The next day did not dawn. In space there is no morning sun. But there are morning sounds--Ed singing to herself and everyone else, Faye yelling at Ein, who barks back, and it was to this that Jet woke. He was alone. Cursing himself mildly for hoping otherwise, he went into the main room to find Spike stretched out on the couch. "Morning, Spike. Sleep well?"

Spike ignored him rabidly, choosing instead to lavish his attentions on the opposite wall. Jet shrugged this off and headed towards the fridge, where Faye and Ein congregated, waiting for their breakfast.

"It's about time you're up. I'm starving!"

"Some of us need our beauty sleep," growled Jet.

"*I* didn't get any sleep. Do you know why?"

"Not only that, but I don't care."

"Because, Jet, SOMEone felt they had to spend the night pounding against my wall. Couldn't spend it sleeping like normal people. No, it had to be pounding. Pounding and pounding and pounding."

Jet snuck a guilty glance at Spike, who was gone.

Faye sighed theatrically. "Are you making breakfast or what?"

"Yeah, yeah."

The blue flame of the burners was calming, almost hypnotic. The skillet blossomed from black to deep orange, and oil danced on its surface. He was frying the eggs and Spike had looked hurt. Distant. The rice was boiling on the stove. Spike's eyes were two different colors.

"Jet, that's burning!" Faye's shrill cry woke him. He dumped the mess in a bowl and handed it to her before turning on his heel and heading to the hangar.

Spike was there, as usual, wedged under the Swordfish II with a screwdriver and a crescent wrench. He did not acknowledge Jet's presence. Jet cleared his throat. "That ship's running as well as you could want."

Spike said nothing. He dropped the wrench and picked up a smaller one.

"Why don't you give it a rest?"

No response.

"Maybe join the rest of us in the civilized art of conversation..." Jet let an angry edge creep into his voice.

Spike rolled out from under the ship and fixed Jet with his gaze. "You wanna talk? Talk."

Jet faltered. "I'm thinking about...about last night. And I wanted to know if you needed anything."

"I'm fine." He rolled himself back underneath, obscuring his face.

"I don't think you are."

"Go away."

Jet crossed his arms. "I'm not going to go away."

Spike rolled himself out and stood up. He tossed the wrench over his shoulder; it cleared the ship and rang a jangling tone on the floor on the other side. He pushed past Jet and disappeared into the main part of the ship.

Jet yelled after him. "HEY! SPIKE!"

An answering yell came from the kitchen. "I'm not eating this, you know! I expect another breakfast!"

"Ed wants pancakes!"

Jet sighed and headed back to the kitchen.

The rest of the day was notably lacking in Spike's presence, at least for Jet. There was a kind of nervous tension in the air, more even than the usual ship's climate between bounties. Finally, Jet came across Spike sitting in the slowly rotating circular hallway between the two halves of the ship. Spike startled at Jet's approach, then looked down, guilty.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"Shit. You noticed."

"You could have been less obvious." Jet folded his arms.

Spike ran one hand through his hair and sighed. "Look...it was a mistake, okay? That's all."

Jet laughed. "What, you mistook me for Faye?"

"It was very dark."

"Or maybe you were looking for Ed."

"Really, really dark."

"But, for my money, you were most likely looking for Ein."

"Hey, you're both equally hairy." He smiled. Then, like someone extinguishing a light, the smile vanished from his face, and he was serious again. "It was a mistake. Nothing more." Spike got up and walked off, well aware of Jet's eyes on his back.

* * *

Later that night, Spike lay in his bed, unable to sleep. A sound at the door made him turn his head, and there was Jet.
"I got cold," he whispered.
Nothing more remained to be said.