Disclaimer: Ditto on chapters one and two and three and four and five and
six.
Silk on Steel
Seven: Faded Silk, Rusted Steel
* * * Faye blinked her eyes wearily, the winter sunlight attacking them like so much pain unimaginable. For a moment or two, she just watched the colored dots they made, wondering what on earth had happened. Last she remembered, she'd been running away from Jet . . . and something . . . something so sad and terrible . . . but what? Where was she? Something was wrong here.
Slowly, through the quasi-sobering effects of the gray sunlight, the memories of the past few days started to come back; patchy at times, but back none the less.
* * *
She'd been running, running from that terrible truth lying cold and lifeless on the slab. How dare they call it 'Spike Spiegel?' she'd thought as she run. That was not her love. It was the shell of her love; a cold piece of flesh he'd once possessed. It made just about as much sense as saying the Swordfish was Spike. How terrible a thought. She couldn't take it. She'd run, run as fast as she could from that cold, soulless piece of decay. The streets were a twisted maze of confusion to her, but on, on she blundered, not caring that she did not know where she was going or to get there or how she'd come back. She had to get as much distance as she could from that awful creature, that chunk of slowly rotting meat masquerading as her beloved.
Could no one see? This was wrong. It wasn't real; it couldn't be. Nothing this terrible could dare to be real. It was just some sort of nightmare from which she could not wake. Out of every corner, she expected that black void to appear; the one she fell headlong through, and she would be back in his bed, his pretty breath tickling at her hair, wiping bands of sweat from her forehead.
But it would not come.
Faye had no conception of what time passed, but the next thing she knew, it was dark and the rain had begun again. She was cold and tired and wet. Putting one foot in front of another was like hauling strings of bricks tied to her legs. Desperately, she tried to find her bearings. Where could she go? Her knowledge of Fever City was next to none. How long had she run?
Neon light . . . instinctively, she found her way drawn to them. It was a failing 'open' sign over an old wooden one. 'The Diving Crow," she strained her eyes against failing light. "Room and Drink, reasonable rates." Wearily she dragged herself into a badly lit bar.
Shady looking figures lay hidden by the shadows in corners, snarling lewdly at her as she passed by. She did not meet their eyes, but took a table nearer some light, closer to the bar itself.
"What poison, toots?" A surly-looking little barkeep with a gin-stained apron and a crooked cigarette asked from behind the bar.
"Martini," she answered glumly.
"Nyah-ah," he corrected her, his face hidden behind a porno magazine. "Nona dat fancy stuff here, not even for your face. Ya come here for bare bones."
"Coupla ports then," she grumbled, wrenching her soaking coat away from her.
She had no idea who had come and started buying the ports around about midnight. Slight reminisces of a face, but no name. No memory came of what they had spoken of. All she knew was that around two or so, she found herself being led to a dark room by this young man.
Somehow, she found herself pinned under the unknown figure, making hell, too drunk and miserable to care.
* * *
She had no idea how many days she had spent in this room or under whom. All she knew was that she was still tired after sleeping.
A brown haired teen was lying naked next to her own nude body. She now recognized it as the youth she had met not a few days ago. What was his name? He looked very young; maybe eighteen or nineteen. For a moment or two, she just entertained herself watching his shapely tan chest rise and fall with his breath, wondering who he was. Was he lonely too?
Almost as if he had read her mind, his eyes presently squinted under the burden of the sunlight, his face squishing up before opening a pair of sleepy, blood-shot hazel eyes. She frowned. For just a second of a second, she'd hoped . . .
"Hi," he muttered blearily.
"Hi," she answered glumly, yawning small. "Who are you?"
The youth gave a wolfish-looking grin.
"Zach," he answered. "And you're Faye."
"Yeah," she grumbled halfway to herself. "Faye Valentine." Silence.
"You still tired?" he asked, yawning.
"Yeah," she pushed her face back into the pillow. "I oughta sleep."
"Was it something I said?" Zach asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"It's not your fault," she spoke through the pillow. "You just reminded me of something . . ."
"Or a someone," a familiar voice boomed from behind the door. "Open the door, kid."
"Who's that?" Zach started, his eyes full of fear. "Are you the cops?"
"Used to be," Faye started too as she recognized Jet's voice. "Open the door. I mean it, junior."
"Look," the kid stumbled towards the door, pulling a pair of checkered boxers back onto himself. "Look, I'm a good guy, I've never done nothin', I- "
"Very interesting. Open the door or I'll do it myself."
"Look, man," Zach's voice was getting higher. "I didn't know she was a hooker. I'm a victim here, man. I didn't-"
CUNCH! The youth suddenly jumped backwards back onto the bed. Faye looked up with a start, just as another THUD! brought several splinters of wood frame raining onto the floor.
THUD! CRUNCH! CUNCH! Three in a quick sequence, the doorknob quavering dangerously. Zach trembled cowardly, holding close to Faye. She pushed him away.
"I'M NOT A HOOKER!" she bellowed as he fell to the floor. "You asshole!"
"Damn right!" Jet's voice suddenly became clearer as a final THUD! popped the door open.
Faye did what she could to pull the sheets around her body, but she couldn't seem to concentrate.
'Man,' she thought to herself, 'how drunk am I?'
Jet scowled, glaring at Zach, who was trembling on the floor, then at Faye, and then back at Zach.
"You're just a good kid, eh?" he growled. "Don't look so good to me."
Zach just continued trembling and didn't answer.
"Get some clothes on," he whispered to Faye. "We'll get you outta here."
"Hey man, I didn't do nothin' here," Zach finally found his voice. "How could I have known she was a-"
"She's not a hooker!" Jet snarled dangerously. "But she is a friend of mine, and I don't appreciate you saying that about her."
Zach did not answer, but backed into a corner, determined to keep his distance.
"I don't know where they are," Faye answered, her eyes fluttering drowsily. "I don't know-"
Jet sighed and took his long coat off.
"Jet, don't," she managed to groan as he began wrapping her up.
"You're not exactly in a position to tell me what to don't do, don't you think?" he asked, lifting her out of the sheets and into his arms.
"Hell, you're so high I doubt you could walk," he walked out of the room, holding Faye as gently and firmly as a child. "It's a damned good thing I found you. You even know where you are?"
"No," she grumbled sleepily. "Not really."
"Didn't think so," he growled. "Hey," he called to the tender. "Sorry about the door. If there's any real damage, I can-"
"F'get it," he sighed, swiping vigorously at spots on the bar. "Not like this place isn't fallin' apart already." His looked up and noticed Faye in his arms, her face tilted away.
"Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "She's . . . she's alright, ain't she?"
"Yeah," he grunted, shifting his arms to make her more comfortable. "Will be in a while, at least. Just needs a little time to clear her head."
"Yeah, yeah," the tender quivered, not noticing his cigarette had gone out, smiling nervously. "Coffee and shower . . . eh, Mr. Black?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Mick," Jet pushed the door with his shoulder, "And there's no mister. It's just Jet. I'm not a cop anymore."
They walked out into the rain. Just like before . . . sheets upon sheets of water. He'd been in the rain . . . Faye squirmed in her makeshift covers.
"Some weather this is," he spoke softly to her as he walked. "Jesus . . . rain and my shoulder . . . I'll be achin' for a week."
"Jet, you didn't have-"
"Oh, I didn't?" Jet interrupted. "What was I supposed to do; just let you run off all alone? Sorry, ma'am, but I ain't goin' for it. I already lost one friend that way."
One friend . . . a tear fell from her eye to her lip. And another. And another. And another until it seemed like her whole vision was getting clouded.
"Hey! None of that!" Jet barked when he noticed her state, but his face quickly quieted. "You done plenty of that already," he continued in a mellower voice. "If not for you, how bout for me?"
Just the sound of the rain . . . it was no use. Her tears were akin to rain. They surfaced to greet their airborne siblings. One after another, they ran down her face. Her whole face was one giant bowl of tears. This time, Jet did not scold her, but went on looking ahead, pretending he didn't notice.
"It's real funny I'd find ya in there," he went on after several minutes passed. "The Diving Crow . . . y'know what that place is?"
She couldn't speak, but she managed to shake her head no.
"Let's just say a broken-hearted police sergeant ran into an odd-eyed cowboy there five long years ago and had a little drink together."
Faye found herself unable to speak, the tears choking her off. How could that be? How very strange . . .
"What are the chances?" he went on. "Fate's funny sometimes. I'm getting too old to believe in coincidence."
Faye looked up at the sky, the gray crying clouds. It was all so wrong and at the same time it all made sense. Right and wrong . . . who draws the line between them? Some people say God, she thought. But what if God makes exceptions? Does everything change because of the exception? Or is the majority the rule?
How do you measure? Faye started to fall back into sleep, staring at the gray sky. When she awoke, they were back at the air hangar. Ed and Ein looked up at her, pondering, wondering; trying in their own way to comprehend what none of them could truly accept. She blinked down at them, trying to smile, but she just couldn't find the heart of it.
"Faye-faye?" Ed asked in a low voice, honest concern in her eyes.
"I'm alright, Ed-san," Jet let her down form his arms at last. She tried her best to keep steady, but lost her balance all the same, falling right back onto Jet for support.
A voice from the corner . . . "Heh! Shoulda known!" Her eyes trailed over, only to discover the one and only Jay, greasy and smarmy as ever, smirking like an alley cat that just got laid. A low sigh emitted from her throat. She didn't need this right now.
"Well, well," he continued, strutting like an overgrown rooster. "Looks like missy got herself into a little spot, now didn't she?"
"Put a cork in it, asshole!" Jet took a step forward, but it did not perturb the ever-incredulous hangar lackey.
"So what was it this time, hon?" Jay prodded on, almost right up next to her now. "On your back or on your knees?"
Silence. Her face remained downcast, shame apparent on her face.
"Oh, I get it," he took her arm once again, stroking her hand. But this time it was not a lecher's touch. It was a touch that said, 'You'd bang anybody anyway.' "You can do a guy in a dive but not me, that it?"
"Shut up . . ." she couldn't remember the rest of the insult. One tear fell to the floor. She really didn't need this right now.
"Oh, are we crying?" Jay crowed mockingly, putting on a girly voice to boot it. "'Oooh, I'm so sad, it's too bad I'm a-'"
"I'm WARNING you!!" Jet's voice roared. "You let her alone or I'll-"
"Aww . . . how sweet!" Jay grabbed her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "The big strong man is coming to your defense." Faye squeezed her eyes closed, both from his garlic breath and his beady, forbidding eyes. "I wonder what you did to earn tha- AKKT!"
Her eyes sprang back open just in time to see Jet pin Jay to the wall, his metal hand at his throat. Faye's mouth hung open, aghast. The expression on Jet's face, one of pure hatred, pure rage . . . the black dog. Jay didn't look anything like a dog at the moment, but he did resemble a hooked fish. Faye watched in just a little bit of relief, the scrawny man gasping to breath, his eyes full of fear.
"This arm is made of cold hard steel," he snarled into Jay's face. "They had it put in several years ago when I lost it in a gunfight when I was cop. It was designed to the most modern technological standards known to man. It can withhold over 400 pounds of resistance, and not once in nearly eight years has it EVER malfunctioned. And furthermore," he explained with a snarl, holding Jay a few more inches off the ground, "it could snap your scrawny little neck in about two seconds."
Jay's eyes shrank to the size of raisins, a low whimper crying out from his throat. "No . . . no, don't . . ." he finally managed to get out.
"Oh, don't, huh?" he growled, "Well, then, I think you oughta say something to my friend . . . don't you think?"
Jay's raisin eyes struck onto Faye's bleary green ones. "S-s-sor-ry . . ."
"Good!" Jet dropped him to the floor. He lay there, breathing hard, shaking with fear and unable to speak. "Let's get outta this hellhole." Faye's mouth still hung open. It just seemed so . . . so bizarre. Jet took her shoulder and pushed her towards the Bebop, and waiting just a second as Ed blew a very loud raspberry at Jay and Ein gave him a good growl.
"You go on now," Jet said softly once the door was closed. "Go on and sleep it off some more."
Faye could do nothing but comply. Once they were finally back out of orbit, she stumbled her way back to her own bedroom and flopped down, too exhausted to even take a shower.
* * *
Time seemed to pass quietly at last, and for a while, the world seemed very soft for Faye Valentine, snug in her own bed at last, safe from all those terrible things that wanted to hurt her. For several hours, she slept and slept, as if she had never slept in all her life. It didn't matter to her she looked so like a child, wrapped in a big black overcoat, her young face so sad. For a while, things were fine for Faye Valentine.
But all good things must come to an end . . .
Blinking, her great green eyes, fluttered open. For a moment or two, she simply stared around. This room . . . these things; clothes, bureau, chair, bed, make-up and toiletries, even her own reflection in the mirror . . . it was all so alien. How long had it been since she really looked at this room? Maybe everything, everything had just been one dream. Maybe she was still in the ice right now, and all this was just in her head. Maybe Spike, Jet, Ed, Ein, the Bebop, even herself . . . everything that happened . . . could it all just be one big, endless dream from which she would never awake?
Faye shook herself. Of course not. That was what was so damn terrible about it all. It all really had happened. And now, the one man she'd actually learned to love . . . on a table, cold, an enemy, a brother, by his side. Somehow, it seemed such a fitting end.
'Sure,' she thought to herself. 'For him. But what about me?'
She shook herself again. There was no use going on and on like this. The clasps of the jacket fell easily under her fingernails, and she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. Showers fixed anything.
The cool, warm water splashed on her face and down her sleek voluptuous form, washing away all the residues of the last few days. It was rather awful to see how much just stuff had built up on her. She was surprised she didn't stink to high heaven.
Faye was in the bathroom for over an hour, washing and combing hair, brushing teeth, dressing, applying make-up . . . everything.
And yet she knew she would never be clean again. This stain was not physical. No shower could wash it away.
A black stain had darkened the heart of Faye Valentine.
"How are you feeling?" Jet asked when he saw her waltz into the kitchen. She hadn't had food in who knows how long.
"A lot better," she lied, rifling through the refrigerator. For one thing, her head was still buzzing. And he could probably already guess how she felt. "Isn't there anything to eat around here?"
"You've come to the right place," he revealed a sizzling pan, still covered. The scent was awfully familiar . . . but . . .
"What is it?"
"C'mon, guess first," he prodded.
Faye tried for another minute, closing her eyes . . . nothing. "I give up."
"Surprise!" he said in a very unsurprised way, lifting the cover. "House special . . . bell peppers and beef without the beef WITH the beef!" he chuckled. "I thought for once we deserve some decent food."
"Hnh!" she laughed, taking a heaping plate of the stir-fry-like mix. "I dunno. Sounds kinda weird. Think my stomach can handle it?"
"Man, I learned long ago, ain't nothing you can't handle, and if there is, I'm not gonna try it."
"Yeah . . ." she muttered, looking sadly down. "Nothing can touch me . . ."
"Sit down, won't you please?" Jet asked her calmly. Surprisingly, Faye obeyed.
Jet down in the chair facing the couch. He gave her a grave look, and the words that lay upon her lips fell away in an instant.
"I wanna hear it all," he whispered, looking her straight in the eye. "And I don't wanna hear this sob-story crap. Something went on here, and I think I have the right to know."
A tear fell from her eye onto her lovely silken shirt, making a dark spot where it landed. The whole story, every weeping part of it. Sometimes the tears fell, and sometimes they would not come at all. Jet listened . . . listened. He was quiet, and for the most part, simply listened without emotion, taking his head in his hand once or twice. He heard the whole story, and when at last it was through, she could not help but feel empty, as if she'd lost a lot of blood, and at the same time, relieved, revived, as if some vicious poison had been cured at last.
For a moment or two, Jet simply sat, watching her last tears dry upon her face.
"Listen to me, Faye," he said at last. "I just want you to listen to me. Can you do that?" Faye nodded weakly.
"Good," he growled. "Now look here. I want to show you something. See this?"
Faye watched as he went into his front breast pocket. In his hand, a small, yellowed bit of paper shown through his bulky, metallic fingers. Faye took it an unwrapped it.
"Farewell?" she gasped between tears.
"Yeah, that's right. Farewell. Now listen," he said. "Five years ago, I found this on my bedside table in an empty old house. My wife, Elisa, had left it with a new pocket watch in place of herself. I couldn't find her anywhere. Month after month, I tried to ignore the emptiness I found in that house, that town, in that life I led. But slowly and surely, the sickness started sinking into me. Day in and day out, I could feel myself getting sicker and sicker. And then . . . one terrible morning I woke up to finally see what had been in front of my face for so long. I knew I'd never find her again. I thought maybe if I pretended that everything was normal, it would be. But I should've known it wasn't. It was right in front of my eyes and I refused to see that Elisa was never coming back to me, that my part of my life was gone. So I left it. I couldn't live that way anymore. But deep in my heart, I couldn't let go. For five years, I kept that watch in my pocket, carried it with me wherever I went, unwound. Just like it, my heart would not move on, not a second past the minute she left, always stuck just how she left it. But y'know what? What they say about old dogs not learning new tricks . . . bullshit. Cause while I was cavorting around, what with you young hooligans keeping me on my feet, I learned something. You can't live in the past, Faye. And do you know what? That watch I spoke of . . . is on the bottom of sea on Titan, exactly where it belongs.
"Are you starting to see it now, Faye? The real reason Spike died is just this; just like I, he couldn't let go. Maybe he thought he could, but deep inside, his life was still stuck in the time of Julia, Vicious, and that entire story. I'm not saying that Spike didn't love you with all his heart and soul. To tell you the truth, I could see it all coming. Maybe you two didn't know it, but the both of you really loved each other, whether you wanted to admit it or not. But that isn't what we're talking about, Faye. The reason Spike could not run away and begin life anew with you like he should have was that his past still hung onto him. He could not let go. But going to fight Vicious is, in reality, a proof that he loved. He tried to break that link between his past and his present. That's how he died, Faye. When he fought Vicious, he was truly fighting his past and everything in it.
"Faye, no matter what anyone says about you, you are a great woman, and you deserve a life without pain, just as anyone does. Everyone has a past. Julia, Spike, Vicious, you, me . . . we seem to have particularly tragic ones. It is no one's responsibility or fault, and there's nothing we can do to change it. It's so easy to just wallow in the memories, to stay stagnant and find shelter in them. But Faye, I've already lost one friend that way, and I can't lose another. Please, Faye . . . won't you do that for me?"
Faye suddenly looked up, her eyes flooding with tears. "But . . . I want to keep him alive. I can let him live in my heart forever."
A sad look in his eye appeared to Faye. "It's more important to keep yourself alive, Faye. I don't know where Spike is right now, but I what I do know is this: it can't be worth eternal death to keep him in a fantasy life. Don't kill yourself, Faye. Don't do what I did."
Jet sat up at last, changing the subject very conspicuously.
"Damn this shoulder," he pretended to be sore at it. "Runnin' after you kids . . . I'm losing my hair here. I'm getting to old for this." He walked back down the hall, grumbling as he went.
Faye could do not but smile a bit to herself through the tears. If Jet was losing his hair, he wasn't far from done.
Silk on Steel
Seven: Faded Silk, Rusted Steel
* * * Faye blinked her eyes wearily, the winter sunlight attacking them like so much pain unimaginable. For a moment or two, she just watched the colored dots they made, wondering what on earth had happened. Last she remembered, she'd been running away from Jet . . . and something . . . something so sad and terrible . . . but what? Where was she? Something was wrong here.
Slowly, through the quasi-sobering effects of the gray sunlight, the memories of the past few days started to come back; patchy at times, but back none the less.
* * *
She'd been running, running from that terrible truth lying cold and lifeless on the slab. How dare they call it 'Spike Spiegel?' she'd thought as she run. That was not her love. It was the shell of her love; a cold piece of flesh he'd once possessed. It made just about as much sense as saying the Swordfish was Spike. How terrible a thought. She couldn't take it. She'd run, run as fast as she could from that cold, soulless piece of decay. The streets were a twisted maze of confusion to her, but on, on she blundered, not caring that she did not know where she was going or to get there or how she'd come back. She had to get as much distance as she could from that awful creature, that chunk of slowly rotting meat masquerading as her beloved.
Could no one see? This was wrong. It wasn't real; it couldn't be. Nothing this terrible could dare to be real. It was just some sort of nightmare from which she could not wake. Out of every corner, she expected that black void to appear; the one she fell headlong through, and she would be back in his bed, his pretty breath tickling at her hair, wiping bands of sweat from her forehead.
But it would not come.
Faye had no conception of what time passed, but the next thing she knew, it was dark and the rain had begun again. She was cold and tired and wet. Putting one foot in front of another was like hauling strings of bricks tied to her legs. Desperately, she tried to find her bearings. Where could she go? Her knowledge of Fever City was next to none. How long had she run?
Neon light . . . instinctively, she found her way drawn to them. It was a failing 'open' sign over an old wooden one. 'The Diving Crow," she strained her eyes against failing light. "Room and Drink, reasonable rates." Wearily she dragged herself into a badly lit bar.
Shady looking figures lay hidden by the shadows in corners, snarling lewdly at her as she passed by. She did not meet their eyes, but took a table nearer some light, closer to the bar itself.
"What poison, toots?" A surly-looking little barkeep with a gin-stained apron and a crooked cigarette asked from behind the bar.
"Martini," she answered glumly.
"Nyah-ah," he corrected her, his face hidden behind a porno magazine. "Nona dat fancy stuff here, not even for your face. Ya come here for bare bones."
"Coupla ports then," she grumbled, wrenching her soaking coat away from her.
She had no idea who had come and started buying the ports around about midnight. Slight reminisces of a face, but no name. No memory came of what they had spoken of. All she knew was that around two or so, she found herself being led to a dark room by this young man.
Somehow, she found herself pinned under the unknown figure, making hell, too drunk and miserable to care.
* * *
She had no idea how many days she had spent in this room or under whom. All she knew was that she was still tired after sleeping.
A brown haired teen was lying naked next to her own nude body. She now recognized it as the youth she had met not a few days ago. What was his name? He looked very young; maybe eighteen or nineteen. For a moment or two, she just entertained herself watching his shapely tan chest rise and fall with his breath, wondering who he was. Was he lonely too?
Almost as if he had read her mind, his eyes presently squinted under the burden of the sunlight, his face squishing up before opening a pair of sleepy, blood-shot hazel eyes. She frowned. For just a second of a second, she'd hoped . . .
"Hi," he muttered blearily.
"Hi," she answered glumly, yawning small. "Who are you?"
The youth gave a wolfish-looking grin.
"Zach," he answered. "And you're Faye."
"Yeah," she grumbled halfway to herself. "Faye Valentine." Silence.
"You still tired?" he asked, yawning.
"Yeah," she pushed her face back into the pillow. "I oughta sleep."
"Was it something I said?" Zach asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"It's not your fault," she spoke through the pillow. "You just reminded me of something . . ."
"Or a someone," a familiar voice boomed from behind the door. "Open the door, kid."
"Who's that?" Zach started, his eyes full of fear. "Are you the cops?"
"Used to be," Faye started too as she recognized Jet's voice. "Open the door. I mean it, junior."
"Look," the kid stumbled towards the door, pulling a pair of checkered boxers back onto himself. "Look, I'm a good guy, I've never done nothin', I- "
"Very interesting. Open the door or I'll do it myself."
"Look, man," Zach's voice was getting higher. "I didn't know she was a hooker. I'm a victim here, man. I didn't-"
CUNCH! The youth suddenly jumped backwards back onto the bed. Faye looked up with a start, just as another THUD! brought several splinters of wood frame raining onto the floor.
THUD! CRUNCH! CUNCH! Three in a quick sequence, the doorknob quavering dangerously. Zach trembled cowardly, holding close to Faye. She pushed him away.
"I'M NOT A HOOKER!" she bellowed as he fell to the floor. "You asshole!"
"Damn right!" Jet's voice suddenly became clearer as a final THUD! popped the door open.
Faye did what she could to pull the sheets around her body, but she couldn't seem to concentrate.
'Man,' she thought to herself, 'how drunk am I?'
Jet scowled, glaring at Zach, who was trembling on the floor, then at Faye, and then back at Zach.
"You're just a good kid, eh?" he growled. "Don't look so good to me."
Zach just continued trembling and didn't answer.
"Get some clothes on," he whispered to Faye. "We'll get you outta here."
"Hey man, I didn't do nothin' here," Zach finally found his voice. "How could I have known she was a-"
"She's not a hooker!" Jet snarled dangerously. "But she is a friend of mine, and I don't appreciate you saying that about her."
Zach did not answer, but backed into a corner, determined to keep his distance.
"I don't know where they are," Faye answered, her eyes fluttering drowsily. "I don't know-"
Jet sighed and took his long coat off.
"Jet, don't," she managed to groan as he began wrapping her up.
"You're not exactly in a position to tell me what to don't do, don't you think?" he asked, lifting her out of the sheets and into his arms.
"Hell, you're so high I doubt you could walk," he walked out of the room, holding Faye as gently and firmly as a child. "It's a damned good thing I found you. You even know where you are?"
"No," she grumbled sleepily. "Not really."
"Didn't think so," he growled. "Hey," he called to the tender. "Sorry about the door. If there's any real damage, I can-"
"F'get it," he sighed, swiping vigorously at spots on the bar. "Not like this place isn't fallin' apart already." His looked up and noticed Faye in his arms, her face tilted away.
"Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "She's . . . she's alright, ain't she?"
"Yeah," he grunted, shifting his arms to make her more comfortable. "Will be in a while, at least. Just needs a little time to clear her head."
"Yeah, yeah," the tender quivered, not noticing his cigarette had gone out, smiling nervously. "Coffee and shower . . . eh, Mr. Black?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Mick," Jet pushed the door with his shoulder, "And there's no mister. It's just Jet. I'm not a cop anymore."
They walked out into the rain. Just like before . . . sheets upon sheets of water. He'd been in the rain . . . Faye squirmed in her makeshift covers.
"Some weather this is," he spoke softly to her as he walked. "Jesus . . . rain and my shoulder . . . I'll be achin' for a week."
"Jet, you didn't have-"
"Oh, I didn't?" Jet interrupted. "What was I supposed to do; just let you run off all alone? Sorry, ma'am, but I ain't goin' for it. I already lost one friend that way."
One friend . . . a tear fell from her eye to her lip. And another. And another. And another until it seemed like her whole vision was getting clouded.
"Hey! None of that!" Jet barked when he noticed her state, but his face quickly quieted. "You done plenty of that already," he continued in a mellower voice. "If not for you, how bout for me?"
Just the sound of the rain . . . it was no use. Her tears were akin to rain. They surfaced to greet their airborne siblings. One after another, they ran down her face. Her whole face was one giant bowl of tears. This time, Jet did not scold her, but went on looking ahead, pretending he didn't notice.
"It's real funny I'd find ya in there," he went on after several minutes passed. "The Diving Crow . . . y'know what that place is?"
She couldn't speak, but she managed to shake her head no.
"Let's just say a broken-hearted police sergeant ran into an odd-eyed cowboy there five long years ago and had a little drink together."
Faye found herself unable to speak, the tears choking her off. How could that be? How very strange . . .
"What are the chances?" he went on. "Fate's funny sometimes. I'm getting too old to believe in coincidence."
Faye looked up at the sky, the gray crying clouds. It was all so wrong and at the same time it all made sense. Right and wrong . . . who draws the line between them? Some people say God, she thought. But what if God makes exceptions? Does everything change because of the exception? Or is the majority the rule?
How do you measure? Faye started to fall back into sleep, staring at the gray sky. When she awoke, they were back at the air hangar. Ed and Ein looked up at her, pondering, wondering; trying in their own way to comprehend what none of them could truly accept. She blinked down at them, trying to smile, but she just couldn't find the heart of it.
"Faye-faye?" Ed asked in a low voice, honest concern in her eyes.
"I'm alright, Ed-san," Jet let her down form his arms at last. She tried her best to keep steady, but lost her balance all the same, falling right back onto Jet for support.
A voice from the corner . . . "Heh! Shoulda known!" Her eyes trailed over, only to discover the one and only Jay, greasy and smarmy as ever, smirking like an alley cat that just got laid. A low sigh emitted from her throat. She didn't need this right now.
"Well, well," he continued, strutting like an overgrown rooster. "Looks like missy got herself into a little spot, now didn't she?"
"Put a cork in it, asshole!" Jet took a step forward, but it did not perturb the ever-incredulous hangar lackey.
"So what was it this time, hon?" Jay prodded on, almost right up next to her now. "On your back or on your knees?"
Silence. Her face remained downcast, shame apparent on her face.
"Oh, I get it," he took her arm once again, stroking her hand. But this time it was not a lecher's touch. It was a touch that said, 'You'd bang anybody anyway.' "You can do a guy in a dive but not me, that it?"
"Shut up . . ." she couldn't remember the rest of the insult. One tear fell to the floor. She really didn't need this right now.
"Oh, are we crying?" Jay crowed mockingly, putting on a girly voice to boot it. "'Oooh, I'm so sad, it's too bad I'm a-'"
"I'm WARNING you!!" Jet's voice roared. "You let her alone or I'll-"
"Aww . . . how sweet!" Jay grabbed her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "The big strong man is coming to your defense." Faye squeezed her eyes closed, both from his garlic breath and his beady, forbidding eyes. "I wonder what you did to earn tha- AKKT!"
Her eyes sprang back open just in time to see Jet pin Jay to the wall, his metal hand at his throat. Faye's mouth hung open, aghast. The expression on Jet's face, one of pure hatred, pure rage . . . the black dog. Jay didn't look anything like a dog at the moment, but he did resemble a hooked fish. Faye watched in just a little bit of relief, the scrawny man gasping to breath, his eyes full of fear.
"This arm is made of cold hard steel," he snarled into Jay's face. "They had it put in several years ago when I lost it in a gunfight when I was cop. It was designed to the most modern technological standards known to man. It can withhold over 400 pounds of resistance, and not once in nearly eight years has it EVER malfunctioned. And furthermore," he explained with a snarl, holding Jay a few more inches off the ground, "it could snap your scrawny little neck in about two seconds."
Jay's eyes shrank to the size of raisins, a low whimper crying out from his throat. "No . . . no, don't . . ." he finally managed to get out.
"Oh, don't, huh?" he growled, "Well, then, I think you oughta say something to my friend . . . don't you think?"
Jay's raisin eyes struck onto Faye's bleary green ones. "S-s-sor-ry . . ."
"Good!" Jet dropped him to the floor. He lay there, breathing hard, shaking with fear and unable to speak. "Let's get outta this hellhole." Faye's mouth still hung open. It just seemed so . . . so bizarre. Jet took her shoulder and pushed her towards the Bebop, and waiting just a second as Ed blew a very loud raspberry at Jay and Ein gave him a good growl.
"You go on now," Jet said softly once the door was closed. "Go on and sleep it off some more."
Faye could do nothing but comply. Once they were finally back out of orbit, she stumbled her way back to her own bedroom and flopped down, too exhausted to even take a shower.
* * *
Time seemed to pass quietly at last, and for a while, the world seemed very soft for Faye Valentine, snug in her own bed at last, safe from all those terrible things that wanted to hurt her. For several hours, she slept and slept, as if she had never slept in all her life. It didn't matter to her she looked so like a child, wrapped in a big black overcoat, her young face so sad. For a while, things were fine for Faye Valentine.
But all good things must come to an end . . .
Blinking, her great green eyes, fluttered open. For a moment or two, she simply stared around. This room . . . these things; clothes, bureau, chair, bed, make-up and toiletries, even her own reflection in the mirror . . . it was all so alien. How long had it been since she really looked at this room? Maybe everything, everything had just been one dream. Maybe she was still in the ice right now, and all this was just in her head. Maybe Spike, Jet, Ed, Ein, the Bebop, even herself . . . everything that happened . . . could it all just be one big, endless dream from which she would never awake?
Faye shook herself. Of course not. That was what was so damn terrible about it all. It all really had happened. And now, the one man she'd actually learned to love . . . on a table, cold, an enemy, a brother, by his side. Somehow, it seemed such a fitting end.
'Sure,' she thought to herself. 'For him. But what about me?'
She shook herself again. There was no use going on and on like this. The clasps of the jacket fell easily under her fingernails, and she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. Showers fixed anything.
The cool, warm water splashed on her face and down her sleek voluptuous form, washing away all the residues of the last few days. It was rather awful to see how much just stuff had built up on her. She was surprised she didn't stink to high heaven.
Faye was in the bathroom for over an hour, washing and combing hair, brushing teeth, dressing, applying make-up . . . everything.
And yet she knew she would never be clean again. This stain was not physical. No shower could wash it away.
A black stain had darkened the heart of Faye Valentine.
"How are you feeling?" Jet asked when he saw her waltz into the kitchen. She hadn't had food in who knows how long.
"A lot better," she lied, rifling through the refrigerator. For one thing, her head was still buzzing. And he could probably already guess how she felt. "Isn't there anything to eat around here?"
"You've come to the right place," he revealed a sizzling pan, still covered. The scent was awfully familiar . . . but . . .
"What is it?"
"C'mon, guess first," he prodded.
Faye tried for another minute, closing her eyes . . . nothing. "I give up."
"Surprise!" he said in a very unsurprised way, lifting the cover. "House special . . . bell peppers and beef without the beef WITH the beef!" he chuckled. "I thought for once we deserve some decent food."
"Hnh!" she laughed, taking a heaping plate of the stir-fry-like mix. "I dunno. Sounds kinda weird. Think my stomach can handle it?"
"Man, I learned long ago, ain't nothing you can't handle, and if there is, I'm not gonna try it."
"Yeah . . ." she muttered, looking sadly down. "Nothing can touch me . . ."
"Sit down, won't you please?" Jet asked her calmly. Surprisingly, Faye obeyed.
Jet down in the chair facing the couch. He gave her a grave look, and the words that lay upon her lips fell away in an instant.
"I wanna hear it all," he whispered, looking her straight in the eye. "And I don't wanna hear this sob-story crap. Something went on here, and I think I have the right to know."
A tear fell from her eye onto her lovely silken shirt, making a dark spot where it landed. The whole story, every weeping part of it. Sometimes the tears fell, and sometimes they would not come at all. Jet listened . . . listened. He was quiet, and for the most part, simply listened without emotion, taking his head in his hand once or twice. He heard the whole story, and when at last it was through, she could not help but feel empty, as if she'd lost a lot of blood, and at the same time, relieved, revived, as if some vicious poison had been cured at last.
For a moment or two, Jet simply sat, watching her last tears dry upon her face.
"Listen to me, Faye," he said at last. "I just want you to listen to me. Can you do that?" Faye nodded weakly.
"Good," he growled. "Now look here. I want to show you something. See this?"
Faye watched as he went into his front breast pocket. In his hand, a small, yellowed bit of paper shown through his bulky, metallic fingers. Faye took it an unwrapped it.
"Farewell?" she gasped between tears.
"Yeah, that's right. Farewell. Now listen," he said. "Five years ago, I found this on my bedside table in an empty old house. My wife, Elisa, had left it with a new pocket watch in place of herself. I couldn't find her anywhere. Month after month, I tried to ignore the emptiness I found in that house, that town, in that life I led. But slowly and surely, the sickness started sinking into me. Day in and day out, I could feel myself getting sicker and sicker. And then . . . one terrible morning I woke up to finally see what had been in front of my face for so long. I knew I'd never find her again. I thought maybe if I pretended that everything was normal, it would be. But I should've known it wasn't. It was right in front of my eyes and I refused to see that Elisa was never coming back to me, that my part of my life was gone. So I left it. I couldn't live that way anymore. But deep in my heart, I couldn't let go. For five years, I kept that watch in my pocket, carried it with me wherever I went, unwound. Just like it, my heart would not move on, not a second past the minute she left, always stuck just how she left it. But y'know what? What they say about old dogs not learning new tricks . . . bullshit. Cause while I was cavorting around, what with you young hooligans keeping me on my feet, I learned something. You can't live in the past, Faye. And do you know what? That watch I spoke of . . . is on the bottom of sea on Titan, exactly where it belongs.
"Are you starting to see it now, Faye? The real reason Spike died is just this; just like I, he couldn't let go. Maybe he thought he could, but deep inside, his life was still stuck in the time of Julia, Vicious, and that entire story. I'm not saying that Spike didn't love you with all his heart and soul. To tell you the truth, I could see it all coming. Maybe you two didn't know it, but the both of you really loved each other, whether you wanted to admit it or not. But that isn't what we're talking about, Faye. The reason Spike could not run away and begin life anew with you like he should have was that his past still hung onto him. He could not let go. But going to fight Vicious is, in reality, a proof that he loved. He tried to break that link between his past and his present. That's how he died, Faye. When he fought Vicious, he was truly fighting his past and everything in it.
"Faye, no matter what anyone says about you, you are a great woman, and you deserve a life without pain, just as anyone does. Everyone has a past. Julia, Spike, Vicious, you, me . . . we seem to have particularly tragic ones. It is no one's responsibility or fault, and there's nothing we can do to change it. It's so easy to just wallow in the memories, to stay stagnant and find shelter in them. But Faye, I've already lost one friend that way, and I can't lose another. Please, Faye . . . won't you do that for me?"
Faye suddenly looked up, her eyes flooding with tears. "But . . . I want to keep him alive. I can let him live in my heart forever."
A sad look in his eye appeared to Faye. "It's more important to keep yourself alive, Faye. I don't know where Spike is right now, but I what I do know is this: it can't be worth eternal death to keep him in a fantasy life. Don't kill yourself, Faye. Don't do what I did."
Jet sat up at last, changing the subject very conspicuously.
"Damn this shoulder," he pretended to be sore at it. "Runnin' after you kids . . . I'm losing my hair here. I'm getting to old for this." He walked back down the hall, grumbling as he went.
Faye could do not but smile a bit to herself through the tears. If Jet was losing his hair, he wasn't far from done.