Turning Blues to Black
by Now With More Fiber
Chapter 5: Scared the World was Too Much for Me
*****
The whiskey bottle sat on the table, nearly empty, a silent witness through the past two hours.
Faye and Jet rested opposite each other on the twin yellow sofas, their eyes downcast. The liquor had done very little, save increase their fatigue and the duration of the silence between their sentences.
"How long?" she asked, for the second time.
"A few more hours," he answered, instinctively knowing she referred to their time suspended between jump gates. "Good thing there's not much whiskey left; I'll have to do a manual landing when I wake up."
In an effort to fill the emptiness of the following pause, he reached for the bottle again, pouring another half-inch into his glass. Almost as an afterthought, he tipped the bottle again and let the remaining whiskey fall into Faye's glass.
She gazed at it disconsolately for a moment, then stood, wavering a bit.
"I'll... Be right back," she mumbled, and walked towards the hallway door.
Jet's eyes followed her as she went around him, followed the soft reflections of the ceiling light off her shorts and shimmery stockings. Even in this dulled state, the gentle curve of her calves and thighs drew his attention. His forehead throbbed.
I shouldn't. It shouldn't be like this. What if she notices?
Faye stumbled and steadied herself against the handrail on the short stairs.
So she didn't notice. But...
He turned back to the table, lifting the his drink to his lips with his right hand. It seemed heavier than ever before. The cool glass steamed where his skin touched it. He lifted his left hand and held the glass before his face, watching the light play in the amber liquid, run along the smooth insides of the glass.
Jet lowered his drink and looked at the bottle.
The bottle sat on the table, empty.
The only thing he left behind.
The bottle sat on the table, empty.
A solid object to hold a vanishing memory.
The bottle sat on the table, empty.
"Stop that," Jet whispered, averting his eyes.
*****
Faye stepped through the round doorway back into the livingroom. After blinking blearily once or twice, she noticed the strain evident on Jet's face. "What's up?"
Jet looked up at her over his shoulder, the sharp angry points of his eyes softening.
"Spike told me a story once..." he began.
Faye rounded the stair railing, and sat down at the other end of the couch.
"...a story about a tiger-striped cat who lived and died a million times before finally finding his peace." Jet sipped his whiskey, his eyes focused on some distant, uncertain point before him. A strange, sad smile touched the edges of his lips. "Sometimes... sometimes I wonder how many lives he had before this one... how many times he lived and died and turned into someone new..."
He blinked and swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. When he lowered his glass, he found Faye's wide, green, glistening eyes pulling him back to the present. Sighing softly, he returned the cup to the table with a soft metallic tap.
Faye was in the act of reaching for her own drink when he asked, "...and how many lives have you had?"
She froze.
After a pause: "None that matter, really."
"What are you talking about?" Jet blinked incredulously. "You finally found out who you are - your past is put to rest, and that's more than most people can ever say..." he swallowed. "Your whole life's ahead of you now, with a real identity. Aren't you excited about that?"
She fixed him with a hard emerald stare. "I'm tired." The words prickled on her tongue. "I'm tired of changing identities. I'm tired of changing places. I'm fucking tired of change." Her throat tightened. "So I'm starting over AGAIN. Big deal. What good is a new boat if you're the only one sailing it?"
She lifted her glass to her lips, and spoke softly into it with a voice like dust:
"I'd rather be dead than alone."
Jet whirled to her, gripping her shoulders fiercely. Faye's glass fell from her hand, splashing whiskey onto his left leg, onto the floor. The icy crash of the shattering glass was buried by his shouts.
"Dammit, don't you DARE say that, Faye!" His deep, thorny voice tore the curtain of silence between them. "Haven't you learned anything?!"
He saw her wince under his hard grip. Oh, God...
Awkwardly loosening his hold, he whispered, "I... I'm... "
Faye bit her lower lip.
Jet took a deep, ragged breath, and began speaking again.
"It's just that... as long as you're alive, you have the chance to set things right; to live the way you want. And unlike him, I know you're not too bullheaded to believe it."
Faye sat silently for so long that Jet began to wonder if she had even heard him, or if he had even said a word at all. At last, her lips parted in a soft sigh, and she spoke.
"Jet... every time I think I've finally gotten my life together, it's all fallen to pieces.
"When I was back on Earth, I was so excited about going away to college and starting a new life there... and the next thing I knew, my life, my family, everything I knew was obliterated in an accident.
"When I woke from cold sleep, I made what I thought was my first friend. I thought Whitney would take care of me... but he was just a scam and a lie like everything else.
"I thought I'd finally found my home back on Earth, but it vanished, so I looked for home here on the Bebop... and ... and I arrived just in time to see that fall apart too." She rubbed her forehead, her elbows on her knees. Her silky black hair shielded her face from his sight.
"Whenever it looks like I've finally found my place -- a place where I belong -- it evaporates into thin air, like waking up from a dream."
Jet leaned forward in his seat and turned towards her. "Maybe you should look to reality for what you want, instead of chasing after a dream."
Something small fell behind her hands. Two small, dark, wet spots suddenly appeared on Faye's knee.
"I said I'm tired of it, Jet," she whispered. "I'm tired of reality... of the way things are. Home is the dream. Reality is everyone walking out on you and leaving you alone."
"Is it?" he asked, more a statement than a question. He laid his cybernetic hand gently across her small shoulder. Perhaps the liquor had made him brave; perhaps it was just the thing he should do. He couldn't say for sure. "You know, Faye... I'm still here."
He can't be mocking me - not now. She looked sideways at him through the thin curtain of her hair, her red-rimmed eyes burning and wet. The sincerity etched in Jet's face made something in her chest swell and ache.
She didn't know when the dam had broken; only that suddenly, her face was very wet, her eyes and cheeks hot, her shoulders and chest shaking - and that she was enveloped in rough, strong warmth.
"I'm still here, Faye," he said again, his deep voice rumbling against her ears. "I'm still here."
