2. All That She Could Ask For


April 21, 2072

So we did it again. Another fight, another word that should have never been spoken. It's not fair what Spike is doing to us. I doubt he even knows. Even if he did, would he care? God, who knows. I don't know why Jet is so against my method. I know it seems like a really stupid idea; writing things down, but it really is effective. I should know. If I hadn't have been writing in my diary, I doubt I would have ever gotten my memories back. Almost every night since I wound up on this ship, I would write. Sometimes things would all of a sudden click and then, wham, the memories would rush back. I don't know if writing will really help Spike understand that he's hurting himself, but it's worth a try.

It's been four months since he was released from the hospital. He was only in there for a week; we didn't have enough money to keep him in there any longer. He was upset and depressed, but I always figured he'd snap out of it. But then he started drinking. A lot. And then he started to act weird. He'd come home and he'd seem happy, but by morning, he'd be so damn crabby. And then I started noticing the marks on his arms. When I changed his bandages, I'd notice the bruises. I tried to ask him once, but he pretended that he didn't hear me.

When I found the needle last week, I couldn't pretend anymore. He was using heroin, and if his recent behavior changes were any indication, he was becoming addicted fast. His pupils, well, pupil, was almost always dilated. I really shouldn't have noticed, since his eyes are so dark, but sometimes I'd space out and just stare at him. And he's been real jittery and fidgety. It's like he couldn't sit still if you paid him to. And his mood swings are ridiculous. One minute he's laughing at something on the vid screen, the next minute he's shouting at the top of his lungs about something or other. Now Spike has always been a moody man, but this is getting out of hand.

I don't know how he's fallen so deep, so fast. He couldn't have been doing this for more than three months, but he's getting lost. To be honest, it's scaring me a lot. I know that he's really upset about being alive and all, but it's almost like he's giving up. It really does scare me. And I know that this drug, this heroin isn't gonna help him at all. If anything, it's only gonna speed up his depression.

I don't know what to do. I want to help him, I really do, but I don't know how. And the people who do know how, want too much money. Leave it to Mars to be one of the most expensive planets in the solar system. And leave it to the Bebop to break down here and require an unnecessarily expensive part to fix it. And leave it to us to inevitably be broke. Maybe things will work themselves out. Maybe he really will realize that he's killing himself. Yeah, right; and maybe pigs will fly. But then again, this is 2072…


Spike crept down the corridor of the Bebop. It was late and he didn't want to wake anyone. He figured it was a little after two. Wow, he had been gone about six hours, but it wasn't his fault. The guy he normally went to was out tonight. Spike had been pretty pissed; he really wanted a hit. His dealer gave him the name of a guy just down the road, though. He told Spike to give the guy his name and he'd give Spike a discount.

As he felt the single woolong left in his pocket, he couldn't help but grouse. He searched two hours for the guy and when he finally found him, his idea of a discount was one woolong off. It was bad enough that for just one measly half a gram, Spike had to pay 20 woolongs; nineteen didn't seem like a discount at all. But as he stumbled down the hallway, content and satiated, he didn't really mind too much.

Stopping to lean on the wall for a moment, a lopsided grin on his face, Spike's head rolled back and his eyes gazed at the ceiling. In the dim light he could faintly see bullet holes in the roof. He chuckled as he remembered he was the reason those holes where there. It was Faye's way of telling him to stay. He didn't really know how she expected to stop him that way. He doubted that she knew, either. Chuckling again, Spike pushed off the wall and headed to his room. He was sleepy and he needed his beauty rest, after all.


Faye had been awake when Spike finally ambled in. She had waited all night for him to come back. Whenever he went out, she always feared that he would never come back again. She was afraid that he'd get involved with the wrong gang and get himself killed. Or take too much and overdose. Or worse; just not want to come back at all. So every time he left she would wait up for him.

When she heard his bedroom door close, she sighed in relief. God knows he wasn't in good shape, heck, he may not even be in one piece, but at least he was home. Right now, that's really all that she could ask for.