I'm eighteen
And I don't know what I want
I'm eighteen
I just don't know what I want
I'm eighteen
I gotta get away
Well, I gotta get out of this place
I'll go runnin' in outer space, yeah

Well, I got a baby's brain and an old man's heart
Took eighteen years to get this far
Don't always know what I'm talkin' about
Feels like I'm livin' in the middle of doubt… - Alice Cooper


Ed woke early on the day of her eighteenth birthday, and she went out to the kitchen. She thought it might be empty, due to the early hour, but Papa was sitting there as always with his morning coffee and a newspaper. He kept having to adjust how far away the paper was from his eyes, squinting.

"I think you need glasses, Papa."

Jet rolled his eyes. "And here I was, trying to hang on to the last bastion of my youth. Thanks a lot, kid." He held out an arm to her. "C'mere." Ed stepped into his hug. He kissed her on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, m'girl."

"Thank you."

"Did you have something special planned for the day?"

Ed grinned. "Can we fish?"

"Of course we can. I was hoping you'd ask. Oh, and you've already got a delivery. It's over by the sofa." Jet snapped his paper back into place and began to squint at it again.

Ed went over to the sofa area and saw not one, but three large bouquets! She squealed as she dashed over to the little table, sliding on her knees. First, there was a very puffy bouquet of luscious pink roses. Ed counted them, yes, there were eighteen, and a card attached. These were from Faye, who said to check her e-mail. Ed went straight to the ship's computer and logged in, searching for the e-mail from Faye. It stated that a ticket had been purchased for her to travel to Venus in three days' time! Faye was going to show her around and take her shopping! Ed dashed off a quick thank-you, thank-you, Faye-Faye, thank-you, and laughed.

The next bouquet was full of huge fragrant stargazer lilies. A small box stood before the vase. The card said that these were from Papa-Jet, and the message said to open the box carefully. Frowning, Ed carefully removed the wrapping paper and lifted the lid on the box. She was expecting another pearl; Papa usually gave her another one to put on her chain with each birthday. What she didn't expect were eighteen pearls, and a matching pair of earrings. Tears sprung to her eyes.

"Do you like your present?" Papa-Jet was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. Ed nodded because she too choked up to speak. She flew into his arms. Chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "I have to keep giving you pearls, because, frankly, I have no clue what kind of electronic gadgetry to give you. And I thought you deserved something more than one measly pearl."

"I love you, Papa." Ed's teary voice was muffled against his chest.

A tear came to Jet's eye as well. "I love you too, Edward." They stayed there a moment, until Jet asked, "What do you think about that gift from Faye?"

Ed stepped back and wiped her eyes. "That is so amazing. I can hardly wait."

"What did Spike give you?"

"I haven't looked yet." Ed knelt back at the table. Spike's bouquet was full of sunflowers and irises and was just a riot of gold and purple. I'll have to remember to wear purple today, thought Ed, as she opened the card. Inside were a simple birthday sentiment, and a hand-written note: The day is yours . . . looking forward to our Traditional Ed's Birthday Date.

Ed's heart skipped a beat. Jet asked, "What does he say?"

"That the two of us are going out today."

Jet nodded. "That sounds nice. How about some breakfast? I thought I'd try my hand at crepes this morning, but you'll have to help."

"Your crepes end up the consistency of a three-day-old tortilla."

"That's why you need to help me." Laughing, they both went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Spike rose just in time for the first round of crepes. Typical, thought Ed. Still, she gave him a hug and thanked him for the beautiful flowers. Spike gave her a brief squeeze and then asked her what kind of outing she had planned.

"Well, I was just thinking, maybe, dinner at Grill and bowling. We haven't gone bowling for a long time," replied Ed.

"Only because you keep beating me," said Spike. Just as I thought mused Spike. Grill and bowling. Just like the first "date."

Jet and Ed spent a good portion of the day on the deck of the ship, fishing. Why she enjoyed fishing so much, Ed didn't know, but it just seemed like a great way to while away the day. And spend good time with Papa. They had managed to get a couple of good-sized mackerel, which Jet cooked on an open grill for their lunch. As a birthday treat, Ed was even allowed a beer with the grilled fish, followed by a long lecture from Jet about the ills of alcohol. And smoking. And no-good men. And even though she was legally an adult, she still needed to understand where he stood about her indulging in such activities. Ed almost laughed, because it seemed so surreal to be hearing these words from a man who made his living off bounty hunting and remaining barely on the right side of the law.

Jet continued, "Don't be like Spike, that's all I'm asking."

"You keep telling me that Spike is a good man," countered Ed.

"He is most of the time." replied Jet. "I'm just concerned about the strength of his demons."

"But you're still letting me go out with him today."

"Around you he's on his best behavior."

"So you're saying I could be a good influence on Spike."

Jet chuckled. "Hope springs eternal." But then he sobered and looked directly into her eyes. "Please. Be careful around Spike. I think . . . I think he's got more baggage than any of us realize. Just keep that in mind."

Ed's initial reaction was to laugh. But when she returned Jet's gaze, she realized just how serious he was. She nodded and replied. "I will, Papa. I promise."

Later, Ed spent a good portion of the afternoon agonizing about what to wear. She was thinking purple, but the top that she really liked was too little-girly, and while she had another purple top, a cute little spaghetti-strap number that had a deep scoop neck, Papa would surely veto it as being "too old".

Decisions, decisions, she thought to herself, and then she found a shrug that Faye had given her just for a situation like this. It was black cashmere, and it wrapped around the front and gave just enough modesty to a questionable outfit. And it had beading and sparkles on the edging, just like the purple top.

Perfect. And of course, the jeans that she had recently bought and her comfortable black cowboy boots. Looking good, looking good. Take this, Spiegel. She giggled, and then she had a brief wave of nervousness. She knew what she was going to say to him in essence. But she also worried about what he would say to her. And since Spike was essentially a closed book, his answer could be anything.

Don't worry about that, a voice chimed in her head. What's important is that you tell him how you feel. You can't do anything about how he responds.

We'll see about that, thought the snarky side of Ed, and she said, "Showtime."

Spike, meanwhile, was having his own misgivings. He'd been wracking his brain recently, trying to remember if he had ever acted out of turn around Ed, if he'd ever led her on, if he'd ever given the slightest indication of any interest in her other than as the resident brat.

And the answer he'd come with was no, but then Faye had more or less behaved the same way. And he'd thought, at the time, that he'd behaved the same way about her. Faye was simply another dispensable facet in his life, one that he could take or leave.

But women didn't work that way. They worked on their own plane of bizarre logic where the simplest words and actions had too many different meanings.

Whatever, he thought, as he sat on the sofa, waiting for Ed to finish getting ready. Ed's eighteen, she'll have her say, I'll tell her how it's going to be, and that will be the end of that.

And then Spike felt a distinct shiver, one that made him feel like someone was laughing at him, somewhere.

Ed finally emerged from her room and found Papa and Spike waiting for her on the sofa. She put on one of her blinding smiles and said, "Okay, I'm ready."

Spike took a momentary look at her, and then drawled, "Okay, then. Let's mosey." He got up and started walking out toward the hangar. Ed's eyebrows twitched in confusion. Usually he did say something about her appearance, or at least some remark about her being some kind of "clothes horse", and he and Papa would share a joke about how when they first met her they couldn't even get her to wear socks.

And it took her a moment, but then Ed realized something else: Spike always took care to clean himself up whenever he took her out. He knew how much these little outings meant to her, and he treated every one with a deference usually reserved for some important dignitary. But today, he was wearing his usual blue suit with the skinny necktie, his unofficial "hunting garb". Even his usual bent cigarette hung loosely from his lip. Ed blinked, but then she gave Papa a hug and a kiss. She hurried to catch up with Spike as he ambled out the door, and she heard Papa yell, "Be careful! Have fun!"

"We will!" Ed replied. Spike handed Ed her helmet and her jacket, but then left her to struggle with the strap. By the time she finally got the thing buckled properly, he had already fired up the bike. Ed climbed on behind him, and took a hold of his waist. Spike took a glance over his shoulder, and shouted, "Ready? Hang on!" He dropped the bike into gear and they rolled down the ramp to the street.

Normally, Spike would take long, scenic routes to their destinations, because he knew how much Ed just enjoyed riding. But tonight, he took the most direct route to Grill, an old haunt located in one of the most bohemian parts of town. Ed was disappointed. She had been hoping for a nice drive along the waterfront, but then, they had gotten a later start than they normally did.

They both stripped off their helmets and walked into the old restaurant. The usual men were sitting at the counter, drinking their endless cups of coffee, served by an older waitress with brassy orange hair. Spike and Ed went to their usual booth, and they were suddenly greeted by Spike's old friend, Rufus, who started calling Spike every name in the book for staying away so long.

Spike smiled at the huge man. "When you treat me like this, why would I want to come back any sooner?"

"And you brought the young lady! Miss Ed, what are you doing still hanging around this loser?"

Ed gave a little smile. "I honestly don't know."

Rufus gave a deep belly laugh and then asked if they still wanted to have their meat loaf, despite Spike's constant complaining about it. Spike and Ed both replied in the affirmative, and Rufus slapped Spike on the back so hard he winced, and then Rufus returned to the kitchen. A waitress brought their drinks. And then Spike did something he never did when he was alone with Ed: he snagged an ashtray and lit up a cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke at the window.

Ed was confused. Why was Spike acting so distant? He'd shown more civility to Rufus than he had to her. Still, she tried her best to stay upbeat.

"Didn't you grow up around here, Spike?"

"Yup."

"Has it changed much?"

"Some." Spike continued to look absently out the window.

"I like this part of town. It has . . . personality."

"Mmm."

"I mean, I'm sure it was different when you were younger. Maybe not as many tattoo shops. Was that music store there when you were my age?"

"Hm-mm. Got my first clarinet there."

"I didn't know that! You played clarinet?"

"When I was younger."

"Wow! I never knew that! That's really cool, Spike. I never would have expected it from you." Spike didn't respond. "I mean, I guess there's a lot I don't know about you, but . . . You know, this is the kind of place I'd like to live. Kind of bohemian, but just enough . . . normalcy. But maybe with more trees and stuff. You know?" There was still no response from Spike, no indication that he was even paying attention to her, even though she was simply babbling to fill the silence. Finally, Ed pursed her lips and said, "You know, I'm thinking of cutting off my little toes."

Spike was still gazing out the window. "Are you now?"

"Yeah. I want to see if they grow back."

"That sounds nice." Then Spike blinked and said, "Wait. What?"

Ed bit her lip. "Nothing. It wasn't important."

Thankfully, their food arrived so Ed wouldn't have to try to drag Spike into speaking for a while.

Once Ed tucked into her dinner, Spike took a moment to study her. She was wearing a top and sweater that was just low-cut enough in front to be tempting, and while she would never be as voluptuous as Faye, even Spike had to admit that Ed had a cute little figure. He was having a hard time comparing this lovely young woman to the awkward and bizarre teenager he had first met about five years ago. And most of the time, that was how he pictured her in his mind's eye.

Who knew? He mused as he took a long drag on his cigarette, which he absentmindedly exhaled right in her direction. At the time, Ed was taking a drink, and the smoke went right up her nose, choking her for a moment. Tears squeezed out of her eyes as she continued to cough, trying to get control. Wiping her eyes, she said, "Spike? Can you not blow smoke right on me, please?"

"Sorry." His next exhale went out into the general area of the restaurant.

"You don't smoke around me usually anyway. Is something wrong?" Spike didn't answer. "Did you not want to go out tonight? We don't have to."

"Nonsense. It's your birthday. I always take you out on your birthday."

Ed's mouth twitched. "Well, then, can you at least pretend it's not some kind of chore?"

Spike looked at her. She was looking right back at him, her eyebrows knitted together. He stumped out his cigarette. "You're right, Ed. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise." And then he started eating.

Another promise, thought Ed. She felt a little hitch in her chest. This was not going well. Ed bit her lip, and went back to eating her dinner in silence.

Spike and Ed were back on the motorcycle, heading to the old bowling alley. Rufus had gifted Ed with yet another huge brownie sundae, complete with "Happy Birthday" being sung out of tune by all the denizens of Grill, but Spike didn't share it with her. He remained taciturn and continually stirred his coffee, long gone cold, in lieu of smoking a cigarette. Ed wasn't able to finish the huge brownie on her own. Her throat felt tight. Why is he acting this way? She had been moments away from just calling off the whole evening on account of her date acting like a total jackass, but then she thought about what Faye would do. She'd hold her head high and have a good time on his dime anyway. Well, then. So there.

So, with a smirk on her face and a shimmy in her walk, Ed walked straight up to Carl behind the counter and asked for an alley and a pair of shoes. It didn't escape her notice that Spike dropped about a step behind her. Better to watch my ass, Ed thought. They are all the same. You were right, Faye.

Spike had, in fact, dropped back to better enjoy the view. Spike wondered briefly if that whole walking wiggle was genetic or something that was taught to women in restrooms. God knows they had to do something in there. Probably were discovering the cure for baldness in their secret restroom labs, which was why they got all bent out of shape when a drunken man would wander in on accident. He began to chuckle.

Ed turned with a puzzled look on her face. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," replied Spike, getting back in control. "Just a random thought. So which lane is ours?"

The two went to their lane and began throwing warm-ups. Ed had just bowled a nice little hook when she felt eyes on her. Spike wasn't looking at her at that moment, but a group of boys that looked to be her age were. She guessed that they were from the university, as a couple of them were wearing shirts and ball caps with the school's logo. Hmm, Ed thought, with a little smile. I hope Spike gets a load of this.

Spike had, in fact, noticed. And damned if he didn't particularly care for it. They were just frat boys, but he really didn't like the way they were looking at her. But what he really didn't like was the way she looked back at them. And how her bowling approach got just a little more . . . slinky.

When in the hell did she learn how to move like that? Spike pondered. Is she channeling Faye or something? She's just a little kid, for chrissakes. And furthermore, what am I even doing noticing the way she moves?

Spike got up to bowl. He threw a nine; leaving the ten-pin and making him wish he was playing nine-pin no-tap. The ten-pin was a hard spare for right-handers. He sighed, and was moving to the ball return when he saw Ed engaged in a conversation with one of the boys. She was smiling, that radiant smile that always made Spike want to smile back. Spike prickled, but said nothing, and threw his second ball, completely blowing it. He shook his head, and then made his way casually to where Ed and the Joe Campus were standing.

"Hello." Spike pulled out a smoke and lit it. The kid just looked back at him.

Ed said, "This is Spike. He's . . . a friend of my father's. Spike, this is Allen. He's a student at the university." Both men squared each other up briefly, and then nodded. Ed continued, "We're celebrating my birthday today."

The Allen kid broke into a smile. "Well, happy birthday. It was nice to meet you. Listen, we have to go . . . but, if you'd maybe . . . like to get together sometime and bowl, here's my card." He handed over what looked a business card. "Is your name really Edward?"

Ed blushed and grinned. "Yeah, I know it's weird."

Allen grinned right back. "Yeah, but I like it. Catch you later, Ed." And the four young men left the bowling alley. Ed watched them go. At the last moment, Allen turned around and waved goodbye. She waved back, and then gazed at the card he'd given her.

"What kind of business card is that?" inquired Spike.

"It's not. It's more like a calling card. It just has his name and phone number . . . and Kappa Alpha in Greek letters."

Spike snorted. "Frat boy. Figures."

"I thought he was nice."

Spike shrugged, and sat at the scoring table. "You're up."

"Whad'ja do?"

"Blew it."

"Your game is off tonight, Spiegel. Not finding your mark." Ed gave a little laugh and went up to bowl.

That's not the half of it, sister, thought Spike. What the hell was going on, anyway? Did I just get pissed off about the kid chatting with some other snot-nose kid?

They bowled only two games, mostly because Ed had so thoroughly spanked Spike both games that there was little chance of him redeeming himself. They did have a good laugh at that, and Spike remarked how dare the grasshopper surpass her teacher and gave her a smile. The first one he had given her the whole evening. Finally, thought Ed. I was worried that the bug in his ass had taken up residence. She chuckled. How Faye-faye of me. She is a bad influence.

Spike was putting on his helmet when he said, "Where next?"

Ed paused in donning her jacket, and replied, "Is that ice cream parlor still around?"

Spike nodded. "I think so. Hop on." She did, and then they sped off to the other end of the waterfront. By now it was full dark, and there were quite a few people milling about the area.

Spike coasted the bike into a parking space. As he dismounted, he noticed his stomach was tying up in knots. Won't be long now, he thought, as he stowed their helmets and jackets.

Ed's stomach wasn't faring too well either. Spike had been running mostly cold all night, and she was utterly anxious about even whether to broach the subject that they left open four years ago. Then the Faye-faye-like voice whispered in her ear again. Why do you think he's been acting like a creep for most of the night? He's trying to throw you off and avoid the situation. Ed blinked. The thought hadn't occurred to her. Thanks, Faye-faye, she thought, as they entered the ice cream shop. We'll just see about that.

They both got the same flavor this time: lemon custard. They went back outside and found, lo and behold, the same damn park bench from four years ago. Fantastic, thought Spike.Well, let's get this over with.

Ed was quiet for a long time, eating her ice cream. She looked out over the harbor at the tall-sailed boats, strung with fairy lights. "Spike?"

"Hm?"

"Have you ever been sailing?"

Spike nearly choked. That was not what he was expecting at all. "No, no . . . I can't say have."

"Me neither. I did some crazy modified wind-surfing while I lived on Earth, but that was in the desert. It seems like it would be nice on be on a small boat in the water. Don't you think?"

"Jet would like that too," replied Spike. "Then you and he could fish to your heart's content."

Ed glanced at Spike. "You don't like fishing, much, do you?"

"Not particularly."

"What do you like?"

Spike shrugged. "This and that."

"Ah. Bowling, drinking, smoking, going after people with a gun."

Spike chuckled. "You forgot playing pool."

"Oh, of course. How silly of me." Ed paused for a moment. "Do you like spending time with me?"

Nice segue, kiddo. "Of course I do."

"Hard to tell, the way you've been acting tonight."

"And how's that?"

Ed's mouth twitched. "Stand-offish. Like you didn't want to take me out at all, but you had to."

Spike shrugged again, and took another bite of ice cream. "And like I said at Grill, I always take you out for your birthday. It's . . . tradition."

Ed rolled her eyes. Yeah, and I can think of a lot of "traditions" that are no fun whatsoever. Like Chinese foot binding. Or female circumcision. Out loud, she said, "Yeah, I suppose." They sat in silence for a while. Then Ed decided to bite the bullet. "Spike?"

"Hm?"

"Remember my fourteenth birthday?"

"Of course." Spike had finished his ice cream, and he lit another cigarette.

He's arming himself, Ed thought absently. Still, she had to continue. "Well, you told me that night . . . You said, on my eighteenth birthday, we could 'have a chat'." Spike didn't answer, only took a drag on his cigarette. "That if I still felt the same way about you as I did then, then we could discuss it. Well . . . the truth is, I don't feel the same way as I did back then."

Spike's hand froze halfway to his mouth. "Is that so?"

"Yes. It is." Ed took a deep breath, and turned to look at Spike. She could only see his profile. Now or never, Ed. "My feelings for you are even stronger. When I was fourteen, you amazed me with every move you made. You were everything a little girl thinks a man should be: strong, loyal, and caring. I could see all that in you, despite how you always carried yourself around as being aloof. But now, I see your faults. You have vices and a past and who knows how much baggage. But I still see the same man as I saw when I was fourteen. But now I see the whole big picture of Spike Spiegel. And I love him. I love you."

Spike looked at her. He looked away. He took a drag on his cigarette. "And you're eighteen."

Ed's eyebrows knitted together. She felt like her stomach was trying to come up into her neck. "Well, yes."

"No matter what, Ed, I will always be fourteen years older than you."

"And what does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything has to do with everything. Look, Ed, it's just not going to happen. Forget about it. Give it up." And Spike leaned back on the bench, inhaling on his cigarette.

Ed forgot how to breathe. Her eyes grew wide. "That's it?"

"What else is there?"

Ed couldn't speak. She opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again. She turned away and looked at the boats again. Tears pricked her eyes, turning the fairy lights strung on the boats into multi-colored prisms. I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, she repeated to herself like a litany. Finally, she stood up. "Thanks. Thanks a fucking lot, Spiegel." And she began to walk away.

Spike was as startled to see her take off as he was to hear her say fucking. Ed had never said that, not in his recollection, ever. He rose, and began walking after her. "Ed . . ."

"Leave me alone." Ed continued stalking away.

"Listen to me."

"No." Ed kept going.

"Ed, you can't walk the whole way back."

Ed stopped walking. Her hands were clenched into fists, and then she turned to face him. "Yes, I can. I can do whatever I want. I'm eighteen after all, and I'm not stupid, and you made your point perfectly clear. End of discussion," she spat. Her eyes finally brimmed over and the first tears fell. "You got rid of Faye, and now you got rid of me. Happy, now?"

Spike bristled, and he pointed directly at her nose. "What went on between me and Faye was none of your business, missy."

Ed smacked his hand away. "Get your finger away from my face! Get away from me! Go to hell, Spiegel!" And she turned back and starting walking again, dashing her tears off her face.

Spike stood still, watching her for a minute. Way to go, he thought. He could almost hear his mother's voice: Shame on you, Joseph Decland Spiegel, for hurting that girl like that! Now you go and make things right!

Ed was still walking with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She knew that if she kept following the waterfront, she would eventually return to the Bebop. She did have a small amount of money on her, enough for a taxi, but she felt too angry to just sit in a car. She was so angry she was shaking. Angry at Spike for saying what he did. Angry at herself for saying what she did. And she was even angry at those stupid magazines of Faye's, the ones that had article after article saying how she should speak her heart. Yeah, well, look what it got me. Then she heard the engine of something come up behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Spike on the motorcycle.

"Ed, get on. I'll take you home."

"I'd rather walk."

"Ed, don't be stupid. It's dangerous out here. You could get hurt."

"You're the one that taught me how to fight. Don't you have faith in your abilities?"

"Just get on the damn bike, Ed!"

Ed stopped walking. She turned to face Spike. Her mouth worked for a minute. Then she said, "What are you so afraid of?"

Spike couldn't answer. He knew, though, even if she didn't, that her question had nothing to do about her walking home alone in the dark. He opened his mouth to speak, but a third voice interjected.

"Is everything all right here?"

Both Ed and Spike looked up to see a uniformed police officer in a patrol car, looking right at them. Ed bit her lip. Spike looked at her for a moment, and then said, "There is no problem, officer. But I would be obliged if you would see the young lady home safely." Ed looked back at Spike, and their gazes held for a moment. Then he dropped the bike into gear, did a U-turn, and drove off into the night.

In the back of the police car, Ed finally gave into sobbing. She was so mortified. The whole evening had gone so completely wrong, like some sort of old Greek tragedy that might have driven Ed to gouge out her own eyes if she hadn't had some sense that this was precisely how she thought, in her true heart of hearts, that this evening was going to end up. She knew. She knew it was going to end like this. And all the time she kept telling herself that somehow Spike would be moved by her words, that he would open his eyes and see the glory that was her love for him.

I am so stupid, she thought. I am such a fool.

She was suddenly startled by the cop tapping on the screen divider between the front and the back seat. "Are you going to be okay, miss?"

Ed chuckled wanly and wiped her eyes. "Maybe."

"That guy didn't . . . he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Hurt me?"

"Yeah, like he didn't . . . you know . . ."

Ed's eyes went wide. "Oh no. No. He didn't do anything like that! He just . . . he . . ."

"Gave you the brush off? After you poured your heart out to him?"

Ed sniffed. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Had a few daughters who were your age once. And I know you're in no mood to hear this, but you don't need a guy who's gonna treat you like that."

"I know." Ed began sobbing anew.

The cop sighed and kept driving. "Yeah, missy, I know you know. But that don't help none right now, though, do it?" Ed shook her head and cried harder. "Yeah, it don't help none. Not right now, anyway. But someday, it will."

Ed lifted her head. "Swear?"

"Sure do. Pinky swear, even."

"He pinky swore to me once too."

"Son of a bee. No one breaks a pinky swear. Want me to turn around so's we can find him and shoot him, then?" Ed laughed weakly and then shook her head no. "Well, at least I got you laughing a little." After a few minutes more of driving, broken only with Ed giving directions, they pulled up to the slip where the Bebopwas docked. The cop handed her out of the back of the car, and handed her a soft, clean handkerchief to mop up her face. After blowing her nose, Ed had a moment where she wasn't sure if she was to give back the handkerchief, and finally the cop laughed and said, "Hey, I changed diapers for six kids. A little snot don't bother me none," which made Ed laugh again. "Let me just walk you back onboard, miss, I want to make sure you get home okay. Is your dad home?"

"Yeah." It was easier to make this reply rather than explain the permutations of her living arrangements. The cop escorted her into the hangar and through the bay doors. Jet came out of his bonsai room, calling, "Are you two back already? That was a short . . ." and then he came up upon seeing Ed in the escort of a police officer. "Ed?"

The cop snorted. "Naw. I'm Murphy."

Jet looked confused, and then shook his head. "No, I mean, her name is Ed. Anyway . . . what . . . what's going on?"

The cop squeezed Ed's shoulder. "Well, sir, I'll just let the young lady explain that, I just wanted to make sure she got home okay." Then the cop squeezed her shoulder again and said, "Everything's gonna be okay, just like I said. Okay?" Ed nodded. "Okay. Goodnight, sir." The cop tipped his hat to the both of them and left. Ed stood where she was, head down, afraid to meet Jet's eyes. But her shoulders kept shaking and her chest kept hitching from crying so hard.

Jet stepped a little closer. Now, from this angle, he could see her red and puffy face, even as she kept her chin to her chest. "Ed?" Ed didn't answer, but she made a chuffing noise and Jet watched the waterworks start again. "Ed, did Spike make you cry?"

Ed lifted her chin and met Jet's eyes. Then she wailed and burst into tears, launching herself into Jet's arms. Jet was completely and utterly bewildered, but he assumed from her reaction that he had asked the correct question, or at least, the question that fit this kind of answer. Damn that Spike, he thought. He'd never, never seen Ed like this, even when she was younger and having some kind of tantrum, or even during her mid-adolescent years when she was still figuring out how to do this growing-up thing. So Jet wrapped his arms around her and put his cheek on her hair and rocked her back and forth, letting the young woman ride out the storm, soaking his shirt front in the process. He even got a little tear in his eye himself, the old softy that he was, and he listened to Ed's heart break. After a while, the wild tears began to subside, and Jet whiled away the time thinking of very exotic and painful ways to exact revenge on Spike for treating his girl this way. Some of them were quite good, in fact. Finally, Ed pulled away from Jet, wiping her nose. Jet lifted her chin with a finger. Ye gods, what a mess. "Why don't you take a shower? You stink like a chain smoker and you look like about ten miles bad road." Ed laughed weakly. "We can talk later. Tomorrow will be a little brighter with a good night's sleep under your ear. Okay?"

"Okay." And Jet drew Ed back into his arms for a while. Poor kid. You had to grow up today in a way that's no fun at all. I'm so sorry. Jet gave Ed a kiss on the head, and she sniffled, wandering off to take the suggested shower. Jet rubbed his bald head, the way he always did when he felt out of his element. Then, off in the other room, he heard his comm. chirp. He found the comm. under a small pile of tree clippings. It was Faye. "Hello, Faye," grunted Jet.

"Well, aren't you the cheerful one." Jet snorted. "Is Ed there? I wanted to wish her Happy Birthday. Or is she still out with Spike?"

"No, she's home, but . . . she's in the shower. I don't think she wants to talk right now."

Faye's face, a little blurry on the small comm. screen, was frowning. "Did something happen?"

Jet snorted again, reaching for the little glass of scotch he had poured earlier. "I suppose so. A policeman brought her home."

"You're kidding me."

Jet took a swallow of scotch and let it burn its way down his gullet. "Wish I were. Ed looked like her face was turned inside out; it was so red from all the crying."

"What did that lunkhead do to her?" Now Faye's face was crossing over into that dangerously angry look.

Jet sighed and sat back down on his little bench. "I'm not sure. What do you think?"

"I'm thinking Spike was acting just like Spike when Ed was hoping he'd act like a human being." Jet laughed. "This isn't funny, Jet. He can't treat her like that. He's such a rat. No, he's worse. He's an . . . um . . . an amoeba. An amoeba in the belly of a fly on a piece of crap hanging from a rat's ass." Jet laughed even harder. "I said, this isn't funny, Jet."

Jet chuckled a bit longer, and then sobered. "No, no, you're right . . . it's not funny. And the thing is . . . you know . . . having both of them on the ship."

Faye's eyebrows knitted together. "Yeah. So what are you going to do?"

Jet took a deep breath. "I don't know."


Spike's first intention was to go to a bar. He decided to veto that idea. He had a notion that when he did return to the Bebop, he would have to settle a hash with the old man, and Jet was getting pissy lately about Spike's drinking habits.

No, it wouldn't do to go boozing it up when you were supposed to have escorted his eighteen-year-old daughter home, Spiegel, he thought ruefully. He returned instead to Grill, and took up a stool at the worn-out counter, and drank endless cups of terrible coffee. Rufus had caught his eye, and Spike had given him a look that he hoped translated as please, just don't, and Rufus had left him alone.

So Spike sat there, forehead in hand, idly stirring the dregs of the liquid supposedly known as coffee in the cup before him. He could hear idle chatter around him, but mostly his ears were ringing with that goddamned question that Ed had hurled at him.

What are you so afraid of?

What, indeed? He had never been afraid to fight someone, to be shot at. He hadn't been afraid to live dangerously or die quickly. So why did he have so much trouble dealing with a red-haired maniac hacker, the same way he had so much trouble dealing with a raven-haired harpy bounty hunter?

Spike sighed, and shifted his head so that his chin was now in the heel of his hand. His other hand continued to stir the contents of his cup. At this time of night, the counter only had a few residents. He studied them each briefly before realizing that they were all basically the same person: an old man with nowhere to go, and no one to go with.

He wondered if he'd be joining them at some point.

His hand stopped stirring.

After a moment, Spike rose, dropped a couple of bills on the counter, and left the restaurant.

Rufus shouted out to him, but he didn't answer.

The Bebop was quiet when Spike returned to the ship. As he walked in from the hangar, he could see just the head and shoulders of Jet above the back of the old sofa. It appeared that he was doing something with something else on the coffee table. Spike assumed that Jet was trimming one of his precious bonsai: so he was mad. Spike expected this, and readied himself for a storm. But what Spike saw as he approached Jet rattled him completely.

Jet wasn't trimming a bonsai.

Jet was cleaning a gun.

Spike knew that Jet had heard him approach: Jet's eyes darted his direction. He continued to clean the gun as Spike moved over to the side chair and sat down. The only sound was Jet putting down various pieces of metal as he cleaned and oiled each of them.

"Spike."

Spike lost his voice for a moment, but thankfully it returned without squeaking. "Jet."

"Will you please explain why Ed came home in the escort of a police officer?"

"What did she tell you?"

Jet took a look down the chamber he had just been brushing out. "I'm asking the questions here."

Spike took a breath. "She was insisting on walking back to the ship. I asked the officer to see her home so she wouldn't have to walk through a bad part of town."

"I see." Jet put down the chamber piece and picked up another. "That still doesn't explain why, though."

"We had . . . an argument."

"An argument." Jet polished the piece in his hand. "That isn't exactly how it looked to me."

"Well." Spike looked briefly at his lap, then back at Jet. Jet had yet to look fully at him. "It's . . . complicated."

"Actually, the way I see it, it's not." Jet continued to polish the gun part. There was an interminable silence. It took every fiber of Spike's being not to fidget. "At any rate, I've decided to take Ed down to the seaside for a couple of days before she goes to Venus. And she'll be there for a week. That should be plenty of time to figure it out."

Spike twitched his eyebrow. "To figure what out?"

Jet stopped polishing. He turned his gaze and looked directly into Spike's eyes. "To figure out whether you're staying on this ship."

Cowboy Bebop characters are owned by Sunrise, Inc.