Spike had pulled some shit over the past few weeks, but this took the cake.

Jet punched angrily at the Bebop nav system, setting a course for Earth. It was strange to be back. Normally it would feel good, but under the current circumstances, Jet was less than pleased.

Since the wall incident, Jet hadn't been given so much as the time of day for two weeks. The wall had been fixed and reinforced in the span of one afternoon. Any contact he would have had with Vicious was now impossible, because the wall was too thick to hear anything clearly.

Not that he really wanted to talk with Vicious anyway; after that botched suicide attempt, Jet was starting to rethink his claim to Spike about them becoming the best of friends. He'd thought before that every monster was once a man. But there's always an exception to the rule.

In Jet's mind, there'd only ever been two teams when it came to Spike's mysterious past, Spike on one side, Vicious on the other. He'd been a part of Spike's crew for as long as they'd known one another, but given his recent manipulation, betrayal, and imprisonment, he'd rethought that position.

But all it took was a glimpse of the other side to know that aligning himself with Vicious was far worse than any disloyalty Spike could throw his way. The little he'd heard about Vicious, only cryptic remarks from Spike and one brief conversation with Faye after her kidnapping, had given Jet the sense he was more animal than man, driven by baser instincts and more violent delights. That had waned a bit, after his fallout with Spike, and Jet let himself believe that maybe Vicious wasn't the man Spike had made him out to be. Fooled by a fucking wall.

Any doubts Jet had been having were swept away as soon as Vicious swung that blade. He hadn't even been aiming for Jet, but he was so brutal with his movements that Jet, a man whose life was neutralizing violence, could tell that everything he'd heard before was true.

And what came after—God, Jet had never seen anything like it. There was a raw quality to his rage, something barbaric and hateful. It made Jet's stomach turn.

He'd been thinking about it for days after, wondering how Spike, so constant, could have been friends, brothers even, with someone so volatile. Maybe that was their strength. Their differences.

In his own friendship with Spike, they were so similar sometimes—obsessive, independent, and damned stubborn. And maybe that was our weakness. It was easy to see there'd been a breakdown somewhere along the line, sometime before Spike's pseudo-resurrection. The worst part was, in those two long years, Spike had let Jet think he was dead. He'd let him suffer and he let them fall apart, and that made Jet's heart hurt more than any open-faced betrayal. He wanted them to come back from this—he'd meant what he said to Spike all those weeks ago, about being his best friend—but it was hard to know where to begin.

But the tree, Jet thought, is a good start. When Spike had brought it, Jet was quick to dismiss the gesture as trite and really, just sucking up, but now the little bonsai had taken over his entire life. Spike had known just what he needed in this confined space; something to nurture, that he could see grow and flourish from the work of his own hands. Never mind that Spike was the one who locked him in here; Jet was beginning to realize that he would have done the same, if the roles had been reversed. Hell, I should've chained his ass to the Bebop deck on that day he went to die.

Yeah, the tree had been a thoughtful gesture, and, Jet assumed, a call for help. Spike had seemed shaky even when they were on good terms, and Jet could only imagine how he was handling things now, between Jet hating him and Vicious trying to kill himself and anyone else within spitting distance.

So, when Spike came to see him a week after the wall incident, Jet was more receptive than before. Spike had tried, in his stilted, apathetic way, to reconcile, and Jet was ready to reciprocate. He looked on with what he hoped was a neutral expression as Spike came in and sat across from him at the kitchen table.

"Look, Jet, first I just want to say that I'm sorry you've been stuck in here for so long. I've been handling a lot of other stuff, but I promise you're getting out of here today."

Jet sat up straighter. "Really? Thought I was a liability or something, seeing how I'm an undercover cop and all."

Spike grimaced. "Yeah, uh, about that. You're getting out of here but it's only because I need your help with something. We'll talk about the whole cop thing later."

"Well, the last time I agreed to help you it ended with me getting pistol-whipped and thrown into this apartment, so, forgive me if I'm a little suspicious."

"You don't have to help me, Jet, you can stay here," Spike said. "It's your call."

Fucking hate it when he says that.

"Not much of a choice, is it," Jet grumbled. Spike spread his hands apologetically. "Okay, okay, I'm listening."

"You still have the Bebop?"

Jet snorted. "Of course."

"I need it."

"What for?"

"I need to get to Earth, and I need to be under the radar. Figured the Bebop would be a safe bet; it hasn't been picked up by any satellites in the past year. Plus no one would figure the Head of the Dragon is flying around in some piece of shit junker."

"Hey!" Jet almost slammed his fist on the table, but Spike was looking at him mischievously, and he realized that last bit had been a joke. It really wasn't that funny, but Jet started to laugh. And goddamn, it felt so good to laugh that he laughed some more. Spike even cracked a smile.

Jet wiped his eyes and sighed, feeling something like happiness for the first time in a long time. "Okay, Spike-o, why not? I'm gonna go crazy just staring at these walls anyway. It's in a storage hangar but I should be able to get in no problem."

Spike clapped a hand on his shoulder and stood. "Knew I could count on you, pal. Grab your tree then, we're getting out of here."

And they did. Jet almost thought it was too good to be true, stepping out that hellhole of an apartment and riding down to the lobby. Hell, even being outside seemed surreal. Spike must have noticed him taking deep breaths of fresh air, because when they were settled in a car and heading towards the hangar, Spike turned in the driver's seat to look at Jet.

"I, uh- I'm sorry. Seriously."

Jet would've fallen out of his seat if he wasn't buckled in. Spike rarely apologized, and almost never for big things. He was the type to walk away from a fight until the other person forgot why they were mad in the first place. Saying sorry now, and meaning it, that was a big deal, at least to Jet.

So when they got to the hangar and were standing, finally, in the hold of the Bebop, Jet was feeling pretty great. He'd gotten his freedom, his ship, and, most importantly, his friend back. Sure, there were some nagging doubts at the back of his mind, mainly I'm a cop and he's the head of a crime syndicate, but he was content to let them go for now. Later, he'd sort it all out, but now was the time to be in the moment. And what a great moment it was. Jet closed his eyes and breathed deep, taking it all in.

BEEP.

Jet startled. "Sorry," Spike said, grabbing his beeper and silencing it. "Just coordinating with Shin. He's dropping something off and then we can get out of here."

Jet nodded. "I'm gonna walk around, make sure everything's in working order."

The Bebop was just as he left it, if only a little dustier. That, and his bonsai trees were dead beyond repair. He'd expected that, but it still hurt to see. He put Spike's tree down on the worktable, a spot of green among a sea of brown. He'd have to start over, but starting over with a gift from Spike seemed like the right move. I guess you could call it a metaphor, or something.

He continued on, walking from room to room. It gave Jet a feeling of peace. He was home. His home, one that no one had ever or could ever take away. He was the captain of the ship, and it was his roof, his rules.

Which is why when he saw the "something" Shin had dropped off, he just about shit a brick.

"What the hell is he doing on my ship?!" Jet snarled, charging back down into the hold.

Vicious was standing next to Spike, looking around the Bebop with a critical eye. Well, standing was a strong word. Spike was doing most of the work, supporting Vicious at the waist and trying to get him to sit on the couch. Jet's couch. Where, as a rule, he didn't allow villainous maniacs to sit.

Spike jumped into action, closing the distance between them and gripping Jet by the shoulders. "Jet, calm down. He's fine. It's fine."

"It doesn't look fucking fine!"

"Trust me, he's not going to do anything, okay? I need him; that's why he's here."

Vicious, without Spike propping him up, had started to stagger a bit. It was almost sad, this supposedly skillful assassin having trouble even staying upright, but Jet found he didn't really care. Apparently Spike did, because he rushed back over to Vicious and grabbed him before he could fall. "Hey, easy," he said. "Let's get you horizontal."

Jet rolled his eyes. I fell for it again. Spike, always hiding something. Well, if Spike wanted to play dirty, he could too. He crossed his arms. "I'm not letting him sit on the couch. It's my ship and I don't want him on my beds either."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, I still have my room, right?" Jet debated, then nodded. "Great. Come on, Vicious, we'll put you down in there." Vicious didn't say anything; only grunted in response like a wild animal. Because only actual humans are capable of using words to communicate. Seriously, what the hell is Spike thinking? The two of them stumbled off towards the sleeping quarters and Jet stomped to the control room.

He'd been in there for the better part of an hour, entering and reentering the Earth coordinates, when Spike stuck his head in the doorway.

"Just checking to see if you needed any help."

"It's my own damn ship, Spike, I think I know how to fly it."

Spike nodded and fully entered the room, letting an awkward silence fill the air. Clearly, he was trying to get things back on track between them. Jet almost felt bad for snapping, but he had a few more things to say first.

"Speaking of, as the captain of this ship I feel like I have the right to throw that snake out of the airlock and let space do the rest."

Spike sighed and slouched against the wall. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"Because you don't seem to be able to!" Jet shouted. He took a breath and lowered his voice. "You just gave him a pass, after everything he's done; he took your woman, your mentor, hell, he even tried to take your life, more than once. I don't get it; you let him right back in. He's a monster, Spike. Why can't you see that? A monster that has no place among men, especially not good men like you."

"Jet…" Spike moved to sit next to him. "I never told you much about my past. And that was on purpose. I didn't want to think about it, but also, I didn't want you to think I was a terrible person." Jet opened his mouth to speak, but Spike waved him off. "See, the thing is, I took his woman. Julia, she was with him. He'd mentioned her, once or twice, but I never thought anything of it.

"But then I met her and—God, I swear, I didn't know what beautiful meant until then. I just, I couldn't stay away from her, she was like some magnetic force. And the craziest thing of all was that she couldn't stay away from me either." He shook his head, almost in disbelief. "What she ever saw in me, I don't know. But it was something, enough to make her want to cross the most dangerous man we knew. But she and I, we liked danger, it made us feel alive. Still does, I guess."

Jet was staring at Spike, openmouthed. His sacred Julia, another man's woman. Spike went on.

"Vicious caught us, one day, like we knew he eventually would. The worst part was that he didn't even react. He just stared at us, and then he left. Julia was upset; she was worried he was going to do something, but all I remember was this sinking feeling, ice cold, because I knew I'd just lost my best friend. And yeah, there were other things at play, but that betrayal, what I did, it was the final nail in the coffin. You can't come back from something like that, and no matter how cold he was after, no matter how cruel, I still couldn't shake knowing that I was the one who broke everything." He looked down at his hands, studying the lines on his palms.

"When he killed Mao, and did all of that to Julia, and tried to kill me, yeah, I was mad at him, but I was also mad at myself. Because I knew that the rage he felt, the violence fueled by betrayal, I knew it was my fault. I had created it." He raised his eyes to meet Jet's and they were full of misery.

"Look Jet, I know you hate him, and sometimes I think I still hate him too. But you have to realize something about me. You've always thought I was a hero, like you, saving the universe and putting away scumbags. And my time on the Bebop, yeah, that was how it felt, and what I wanted to be. But I'm not a hero, not really."

He blinked rapidly and ducked his head. It wasn't until Spike started swiping at his eyes that Jet realized he was crying.

"I might not be a monster, but I'm not a good man."