Spike came in from the world, exhausted, cold. Leg work was hard. Faye was off somewhere spending their money, and Ed was exploring the bowels of the ship, no doubt with Ein barking along at her heels. Spike snagged an ottoman to sit on and yelled, "Jet, feed me!"

Jet popped his head out from behind the fridge. "Where's the money?"

Spike patted his chest. "Safely locked away where no meddling women can get at it. It's food time."

"How much was it?"

"You know what goes well with tales of money and daring escapes, is food."

"How much?"

Spike rotated on his ottoman to look Jet full in the face. "I'm not going to get any food, am I?"

"I swear, you're just like Ein. How much?"

Spike sighed. "Five."

"Million?"

"Thousand."

"Spike, that's not even enough for the fuel we spent getting here..."

"I know that." He raked his hands through his hair. "Don't you think I know that?"

Jet fell silent. Wordlessly, he turned on the burner. Spike came and sat down on the stairs by the kitchen. Jet cooked, and Spike gazed into space. The sound of chopping onions lulled them both into a silent trance. Spike stared into his palm, tracing the lines with his thumb. Finally, he spoke. "Hey Jet, you ever eat matzoh ball soup?"

"No."

"Yeah, neither did I."

Jet sensed that Spike was trying to broach some delicate subject, and was tactfully silent. Spike struggled for it.

"My dad once said he practically lived on it when he was a kid. But I never tasted it."

It was the first time Spike had mentioned any aspect of his past in Jet's presence.

"I always thought that was weird, that something that was so, so central to him was just...nonexistent in my life."

"Well, times change."

It wasn't exactly what Spike had been wanting to hear from Jet, and his face showed it. Silence prevailed for another few minutes.

"What was your father like?" asked Jet, trying to mend the gap that had suddenly appeared between them.

"I don't know. He left when I was six."

Another long silence. Jet tipped the wok and poured his confection onto a plate. Spike reached out and Jet placed the plate in his hands, gently brushing Spike's fingers with his own. Spike grabbed a pair of chopsticks and dug in. He ate without stopping or speaking, until the plate was empty. He set it on the stair and stood. Jet, who had watched this entire operation without a word, had one parting shot: "Not everyone leaves, you know."

Spike didn't answer. He just looked at the floor, then turned and went out of the room through the corridor.