**Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop belongs to Sunrise. "In a sentimental mood" is the jazz song playing in the background of the first scene. It is performed by Duke Ellington and John Coltrane. Characters and events depicted throughout this story are purely the children of the author's imagination. No similarity to any real life person or event is intended, and is completely coincidental.**
A/N: This is my first Cowboy Bebop fan fic so be gentle. It takes place after "The Real Folk Blues pt. 2. That said, let's rock and roll!
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Faye laid her head back over the arm of the couch and stared at the ceiling, her face a picture of boredom. Slowly she brought the cigarette to her lips and drew the smoke into her lungs, smiling at the tiny burning sensation it brought to the back of her throat.
Notes of jazz hung lazily in the air, mingling with the smoke her cigarette was producing. Faye raised a hand from its position on her stomach and mimicked a conductor's movements to the tune of the music.
It had been only an hour since Spike had left. An hour since she'd fired five bullets into the Bebop's ceiling with grief. An hour since she'd cried for him. And all he'd done is turn his back on her and walk away; as if the very act of her shedding tears wasn't as monumental as it had been.
Her mind turned the memory over and over again. She could picture his face as it hovered, barely inches away, in front of her's. She could recall her lips trembling as she'd longed to attach them to his mouth and pull him to her, refusing to let go until he'd called off his stupid decision. The one that by now had more than likely cost him his life.
Taking a deep breath she turned on her stomach. The stupid lunkhead. Went and got himself killed for nothing. Absolutely nothing! Sure wasn't for his own sake. That would be ridiculous! It went against the very grain of human instinct. The antelope doesn't run toward the lion. But then again, Spike had always had it backward hadn't he?
Faye buried her face in the couch's cushions. It hadn't been for Julia either, that much was true. Julia was dead. Stiff as a board. Sleeping the big sleep. Basically any other catchy little saying one could come up with would still amount to the same thing: Death.
Faye bit her lip and willed the tears not to resurface. She couldn't stand the thought that Spike had decided that dying with Julia was better than living with her. Of course that hadn't been the reason he gave her, but then again, there had never been an exact reason as far as she knew. They could have escaped the both of them. She from her debts, and he from his syndicate trappings. It would have worked out somehow.
She pictured herself—only half involuntary, pregnant with Spike's child. They were in a beautiful old house, somewhere in Asia, sitting on the stairs that led to the indoor courtyard. The courtyard itself was covered with two-hundred years worth of ivy, and possessed a cracked fountain that served as a catch for rain water. Up above them, the stairs turned into a balcony that led to the upstairs rooms. And in the ceiling was a circular skylight, the glass dirty and faded, even missing in some places. Spike was sitting on the ninth step up with Faye between his legs, his hands gently massaging the swollen globe that was her belly. Faye was staring up through the skylight, searching for something. Searching for what exactly? All she needed was right there around her.
"Coming through!" came the shouts of Jet Black, suddenly jarring Faye from her musings. "Make way, we need that couch!"
Faye scrambled off the couch, more curious than annoyed, as the Black Dog barked his orders, dragging a half-conscious Spike behind him.
Had Jet gone after Spike? When had that happened?
Faye found herself moving without thought, rushing for the first aid, and then assisting Jet. She watched without reaction as Spike's lesser wounds were cleaned, and then his gunshot wound attended to. As his head fell to the side, his eyes staring lifelessly forward. Was he dying? Or… Was he already dead?
Faye felt herself whimper helplessly as his skin paled. Scooting back against the chair to her left, she watched as his eyelids closed. As Jet kept working, seemingly oblivious to what was taking place within his young friend's body. Her hand shot out towards him, perhaps to get a lasting touch of him before his essence floated away. She clamped down on his yellow dress shirt, bloodied and dirty from his rendezvous with the grim reaper, and buried her face in his shoulder. Before she could stop herself, she was crying again. Sobbing into him, maybe hoping that her tears of life could bring him back.
She could feel Jet's awed stare as it penetrated her back, but wasn't self-conscious enough to let him stop her. "Faye." She heard him say.
"Faye. He'll be… You don't have to cry." Jet said trying to comfort her.
Faye ignored his words until finally she stopped. She raised her head to find that Jet had gone somewhere. She thought it wrong of him but didn't have the strength to get angry. Instead she slowly pulled Spike's dress shirt off of his still body and hugged it to her, the wetness from her tears moistening her own top. "Come on Cowboy, don't leave me. Don't leave me twice." she begged him quietly.
"I won't leave you." She head him answer weakly.
Faye's head snapped up, his eyes were open, the pain of his wounds showing immediately.
"Spike?" she whispered disbelievingly.
"I'm here Faye. I was—never going to leave you."
Faye smiled weakly and ran her fingers along the edge of his cheek. "Long time no see Cowboy."
Spike smiled, "Irrational shrew woman."
"Lunkhead idiot." Faye returned before pressing her lips to his.
"The pain of love is the pain of being alive. It is a perpetual wound."
--Maureen Duffy