg?"
"Oh, _yes_," Faye said dryly, rolling her eyes. "I can't _wait_ to hear this story."
"Faye, please cut the sarcasm for now, would you? You haven't been around for nearly ten years, so you have no right to comment."
For once, Faye held her tongue.
"It's not a very exciting story. I was involved in an accident during a bounty," he said, his words more directed at Ed than Faye (to her he offered nothing more than a mean-spirited glare). "I didn't go for the right medical treatment right away, so it became infected, and they had to amputate."
"Didn't go for another metal limb?" Faye smirked.
"When you have to spend your money on somebody else's medical bills, luxuries like that are not an option," he replied curtly. "I had to sell the Bebop to pay for them, you know."
Faye shrugged. "So, whose medical bills were those? Those two ho's you sent off?"
"Don't be so coy, Faye! Certainly you remember Arcadia."
"That's not my name! My name is Julia Spiegel," Faye insisted.
"And _that_," Jet remarked heatedly, "is why I dropped you off at the loony bin six months after Spike died."
"Six months after _my husband_ died, I signed up for Arcadia Charm School."
Jet laughed loudly. "Charm school!? Funny, Faye. You were at the Arcadia Hospital for Mental Deficiencies, if I remember the name correctly."
"MY NAME ISN'T FAYE!" she shrieked, her voice harsh and piercing.
For a few minutes, there was silence, until one member of the trio spoke again.
"Ummm..." said Ed quietly. "Ed's not sure if she heard this right, but did Jet-person say that Spike-person died?" Jet nodded, but, surprisingly, Ed cried no tears. Or maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise. It _had_ been ten years, after all, and no matter how Ed acted around them, the other woman knew that maturity (and a man named McIntyre) had taken its toll on her.
"He was killed by Vicious," Jet told her.
"Vicious," Faye echoed, her mind and gaze drifting once again...
"Faye-Faye said that she and Spike-person were married, but Ed doesn't remember this," Ed continued. "Did it happen after Ed and Ein left?"
Jet shook his head. "Faye and Spike were never married. I don't think they even kissed, if anything. Faye became delusional after he left and started convincing herself that they had been married," He explained. "That's why she went to Arcadia - she was too mixed up in fantasy to stay around on the Bebop."
"And then...?"
"And then, after about a year or so, she escaped during the night and has been wandering around ever since, from what I can tell." He shrugged. "At least I'm not paying her bills anymore. Isn't that right, Faye?" he asked, looking over to her. She paid no attention to him.
"Vicious," she repeated, seeming to be heavily concentrated on her goal, and kneeling...
...to where she had bent down earlier and parted the blades of grass...green, and cool between her fingers...
"Vicious Orlend," she said again, her voice loud and sure as she read from the headstone. "Died 2071." Her fingers drifted to another tuft of grass, and read out loud for all three to hear as she revealed what the green had been hiding:
"Spike Spiegel. Born 2044. Died 2071. See You, Space Cowboy..." The last phrase was barely a whisper, surrounded and nearly snuffed out by her breath.
"Spike-person..." said Ed softly.
"Spike," said Jet solemnly.
Faye said nothing. She simply let her hand go and allowed the grass to cover the headstones again. There was more silence. Silence that could have gone on forever, if there hadn't been another player to suddenly enter the game.
"FRANÇOISE!" It was a man's voice, coming from the opposite direction everyone else's had, and then a tall man's lean, young body.
Ed snapped back to reality when she realized who was calling her. "Jean-Paul, over here!" she called to him.
"Françoise, I was worried about you!" he said as he placed his arms around her waist, completely oblivious to Jet and Faye. "You didn't leave a note! I've been searching for hours!"
"I'm so sorry," she said, slipping briefly back into her 'adult demeanor' and giving him a quick kiss. "Did the deal go well?"
"Perfect," he told her. "He and the two took to each other immediately."
"And _my_ pups?"
"At the hotel."
"Wonderful," she smiled brightly and looked over at her two friends. "Ein sired a litter of pups five years ago. Now Ed and Jean-Paul sold all but three - Valentina, Kuro, and Épi."
Faye looked surprised.
"Ed thought she had forgotten when she grew up, but now Ed knows that she never forgot," she told her. "Never."
"Ed?" Jean-Paul inquired. "Françoise, I thought you had stopped with this 'Ed' bit a long time ago," he scolded sternly.
Ed looked at him like a wounded puppy. "These are Ed's friends!"
"We need to get back to the hotel, Françoise," he told her, ignoring the remark, but soothing her by patting her head. "Kuro misses you especially."
Ed nodded. "Will you give Ed - oh - me one minute?" she asked, correcting herself under her husband's gaze.
"Of course," he said, releasing her from his arms and stepping aside.
She stood in front of them, Jet in his wheelchair and Faye kneeling near the gravestones, and the smile on her face was lined with hints of sadness. "Ed hopes it won't be another ten years before she sees Faye-Faye and Jet-person again," she said in a low voice her husband couldn't hear. Both of her companions gave her expressions that showed the same sentiment. "Ed and Jean-Paul live on Io, and her friends are always welcome."
"I'll remember that," Jet smiled at her.
Faye nodded, but there was something she just had to ask. "What about..." she began.
"Ed forgot what it was like to be young," she giggled, looking down at her belly. "And _my_ child...no...children will know what it's like to be young as well. Thank you, Faye. Goodbye." She turned and walked to her husband, who held out a hand that she gratefully took. Faye could vaguely hear their conversation as they walked away together, in the direction of the sinking sun.
"Did you have a long day?" he asked her.
"It was a good day."
"I'm glad."
"Jean-Paul?" she asked tentatively.
"Yes?"
"When we go home, I'd like to make a stop on Earth..."
And then there were two. Faye stood up and dusted off the leather she was wearing, her eyes studying the headstones. She said nothing. Neither did Jet. But finally, he asked,
"Do you hate him?"
Neither of them even had to ask who he was talking about.
"Why would I hate him?" Faye asked.
"You remember that day as well as I do. I thought you did for a long time, until you started believing you were someone else."
Faye let out a tired breath, one she had been wanting to let out for ten years. "I tried...goddammit, I tried, Jet. I tried to make myself forget. I tried to tell myself that it didn't hurt, that if only he hadn't gone away to do that stupid thing and if he'd forgotten about her, we could have been happy together..."
"Is that why you started to believe you were Julia?"
"I had to believe in _something_," she rationalized, "and that seemed like the best thing."
Jet nodded. "I understand." She knew that he didn't, but she was feeling too tired from this whole experience to argue. "After all, whoever said you and I, or anyone else was supposed to lead well-adjusted, satisfying lives? Deep down, we're just cowboys." He took out a cigarette and lit it.
"Hand me one of those, would you?" asked Faye. "They took away all my smokes at Arcadia." He handed her the one he had lit and took out another. "Thanks."
"Sure."
"Say..." Faye took a long drag on the cigarette. "Whatever happened to those little trees you used to trim?"
"The bonsai? When they started to die, I gave up. It started to remind me that one day I was going to die, too, and -"
"And so you started pimping to make up for that?" Faye cocked a smile.
"That was an accident," Jet defended nervously.
Faye laughed. She hadn't done it for such a long time, but God, it felt so good. "I'm not even going to ask about that."
"It's a noble profession," he said as he fixed his hat. "I saved those two from getting killed."
"Whatever you say, Jet."
"Would you mind if I asked another question?"
"Sure."
"I know why I'm here, but why are you?"
Faye paused. "Someone sent me a note. It said, 'I still know the sound of your voice, just as you know the place to find me.'"
"That's pretty cryptic," Jet noted as he took out another cigarette.
"It makes sense to me, though...I tried singing to Spike once, and he called me tone-deaf. God, I got so mad at him for that..."
"I remember," he smiled. " But what about the other part?"
"'Where to find me?' I've got no clue. I guess whoever sent it to me knew that no matter how much I blocked out after Spike's death, I still knew where he had been buried."
"But who would know that much?" Jet was curious.
"Don't you think that's what _I'd_ like to know?" she snapped.
Suddenly, there was a whistle, a man's gung-ho yell, and the fading sound of hooves...the two comrades in its hearing range blinked.
"It couldn't be."
"Be who?" asked Jet.
Faye arched an eyebrow, surprised that _she_ may be the only one to have remembered this man. "Nobody," she smiled. "Just nobody." She looked at her watch. Nearly seven o'clock. "I've got to get going."
"Where?" asked Jet, knowing that even thought it had been ten years, she still had no place to go to.
"I've been thinking of catching a shuttle to Earth."
"Why Earth?"
"Ed reminded me of somewhere I haven't been in a long time." She smiled gently at the thought. "So I think I'll pay it a visit." Jet nodded. "What about you?"
"Rebeckah and Nancie should be done soon, and I imagine I'll be spending my night with them."
Faye chuckled. "I still can't believe you can say that with a straight face..." she smirked. But it was good to see you again, Jet. Even after everything."
"You too, Faye...or is it Julia?"
She paused for a moment, and then said, firmly and clearly, "Faye."
"I'm glad," he admitted, starting the wheels of his chair on his own. "Do I have to worry about you anymore?"
"Only if you want to," she told him. "Goodbye, Jet."
"Goodbye, Faye."
She watched him as he wheeled his way around the corner from which he came, wondering if maybe she should be there to assist him with that hill he had had trouble with earlier...but she knew Jet could take care of himself, just as she could.
Faye glanced up at the sky again. The beautiful tapestry of gold and red was vanishing, and a dark hue, speckled with white stars, was taking its place. She knew that within the hour it would be completely dark, and the stars would fill the sky as if someone had thrown a handful of salt into the heavens, the thousands of flecks dusting everything between the horizons. But for once, she didn't hate it. She thought that maybe now, she could even love it - the sky, and the person she had rediscovered.
Life was starting to look up again.
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For Someone Special...Maybe Even You.
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Post-story notes (I can't help but do these):
This was actually my first Bebop fanfic, written in July 2001, but I always wanted to do a rewrite. Now, after not reading it for a few months, I realized that it's not as bad as I thought.
First, if you didn't catch the dog names: Valentina - self-explanatory, Valentine, Kuro - means black in Japanese.. I couldn't find "Jet Black". Épi - "spike" in French.. actually, it's technically used to mean 'a spike of hair'...I didn't want to use a metal spike meaning, and, well, Spike has spiky hair ^^
In defense of my actions: People change over ten years. I always thought Faye went a little crazy at the end, so I took that and played it up a bit (I also believe that she was in love with Spike at the end, but, because of Julia, the feelings would never be returned). I figured that Ed would settle down eventually (and I've got nothing against McIntyre, but he seemed like a character with a capacity for evil), but you always have ties to when you were young. Her husband was created as a contrast to that, though, and I don't really like him. And Jet...that was an accident, actually, but the way it turned out, I'm not complaining, though I know some people will.
That was supposed to be Andy at the end. Why, I do not know, but I felt someone had to send Faye that note. I haven't seen Bebop for a long time, so I don't remember everything about him (or certain aspects of the series, in case there are continuity errors).. I thought it would a strange twist, though o.O; It was either that or make Spike come back to life, and that was the reason I wrote this - there aren't enough post-series Bebop fanfics in which characters that are mean to be dead STAY dead.
PLEASE REVIEW! Good or bad, I need to know what people think.