Two in one night! All hail the miracle that is caffeine. Thanks to Oryx & Crake for the translation verification. Keep the comments coming if you could. I have an ego to service.

Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop still belongs to people who never were me and never will be me.

Passive: Chapter Four, Pretty with a Pistol

"Chto noven'kogo?" That got her attention. I'm standing in her doorway staring down at her from her perch on the workbench stool. She's staring back all surprised and I'm sure I'm smirking like the ass that I am cause I called her out on a secret. Faye's hands are greased and dirty and hovering over her half stripped Glock.

She slowly dropped her hands and wiped them on a pair of torn up jeans I'd never seen her in. "S kakih eto por ty govorish' po-russki?" She knew she'd caught me well and good when I could only answer with a spooked look, but she smirked and went back to pumping the lubed up patch through the barrel of the gun. "So, Spike, how long did you practice that opener there?"

"No more than hour. Tops." Faye isn't wearing a headband and her long bangs are bowing in to brush her lashes and I can't see her eyes, let alone read them. At least not until she holds the barrel up to the bench light and lifts her head up to check for rust. As passive as her face is at the moment, her eyes are brewing with something that more than a little has my curiosity peaked.

Faye replaces the barrel against the recoil spring and pulls it back, testing it, before sliding it forward again and replacing it on the cratered surface of the workbench. This is familiar territory for any one of us on this ship. Serve your weapon so it'll serve you. Samurai with booming swords. Now, that's an snatch of imagery that Jet would like.

There's a new grip on the table and I pick it up all too aware that her eyes are tracking my hands. "Replacing it?" She nods and goes back to greasing and wiping the metal of the receiver. "You should let me do it for you." See? I'm a nice guy. I'm helpful, even.

"No offence, Spike, but I've had this piece a long time before I ever met you. Can handle a new grip just fine" She's affected that same non-combative tone from last night that lacks all the haut, ego and machismo I readily associate with the enigma that is Faye Valentine. She just keeps on swirling synthetic lubricant on the gun metal before making a reach for the tool kit.

"Doesn't matter." I shrug and put the grip back. It's a good grip. Too small for my hand, but I suspect it's just perfect for Faye. "It's a sub-compact," I look down at the top of her head before tossing the final blow, "it's a girl's gun."

And before I know it she's got those green sparklers of hers turned on me and a wicked little grin licking at her lips "Well, I was going to get a Deagle a while back, but I didn't want to make you insecure, what with that wee little Jericho of yours. I only had your interests at heart, Spike. Didn't want to go an emasculate you or nothing." And I'm so happy I could kiss the bitch. That's our Valentine, folks. There she is! With a smile and a smart assed comment that goes right to the jugular, or crotch as it were. This is how things are supposed to be between us. I say something, she says something right back, it's all fun and games and then we gripe over who has to pay for the beers. "Hand me that?"

"Yeah." I hand her the grip and she goes to work on the handle with deft little fingers. "So who's the guy Jet caught you flirtin' up?" Faye pauses what she's doing and puffs a couple pieces of dark hair out of her eyes and reaches for the cigarette that's balanced on a soda can turned makeshift ashtray without answering me. "Ex-boyfriend? If it is, you should let us know, since they seem to cause us trouble. I'd just like to be prepared, is all." She wraps her lips around the filter and sucks, all the while sizing me up. "What? Not gonna tell me?"

She rolls her eyes and offers a "No."

"'No', what? No, he's not an ex? Or 'no', you're not going to tell me?"

"No, he's not an ex and no I'm not gonna tell you who he is. It doesn't matter who he is. He was just someone who chatted me up in a bar before my ride showed. It was Callisto, are you really shocked that a guy wanted to talk to a girl?"

"He just happened to guess right that you spoke Russian?"

"That's right." Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. I don't know what bothers me more. The fact that he might be an ex or the fact that he might wasn't just some guy who stopped to hit on a pretty girl. You know. I'm not a needy guy. Swear. I don't ask for a lot, I don't expect a lot. But when I decide I want something I tend to be a big fan of instant gratification and what I want right now is the truth.

"Whatever." I'm all itchy to move and I don't know exactly what it is I'm wanting to do, though the thought of throttling her does pass in mind. "We'll be landing on Io in a couple hours and I'm going out. You're coming with."

"Why? Because you said so?"

I bend down close to that little heart-shaped face of hers and offer my most fetching of grins, "Can you think of any better reason?"

She offers the same caliber smile right back to me, "You're a jackass."

"So I've been told. Make sure you wear actual pants. Wouldn't want anyone to think you're offering or anything." Faye's head snaps back up, a pout smearing her lips and I step backwards and into the hallway and I can't hold back the bark of laughter when her fist smashes into the door's control and it groans and wheezes to a close in front of me.

I'm going to find out what the hell this is going on.