Its robably worth noting I do not own Cowboy Bebop and am in no way affiliated with its production.

Reviews, criticism and all that jazz are welcome.


Cowboy Bebop

Session 27: The Real Folk Blues Part Three

Chapter 1: Now...

The Cold Hard Truth

It was all over.

Her face had been beautiful, but now it was gaunt and weathered. Her hair had been a radiant violet, like the end of a rainbow , but now it was a drab purple. And her eyes that had once glistened the colour of dark emeralds, now, they were empty pits with nothing left to shine for. Her name had been Faye Valentine, but she didn't care anymore.

The bebop, a beaten down old planet hopper far too big for a two man crew, was going nowhere. She lay on her belly with her long prow rammed into the Martian surface. Riddled with shot and shell, she belched corkscrewing black fumes into the mauve sky above from her open wounds.

It was difficult, to look at her like this. For Jet Black, his pride and joy -the bebop- had cost him more woolongs than he cared to remember, and now he had to consider how much all the repairs would be. If she could even be repaired. Looking high above the main deck, which still bore the afterburner scorches of an old racing ship, was the bridge; Jet felt a pang of relief that it was still in tact.

He was a large man, with a balding head and a thick black beard that pulled out like some surreal mane of a lion. His left arm was a cybernetic replacement and a titanium plate held together a part of his cheek bone just below his scarred, right eye.

He sighed heavily and stepped back aboard the bebop, at least the door cycles were still working. The lights were always a dull shade of white, that let shadows bounce around the companionways and compartments like spectres waiting to pounce.

There was a faint sobbing in the distance, from the living room, where poor Faye would be. The last few nights had been rough on her. Hell, the last few years had been rough on her. But even now, as the broken woman she'd once been, Faye Valentine was still a selfish kid at heart.

Jet rubbed a metallic palm across the dome of his head and drew in an sharp breath, readying himself for the possibility of a Faye Valentine sized mood swing. Gingerly, he stuck his head through the circular doorway, then took a casual step in. Clearing his throat and consciously making himself stand up straight, Jet watched from the summit of the small stairwell. The living space below with its ever present twin yellow couches and coffee table, at least some things didn't change.

Faye's sobbing drew his eyes around the room in search of her, until he finally saw her, huddled in a corner with knees pulled up to her chest and face buried in her hands. A couple of photographs had escaped her grip and sat face up, speckled with tear jewels glistening in the light. A man in a blue suit, lanky legged and green haired, featured in each of them. Jet noticed himself in a couple but Faye had clearly been most torn up by the pictures of the green haired man.

Jet recognised a rare memory from Ganymede in a photograh he'd taken. She stood smiling (and that was a rare thing) with an inebriated man -the green haired one- wrapping an arm around her for support. The image lay crumpled on the floor where she'd crushed it in anger and despair.

Jet drew a pack of cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of his dusty blue overalls and shuffled down the stairs toward miss Valentine. She didn't look up at him, just sobbed quietly in the corner until he towered over her, blocking out the light with his bulk.

"Faye,"

She looked up at him through teary jade eyes and quickly used balled fists to dam them up. Her voice trembled like a gentle breeze as she tried to speak. At last, she stammered, "What?"

Jet slumped down onto the floor across from her, resting the crown of his head against the thick yellow leather of the couch side. He extended the packet of cigarettes toward her and said, "Smoke?"

She thanked him in a half hearted tone and took one. Usually her smoking didn't seem to detract from her beauty but now she looked like a decrepit old crone just firing one up and waiting for cancer to give her the long sleep. She let him light the cigarette for her, jutting out the tip to give him the hint. And then after her first draw, and an unexpected cough, she said, "What did you find out?"

"You sure you want to hear this Faye?" Jet said, smoking his own cigarette and trying to suppress the butterflies that fluttered in his guts.

"Just tell me, Jet," she said in a soft, but forceful voice, trying hard not to break down again.

He'd had the fleeting hope that she'd rather live in denial than want to hear the truth. Jet felt his heart sink past his feet as he had to go over the details again. Hearing them was hard enough but now he had to tell them to an already depressed young woman.

He cleared his throat and stubbed the half smoked cigarette out on the floor, "Spike…Spike Spiegel's dead, Faye," he said the words as fast and clearly as he could.

She looked up at him with a blank stare, tears dried in her eyes and then she gave him a painfully slow nod. "I…I figured,"

"Are you sure you do Faye?" Jet forced the bitter words out, he didn't want to say them but he had to. If she didn't really see it then Faye was doing herself more damage than all the smokes in the world could.

"I don't know…I, I just wish he'd said something," Her voice quivered again, "Spike, you lunkhead,"

"The funerals in two days, Faye. I want you to come,"

"Sure, you don't need to ask," she said, still nodding slower than Jet thought possible.

"Bob gave me this," Jet said, producing the chunky Jericho nine four one pistol that had been Spike Spiegel's favoured weapon.

"Spike's pistol?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, they found it at the scene, Bob said I could take it, even though ISSP'll probably have his arse for it,"

"Jet…thanks," she said, taking the pistol and looking at the memento.

"Bring it to the funeral with you,"

She looked up at him, her eyes hardening to their old selves of a confident jade. "Are you expecting trouble. The Red Dragons maybe?"

"I think its probably gonna be safe, but, you'll know why you need it, when the time comes,"

"What do you mean, Jet,"

Jet Black stayed quiet. Looking at the cigarette lighter in his hand, he sparked up another and gave Faye a forced Don't worry about it smile. Then, as Faye stretched her legs out, covered only by the skin-pink stockings and yellowish gold hot-pants, he pulled himself to his feet and left her in the dim living room. Left her to think, left her to accept what he'd given her as fact; even though neither he or the ISSP had a valid conclusion about it.