Through it all, his eyes never leave mine. There are nine bullets embedded in the wall directly over his shoulder. Had they been on a target, I'd congratulate myself on the great cluster.

"You missed," he says, so quietly I almost miss it.

"No. I didn't," I whisper, before the gun falls from my nerveless grip. Suddenly I'm shaking all over, so cold. I sink down to the floor, gripping the counter for support. I almost shot him. Part of me wanted to, so badly. I wanted to hurt him the way he hurt me.

But I couldn't.

He's next to me, lowering himself to the ground, his arms wrapping around me. "Shhh," he murmurs against my hair. I can feel his breath, warm on my scalp. "It's ok."

"I'm not crying," I manage through chattering teeth.

"I know."

I hear the door close quietly as Jet slips out, and Spike's heartbeat where I'm leaning against his chest. It's still beating, even after all he's been through. It's still beating, and his skin is still warm, and he is still breathing, in and out, in and out against the top of my head.

"You really are a goddamned fool, Spike," I say, and I can feel my trembling lessen a bit.

"I know," he repeats. His voice rumbles in his chest and tickles my head.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" I can't think straight. I keep seeing that unfamiliar hope in his eyes. He never blinked when I fired.

He sighs and moves one of his hands to the underside of my chin, tilts it upward so I'm staring into his eyes once more. "I had to make amends."

I'm not following. "What are you talking about?"

"You're still angry that I left."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Sherlock?"

"Nevermind. Yes, I'm still angry. You hurt us by leaving, and you didn't even care."

He tightens his arms around me and shakes his head. "I did care, Faye. It just... didn't seem real. Everything was only a dream."

"There's a difference between dreams and reality, Spike. They're not the same."

The pain in his eyes is so intense that it takes my breath away. "I know that now," he says.

I want to take that hurt away, but my own grief is still too near, so I simply say, "Is that why you wanted me to...?"

The ghost of a smile appears on his lips, turning up the corners just slightly. "I didn't want you to. I trusted you not to. I know I let you down, but you've never failed me."

I've stopped shaking and life slowly creeps back into my numb body. "I almost did," I whisper. "I almost did just now."

"Almost doesn't count," he says confidently.

I smile a bit at that. "No, I guess it doesn't."

His heartbeat is still going strong.

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He knocks twice, then barges right in. I sit up abruptly from the pile of pillows I had been reclining on and drop my paperback on the bed. "Damn it, Spike, I could have been naked in here. Learn some manners already," I snap.

His eyes are alight with mischief and the corners of his lips are twitching. "Oh, sorry. I should come back later."

I huff at him, but gesture to the end of my bed. "Go ahead, have a seat," I say, readjusting my robe.

The mattress sags a bit under his weight. "Here," he offers, opening one of the beers he's holding and passing it to me. He twists the cap off the other one and takes a long drink, then tosses a pack of smokes in the space between us.

I take a swig from the bottle before placing it on my small nightstand. "So what's up?" I ask, curious about the intrusion. We haven't spent much time in each other's company since the incident in the attic two days ago. I was sorting out my own thoughts and he-- well, who knows what he was doing.

"You told me a few days ago that you have a long story to tell me," he replies, lighting a cigarette and gesturing for an ashtray.

I pass it to him, scowling. "No, I said I had a long story, and you said you wanted to hear it."

"And I do," he smirks, leaning back on one elbow.

"Make yourself comfortable, " I say sarcastically. He grins maddeningly and places the beer between his knees.

"So what do you want to know?" he asks.

"What?"

"Quid pro quo, remember? I'm a man of my word."

That shocks me into silence for a few moments. "All right. Your first night here, you said leaving hadn't been worth it. Start with that."

He stares at the ceiling for a long time. I begin to think he's changed his mind, but then he speaks haltingly. "The whole thing with Vicious started with Julia. It made me stupid and blind. I wanted to kill him for having her first, for keeping her from me for three years. I wanted to kill him because she died. So I did."

"I guess I thought the retribution would make up for those three years of being half-alive. I thought maybe I'd die. I thought everything would be better, but it wasn't. Instead, Julia was still dead, the Bebop was nowhere to be found, I hurt you and Jet, and I didn't even have the comfort of my dreams to keep me going."

He lifts his cigarette to his lips before continuing. "I had nothing to lose. I guess I hit rock bottom." He stops speaking, still looking up.

"So what did you do?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I got drunk. I recovered from my injuries. I moped a lot. Then I woke up one morning with the intention of leaving Mars and going after the biggest bad ass I could find, hoping he'd kill me since I couldn't do it myself. I was all ready to go when I had the urge to see the place where Vicious died one last time. That's when I saw you."

He glances over to where I'm sitting, propped against my pillows and headboard with my arms wrapped around me. He takes another drag from his cigarette and averts his eyes from mine.

"Like I said, I didn't recognize you at first. I was behind you, and you were dressed so differently. I saw you with your hand on one of the steps, and the rose. After you left, I walked over to the step and saw my name and the date of my supposed death. That's when it clicked. I tried finding you but you were already gone."

He takes another long drink from his beer. "After that, things seemed clearer. I quit moping and started thinking. I realized what I had put you and Jet through. I thought about my life before Julia, and with her. I realized it had been doomed from the beginning."

"Because she was with Vicious?"

"Well, that too, but mainly because of me. I let her rule my life. She dictated everything, whether she realized it or not. I needed her, you know? And that's not love, it's just obsession. She was everything, and without her I was nothing. That's why it was doomed. Real love is being strong enough to let someone go. I could have never done that if she were alive. I couldn't even do it when she died at first."

He stubs the butt out in the ashtray and drinks again. His beer is almost gone, and mine is still nearly full so I lift it to my lips and drain half.

"It's not that I didn't love her. I did, but it wasn't the right kind of love. It wasn't a love that would have lasted, because before you can live for someone else, you have to live for yourself. That's something I've never done. Not really, anyway."

He grips the bottle so tightly that his knuckles turn white. "So I let her go, and when that was done, I found you and Jet."

I stare at him, taken aback. Never before had he spoken so openly about his thoughts, and I don't know what to say. It seems like I should say something, but I'm at a loss.

He's finished his beer. Lighting another cigarette, he rolls over on his side, his head pillowed by his arm. "Your turn."

"Oh. Well, I guess it started when my memory came back. Like you, I was waiting for the big moment when it all changed. And then you left and we were told you were dead. I guess I went a little crazy."

I take a deep breath and plunge right on. "I kept blaming myself for not killing you. I felt so guilty, because I knew when you left it wouldn't have solved anything for you, and then you died needlessly. I kept thinking if only I'd have shot you myself, you would have died for something. I know it sounds crazy."

"Actually, it doesn't," he says. I finish off the beer, then light a cigarette and watch the smoke unfurl from the tip.

"I had no clue who I was. I had these memories, my memories, but they didn't tell me anything. I started building this place so I'd have a roof over my head, and in doing so, I discovered I could be whomever I wanted. I was standing outside, working on the wall for the living room, and it just hit me. It would have been a really spiritual moment, except it was raining and I was pretty much covered with mud from head to toe. So it wasn't spiritual, but it was liberating. I was letting the past dictate the future, and once I figured that out, everything just snapped into place."

"The memories I had of my childhood... that's who I was back then. The year on the Bebop, I was drifting. When I built this place, I poured everything into it-- grief, anger, frustration. It was cleansing, and it made me who I am today. I don't have to be that girl from my memories anymore, and even more importantly, I can't be her. Everything I've gone through has helped change me, and if I insist on hanging on to what used to be, I'd eventually drive myself insane. I think I was half way there when I came here."

I lie back against the pillows and shrug. "That's all, I guess," I say, not wanting to admit my feelings for him on top of it all.

He nods thoughtfully and walks out of the room without a word. When he comes back, he's holding two more beers. "That's not a long story," he points out.

I snort. "I cut out all the angst. Besides, you didn't live it."

"Not the same circumstances, perhaps, but the beat's familiar," he quips, pulling out another smoke.

"Are you calling our lives a jazz tune?" I snicker.

He holds up his hands in surrender. "Isn't everyone's?"

"Hmm. For such an off-the-wall comment, that's pretty deep, Spike."

He leans back once more, his long frame covering the lower half of my bed. "I'm glad you found your answers," he says, and I can tell he means it. I can't help but smile.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you stuck around instead of letting some scum off you."

He tilts his head to wink at me. "Someone's got to be here to bug you."

I grin at him while rolling my eyes. "God forbid I get a moment's peace."

He starts laughing and I join in, dispelling the painful memories our recounting has dredged up.

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"Faye?"

I glance up from the television screen as Jet moves into the room. "Ed find the bounty?" I ask. It's been a week and a half since we had one and I'm getting antsy.

"Yeah. We're leaving now, you coming?"

I hop off the sofa with a grin. "Where is he?"

"Surprisingly enough, he's here on Earth. Albuquerque." I start to go upstairs to grab extra clips, but he stops me with a gentle hand on my arm. "Er... did you and Spike... well... you're not gonna... ?" He rubs the back of his neck, trying to ask the question without offending me.

I smother a grin at his discomfort. "It's worked out. You don't have to worry about me popping him one in the middle of the trip."

He looks relieved and removes his hand. "Glad to hear it. In that case, find Spike and tell him to get his ass in gear. I'm gonna get the ship ready to go."

It only takes a moment to grab the extra clips and load them. Once I'm stocked, I call for Spike. No answer.

"Spike!"

Silence.

"Hey, lunkhead! Get your ass ready, we've gotta put food on the table!"

Still nothing. He's not on the second floor, nor is he hiding on the first. Grumbling, I climb the stairs again, heading for the attic.

When I walk through the open doorway, his shirtless back is to me. He's throwing punches and kicks into the air with the dangerous grace of a panther, and I feel a pang of regret that I never studied martial arts. The easy pace he is keeping belies the strength behind his movements as he works his way across the room. His muscles are rippling under the smooth skin of his naked back, and it's making my mouth dry and my palms sweat. I can't take my eyes off him.

Anyone who says that men can't be beautiful have never met Spike Spiegel.

He chooses that moment to turn around. I quickly shut my mouth an attempt to school my expression. He waves a hello and grabs a towel, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Why did I come in here again? Oh yeah.

"Ed found the bounty. Jet's getting the ship ready and he said to get moving."

"All right." He uncaps a bottle of water and quickly drains it, giving a small sigh of relief before picking up his shirt. "You ok, Faye?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I ask, mentally kicking myself.

He glances at me briefly. "You've got an odd look on your face."

Ah, shit. Poker face, Faye. I wet my parched lips with my tongue before answering. "I'm fine. It's just a little hot in here."

Spike hangs the towel around his neck and shifts his shirt to the other hand, bending down so he can retrieve his shoes. "Yeah, it is a bit warm."

You don't know the half of it, Cowboy.

Spike snaps his fingers in front of my face. "Faye!"

"Hmm?" I blink, startled.

"I asked you where we're going," he says, looking at me strangely. I fight the blush that's rising in my cheeks and take a deep breath to calm myself.

"Oh. Albuquerque."

"You sure you're ok? Maybe you should sit this one out," he suggests, pinning me with his gaze.

"No way, " I protest, following him from the room. "You just want my share of the bounty."

"Eh," he shrugs, "I'll catch the guy before you do anyway."

"Like hell you will!" I exclaim, rising to the bait.

"Wanna bet?" he asks, a mischievous grin on his face.