I don't own Cowboy Bebop and I don't own the song "Wash Jones"



"Damn, I need a smoke," Spike thought to himself as he sat in the cramped ventilation system of the ship he had stowed away on. It was actually kind of a weird ship, there were all these odd gadgets all over the place; random parts of old cars and television screens along with rackets and power tools. In the corner sat an old beat up mono racer that looked like it would never fly again. Spike had mused after he had snuck on board the ship that the person who owned this ship probably needed to be locked away. Either that or they were some kind of mad genius; probably still needed to be locked away though. You know what they say about genius and insanity, right? There's a fine line in between.



~I was talking to an oak tree

When the cypress butted in~



Spike had somehow managed to fall asleep when the ship finally took off. He awoke to the sounds of loud cursing and clanging noises. Trying not to make too much noise, Spike shifted around to see if he could see the owner of the ship. He was greeted with the sight of a middle aged man, in his early 40's, rough looking, like he had seen a battle or two.

Spike chuckled as he watched the guy struggle with the old mono racer, "Yep, he's definitely a loony." The guy appeared to be trying to attach different parts from other planes to the racer, and apparently it wasn't working too well, hence the cursing.



~Out of car parts, a raven

Made a nest inside my skin~



After a couple of hours, the guy had managed to attach two odd looking wings to the racer, and appeared to be dragging a huge laser from beneath some boxes and other random junk. The racer was starting to remind Spike of some Greek statues that he had seen in a museum once that were miraculously salvaged from Earth. Spike remembered reading somewhere that the Romans had replaced the arms and heads on Greek statues with different arms and heads from other statues, so they ended up having sculptures with different colored body parts. The mismatched pieces of the mono racer reminded him of those statues. He liked it.



~To understand me better

You all ought to follow me home~



Session 7: Wash Jones



~I make a wish, I clean a fish~



grumble grumble grumble...Spike's stomach began to rumble. At some point he had fallen asleep again, and now all he knew was that he was very hungry. "When was the last time I ate anyway?" he thought to himself, trying to recall. "Didn't eat before getting on the ship, I don't think I ate anything at the hospital. And I had that operation... I don't think I've eaten since before that fight with the Black Tigers..." He glanced down at his stomach as it rumbled again. "Why wasn't I hungry earlier? The IV at the hospital?" Spike stopped contemplating this as he felt a pang of hunger stab him ferociously in the side. He shimmied out of the ventilation system and stretched his legs while wondering what direction the kitchen was in. Giving up, he decided to follow his nose. As he wandered the halls he vaguely wondered where the old man's room was. Even though Spike wasn't particularly worried about the consequences of him being discovered, he couldn't just throw caution to the wind. All thought ceased as he caught a whiff of grilled beef. He began running in the direction of the smell, presumably towards the kitchen. "Screw caution," was his last coherent thought for a while.



~I can scream like a cicada~



Spike was currently cleaning out the fridge when he heard a rough gravely voice come from behind him. "Who the hell are you..." He froze as he heard a gun being cocked. "...And what the fuck are you doing with my fridge?"

Spike turned around slowly. "Umm....I can explain," he said after he pulled a hot dog out of his mouth. The guy waved him over to the supposed living room with his gun. "You had better," he said as he kept his gun trained on Spike. "Maybe you can persuade me not to hand you over to the cops."

Spike gulped, he hadn't even considered the police. If he was caught by the police then the Red Dragons would be after him. He might talk, and that would be bad for the syndicate. Spike sat down on the couch, trying not to panic and trying to think of what to say to the man standing in front of him with a gun pointed at his face. To be honest, Spike wasn't even sure why he had run away. It was just his gut instinct.

Spike shrugged, calmer now. "I got in some trouble so I decided to leave."

The guy regarded him suspiciously. "Why'd you pick my ship then? There are hundreds more with more gullible men than me," he said, not accepting Spike's explanation.



~Gin the seed right out of the bowl~



Spike shrugged again, "I just picked yours randomly. At the time I wasn't thinking too clearly. I didn't have any money, so I just decided to hop a ship."

The guy continued glaring at Spike, "How old are you anyway? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

Spike nods, "I'll be seventeen in June."

"Shit kid, how can you get yourself in trouble so young? You into drugs? Gangs?"

Spike chuckled, "Kind of, but not exactly."

"What do you mean 'not exactly'?" the guy yells. "And why the hell aren't you in school? That's one thing about kids these days. They blow off a good, FREE, education like it's nothing! What you kids don't realize is that not much is free in the real world! You should appreciate what you have while you've still got it, instead of hiding out on the ships of people you don't know to go planet hopping to places you've never been before!"

Spike just stared at the guy, speechless. The guy, now severely annoyed, restates his earlier question, "Well? Why aren't you in school?"



~Ride the train to Memphis~



Finally, having managed to recover his tongue, Spike replied in a meek voice, "I graduated...a couple of years ago."

The guy, prepared to go on another tirade, opened his mouth, then stopped. "You already graduated, huh? Well, then, why aren't you in college?" he said, wondering why he suddenly cared.

Spike thought about this for a moment, "Well, we couldn't afford it and I didn't really want to go anyway."



~Where there's cotton to be sold~



"But couldn't you have gotten a scholarship?"

"I tried to, for Jack, but I didn't fit the criteria. Not enough community service," Spike said, wondering why he was telling this stranger with a gun all this. Oh, yeah. The gun.

"Who's this Jack? Why didn't you hit him up for help to get you out of trouble?"

Spike's eyes darkened, "He died. A couple of months ago."

The older man stopped. He asked Spike another question, but this time there was sorrow for the boy in his voice, "Was he close to your family? Did your parents know about it?"

Spike laughed bitterly, "They're dead too. Jack found me in his backyard when I was six."



~To understand this better~



The man lowered his gun, "So who've you been staying with?"

"No one. I can take care of myself."

The older man nodded understandingly. "Well, I guess it's all right then. You can stay here. I've been needing a new apprentice anyway."



~You all ought to follow me home~



Spike, whose attention had gradually shifted to his shoes throughout the conversation, looked up. "Really? Me? Your apprentice?"

"Sure kid, as long as you want to. And knowing me, that won't be long."

Spike looked down at his shoes. "I haven't been completely truthful with you. I wasn't really in any trouble on Mars..." He looked back up. "I just needed to get away, think some things through..."



~Make a wish and clean the fish

That's why they call me Wash Jones~



The guy smiled, "It's all right kid. By the way, my name is Doohan." He held out his hand to Spike. Spike grasped it firmly. "Spike Spiegel."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------



"Looks like we'll be landing on Earth soon," Doohan said as he glanced out the window.

"Earth! You didn't tell me you lived on Earth!"

"You never asked."

Spike grumbled and ran to the window. Even though he wasn't too happy about going to Earth, he had still never been off Mars before so this was something at least.

He holds onto the kitchen counter as they make their landing, just waiting for a meteor to come and hit them.

"Oh, come on kid, it's not that bad," Doohan says as he steps outside.



~I feel like driving but my car won't run~



Spike shrugged, thinking "Well if I die, I'll probably take him with me, so I won't be lonely anyway."

Doohan led him to his shop and showed Spike where he'd be sleeping and such. Spike's room basically consisted of a storage closet with a bed in it, but Spike didn't mind. He'd been living in the rough for the past half year, any bed was cool with him.



~I feel like plowing but my mules won't come~



"So you know anything about mechanics?" Doohan asked as he showed Spike his working area.

"Not really, but Jack was always messing with his car so I picked up a thing or two."



~I was lost down in the bottom I

was cutting through the cane~



Doohan grumbled, "Well, I guess that's just as good a place as any to start...Hey, have you ever flown a plane?"

Spike shakes his head, "Nope."



~Tied my team up to a rusty trace chain~



"Well, that's something that we should take of isn't it?" He points in the direction of the mismatched racer. "You can learn on the Swordfish II when I'm done with it."

Spike looked at him quizzically, "You've made another one of those?"

Doohan shook his head, "Nah, it's named after this old model air plane I used to have called the Swordfish. It's what really got me started in my career in aviation."



~That's why they call me Wash Jones~