Oh, we'll have a Christmas , a summer Christmas
We'll have one fine fun-time unwinding
In the sunshine Christmas
Oh, we'll spend yuletide, down by the poolside
This year let's have Christmas in July

            Jet normally despised people who sat around during the holidays or any other time of leisure grunting with satisfaction and remarking this is the life.  It made them sound lazy and damn stupid.  But he had to admit, sitting on a beach chair as the sun beat down on him, drinking an umbrella drink he could actually afford, that this was indeed the life. 

            On the next chair, Spike was sipping his unimaginative double scotch on the rocks, but it was good scotch and he seemed happy.  Jet saw he'd traded in the suit for baggy shorts and a loud, extremely red Hawaiian shirt decorated with Christmas palm trees.  Jet was not the only one to notice this.

            "Nice threads, cowboy," said Faye as she sat on the arm of his chair with a Mai Tai.  "You auditioning to be the next Jimmy Buffet, perhaps?"  Spike grunted from behind his shades.  It might have been a "bite me".  Faye turned to Jet with a winning smile and leaned across Spike so far she almost fell out of her teeny bikini.  "Jet…"

            "No," said Jet automatically. 

            "But I just want a couple hundred for my bar tab!" whined Faye.  Jet flicked down his own shades and gave her what he hoped was a stern, father-type look.

            "You used up your share of the bounty paying for your wanton property destruction and repairs to your ship.  It ain't my problem."  Faye turned to her other hope, although he was even less receptive to smiling and boobs.

            "Spike…?"

            "No," he said.  "Go away, Faye.  You're blocking my sun." 

            "Like it would make any difference to you, Pasty!" Faye snapped as she stormed off.  Spike sighed.

            "You okay?" Jet said on impulse.  It wasn't something he asked Spike.  Hell, it was something he'd never asked Spike.  But his partner had been even quieter than usual since the shootout on the rooftop, and Jet felt it was his duty to at least say something.

            "Sure," said Spike.  "We got our money, nice vacation in south Ganymede for the holiday, got away from all that horrible White Christmas bullshit…what's not to be okay with?"

            "I saw that girl, Margaret," said Jet.  "At the morgue."  He looked at Spike questioningly.  It was his best interrogation technique—make a statement that could be interpreted one way by an innocent person and another by a guilty and then just sit back and give them a look. 

            "I'm over it," said Spike shortly.  "But I've decided something."

            "What's that?" said Jet. 

            "Christmas," said Spike authoritatively, "is without a doubt the most masochistic, messed-up, sick, over-commercialized and emotionally manipulative part of the year, and I'm never getting mixed up in it again."  He stood and lit a cigarette. 

            "A wise man once said Christmas is what you make it," said Jet. 

            "Really?  Who?" said Spike bitterly. 

            "I dunno," said Jet with a shrug.  "I think I might have made it up."  A smile twitched on Spike's lips, then disappeared.

            "Well, this is what I make it.  So…merry Christmas, I guess."  Jet grunted.

            "Yeah.  Merry fuckin' Christmas."  Spike turned and walked off down the beach with his slow, hunched gait.  Jet sighed and leaned back in his chair.  Try as he might, not one of his crew was happy with their holiday. 

            "Jet-person!" Ed squealed excitedly, bounding up next to his chair and raining salt-water drops on him.  She was wearing a one-piece bathing suit covered with huge hibiscus flowers and swimming goggles in the place where her VR set usually rested.  Scratch that.  The insane one was happy. 

            "Hey, Ed," said Jet.  "I suppose it's too much to hope you're having a good time."

            "Ed is a fish!" Ed announced.  "If Ed does not go back to the sea soon Ed will suffocate and flop around like THIS!"  She fell to the ground and began to undulated her whole body.  Ein, also covered in sand and seawater, ran around her in circles barking.  Ed stopped suddenly and looked up at Jet.  "Would Jet person like to swim with us?!"  Jet looked down into his drink.  It was empty.  He pulled himself to his feet.

            "Sure, Ed.  Let's go have a Christmas swim." 

            "This is the best Christmas EVER in the history of Bebop!" shouted Ed as she rolled back down the beach to the water.  Jet smiled, a little, as he followed her by a more conventional walking route. 

            "I don't know about that, Ed.  But I think we did all right."

            Faye looked up as a skinny, pale hand plopped two hundred woolong on the bar next to her.  Spike spoke around the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, mostly ash by now.  "Merry Christmas."  The bartender brought Spike another double, no questions asked. 

            "So I take it I'm back in your good graces?"  Spike raised an eyebrow.

            "When were you ever in my good graces, Faye?"  Faye sighed and sucked impatiently on her new Mai Tai.

            "Cut it out for once, Spike.  Just drop that wounded act and tell me to my face.  You were angry because I shot Margaret Tan."  Spike shrugged.

            "No.  Not because you shot Margaret Tan."  Faye looked at him with dawning realization.

            "You're angry because you couldn't," she said softly.  Spike's face darkened as he drained his drink.

            "I don't know if I'm ever gonna get over this, Faye.  It's like scaling a 20-foot wall with a 10-foot ladder."  He looked at her.  "You know?"

            "Yeah," Faye said, because she did. 

            "You think?" Spike asked.  Faye absently ate a piece of fruit from her drink.

            "No, Spike.  I don't."  She didn't add what she always thought when Spike lapsed into one of his Julia moods.  That woman is gonna be the death of you, is what I think. 

            Spike slammed his hand on the bar.  "This is bullshit.  Christmas is the one time of the year when they arbitrarily tell you to be happy, and because the universe ISN'T happy and it never WILL be happy everyone gets all fucked up."  Faye laughed.

            "I think you just hit the nail on its proverbial flat head."  Spike sighed and put his head in his hands.

            "Hey man," he said to the bartender.  "Another round for me and my friend."  Faye held up her hand.

            "Not me.  I've had like six of these things and I think I'm beginning to bloat from the fruit juice."  Spike smiled lopsidedly at her.

            "Live a little, Faye.  It is Christmas, after all."  Faye sighed and motioned for another cornucopia drink. 

            "And what are the holidays good for if not getting drunk off your ass?"  Spike raised his tumbler briefly before gulping it down. 

            "I have no idea.  And I don't think I wanna know, either."  Faye also raised her glass before taking a swig.

            "I'll drink to that."

HAVE A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS, SPACE COWBOY…

End notes: Songs used in chapter headings are (in order) 'Jingle Bell Rock', 'It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas', 'Santa Claus Is Coming to Town', 'I'll Be Home for Christmas', a slightly modified version of 'Jingle Bells', 'White Christmas', 'Blue Christmas' and 'Christmas In July'.  Novel and poem excerpts used in dialogue are from A Christmas Carol and The Night Before Christmas.  All printed material, songs and lyrics are the property of their respective creators and this author is making no profit.

End author's note: As I mentioned in the header notes, this story is possibly a prequel to a series of fics I've had bouncing around in my head loosely entitled 'Cowboy Bebop: The Lost Sessions'.  If you'd be interested in reading more of my Bebop ensemble pieces, PLEASE let me know in review.  Thanks to everyone who reviewed me.  I'll be back in the new year with a new story of some kind.  Happy holidays to all my readers, whatever holiday they may celebrate.