Notes: I apologize for the Jet-sans. I'm really not one of those anime fans who feel the need to inject Japanese every fourth word. I just think it characterizes Meifa better than anything.
Chapter 2
It had been five years since he'd seen her. Five years since that strange, wild adventure involving lost fathers and mysterious rocks and mysterious compasses--and mysterious girls, come to think of it.
Meifa Pao was sleeping, curled up on the ugly yellow armchair with Ein. Her face was pale. Her white dress had patches of flaking, drying blood across it, and there were smears of red across her face. All of it, she had assured him, was Faye's. She had a few scattered bruises and a few minor scrapes, but she was, she said, perfectly fine.
Perfectly fine. White as a ghost, weary beyond measure and numb from fear and guilt. She had dragged his sometime partner halfway across the city as the barely conscious woman bled onto her. Perfectly fine.
He had been unable to get the entire story. Meifa, most likely, did not know it. Someone had hit Faye--hard; the bruise was already livid on her face. Meifa, it seemed, had shot someone--no, he couldn't have got that right. The story would have to wait. Both the women needed rest.
Two hours ago, life had been normal.
Well, no. Life hadn't exactly been normal since Spike had walked out that day.
Actually, for that matter, it probably hadn't been normal for decades, at least judged by your average Sol-system-inhabitant's standards.
Maybe even more than that.
But it certainly hadn't been this peculiar.
-Two hours ago:
It was late afternoon, and the orange-red Mars sunset crept in through the windows and gave even the tattered, filthy Bebop a warm, homey glow.
A Welsh Corgi was howling at the top of his tiny, Welsh Corgi-lungs. A pink-haired teenage girl was singing something cheery about potatoes. A huge, brawny 6-foot-2 man was in the kitchen, wearing a grubby apron and cooking instant noodles. And someone was banging, hard and desperately at the door.
All of that was normal except for the banging.
Jet Black wandered over, mumbling something about useless women who were three hours late and had probably lost the bounty anyway and opened the door to reveal his useless woman dripping blood on the metal stairs of the Bebop, slumped weakly against a girl with brown hair and blue eyes and a desperate expression that changed when she saw him.
The relief and weariness on the girl's face was palpable, and the face was astonishingly familiar.
"Where can we put her?" she asked.
"What HAPPENED?!" he demanded, lifting Faye easily and placing her on the yellow couch, careful not to touch the bullet wound.
"I assume she was after a bounty," the girl said. "It's nice to see you again, Jet-san. Tweezers, please. Bandages. Antibiotics. Bullet. Broken rib."
She looked tired and numb, and Jet stared at her. Her eyes were shadowed and what had once been a neat white dress was stained with blood.
"Tweezers. Bandages. Antibiotics," she repeated meekly.
"Meifa..." he murmured, and she smiled at him weakly.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Best to make sure Faye isn't going to die before catching up with brief acquaintances, Jet reasoned, and went to fetch the med kit.
Between them, they managed to clean her up. Jet had dealt with Spike in far worse shape after all. Meifa was apparently not without such experience as well, and he wondered at this. She cleaned the wound and removed the bullet--which had very luckily remained in one piece--from Faye's side far more delicately than he would have been able to. When he looked at her, she was pale and nervous looking and very, very tired...but her hands were steady as rocks and she worked tirelessly.
Finally, they stood. Faye's midriff was wrapped tightly in gauze; there were a few stray bandages across her arms and a large purple bruise blooming vividly on the side of her face where the man had hit her. Meifa had laid a cold washcloth across her forehead--not a particularly effective remedy, but a kind gesture. There were patches of blood underneath her, striking and ugly against the yellow couch. Finally, having done anything they could think of, they stood.
Meifa stared at Faye with worry in her eyes. "I hope she doesn't have a concussion," she said at last. "There's nothing we could do for it. And the rib is broken...there's nothing else for it but time and luck."
"Faye has always had plenty of both," Jet said. "Sit down. Are you alright?"
Meifa sat in the armchair gratefully, nodding. He sat gingerly on the coffee table and looked at her for a moment, wondering if five years had changed himself and Faye as much as they had changed this girl.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, looking at the blood on her clothes and her hands.
Meifa realized what he was thinking, and smiled wryly. "Don't worry. It's all her's. She's Faye, right?"
"Faye Valentine." Jet nodded. "Meifa, what exactly happened?"
But Meifa was shaking now, and she leaned forward so that a sheet of dark brown hair obscured her face. He only managed to catch a few words-
"he shot..."
"hit Faye-"
"shot him"
"found her communicator..."
"she was bleeding...broken rib..."
"had to find you..."
She looked up at him, sparkling trails of salt on both cheeks.
"Found you. I'm glad." She relaxed into the chair, rubbing the tears from her face with the back of her hand, smearing her cheek with dried blood in the process.
Jet opened his mouth to speak. He was about say something poignant and perfect and comforting that would make this strange girl feel better.
A dog barked and he forgot it forever.
A pink head popped briefly into the room. "Pot-is-boiling, pot-is-boiling, on-the-floor, on-the-floor!" Ed sang cheerfully.
"Oh shit! Ed, wouldya turn off the burner!"
"Don't-know-how, don't-know-how, don't-know-how!"
Of course. Computer whiz, absolute genius and all that, but she couldn't figure out how to turn off a stove. Questions still unasked, Jet ran to his poor, abused kitchen to find the pot boiling over.
"Ed, you really need to learn how to cook."
"Ignorance, do-a-dance, happenstance!"
Ed's personality might not have changed since she'd first come aboard the Bebop, Jet mused, but her vocabulary was certainly improving.
"At least get me some bowls? It's been a long day." Jet tipped a few cups of noodles into Ein's dish and brought the pot into the main room, where he found the dog curled up on Meifa's lap. She accepted a bowl of noodles and ate without tasting them, which was probably for the best. Afterwards, with barely a word, she fell asleep. Faye still had not stirred.
Jet Black had a lot of regrets in his life. Alisa. Spike. Old partners. Lost friends. At the moment, as he glanced at the two sleeping women on his ship, all he could think of was how much better it would have been to buy brown furniture instead of yellow.
Those bloodstains were never coming out.
Chapter 2
It had been five years since he'd seen her. Five years since that strange, wild adventure involving lost fathers and mysterious rocks and mysterious compasses--and mysterious girls, come to think of it.
Meifa Pao was sleeping, curled up on the ugly yellow armchair with Ein. Her face was pale. Her white dress had patches of flaking, drying blood across it, and there were smears of red across her face. All of it, she had assured him, was Faye's. She had a few scattered bruises and a few minor scrapes, but she was, she said, perfectly fine.
Perfectly fine. White as a ghost, weary beyond measure and numb from fear and guilt. She had dragged his sometime partner halfway across the city as the barely conscious woman bled onto her. Perfectly fine.
He had been unable to get the entire story. Meifa, most likely, did not know it. Someone had hit Faye--hard; the bruise was already livid on her face. Meifa, it seemed, had shot someone--no, he couldn't have got that right. The story would have to wait. Both the women needed rest.
Two hours ago, life had been normal.
Well, no. Life hadn't exactly been normal since Spike had walked out that day.
Actually, for that matter, it probably hadn't been normal for decades, at least judged by your average Sol-system-inhabitant's standards.
Maybe even more than that.
But it certainly hadn't been this peculiar.
-Two hours ago:
It was late afternoon, and the orange-red Mars sunset crept in through the windows and gave even the tattered, filthy Bebop a warm, homey glow.
A Welsh Corgi was howling at the top of his tiny, Welsh Corgi-lungs. A pink-haired teenage girl was singing something cheery about potatoes. A huge, brawny 6-foot-2 man was in the kitchen, wearing a grubby apron and cooking instant noodles. And someone was banging, hard and desperately at the door.
All of that was normal except for the banging.
Jet Black wandered over, mumbling something about useless women who were three hours late and had probably lost the bounty anyway and opened the door to reveal his useless woman dripping blood on the metal stairs of the Bebop, slumped weakly against a girl with brown hair and blue eyes and a desperate expression that changed when she saw him.
The relief and weariness on the girl's face was palpable, and the face was astonishingly familiar.
"Where can we put her?" she asked.
"What HAPPENED?!" he demanded, lifting Faye easily and placing her on the yellow couch, careful not to touch the bullet wound.
"I assume she was after a bounty," the girl said. "It's nice to see you again, Jet-san. Tweezers, please. Bandages. Antibiotics. Bullet. Broken rib."
She looked tired and numb, and Jet stared at her. Her eyes were shadowed and what had once been a neat white dress was stained with blood.
"Tweezers. Bandages. Antibiotics," she repeated meekly.
"Meifa..." he murmured, and she smiled at him weakly.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Best to make sure Faye isn't going to die before catching up with brief acquaintances, Jet reasoned, and went to fetch the med kit.
Between them, they managed to clean her up. Jet had dealt with Spike in far worse shape after all. Meifa was apparently not without such experience as well, and he wondered at this. She cleaned the wound and removed the bullet--which had very luckily remained in one piece--from Faye's side far more delicately than he would have been able to. When he looked at her, she was pale and nervous looking and very, very tired...but her hands were steady as rocks and she worked tirelessly.
Finally, they stood. Faye's midriff was wrapped tightly in gauze; there were a few stray bandages across her arms and a large purple bruise blooming vividly on the side of her face where the man had hit her. Meifa had laid a cold washcloth across her forehead--not a particularly effective remedy, but a kind gesture. There were patches of blood underneath her, striking and ugly against the yellow couch. Finally, having done anything they could think of, they stood.
Meifa stared at Faye with worry in her eyes. "I hope she doesn't have a concussion," she said at last. "There's nothing we could do for it. And the rib is broken...there's nothing else for it but time and luck."
"Faye has always had plenty of both," Jet said. "Sit down. Are you alright?"
Meifa sat in the armchair gratefully, nodding. He sat gingerly on the coffee table and looked at her for a moment, wondering if five years had changed himself and Faye as much as they had changed this girl.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, looking at the blood on her clothes and her hands.
Meifa realized what he was thinking, and smiled wryly. "Don't worry. It's all her's. She's Faye, right?"
"Faye Valentine." Jet nodded. "Meifa, what exactly happened?"
But Meifa was shaking now, and she leaned forward so that a sheet of dark brown hair obscured her face. He only managed to catch a few words-
"he shot..."
"hit Faye-"
"shot him"
"found her communicator..."
"she was bleeding...broken rib..."
"had to find you..."
She looked up at him, sparkling trails of salt on both cheeks.
"Found you. I'm glad." She relaxed into the chair, rubbing the tears from her face with the back of her hand, smearing her cheek with dried blood in the process.
Jet opened his mouth to speak. He was about say something poignant and perfect and comforting that would make this strange girl feel better.
A dog barked and he forgot it forever.
A pink head popped briefly into the room. "Pot-is-boiling, pot-is-boiling, on-the-floor, on-the-floor!" Ed sang cheerfully.
"Oh shit! Ed, wouldya turn off the burner!"
"Don't-know-how, don't-know-how, don't-know-how!"
Of course. Computer whiz, absolute genius and all that, but she couldn't figure out how to turn off a stove. Questions still unasked, Jet ran to his poor, abused kitchen to find the pot boiling over.
"Ed, you really need to learn how to cook."
"Ignorance, do-a-dance, happenstance!"
Ed's personality might not have changed since she'd first come aboard the Bebop, Jet mused, but her vocabulary was certainly improving.
"At least get me some bowls? It's been a long day." Jet tipped a few cups of noodles into Ein's dish and brought the pot into the main room, where he found the dog curled up on Meifa's lap. She accepted a bowl of noodles and ate without tasting them, which was probably for the best. Afterwards, with barely a word, she fell asleep. Faye still had not stirred.
Jet Black had a lot of regrets in his life. Alisa. Spike. Old partners. Lost friends. At the moment, as he glanced at the two sleeping women on his ship, all he could think of was how much better it would have been to buy brown furniture instead of yellow.
Those bloodstains were never coming out.
