For as long as he could remember, Spike had liked outer space.

Maybe there was something about space that he "connected" to. A vast amount of matter enclosed in this huge, amazing, uncomprehendable., Space. Stars and supernovas, planets and asteroids, all rotating in perfect harmony with each other. Millions and billions of them.

And when he looked up into a darkness littered with tiny lights that really could have been anything- galaxies, even- he never really felt anymore small or inconsequential as he did then. Like all the problems in the world weighing him down didn't amount to a hill of beans. He was a speck and there was a star. Nothing else mattered.

And Spike liked that.

So when he gazed out into infinity from the confinement of his room on the Bebop, or from his ship floating fuelessly between Mars and God knows where else, or even when he stood outside of a quick-stop and gazed up into the city smog as he lit a cigarette, he expected the only things one should expect from outer space.

Peace.

Silence.

Oblivion.

He liked those things.

He liked 'em a lot.

However, as the Bebop orbited Mars lazily, such was not the case. He lived with Faye Valentine. Such was never the case. He doubted that the two of them could co-exist in the same solar system, let alone the same ship.

If it hadn't been three in the morning, and if he hadn't been so exhausted, Jet would have found the entire thing rather comical. But as his eyes traveled from Spike to Faye, both barefoot and shouting on the steel floor of the bathroom, he could only rub his forehead.

And sigh. He could only rub his forehead and sigh really loud.

"Look, guys, there is no need to wake an entire ship just because you wanna kill someone. Murder can be done both quickly and quietly.."

And murder seemed to be exactly what the two had in mind.

Jet raised an eyebrow as he took in the entire scene. Spike, mad- no, mad could not describe it… livid. He was livid- he had the tip of his pistol jammed against Faye's chin, cold metal digging into soft flesh. The woman, however, was far from intimidated. Her own weapon was pressed against Spike's shoulder, barrel against rippled muscles. The fire of hell reflected in their eyes.

And a soggy box of cigarettes jammed halfway down the toilet bowl.

Jet sighed. All this for the last box of cancer sticks.

It was times like this when he longed for some sort of… normality. Not Bebop norm. Normal norm. He was 36. He should've had a wife and a couple of kids by now, not a couple of degenerate lowlifes who happened to have the maturity of a bunch of 12 year olds. It just wasn't right. He'd been raised in more or less a good home. He'd gone to college. He'd acquired a steady, honorable job with a paycheck once a month. Why was he standing in the hallway of a beat up old fishing vessel watching a couple of idiots try to kill each other over a pack of cigarettes?

And why did it seem so… normal?

"She snuck into my room and stole my ciga-!

"He has NO proof of that! NO PROOF!" Faye cut him off.

"I CAUGHT YOU RED HANDED, FAYE!"

Both of them began yelling simultaneously. Loud, as if the level of their voices would somehow give weight to something that really didn't have any weight at all. So naturally, they assumed that the louder they could yell, the better chance they had of winning.

Not that there was really anything to win, of course. At least not anymore.

But hey, they could still scream. It felt good to scream, especially at the person who made you want to scream. So they kept on screaming. And screaming.

"LIAR!"

"WELL, YOU WERE THE ONE WHO CHUCKED THEM INTO THE TOILET. NICE GOING, FAYE."

"Well, at least they won't be disgraced by your filthy lips!" Faye smiled smugly.

"MY filthy lips?" Spike stood, aghast, "You should be the one to talk! At least I don't have to seduce greasy quick stop clerks because I can't afford 70 woolongs worth of gas! " Now it was his turn to smile. "Cheap-o."

"You know what, Spike?" Faye replied, eyes narrowed. But Spike didn't get to find out exactly what he was.

The clap of a gunshot echoed throughout the Bebop, quickly followed by Eins sharp yelp of surprise.

"OOOOOOWWWWWWW!" Spike cried, dropping his pistol and clutching his bleeding shoulder. He screamed.

It wasn't that it hurt- well, it hurt a fucking lot- it was the fact that she had actually shot him. Sure, he had his gun against her head, but as much as he would have liked to blow her jaw off, he probably wouldn't have. And it wasn't like this was the first time he had whipped out a weapon on her. They held each other at gun point five or six times a day! He figured that in a lawless region- such as the Bebop- your gun was your friend. Screw children's television and recent studies. Violence was the answer. Last beer? Whip out the Jericho. Loose money lying around? Fire a couple of warning shots, they'll know who's boss. But this just about changed everything. It destroyed the natural order. "YOU DID NOT JUST SHOOT ME!"

"Oh, Spike, I do believe I just shot you." Faye twirled her weapon as she blew smoke away from the barrel. "You get what you ask for, Cowboy."

It was an unspoken rule of thumb on the Bebop. Jet didn't know how it came to be, nor did the rest of them. But when there was a problem, Jet could fix it. Ships, quarrels, crewmates. Jet could fix all of those because he was, well, Jet.

So Spike, raging mad, pointed his finger at the woman holding the gun, as if he were a wounded animal and she was the ruthless hunter, and as if a very pissed off Jet had not seen the entire scene play out before his eyes.

"THAT TWO BIT WHORE JUST SHOT ME!" Spike screamed.

"In self defense!"Faye stated innocently. "What else is a poor woman to do when the cold metal of a gun is shoved into the bottom of her mouth but to shoot back!"

'YEAH, FAYE, YOU'RE REAL DEFENSELESS." He turned to scream at her. "YOU MISSED MY NECK BY LIKE AN INCH!"

"Half an inch."

Jet tended to Spikes shoulder irritably as Faye reclined on the yellow chair across from them. As far as she was concerned, this was all Ed's fault. Ed, who had seen the woman tiptoeing out of Spike's room, cigarettes firmly in hand, had begun a midnight interrogation very, very, loudly. Faye seethed as she remembered the vermillion haired child singing loudly and rocking back and forth with that damn computer on top of her head… If she had simply clamped her mouth shut when asked of her, she would not have awoken the entire ship and the whole incident had been avoided.

All Faye had wanted was a cigarette, and now look what the child had done.

"FUCK YOU FAYE. JUST FUCK YOU." Spike shot at her. Faye was unfazed.

"Gee, Spike, don't be such a baby." She told him lightly, "Your body gets rddled with bullets every other day."

"Yeah, but I would like the convenience of not getting nearly KILLED in my own home!" Spike clenched his fists in rage. "MY OWN HOME!"

"Ah, he does have a point there, Faye." Jet said, carefully wrapping his partners arm in Ace 1 bandages.

"Whatever." She stood up and stretched her arms. "I'm going back to bed."

She waltzed out of the room, stopping only to carefully nab a box of cigarettes from the end table when the men weren't looking.

Mission accomplished.