DISCLAIMER: I don't own Cowboy Bebop; Sunrise, Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.

AN: Bet you guys thought this story was finished! Ha!

I think I've watched "Jupiter Jazz 1 & 2" more than any other episodes of Cowboy Bebop, other than "Asteroid Blues". It's such a beautiful, sad story, one that made me cry almost as much as the end of the series.

Beyond Beautiful

Part 7: Drops of Jupiter

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

--Train

Two weeks before, Julia had peered out the window the morning after she arrived on Callisto, only to see everything covered in a pristine blanket of white. The sight had recalled memories of staying home from school on snow days, or of the weeks leading up to Christmas, but the feeling soon turned empty. It was like the little girl said in that book about the lion and the witch, she mused--always snow, but never Christmas.

Now, as she gazed into a steel-colored sky, Julia pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. The long, dark wool coat had been part of her Syndicate uniform once, a sumptuous garment trimmed with gold braid and lined with satin. The braid had long ago been ripped away. She wished she could do the same with the memories of her past life.

There really was no need for her sunglasses, but Julia slipped them on anyway. Two years of hiding in plain sight had made her cautious, and the gesture was nearly as automatic as breathing. She knew the way to the Blue Crow by heart, her booted feet picking their way along the dirty, slushy streets as if on autopilot. Soon, it would be time for her to move on again. For the millionth time, she wished she could just go home--if she only knew where that was.

That's a lie, her voice echoed in her head. Home is where Spike is, no matter the address.

She kicked an empty beer can along the sidewalk, feeling as if the hollow sound was resonating from inside her, rather than from the cheap metal. Everything she knew was gone, even Vicious, if the infrequent bits of news she got were to be believed. Spike had never resurfaced, and in a way, she wondered if that was a mercy. If Vicious had not been killed on the wastelands of Titan, Julia knew that if Spike were to show one fuzzy green hair anywhere in the solar system, Vicious would be all over him like a cheap blue suit.

If the Blue Crow was the armpit of the universe, at least it was warmer than Callisto's permanent deep-freeze atmosphere. The pointed stares of the men still made her uncomfortable sometimes, even though her turtleneck sweater kept her covered from neck to wrist. Her jeans fit her slim hips, but were far from being tight, and the voluminous coat hid all. She knew that what really drew their attention was her hair--a fall of molten gold that shimmered even in Callisto's wan winter light--along with her summer-sky blue eyes.

You don't see me, she thought, as if to mentally telegraph the words into the patrons' drunken brains. Your sister, your high-school crush, the girl-next-door. That's who you see. Just look past me, don't see a scared, lonely woman on the run from the most powerful Syndicate in the galaxy.

The bartender moved in front of Julia, wiping the worn bar with an equally worn towel. "The usual?"

"Yes. Thank you." Julia glanced at the makeshift stage, where an aging piano and a saxophone shared space like old comrades. "Gren's playing tonight?"

The ice in her glass danced as the bartender flooded the cubes with amber liquid. "Would you be here if he wasn't?"

Julia smiled. "That's true."

As if on cue, a tall, willowy man with violet-black hair caught back in a loose ponytail stepped onto the stage, and the patrons began to buzz among themselves. One of the braver ones even whistled, and there were a few yowls of approval for the man's hawk-sharp, almost pretty features. "Okay, settle down, you degenerates," the young man scolded good-naturedly, adjusting the microphone to better capture his soft tenor voice. A young piano player settled himself on the rickety bench to the man's right, and the two men shared a companionable laugh at some whispered aside before the tall one at the mic addressed the patrons again. "For those of you who care, I'd like to play a little something I've been working on for a while. Hope you like it."

Among a smattering of half-hearted applause, Gren scanned the dim room. His azure eyes finally settled on Julia, and they shared a smile as he picked up the sax. As if preparing to kiss a lover, Gren wet his lips with a pale pink tongue and began to play.

The tune that spilled out of Gren's sax was slow and sensual, like a curl of cigarette smoke against a windowpane. It made her ache with longing for the touch of Spike's hands against her skin, his body next to hers. Memories of running in the rain, holding hands, stolen kisses in an alleyway--all of it came flooding back, and she shut her eyes against the tears welling up. Someone in the bar was smoking the same brand of cigarettes as Spike, and the acrid smell tore at her with needle-sharp fangs.

Resting her chin on her hand, Julia floated on the tide of Gren's music--until she discovered she was humming along. She knew this song. Her eyes flew open, her heart hammering away in her ears as she gripped the edge of the bar for dear life.

"Vicious!"

It was sunset that Christmas Day when she caught up with him outside in the snow.

She placed the little box in his hand, the leather of his glove cold against her fingers. "This is for you."

Without moving his head, Vicious raised his ice-pale eyes from the box to her face. "I have nothing to give you in return."

She smiled. "That's okay. It's nothing big; just a little something to remember me by."

The pale eyes seemed to look into her very soul. "Why? Are you going somewhere?"

Her blood froze, but she kept her tone light. "Of course not! Look, just open it, okay?"

The tiny black-lacquered box sprang open with a tinkle of notes. "Such a delicate song," he remarked, his breath stirring the tangle of white hair hanging over his face.

"I thought it was pretty. Do you like it?"

He closed his gloved fist around the box, shutting the lid and stilling the tune. "Yes," he murmured, running his gloved thumb against the miniature red rose painted on the lid. " I like it very much."

By the time Gren finished cleaning the sax and stowed it carefully in its worn case, the bar was mostly empty. Shrugging into his coat, he waved goodnight to the bartender and stepped outside into the biting late-night air. Almost immediately, he felt the pressure of an equally cold gun barrel against the back of his neck, and he slowly raised his hands.

"If it's money you want, I don't have any," he shrugged. "Even my sax isn't worth much."

The voice that split the icy air was like the snarl of a lioness. "Where did you hear that song?"

Gren tried to turn around, but the gun prickled like ice against his cheek. "I got it from an old war buddy of mine, back on Titan. I don't know where he got it."

The gun pressed deeper into his smooth cheek. "You're lying!"

"I swear, it's the truth," Gren said evenly, the smell of gunpowder filling his nose. "My friend had this little music box, and he gave it to me when I asked him about the song. I've had it ever since." His fingers began to tingle as the blood drained to his elbows. "If you still don't believe me, you can come back to my apartment, and I'll show you."

The gun was snatched away, and Gren spun to see the blonde from the bar standing there in the snow. "You shouldn't be so bold," he warned. "These men out here will do what they want and leave you for dead."

"Hitting on women who pull a gun on you isn't very smart either," the woman retorted, "unless you've got a death wish of some kind."

To Julia's surprise, Gren smiled sadly. "I wasn't trying to hit on you. Don't take this personally, but I'm not interested in women." He raised his eyes to the night sky, snowflakes alighting in his dark hair. "As for death, he and I are on a first-name basis." Gren nodded toward a shabby blue high-rise in the distance. "Come on. It'll be warmer than standing around out here, anyway."

Gren's apartment was indeed warmer, especially with the gas fireplace purring to itself in the corner. Julia shed her coat and gloves and stretched her frozen hands toward the blue-orange flame while Gren put the kettle on in the kitchenette. "You have a nice place here," she remarked, looking around at the modest, yet comfortable furnishings.

"Thanks." Gren set two glasses on the coffee table and filled each halfway with hot water from the kettle. He added brandy and a shot of spiced rum to each glass, dropping in a cinnamon stick as well, then offered one to Julia. "Here. This'll warm you up."

With a nod of thanks, Julia accepted the glass and folded her hands around it. "I can't imagine someone choosing to live here voluntarily."

The young man sat back on the sofa opposite her, crossing his legs with an easy grace. "You're right; Callisto isn't exactly prime real estate." He took a sip from his glass. "If you want the rest of the world to forget you exist, this is the place to be."

Julia chuckled bitterly. "Then I should fit right in."

His sarcastic smile disappeared. "I'm sure there's someone who misses you, Julia." Gren lifted his head to where the dark square of window was lightening with grayish streaks of morning. "Somewhere, someone's thinking of you right now, and missing you." He swirled the contents of his glass. "Must be nice."

A flash of Spike as she last saw him--sleeping blissfully unaware as she packed her suitcase--flitted through Julia's mind, and she sighed. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll forget about me."

"But you can't forget about him," Gren supplied. "There's a bond there, a connection, one you can't break, no matter how far you run." He closed his azure eyes, a tiny smile on his face. "I know the feeling."

Julia sipped from her glass, feeling the spicy liquor warm her from the inside out. "Love messes everything up," she mused. "Why is that? Why does love have to come in and ruin everything?"

Gren's eyes glimmered with mischief. "That's the nature of love. It's random, you can't help it. It's a force of nature."

"Heh." Julia took a larger swig, and the tingle of the brandy sharpened into a trail of fire that scorched her throat. "A force of nature, all right. Like a hurricane or a tsunami." She watched as the cinnamon stick sank to the bottom of the glass. "We were all friends, just hanging out together, working, playing, fighting, like some weird set of siblings." She shook her head with a sigh, polishing off the rest of the drink.

"Then you fell in love, right?"

"No. HE fell in love with me." Julia sat back on the sofa, a pleasant muzziness blurring Gren's apartment into a comfortable, cloudy space. "Actually, they both did. I was pretending to love one, while I was really in love with the other."

Gren chuckled, setting his empty glass beside hers on the table. "And that's the moment it really got screwed up." He rose as gracefully as he had sat down. "Excuse me a moment."

"Sure." Julia watched him walk down the hall and into the bedroom. When he closed the door, she got up and wandered into the kitchen. He's been so nice to me--even after I threatened to shoot him, she mused, peeking into the fridge. The least I can do is fix him some breakfast. Besides, activity would be a welcome distraction; Gren had said he wasn't interested in women, but Julia wondered if he was as lonely as she was.

Just sex, yammered a voice inside Julia's head as she dug out a well-used sauté pan from underneath the stove. Sex is just sex. Supposed to be a natural high, something to get those endorphins running.

With a shudder, she remembered one of the last times she and Vicious had been together, one where he decided to conduct an experiment--with her as the guinea pig, of course. He had brought along a vial of Bloody Eye, telling her with relish that it was one of the purest batches yet. They had already made love once that evening when she had finally agreed to let him dose her with it. He had done likewise, and they had attacked each other like wild dogs.

Julia shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the puddle of eggs frying in the pan. The sex that night had been unbelievable, but she hated feeling out of control. What scared her most, however, was when she went to take a bath afterwards and happened to glance in the mirror. There were two perfect sets of Vicious' fingerprints around her throat--and she had no idea how they had gotten there.

Thus ended my career with recreational drugs, she harrumphed to herself. "Breakfast's ready," she called, spooning the eggs onto a plate and shoving two slices of bread in the toaster. Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked down the hall toward Gren's door. She knocked gently. "You awake in there?"

There was a hiss of pain from the other side of the door, followed by a strangled oath. "I'm fine," Gren choked out. A thud made the floor under Julia's feet shake, and suddenly she was cold sober.

"Like hell you are." She tried the knob, but it wouldn't turn. "Open this door."

"No," he moaned. "Julia, stay away!"

Tell the door to move, and it will move, came Spike's long-ago instruction into her head, giving her the impetus to kick the door open. In the corner by the bed, Gren cowered like a frightened animal, his arms wrapped around his middle, his knees drawn up to his chest. Alarmed, Julia dropped to her knees beside him.

"You're not fine," she spat. "Let me call a doctor."

"They can't do anything," Gren gasped. "Believe me--looked everywhere. No one can help." He tipped his head back into the corner, a grimace of pain marring his boyish features. "God, it hurts!"

Julia glanced around to see a syringe, a length of rubber tubing, and a glass vial of liquid strewn on the nightstand beside him. "Would some of that help?" she breathed.

"It--will. I took it a few minutes ago." His sweaty, ashen face was slowly regaining its color. "Usually it stops the attacks right away." With shaking hands, he pushed his hair back from where it had come undone from the ponytail. "I think I'm starting to develop a tolerance for it."

Her heart aching for him, Julia picked up the vial of liquid and tried to decipher the code on the outside. "What is it?"

Gren took the vial from her and stowed it and the tubing in the nightstand drawer, then swept the syringe into a sharps box. "Titan Opal. It's ironic; the drug is made from a chemical found in the venom of a Titan scorpion. That war is the whole reason I'm sick." He tilted his head at her, his lips curving into a sad smile. "Don't worry, though; I'm not contagious."

She frowned, something niggling at the back of her memory. "That's where you got that song, right?"

"That's right." With her help, he rose to his feet like a newborn foal, his long legs unsteady and weak. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Julia." His azure eyes were filled with regret.

"I've seen worse," she admitted, flashing back to Spike, bloodied and broken, in Mao's limousine. "Besides, what if you'd really needed help?"

They reached the couch, and Gren sank into the cushions with a grateful sigh. "I told you before that Death and I are old friends." He looked straight at her, his bluer-than-blue gaze cutting her to the quick. "When he comes, I'll open the door wide and let him in." He raised his hand to cup her chin, his long fingers brushing her cheek. "Like I did for you tonight."

With a sudden movement that surprised both of them, she was in his arms, her hands thrust deep into the sea of indigo hair that streamed over his shoulders. Their lips met clumsily at first, and then his kiss became more and more sure, hot and demanding. The pleasure built inside him until he couldn't stand it, and he broke away to hold her, trembling, against his chest. "Julia, Julia," he murmured against her cheek.

Guilt stained her to the marrow. Forgive me, Spike! "I'm sorry," she blurted. "That was foolish of me."

"Not foolish," he corrected her. "Maybe we both needed that."

Julia stood quickly and wiped her hands against her jeans. "I'm gonna go. Are you sure you'll be fine?"

Gren smiled. "I'm sure."

"Do you need anything?"

"No. I'm fine." He clasped her chilly fingers. "Go on home, Julia. I'll see you later."

It was only when she was outside in the icy dawn that she realized--he had never shown her the music box.

Every night after that, Julia came to the Blue Crow to listen to Gren play. Afterward, they would go back to his place and talk, or sometimes they would just sit together, staring into the fire or watching the snow fall outside the window. When his attacks came, she tried her best to comfort him as the drug burned its way through his veins.

She had never asked about the music box again, figuring that when he was ready, he would tell her. They respected each other's privacy, treading lightly around the topic of their past lives. As much as she liked Gren, Julia knew there was no one she could trust; the Syndicate had eyes and ears all over the solar system. Gren was too sick, and she cared about him too much to bring that on him--that was, if he wasn't already involved.

One night, Julia slid into her usual seat to find the stage darkened, the saxophone missing from its stand. She turned to the bartender with a frown. "Where's Gren?"

"Called in sick," the bartender scowled. "Pisses me off--I make more money when he's playing." He bent down to retrieve a highball glass from the shelf below the bar. "I ran out of that fancy whiskey; you'll have to settle for--" The bartender straightened to find that the blonde woman had vanished, leaving her five-woolong payment for a drink he hadn't poured.

"Gren!" Julia beat on the door to Gren's apartment, ignoring the stares of the neighbors who peeped at her from behind their chain-locked doors. "Gren, it's me! Open up!"

The chain lock rattled, then the door swung open to reveal Gren in his bathrobe. Dark circles stained the skin under his eyes, and his hair hung in matted clumps around his pale face. "Julia," he breathed, a tiny smile lighting a blue spark in his eyes for just a moment. Then pain darkened them again, and he hunched his shoulders, as if his body was trying to collapse in on itself.

She stepped into the room; the neighbors didn't need a free show. "You're getting worse," she frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The pain passed, but his hands still trembled on the lock as he shut the door behind them. "There's nothing you can do for me, Julia," he sighed. "If I told you, all you would do is worry. You have enough worries without adding my sad existence to the pile."

"I hate it when you talk like that," she said darkly. "You sound just like him."

"The one you loved, or the one who loved you?"

Julia moved to the easy chair as Gren stretched himself out painfully on the sofa. "The one I loved." She watched Gren trying to get comfortable, feeling the waves of déjà vu wash over her. "He was in much the same boat as you are," she murmured, suddenly aching to talk about Spike. "One big knot of pain, with me trying to make sure he didn't leave the party."

A flash of hope passed across Gren's haggard features, hope that someone else had survived this ordeal. "You mean, he had the sickness?"

"No. He'd gotten shot up in a sting. It was a setup, pure and simple." She fidgeted with the tie of the sweater belted at her waist. "I'd never seen anyone have that many bullet holes in him and live. He lost one of his eyes in that shoot-out, and the prosthetic isn't quite the same color." She tilted her head back and swung her gaze back to Gren, who was listening attentively. "You can't look in his eyes for very long. It gives you a weird feeling."

Gren smiled. "He's a lucky man. I wish I could meet him."

"That one you were talking about, that first night we met," Julia mused. "Did you love…?"

"Him," he nodded. "I'd like to think so." Gren smiled, closing his eyes. "Maybe it was just the war that threw us together. Maybe under normal circumstances, we would have passed each other on the street and never given each other a second glance." He shrugged. "You might be more right than you know about me and your lover. I was set up too."

"What?" Something began to jangle a warning in the back of her mind, but she pressed on. "How do you mean?"

The azure eyes opened and fastened their gaze on a wall of photographs above the writing desk across the room. "After the war was over, we said our good-byes. I thought we would go home, go our separate ways. I was prepared never to see him again." He shook his head. "I did see him again…but it was in front of a board of inquiry. I was charged with being a spy for the Titan resistance--and there he stood on the witness stand, telling lie after lie about me." Gren pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but Julia saw the tears dripping down the side of his face. "He told them…he told them I confided in him after sex. He told them after we'd made love, I confessed everything and begged him not to tell, just so I could stay with him." His voice shook with anguish. "He said he slept with me just to get my confession, and that it made him sick to remember it."

Pain clawed at Julia to see Gren shuddering with sobs. "He was a monster, Gren; he doesn't deserve your love anymore." She rose to sit beside him, using a corner of the blanket to dry his tears. "Don't you see that?"

"I wish I could believe that," Gren whispered, lowering his hands to cover hers. "Even now, I remember everything about him. His voice, his skin…" He trailed off, and Julia knew he saw his lover's face in front of him instead of hers. "He was like some sort of snow god, an ice warrior, with that silver hair, and those pale, pale blue eyes."

Julia's heart shuddered in fear. It's not possible! There was a moment's terrible, silent struggle within her, but she had to know. "Tell me his name."

"It was an apt one," Gren mused. "It fit him well."

Her words were a deadly hiss. "What was his name?!"

Gren tilted his head back against the pillow in bittersweet rapture. "Vicious."

Julia's entire body felt as if it would burst into flames, but the moment passed and she was numb. Rising from the couch, she retrieved her gun from her coat pocket and crossed the room to where Gren lay in blissful remembrance. Maybe if I kill him right now, he'll live in that dream forever, she thought, leveling the gun at his forehead as she knelt beside him.

An icy jolt shot down her spine as Gren leaned against the barrel. "Please," he whispered, his eyes still closed. "Set me free, Julia."

"Where did he go, Gren?" She watched herself holding the gun against his head as if she was outside her body.

"Julia, please. I want to end this pain."

"Tell me where he went and I will."

Gren opened his eyes, pulling back to look at her beyond the gun. "I was thrown in prison after that. I don't know, I thought he went home, back to…" Sudden comprehension dawned on his face, turning it even paler than before. "….Julia." He nodded, and she could almost hear the pieces clicking into place in his brain. "You're his Julia! Oh, God…" Gren fell back on the pillow, his body beginning to shake in the first throes of an attack. "In the drawer," he choked out, "Something--need to show you."

"Never mind that." Laying her gun on the table, Julia took up the syringe and filled it with Titan Opal, then tugged Gren's arm straight enough so she could jab him with the needle. He tried to curl up in pain, and the needle skidded across his arm, leaving a trail of red dots on the pale skin. "Gren, I need you to stay still. I have to know about Vicious. Hold still!"

With effort on both their parts, Julia finally got the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger, sending the burning venom into Gren's tortured body. "Thank you," he gasped, just before the drug swept him into a blessedly painless nothing.

Gren awoke to delicate, tinkling notes that plucked the surface of his awareness like a geisha playing her samisen. For a moment, he wondered if he was dead instead of asleep, but the smell of food tickled his nose, and he opened his eyes to see the dingy light of noon falling through the square window. "Julia?"

"Help yourself to some soup," her voice echoed from the shadows. "It's chicken noodle. That's all they had at the corner store."

He rose from the couch, cloaking his shoulders with the blanket. "Thanks. I love chicken noodle." He crossed the room to where she sat at the writing desk, following her gaze to the pictures on the wall. A tiny set of music box works plinked beside her, its tiny crank winding around in time to the tune. "I see you found it," he nodded.

"Open it," she commanded, her voice leaden.

His brows drew together. "What? You mean, break it apart?" He shook his head. "Julia…surely you wouldn't be so cruel…as to take away the one thing that reminds me of a time when life was more than just cold and pain and needles."

"Spike used to tell me…that this life is just a dream. So it doesn't matter. Maybe one of these days, you'll die and wake up and be happy again." She turned to him, her face little more than a pale, moonlike outline in the dim light. "That's what I'm waiting for, to wake up so I can be with him again." She nodded toward the tiny machine that had finally gone silent. "Open it. Just because you didn't buy it off him doesn't mean he gave it freely."

"Let's pretend just one more time," Gren whispered, winding the key. "You and Spike, me and Vicious, together again." The tune released its thin melody into the air and they listened until the very last note died away.

Julia picked up the music box and pried away the tiny steel plate on the bottom. Inside was a silver button no bigger than the tip of a man's finger, and she shook it out onto the desk. "This is a solar transmitter." She tipped it into his hand. "If you go anywhere in the galaxy, Vicious can use the signal to triangulate your position."

"We used these on Titan," Gren breathed. "That son of a bitch."

"The moment the signal stops, he's going to come looking for you." Julia folded her arms across her sweater. "You know that, don't you?"

His azure eyes turned the color of cold blue steel. "Then let him come. Maybe I can ask him why he betrayed me." He gave her the transmitter. "Would you care to do the honors?"

Julia took the silver button into the bathroom and dropped it on the tile, then crushed it beneath the heel of her boot. When the transmitter was nothing but bits of metal and wire, she glanced up at Gren, watching as his eyes filled with tears. "Time for me to go," she murmured.

The trunk of the convertible slammed shut, and Gren clapped the dust from his hands. "Looks like you're all set," he nodded to the blonde woman standing by the drivers' side door. "I wish I could go with you."

"I wish you could, too," Julia sighed. "Maybe we could find a doctor who could cure you."

He smiled. "Don't start that again," he scolded gently. "You have your destiny, and I have mine. That's all there is to it."

"I know." She laid her hand against his smooth cheek. "I guess this is goodbye, Grencia Mars Elijah Duo Eckner."

Gren's eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement at the sound of his full name. "I guess so, Miss Julia." He covered her hand with his, then drew her into his arms and hugged her. "My love goes out to you and Spike. Go and find him, and be happy."

"I'm gonna try. Take care, Gren." She got into the car and shut the door, and the vehicle pulled away from the curb. He watched as she turned on to the road toward the spaceport, his hand lifted in farewell until she was out of sight.

When he opened the door of his apartment, the phone was chirping to itself in the corner. The answering machine clicked on as he shut the door.

"This is Gren. Leave a message. Thanks." Beeeeep.

"Gren."

The voice was like the scratch of diamonds on glass, and Gren whirled to fix the answering machine with a hard look, daring it to make those same noises again.

"You know who this is." Long pause, then: "Call this number: 034-943-987. Tell whoever answers that you need Stage 2 Titan Opal vaccine. It will be delivered within eight hours."

His heart pounding, Gren stalked across the room to bend over the answering machine, but he stopped short of picking up the handset. This life is just a dream, Julia's words echoed in his head. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up just yet.

"After you get it, call the number that will be in the shipment. You'll receive further instructions then. I'll be waiting." Click.

Gren sat heavily in the chair by the desk. He unpinned the picture of himself and Vicious in their desert soldier garb from the wall, staring at Vicious' blurry image until the streetlight came on outside the window.