Fuck fuck fuck. Jet was right; this guy is tough. I duck behind a metal support and snap another clip into my Glock, waiting for the bullets to stop whizzing past me.

"You all right, Faye?" I hear Jet yell from across the room, and I jump back into the fray.

"Just peachy!" I answer as I target Roberts, the bounty head, and let a few rounds loose. Damnit, missed him. I retreat behind the support just in time to miss another blast of gunfire. That was close.

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" I snarl at the bounty. He laughs and fires again. I see Jet circling around, ready to attack, but Roberts spins and uses the butt of the gun against the side of Jet's head. He drops to the ground.

Fuck. Again.

I don't even think about it, I just leap from behind the beam before he can shoot Jet. "Hey, asshole!" I scream, and the jerk turns toward me, a grin on his ugly face. He dives over the top of the bar as I pull the trigger.

Well, that worked at least. I mentally beseech Jet to hang on before running after Roberts. He escapes out the back and starts sprinting down the alley. I give chase, firing a few times.

He disappears around a corner and I curse, loading my last clip before I plunge after him.

Suddenly I'm flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me. A booted foot kicks the gun from my hand and a second connects with my ribs. I recoil from the pain and use one arm to shield my head as the other goes for the knife in my boot.

I hear a shot ring out and the kicking stops. I roll on to my side and lean forward, my fingers stretching as I try to find the knife hilt.

"Tut tut. That's no way to treat a lady," a familiar voice drawls. I blink in shock before realizing I must be imagining things. The owner of the voice died eight months ago. However, I have a reprieve and I'm not going to waste it. My hand finds the knife and I pull it out, struggling to sit up.

Spike is fighting with the bounty. I must have hit my head too hard when I landed.

The imaginary Spike is advancing on the bounty, forcing him to back up. When he gets within range I plunge my knife into Roberts' thigh. He groans and sinks to the ground, cussing. I pull a pair of handcuffs from the waist of my jeans and snap them around his wrists, gritting my teeth at the movement. Each breath feels like fire and I'm pretty sure several ribs are cracked, if not broken. I purposely focus on the bounty, waiting for the hallucination to go away.

"You'll need this, Romani," my hallucination speaks, holding my Glock out. I sit there staring up at him as he gives me a lopsided grin, his dark green shock of hair sticking out at every angle. He's dressed in his blue suit and a cigarette dangles from his lips. He seems unperturbed by my lack of response; in fact, he appears to be enjoying it.

I take a few deep breaths but he's still there, smirking and holding my gun. He looks so real, down to the smoke wafting from his cigarette. I sigh, ignore the pain in my side, and say the only thing I can think of that doesn't sound crazy.

"Got another smoke?"

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I scoot backwards and prop myself against a wall before lighting the cigarette. After a few drags I'm feeling a little more like myself. The dream-Spike is still there, his hands tucked into his pockets and staring off into space. Roberts is still cussing, demanding to be released, so I borrow a trick from his book and knock him in the temple with the butt of the gun. He slumps back to the ground, silent.

I watch Spike for a few minutes, waiting to see him fade away or start wavering before my eyes. He looks as solid as he ever did, so I speak.

"Who the hell are you?"

He turns to face me, the smirk growing wider. "Me? I'm just an old-fashioned cowboy."

I start shaking. I can't help it; I'm pissed as hell and very confused, not a good combination. People don't just appear from the dead. "Don't fuck with me!" I yell and aim my gun at him. "Who are you and why are you doing this?"

The Spike look-alike raises his eyebrows. "Damn, Faye. I was just trying to help a lady out. You know who I am." Suddenly he looks a little nervous. "Don't you? You didn't lose your memory again, did you?"

I laugh bitterly. "No, my memory is just fine. The Spike Spiegel I knew never thought I was a lady." I take a drag from my cigarette again and wince at the pain in my side. "He's also dead."

He puts his back to the wall next to me and slides down to the ground. "The Faye Valentine I knew never would have left me roses, either."

"How did you--?" I whip my head around to stare at him. He's calmly smoking as if nothing's out of the ordinary.

"I was there. I'm also, in case you missed that part, very much alive."

Suddenly I'm even angrier than before. "You were there? You've been alive this whole goddamned time and never let us know?"

"What was I supposed to think, Faye? I woke up in a hospital alone. I tried to find the Bebop and it was gone. I had no idea you thought I was dead until I saw you that day at the Syndicate headquarters." He stubs out his cigarette and lights another one right away.

"But when you saw me that day, you could have said something!" I've held on to this anger for months. No way am I letting it go this easily.

"I could have," he agreed.

"Why didn't you?" I scream furiously.

He sighs and tilts his head back, staring up at the awning over our heads. "To be honest, I didn't get there until right before you left. I only saw you from the back. I didn't even recognize you at first." He shifts his gaze back to me. "When I realized it was you, you had already taken off in the Red Tail. I didn't have enough time to follow. I cruised around, hoping to find the Bebop, but it wasn't there."

The anger is gone, leaving only a confused acceptance. "No. I came alone that day."

He nods, and we smoke in silence for a few moments.

"Where've you been?" I ask curiously.

He lifts one lanky shoulder before letting it fall again. "Here and there. Hunting bounties. You? Still on the Bebop?"

I shake my head, trying to grasp that Spike is here, alive. It feels too dreamlike and I'm afraid I'll wake up to find that's all it was. "No, I... uh... I'm living back on Earth. Jet and Ed are visiting me. Oh! Jet! He's still in the bar. I've got to go get him." I try to stand but the pain shoots through my middle and I sink back down to the ground with a moan.

Spike slides an arm around me and hefts me on to my feet. Before he can release me, I grab his suit jacket with both hands and stare up into his face. "I'm not dreaming, am I?" I ask in a rush.

I see a wave of sadness pass over his feature before he hides it with another quirky grin. "No. This isn't a dream."

Satisfied, I release him and step back. "Well, cowboy, what are you waiting for? Aren't you gonna grab the bounty there?"

He just stares at me, waiting. I left out a loud huff and roll my eyes. "For a cut of the profits, of course."

He gives a mock bow before lifting the unconscious Roberts from the ground. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I denied a lady's request?"

I let that one pass, but only because I'm too dazed to think straight.

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We're seated around my dining room table again, only this time we're all here, and we're fifteen million woolongs richer. We're all gorging ourselves on sushi rolls that Jet and I prepared after collecting the bounty. Jet keeps patting Spike's shoulder and urging him to have more sea eel. Ed is sneaking pieces of dinner to Ein under the table, and I'm trying to catch glimpses of Spike when no one's looking.

Everyone's in high spirits. Spike hasn't even called me a shrew yet. So why do I feel so unsettled?

I suppose I have the right. It's not ever day that the dead man a woman loves suddenly appears to save her ass.

He hasn't mentioned Julia once.

When we're finished eating, Jet insists on taking care of the dishes and Ed tugs on Spike's arm, dragging him off for the 'grand tour'. I take the opportunity to slip outside for a moment alone. The sun has started setting and soon the sky will be alight with meteors streaking toward the surface of the planet. They scare most people into moving to another colonized planet. Sometimes I wonder why I decided to settle here, where all my work might disappear in an instant due to one well placed rock.

I guess I just like living dangerously. Or maybe I need this tie to my past.

I walk through the gardens to the edge of my land, a secluded spot among the saplings I've planted. The sky is changing colors, gold and red vying for prominence on the horizon. I wrap my arms around my bandaged middle and watch as the daylight dims.

He's alive. It was only a short while ago that I convinced myself he was really dead, yet here he is, being led around my home by a rambunctious thirteen year old. My rival and friend is back, and while I should be overjoyed, I'm just deeply confused.

He explained what happened. I know the hows and the whys and the whens; I'm clear on all that. It's my own emotions that have me all tied up.

I guess I'm afraid. What if he walks away again? I don't know how I can handle that. I'm still so angry that he left in the first place. It's not rational, I know, but I never claimed to be.

Damnit. It was all so much simpler when he was dead.

I dig in my pocket for a pack of cigarettes. I take one, light it with a flick of my zippo, and inhale deeply. I hold the calming nicotine inside my lungs for a few seconds before exhaling a stream of smoke. I watch it drift up, barely visible in the dusky evening.

There are footsteps behind me and I tense, one hand drifting down to hover at my waist, ready to grab the gun tucked in the small of my back. As the steps draw nearer, however, I recognize the stride and let my arm drop back to my side as I take another drag from my cigarette.

"Mind if I join you?" Spike's voice drifts over to me, and I shake my head. He moves to my side and I silently offer him a cigarette. He takes one and lights it up, the flame from the lighter casting a golden glow to his face before he extinguishes it.

"Nice place you got here."

"Thanks."

He exhales, the smoke drifting up into the evening air. "Been here long?"

"About seven months," I answer. "I just finished it a few weeks ago though."

He glances over at me, disbelief visible on his face. "You did this?"

"Most of it. I had to hire a few guys for some of the stuff, but I did the majority of it."

He stares at me wordlessly. I shrug. "It was important to me." I can't explain to him that I turned all the pain into work, into something positive, that this house means more to me than boards and stone and shingles.

He grabs my hand, turns it palm up. The calluses are plainly visible, even in the fading light. He trails a finger over the roughened skin, tickling my hand, before releasing it. "I guess it was", he says simply.

I watch the sky, the reds changing to purples as the last of the light slowly dies. A few of the stars are twinkling already, but the heavens look empty without the moon from my childhood. I miss it.

"You know," I say, stamping out my cigarette butt, "Jet and Ed are going to be here for a few weeks. You're welcome to stay as well, if you want."

He seems surprised by my invitation. Then again, I was never invited to stay aboard the Bebop. I just wormed my way in.

He doesn't answer right away, and I feel my hopes sinking. I'm about to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence when he clears his throat and says, "All right. I will."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Let's head back in. I'll show you your room."

Jet's sitting on the sofa watching TV when we pass through the living room, and Ed is furiously typing away at Tomato with her hands and toes. I lead Spike up the stairs and open a door halfway down the hall. He walks in first, taking in the navy and beige décor while I point out the closet and the light switches. He pokes his head through a second door with a questioning look.

"My own bathroom?"

I can't help but smile. "Surely you remember that I don't like to share, Cowboy. Don't worry, there's plenty of hot water for all of us." I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.

"Faye."

"Hmm?" I look back over my shoulder to see him standing in the middle of the room with a smile on his face.

"Thank you."

I feel my chest tighten with emotion, but I just smile back. "No problem. See you later."

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The clock glows in the darkness, mocking my insomnia. I growl and turn over, pulling a pillow over my head. Still my thoughts run on and on, taunting me, swirling around inside my head until I give up the pretense of sleep. I sit up and check the clock for the hundredth time that night.

One thirty in the morning. Damnit.

I push the covers aside and swing my legs to the floor. There's a warm breeze coming in through the open window so I don't bother with the slippers tucked under the bed. I slip out of my room and pad down to the kitchen barefoot in my thigh length t-shirt.

The room is almost pitch black from the absence of moonlight. I leave the light off, loathe to disturb the comforting darkness. I don't need it anyway; I know exactly where everything is. It's not my first late night trip to the kitchen. I reach for the salt shaker, take a few limes from the fruit basket on the counter, and remove a knife from the cutting block. Depositing it all on the table, I open a cabinet and grasp the neck of a bottle. Tequila, the good stuff from Tijuana. There's a shot glass in the same cabinet and I bring that back to the table too.

I cut a lime, fill the shot glass, salt my hand, and begin the ritual. Lick, drink, bite, wince, repeat. The tequila burns on the way down but the warmth is welcome. I refill the glass but leave it there for a moment, mulling over my thoughts.

"Are you going to share?"

I jump at the unexpected voice and a light flares up from the corner of the room as the object of my thoughts lights a cigarette.

"Fucking-A, Spike, don't do that." My heart's racing and I wonder how many years of life he's trying to scare off me.

He chuckles at that. "Well?"

I get another shot glass and pass it to him. I hear him fill the glass and drink twice before lifting my own in a mock salute. "To insomnia."

We take our third shots together and I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really fucking pissed at you."

"For being gone so long?" he asks.

"For leaving in the first place."

We refill our glasses, drink again. I shudder as the tequila hits my stomach.

"Faye?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really fucking pissed at you too."

"For threatening to shoot you?"

"For letting me walk away."

This is the most civilized conversation we've ever had. In the eight months he'd been dead to me, we'd both changed. I wait to see if he'll expound on his remark.

I hear him sigh. The cherry of his cigarette glows brighter as he takes another drag. "It wasn't worth it," he says, pouring more liquor into his glass.

"Vicious is dead, isn't he?" I ask, lighting a smoke of my own. I wish I could see his eyes right now, but I know if I turn on the light, the spell will be broken.

"He's dead, yes, but I thought it would make me feel better, somehow. It didn't. Wasn't that what you were trying to tell me before I left?"

I shrug, although I know he can't see it. "Yes. No. Maybe."

"That's not much of an answer," he says sarcastically.

"I just know I placed so much importance to my past. I was sure everything would fall into place once certain things happened, but it didn't work that way. That emptiness... it doesn't just go away. You have to find something larger to fill it with." I feel myself blushing, and I wish I would have kept my mouth shut. The last thing I want to discuss with Spike is my feelings.

To his credit and my surprise, he doesn't make some snide comment. "What did you find?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"Myself, I suppose. Not who I was, or who anyone wanted me to be, but who I am."

We sit in silence until I finish my cigarette. I push back my chair and stand up. "I'm going back to bed. Are you coming?"

"Why, Faye darling, I thought you'd never ask! Tell me, was it my manly charms or the 'back from the dead' bit that did it for you?" he drawls. I can't resist shooting him a murderous stare, even though it's wasted in the darkness.

"You really are a fucking idiot, you know that?" I stomp out of the kitchen and although I can't see it, I know he's smirking.