As always, although I much wish that I did, I do not own Cowboy Bebop's characters, nor will I ever (although I own the DVDs). Hope you like my story, which I do own!

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Chapter Five: Chaser

"Oh god, bring me some coffee and some morphine, will you, Jet?" Spike groaned as he sat up slowly on the sofa, trying to ignore the intense throb of his head. 3 pm. Jesus, what a fucking hangover. He couldn't remember drinking that much in a long time. Probably because the drinks were on Ed, he thought, ruefully. He rubbed his temples in a futile attempt to assuage his headache.
"No coffee for you; the acid will make your stomach do cartwheels. Here's some bread to soak up the acid, some water to help the dehydration, and some pseudo-acetaminophen to help the headache." Jet grinned toothily and tossed the packet of aspirin to Spike who swallowed it gratefully. He picked up the bread with distaste and started chewing on it. "Thanks, O Gaol-keeper Jet, for my meager ration of bread and water. Where's everyone else?"
"Ed appears immune to alcohol, lucky kid. She got up around ten and calibrated the engine computer and has been manually defragging the navigation computer the rest of the day." Jet shook his head in wonder, before saying, "She's an amazing kid. And as for your rescuer-"
"Wait, rescuer?" Spike looked incredulous.
"-she's still asleep in bed."
Rescuer? What happened? I don't even remember leaving the dance club.
"She didn't rescue me," Spike snorted, feigning knowledge of the situation. "I was too drunk to fly."
"Like hell. You sure were too drunk to fly. She dragged your ass back to her Redtail and flew you home. You were out colder than a fucking rock. You're just lucky she didn't leave you in the parking lot to get mugged. You should be nicer to her."
Spike scratched the back of his head thoughtfully as he chewed, his eyes screwed shut against the bright sun, swallowing the dry bread in hopes that it would alleviate some of the odd gurgling sounds his stomach was currently making. At some point in the future a prairie oyster was in order.
A groan from the hallway alerted Spike to the presence of his now conscious "rescuer" from the night before, as dubious as that title sounded to him.
"Jet," Faye moaned plaintively, "please shoot me right now and make the pain end. Oh god, what an incredible hangover." Spike smiled faintly at the similar word choices they both had when they regained consciousness.
Jet chuckled at his friends. "You two are totally hopeless. When will you ever learn not to drink so damn much?" He sat on the sofa next to Spike and lit a cigarette, inhaling slowly.
Faye oozed her way into the living room and dejectedly plopped down on the chair facing the sofa. Spike stood and handed her the leftover bread and the glass of water Jet had given him. She took the water and waved away the bread, covering her eyes with the back of her hand to shield her throbbing head from the bright light that streamed in from the observation room.
"Hey, Spike."
"Hey, Faye."
"How're you this morning?"
"Afternoon."
"Whatever."
"Like shit; yourself?"
"Agreed."
"Listen, I'm going to do you a favor since you flew me home. I'm going to make you a prairie oyster."
"Thanks, I guess. They always looked pretty foul. But whatever works, hey?"
"Indeed."
Spike stood and began walking to the kitchen, before turning to survey the living room. Jet was perched nervously on the sofa, smoking rapidly and jiggling his leg, while Faye attempted to hide her head in her arms to block the sun. What a crew. But something serious was up with Jet. Was his old girlfriend-turned-bounty still bothering him? Spike told himself that when he felt more human he'd find out.
He found Ed in the kitchen, on one of her frequent food raids. She looked at him brightly and hugged him, much to the chagrin of his various aching body parts. "Ed had fun last night! At least," Ed said, while frowning down at the floor, " I think I did. I don't really remember. What about you?" Her smile returned, and she looked back up at Spike's haggard face. The smile faded rapidly. "Spike, you okay?"
"Yeah, Ed, I just think you were a little too generous with the drinks last night." He reached out and ruffled her hair fondly. She was still wearing her outfit from the night before...
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"Ed is not too sure about this." The thump of boots was heard in the hallway. Spike and Jet peered curiously towards Faye's room as the gangly teenager emerged.
"Oh shush, Ed, you look nice."
She was wearing...Spike's clothes.
"Why is she wearing all of my stuff?"
"Because she can't wear any of mine. She's three inches taller than me and built like a beanpole."
"You look nice, Ed," Jet interjected.
"Thank you, Jet-person."
A change had been wrought with Ed's skinny frame. She was wearing one of Spike's wife beater undershirts, a puffy gray vest, some of his black pants that had been rolled up at the cuffs, and some...
"Combat boots?" Spike looked at Faye quizzically.
She shrugged. "I'm a shoe person. I bought those back when I was going through a more, um, industrial phase. They fit Ed for some unknown reason, so I figured she could have them."
Somehow Faye had tamed Ed's wild mass of hair and washed the spiking glue out of it, leaving it a fuzzy blue mop that lay mostly limp around her ears, as if worn out by the constant effort of trying to be unruly.
"Well, Ed, I think you look like a hacker supreme." Spike smiled. Nice to see that someone besides him could look decent in his clothes.
"Yay! Ed is glad Spike person is not mad at Faye for her rifling through his room and finding his naked people magazines!"
Spike glared at Faye and promised himself that he would yell at her later. Perhaps after a few drinks he could get himself riled up enough to start a good fight...
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Spike walked out of the kitchen with two glasses and a playful smile. Faye wouldn't know what to expect, so he had taken a few liberties with her prairie oyster. No sense wasting a good opportunity to pull a prank. What did it matter that jalapeño juice wasn't normally part of a prairie oyster? He handed her the glass and downed his quickly before she could notice the distinct color difference. She sniffed at hers suspiciously and then chugged it, grimacing at the aftertaste.
"Well, that was as disgusting. But it was to be expected." She got up and walked slowly to the bathroom.
Spike gaped. How could anyone not be bothered by huge quantity of jalapeño juice he had put in her glass? He suddenly had a newfound respect for Faye's digestive system.

Jet had sat through the entire episode, tapping his leg nervously, chain-smoking. Something was definitely up.
"Jet, what's bothering you? You've been sitting in a stony silence for 20 minutes now."
"Nothing, I'm just thinking."
"About Petria, aren't you?"
"And so what if I am? This doesn't concern you in the same way it does me."
"Jet. This concerns me needing to eat. This does not concern you anymore. She fucking left you." Spike knew it was a low blow, but something had to be done.
"You don't think I know that? You don't think I feel abandoned? You of all people should understand being abandoned. That you realize one day someone doesn't understand how you love them." Jet smiled humorlessly as he stared at the end of his cigarette.
Spike looked at Jet. Yes, of course he knew. He knew the hurt it caused when someone walks out on you. When someone takes your trust and uses it against you. But none of that mattered to him anymore. He had gotten over Julia. He told himself that he did. But had he really? Spike shook his head to clear it of the confusing feelings he felt flooding it, and turned once more to Jet, who sat morosely on the couch.
"Jet. What are you afraid of?" Spike asked softly.
"I'm not sure. Maybe I'm afraid of what she's become. Maybe I'm afraid of what I've become."
"Jet, what've you become? You've got the best set of morals I've ever seen, and a loyalty that's unshakable."
"I'm for hire."
"Aren't we all?" Spike lit a cigarette and watched his friend. Jet had seemed to age ten years in the last half hour. Spike sighed and sat down next to his friend.
"We have to find her. Yes, I'll admit I want the bounty, but I think you need some closure. I had closure for Julia, even if it almost killed me. I'll help you find closure for Petria. God knows you've done enough for me to warrant my help. I'll do my damnedest, Jet."
"Thanks, Spike. I'm still not sure what I'm going to do when I find her."
"Finding her is the first step."
"That's true." Jet ground out his cigarette and stood up. "How are you feeling?"
"Not as bad."
"Want some breakfast?"
Spike looked up at him with a grin. "Nah, that'd make me feel worse again."
Jet smiled slightly at his friend's attempt to cheer him up, rolled his eyes, and headed towards the kitchen.
Spike lay back on the sofa, his almost spent cigarette dangling from his lips, pondering the events of the last ten minutes.
He fell asleep thinking of what Julia might have thought about Faye.
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Rar. Well, that's all for a little bit. I had a nice case of the ol' writer's block for a while . .but it went away (yay!). Welly, I'm going to be on spring break soon (I go home in a week), and midterms before that, so that could either mean no writing at all, or a plethora of stuff. We'll see how it goes.
Thank you all my reviewers *sniff* I love you all!
And as always, a thanks to my beta-reader, Lady Athena. (subliminal message to you all: read her story 'Developments')
Cheers everyone!
Malia