I know, I know… the story is ridiculously slow moving.  I'll get to some interesting stuff, eventually.  But for now it's just me futzing around with the characters because I like to do that kind of crap.  (shameless plug)  Everyone review, review, review.  I want to know if there are people even reading this or if I should just fucking forget it ^_^

Damn him, damn him, damn him.  Faye was sitting in the little folding chair on the outside deck that she had found out there, staring out at the rain-clouded night sky and scowling.  She knew it was too late for her, too late to back out of this now.  She knew that she should have started screaming in the diner like she'd said she would have, she knew that she should have spat in his face when he asked her to come to the Bebop after she got off work.  She shouldn't have told her co-workers that he really was an old friend, and she knew damn well that she should have never come to the Bebop at all.

But there she was after all, lazing around on the ship like she'd never left.  And it wasn't even the lure of the money that Spike's mysterious plan could get her that made her stay.  It was the mysterious plan-maker himself.

"Hey Faye," he'd bubbled earlier, flopping over on the couch, wiggling his thumb at her.  "Wanna have a thumb war?"

She'd looked at him like he was insane, and blinked.  "A what?"

He continued to wiggle his thumb in persistence.  "C'mon, I'm bored as fuck.  Jet'll kick my ass—he's got a metal arm, for crying out loud.  Thumb wrestle me."

"Fine, whatever."  She'd jabbed her hand into his, ignoring the way her heartstrings pulled and her stomach lurched, and gone through the rites of the pre-thumb war chant like she wasn't at all bothered that his hand dwarfed hers, pretended that the heat coming from his strong fingers wasn't making her whole arm tingle…

Of course he'd won.  His thumb was a lot bigger and stronger than hers, and in about point three seconds he'd nailed her thumb to her own hand and held it there for a few seconds before batting her hand away in gleeful victory.

"Man, you suck at that," he muttered, before leaning back to the other side of the couch, still wiggling his thumb about.  It looked as if he was practicing Jeet Kun Do moves with it.

And there she was, hours later, still obsessing over the moment their hands had touched for longer than a millisecond with a kind of schoolgirl nervousness.  God, she hated herself.  No matter how many times she'd tried to tell herself that Spike couldn't give two shits about her while on a prescription strength enema, the lingering little hopes kept coming back. 

She wanted him.  It was a simple as that; she wasn't used to not being able to have what she wanted.  Her brain just couldn't get over it.  More like her heart just couldn't get over it. 

Faye had kind of gotten used to her mild-mannered little life, and then he had to come in and tear it all to bits.  She was like any other twenty-five year old—well, besides the whole nasty frozen-for-years bit—she'd gone out on her own, got an apartment, she paid for cable television, she bought Tupperware and boxed cereals, put gas in her car, and even bought a cat to keep her company, for Christ's sake.  She went out with the girls from work, sometimes, and even got drunk enough to sing karaoke with them sometimes.

Faye had even tried her hand at dating once, twice.  She'd given up on it, disgusted at herself that she kept looking for little things in the poor guys that would remind her of SpikeSpike, of all people.  Spike was the kind of guy that she couldn't ever bring home to her parents, if she still had them at all, that was.  There were good qualities about him; some that he tried to keep more hidden than others, but on the whole he was just the Wrong Kind of Guy.  He was the bad boy type that all girls stupidly fell for and ended up crying over, just like she herself had.  Spike was just so…so…impractical.  Spike was like a racy red sports car convertible when all you needed was a four-door sedan.  Spike was like the gigantic home-theatre system when all you needed was a thirteen inch black and white TV.  Spike was like the triple-shot latte with vanilla flavouring and extra whipped cream when all you really needed was just a glass of water.

Spike was the pretty, pretty thing that you wanted but knew that you shouldn't get.

Faye sighed.  Her self control always had been so weak when it came to things like that.  At that moment, she found her lusting had switched briefly from Spike to a triple-shot latte with vanilla flavouring and extra whipped cream.  Her stomach brumbled.

"Hungry much?" the man of her musings cracked, having come up out of nowhere.  Faye guessed that, oh-so-cliched as it was, she'd been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't heard him approach.  He settled himself down on the deck next to the folding chair, endless legs stretched out in front of him and his comparably endless arms behind him propping him up.  A light breeze ruffled his already much-ruffled hair.  "I'm starving too.  I was thinking about ordering a pizza.  Well, Jet and I decided to go ahead and do it, I guess I should say.  Should be coming within thirty minutes.  Or," he said, holding up one finger for emphasis, "we get it for free.  Hot diggity."

"Can we be serious here for just a minute?" she asked abruptly, remembering that Spike was always more likely to treat her like a human being and level with her if she caught him off guard.  It was like he was secretly awed at her ability to catch him unaware, and decided to reward her by acting like she was anybody else and not the shrew woman.

"'Bout what?" he asked calmly, and Faye took that as a sign that he had been effectively caught off guard by the lack of snap in his response. 

She sighed, uncrossing her legs and setting her foot down on the deck with a delicate click of her heel.  "Did you really give a fuck about how Jet and I felt after these two years, or did you just come back because you needed our help?"  She was almost afraid of his answer, because if nothing else, Spike had a tendency to be brutally honest.

He laughed, the wonderfully powerful deep thing that she had remembered it to be.  "Sometimes I think you take me for a bigger monster than I really am," he mused, a lilt in his voice.  "It's both, I suppose.  More of the wondering what you were up to, though, probably, because I could more than likely pull off my plan by myself.  Just thought it would be nice to give kind of a 'Hey, Heads up, I Ain't Dead' kind of visit, no matter what happened."

"How considerate of you," she said dryly, "to take time out of your busy schedule to remember those who you'd left behind."

"I was busy," he replied simply, his wide shoulders moving up and down quickly.  "I owed a Syndicate.  It wasn't like I could just up and ditch out on them, lest I find myself in another Red Dragon-type situation.  Besides, looks like you guys were busy, too."

Faye gripped the white plastic arm of the chair, cracking her ring finger nail with the pressure.  "Yeah, busy being worried fucking sick, Spike!  You could have at least called us, or something.  We were busy putting our lives back together, is what we were busy with."

"Faye," he said patiently, but not entirely unkindly, "you, in a takes-one-to-know-one kind of manner, should know that I am like a stray cat.  I come, I eat your food for a while, I sleep on your couch, and then I'm gone.  Honestly, I hate to say it, but you all should have known better than to get that attached to me.  You, especially."

And then again, she was crying, little rivers running down her cheeks.  However, this time she had actually followed his advice and worn waterproof mascara, so her makeup was not mussing.  Faye didn't know whether or not he had noticed the new development in their conversation yet.  She couldn't get herself to stop, partially because she was afraid.  She felt that somehow he knew that she was wildly, crazily in love with him and he was, in his own way, telling her that she was fucking nuts. 

"Oh, well, 'scuse us for caring," she muttered miserably, and then she felt his gaze on her, whereas she had not felt it before.  Now he noticed the newest development in their conversation, if he hadn't before.  She ignored his gaze.  "You can't tell me that you didn't become somewhat attached to us, as well."

"I already told you that I'm not sorry for what I did," he said in that same patient tone.  It was making her nuts.  Faye couldn't tell if he was trying to be gentle or if he was trying to be patronizing.  "Yeah, the Bebop was home to my screwed up little family, but not even you guys could have an impact on what needed to be done in my life.  Maybe I'm somewhat sorry that it all turned out so shittily, but I'm not sorry for leaving.  I needed to close the book on that part of my life, whether or not it fit into you guys' emotional plan for life or not."  He reached out and gave the side of her bare calf a little slap with the back of his hand, sitting up some.  "Hey.  What happened to that tough-as-nails Faye Valentine I remember, huh now?  She wouldn't let the past actions of some stupid lunkhead make her cry."

Faye finally looked down at him, and found him to be smiling faintly, giving her a look that she imagined a big brother would give his little sister who had fallen down and scraped her knee.  It almost made her want to cry more.  She sniffled at him pathetically, at a loss for words at finding herself in front of him in tears for the second time in one day.  She didn't even recall ever crying in front of him, ever before.

"C'mon, buck up, Romany," he said, in a soft, friendly tone.  "Stop crying.  Believe it or not, I do remember that you are a girl…and believe it or not, even the consciences of heartless monsters like me don't like to have girls crying in front of them."  He grinned suddenly, and rolled his eyes, shaking his head.  "Christ, listen to me—I'm attempting to console the shrew.  Whatever.  What're you crying for?  I ain't dead, after all."

"Are you sure you weren't sent back to the world of the living to atone for your sins or something?" she managed finally, giving him a weak smirk through her teary façade.  "You're being awfully damned nice for the regular old Spike Spiegel."

He shrugged and stood up suddenly, stretching, and then reaching into his inside breast pocket, pulling out a handkerchief.  "Like I said," holding the white square of cloth out to her, casually, "sometimes I think you take me for a bigger monster than I really am.  Not that I'm not a monster," he amended, just as casually, as Faye tentatively took the handkerchief and dried her eyes with it, carefully trying not to get makeup all over it.  "I'm kind of like a demi-monster, not the giant hulking thing with fangs under the bed that you perceive me to be."  He waved the handkerchief off flippantly when she tried to hand it back to him.  "Keep it.  I got a shitload of 'em, just so I can be the token guy who hands 'em to broads when they start bawling.  So typically me, eh?"

"Broads?" Faye asked, flatly.  "You ass."

Spike was staring at a small zipcraft making its way towards the Bebop, it's night spotlight on, streaking over the calm black waters of the harbour.  "Pizza's here," he muttered, a slight hint of disappointment in his voice.  "Damnit.  Guess it's not free."

The zipcraft landed on the Bebop's landing deck, and the pizza guy hopped out as Spike walked over to meet him, handed him a few wulongs, and then took off again as Spike walked back to Faye with a monstrous pizza box in hand and that same big-brother smile on his face.

"We got the massively excessive size because we accounted for your un-ladylike appetite as well," he explained teasingly, indicating the box.  "Jet's half's got everything on it, and my half's got pineapple and jalapenos—you can take your pick.  You gonna come eat or are you gonna sit out here and cry like a baby all night?"

Faye didn't know whether she should slap him flush in the face or hug him—if it wouldn't have made the situation even more awkward than it already was, that is.  She settled for standing and putting her hands on her hips, not returning his smile but staring back at him, evenly.  "Thanks for taking that seriously, I guess.  …I didn't figure you would.  Either that or you would probably just blow up at me, or something."

Spike laughed at her then, raising an eyebrow at her like she was the weirdest thing in the world.  "You annoy the fuck out of me, Faye, but you seem to have my feelings towards you blown entirely out of proportion.  Whatever.  I'm not going to sit here and argue with you as to whether or not I regard you as a human being while I'm holding a delicious pizza in my hands.  I'm going to go inside and eat, and you can come along if you please."  He laughed again, and then dropped his voice an octave, or so it seemed and grew serious while still smiling, if that was even possible.

For Spike Spiegel, it was, she knew.  He often hid behind smiles.

"Jesus, Faye, why don't you just stop trying to figure it out, already?  Stop worrying about it and let it be."  He walked past her, still smiling, and headed for the hatch of the Bebop.  She stood rooted to her spot, confused but not really confused by his last words, staring out at the black waters of the harbour.

"Coming or not?" he called from the hatch, pausing until she turned around and made her way towards him, at which point he opened the hatch and went in, but left it open for her behind him.

"Figure what out?" Faye muttered to herself as she came in and closed the hatch, her stomach growling at the scent of pizza that lingered in the hallway in Spike's wake.  "Let what be?"  She pulled the locking mechanism to and sighed heavily, shutting her eyes briefly and making her way down the hallway.  "As if we both didn't know perfectly well already what it is."