Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop, its characters, or any related paraphernalia. Wikipedia provides an ample list of who took part in the creation of Cowboy Bebop. Do the names Shinichiro Watanabe and Hajime Yatate (the Sunrise animation staff) sound familiar?

Update! I hope you're still enjoying the story if there is something that you like, or don't like for that matter, please review and tell me. On with the story!

MMN—CRAZY—NMM

When she felt the warmth on her face, she expected to be dead. Maybe lounging around in heaven, or more suitably in hell. Well. She really had to think about where she'd rather be. First, Faye wondered where Julia and Spike where. If they were both in heaven, she'd live happily in hell. But. If they both ended up in hell, and she also found herself there, she swore she'd tear her beating heart out. But if that was the case, that both he and Julia where in hell, then she hoped she was in heaven. Or at least purgatory. Just not where they were together.

But she knew she wasn't dead. She heard that after death there was no pain and her body was aching, shaking from the hurt. So even if she felt that certain warmth on her face, she knew that she was still alive. She didn't want to open her eyes. Not because she knew the room was bright. But because she had seen him again. That hallucination. His form and easy stride. She saw him in other people. And that night, she remembered. Seeing. Feeling. Smelling. Him and blood. And nothing more. So maybe it was all just a compilation of a passage to death, a passage she'd managed to get back from.

And she was afraid. Faye didn't want to open her eyes for fear that she would not see him again, but at the same time, she was afraid that if she opened her eyes, he would be there. Her heart managed to accelerate. A sort of desperation settled in. The machine she was attached to beeped in waves. First quickly, and as she managed to control herself, slowly. But her closed eyes were shutting even more tightly and she didn't want anything to happen. She moved her hand over her face and pressed it strongly against her eyes.

She thought she heard steps. Carefully placed on the ground. Her torso became an endless well of swarming, black water. She begged, pleaded, for nothing. She wanted to just not have anything happen. She want—

"Faye."

No. She thought. Please don't.

The steps stopped. But that familiar, long unheard voice echoed in her head. Please go away. Faye took her hand away from her eyes, keeping them securely shut. She internally blocked everything around her. She didn't need to break. Not again. Faye had thought about this. Made hundreds and thousands of 'what if' scenarios. She knew what to do. After he'd say her name, she'd recognize his presence. Then. Then, he would say something smart. And then Faye would retort something. And then everything would be fine.

"Faye—"

"Hey." She said quickly. Rushing it out of her throat. The words stuck to the back of her mouth and she couldn't say anything more. And she couldn't force herself to open her eyes. He didn't say anything and Faye felt her hands begin to shake, not because of the pain, but of anxiousness. Since he didn't respond, Faye tried again. "Hey cowboy." That was better, much smoother. Cracking a bit, but good enough.

He must have understood. "You slept a lot." But it didn't sound quite like Faye had wished. It didn't have much of a sting. It was not loud enough. It wasn't mocking. It was just plain truth. She tried to say something back, but couldn't. Maybe he noticed the difference too and tried to make up for it. "You slept like a log." There it was. A little better. She heard his steps again and heard him getting closer and closer. She opened her eyes quickly and turned to face him. He looked at her and easily took a seat on the chair besides her bed. Their eyes seemed to be locked.

She opened her mouth to speak. But seeing him there seemed unreal. She wanted him to go away. She took her eyes away from him. She didn't want to feel anything for him. Faye gave his eyes a quick glance and pretended to look out of the window, the light hitting her face warmly. He didn't tell her anything. They sat in silence. Faye could hear him breathing, almost impossible to hear. She wanted to speak. And as she tried to say something to challenge him, all that managed to escape her lips was truth.

"This is some game we're playing." She said, her eyes trying to focus on the world outside the room, concentrate on the bird nestled on a nearby tree.

He must have known what she meant. Spike didn't try to tease her. Faye finally tore her gaze away from the window and looked into the room. She stared at him as he took a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. She stopped pretending everything was fine and that his appearance was nothing. When she saw the small ring of smoke lift from his lips, she smiled noticing the familiarity.

"This is a non-smoking zone," she said and turned her head on the bed, comfortably allowing herself to stare at him. She tried not to blink, afraid that if she did he'd be gone. She didn't want him gone. Not now that he'd finally spoken to her. Not now that she knew he wasn't a hallucination. Not now that she felt the need to see him.

He took another drag and grinned. "When has that ever stopped me?"

"I suppose you're right. Seems like nothing can." And for a second her eyes glazed over with memories. But she blinked, caught herself doing so, and opened her eyes widely. He was still there.

"Hey Faye. Were you cold?" Faye looked at him questioningly. "I mean with the cryogenics."

She remembered that feeling of loneliness that overcame her when she thought about the years she'd spent in that situation. "Yes," She said. And even though she was living now, she wondered if it would have been better to have died then. But as she continued to look at Spike, she was glad she was alive. "You know, most of my memory is back. It's coming slowly."

"That's good." But as he said it, is sounded fake. He seemed to have been bothered, or so Faye thought. They didn't say anything more. Faye waited patiently as he finished his smoke. Tried not to lick her lips. She felt an urge for nicotine. And now, the closest thing she could find was watching Spike smoke. She watched as his hand carefully placed the cigarette between his lips and how the smoke escaped and how it caressed his face before it faded. And watched as he did it again and a new smoky hand ran its fingers across his face.

When he finished smoking, Faye realized how long she'd been staring at him and decided to not do so for so long anymore. However, he didn't seem to mind. He casually took a pomegranate from the table of food, the one he was supposed to have eaten the night before. He pealed it and the soft wombs surrounding the seeds broke, the scarlet liquid tainted his fingers. Faye saw Spike rub the tips of his fingers together for a second. Then, he finished peeling the rest of the fruit. He looked at her and she felt her heart stop.

"Here." he told Faye. He was about to toss it to her, but one of her hands, slightly shaking, extended to reach it. He handed it to her and Faye casually ran her fingers over his hand. She took the fruit slowly and sat up. She made a face as the pain on her side shot across her body. "You'll be fine." Spike said. "The doctor said so." He stood up. "I'm going to wash my hands." He started out of the room, not even looking back.

Faye wanted to shout to him. Tell him to come back. Felt that history was repeating. But she couldn't. Just like she hadn't been able to do so in the past. She distracted herself by putting the flesh of the pomegranate in her mouth. She tasted the sweet and bitter flavors of the fruit. She swallowed and licked her lips and whispered. "Please." But she knew he couldn't hear her. She stared at her hand, the one that had touched him, and saw a bead of the pomegranate juice slowly sliding. She tasted it. Bittersweet. That was the way things always seemed to be with Spike. She tore more flesh from the pomegranate and as it landed on her tongue, she felt her face blushing, and wondered why now the pomegranate tasted like Spike.

MMN—To Be Continued—NMM

Well, no luck at Literary Criticism, a scholastic contest in which you study and interpret literature. The good news is that I updated. Hooray!

This chapter is dedicated to well, the first guy that decides to take the poll on my profile. So, if you are a guy, don't be shy and take the poll, hey, and why not leave a review as well.

Thanks for reading! See you soon Cowgirls! (And Cowboys if there are any around...)