Blanket Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are, however, the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work.
A/N: The lyrics of Michelle Branch's "Goodbye to You" reflected this storyline well and so a title was created. (A good and simple set of the lyrics can be found at A-Z Lyrics Universe.)

Goodbye to You
by Barbara C.

Part Two

"Faye," his deep, rich smoke scarred voice helped to sooth her rattled nerves. She wanted to leap up from her seat and deliver a bear hug for his unknowing comfort, but being Faye, she opted for keeping her composure.

"You old dog, you haven't changed a bit. I'm glad you could join me," she greeted warmly, gesturing for him to sit.

The grizzled gentleman, for lack of a better description, pulled out the empty chair and plunked himself down. A cybernetic arm was visible, though camouflaged by a clean white shirt and dark sports coat; rather than the scrappy vest he used to wear. His bald spot seemed to take up more space than she remembered, but the rest of him appeared to remain the same, unchanged by the passage of time. Though, she had to admit, his grooming was neater than when Faye had last laid eyes on him.

He spoke again. "I'll admit I was kinda shocked to get your message but…"

"What's wrong with wanting to spend my birthday with old friends?"

"Friends? As in more than one?" He looked around. "The kid's here?"

Softly, she shook her head. "I tried for a couple weeks, but whenever I managed to get close to tracking her down she and Ein had disappeared."

"So, she's not hanging with her old man anymore?" The older man picked up the complimentary glass of water in a beefy hand and swigged most if it in one gulp.

Shaking her head she replied, "Not as far as I could tell. She's seventeen or eighteen now, old enough to be on her own. Then again," she smiled at a memory, "she'd been on her own for a while by the time she started traveling with us."

Jet laughed. "Lady, she was practically on her own while she was living with us."

Faye joined in her companion's merriment for a few moments, before both came back down to reality.

"So," she breathed, "how have you been? Still bounty hunting?"

There was a momentary pause before the response. "Nope, I guess it was about two years ago that I finally gave it up."

At that moment a waiter came by for the drink order. "What'll you have, Jet?" The dark haired woman asked. "On me," she smirked at his startled reaction. His smoke scarred voice requested a whiskey, straight, while she requested another glass of Merlot. The waiter took their orders and left the table.

"This is a restaurant you should look at the menu," Faye prodded.

A thick, black eyebrow rose, "Is dinner on you too."

A catlike smile slid across her face as she let the double meaning jump around in her brain long enough to garner Jet's attention. He had started to puff up a bit at the silent innuendo when she finally graced him with an answer. "I'm not doing to badly for myself and since I'm the one that set this up and asked you here, the food, and drinks, are on me tonight."

"Spreading the cash around while you have it? Already planning to crash another casino?"

"Not really," she replied softly while tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She then perked up a bit, changing the subject back to her interest. "So, if you're not bounty hunting any longer what are you doing? And what did you do with the hunk of flying scrapmet—"

"The Bebop was in perfect shape. Just like any ship," he replied defensively, "so long as you take care of her. Which we never could do properly 'cause most of the money we had went toward repairs to the other ships and food." He grumbled for a few moments about the money problems they'd had in the past before continuing on. "About three months after you left I found myself another partner. Without someone to back you up you can't go after the big fish and I was getting damn tired of bell peppers and beef for dinner with only myself for company."

Faye didn't mind interrupting, "Without the beef?"

She was bestowed with a cold stare, "Some of the time. Anyway, she had grown up in the bus—"

"She?"

He paused, glaring at his dining companion for interrupting. "She had grown up in the business, so she knew all the ins-and-outs and whatnot. After a couple years of that we finally scored big." The drinks came then and so did the food order request. Having had time beforehand to look at the menu Faye had already decided upon the Smoked Salmon. Jet, having never looked at the menu, ordered the same. The waiter once again left the table.

"Wiley Williams," Jet said in a hushed tone.

Faye had been about to take a sip from her glass when Jet startled her with that bit of information. Her hand shook as she placed her other hand atop the glass to make sure no liquid sloshed on to the pristine white tablecloth.

"Wile- Wiley Williams? But he's—"

"I know, the ISSP kept it all under wraps with the claim of a heart attack during the bust but he was alive when we took him in. I think it was to take the heat off of anyone who caught the bastard," he leaned back in his chair. "But I'm figuring they wanted time to interrogate him without his syndicate cronies finding out and trying to either kill him or break him out. Whatever the ISSP did with him afterward wasn't our business. All these years nothing bad has come from it so, I'm figuring no one found out our part in the mess."

Faye nearly whistled. "That must have been a pretty big score."

"Enough. After that, Jenny told me I was getting to old for the shit that I was going through. Told me she was too, for that matter." He smiled musingly, "I don't know if it was there all along or it hit me at that moment, but…"

"Puh-lease," the dark haired woman pushed herself back from the table. "Spare me the sap, Jet!" The large man couldn't help but chuckle at her show of faux agony. "So, since your retirement, what have you and this Jenny girl been doing?"

"Got married, sold the Bebop…and the Swordfish, opened up a little cantina on Ganymede."

"Are you cradle robbing again?" she asked thinking of his friend's daughter, Meifa, who had been all of something like eighteen when she spent some time on the Bebop after her father's death. Growling he informed her that his wife's age was quite suitable and legal.

"You?" he asked.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she decided to go with the truth. "I drank myself into more problems until I decided to pursue the dreams I had forgotten seventy years ago." The balding man looked at her expectantly. "I had originally wanted to teach but—", a loud guffaw cut her off. "But," she glared at him, "I knew I wouldn't be able to handle that, so I tried out a creative writing class."

"You're taking writing classes?" Jet asked somewhat befuddled.

"No, I took a writing class, now I'm a published author." She leaned over to whisper to him. "V. Prescott."

He wasn't buying a word until something sparked. "Valentine Prescott," he mouthed and then added. "Where the hell did Prescott come from?"

"The better question would be where the hell did Valentine come from? Faye Etsuko Prescott. Valentine was given to me by that jerk doctor who brought me out of cryo. He made it up because I was only a first name at the time. I've legally become Faye Prescott again, but write under Valentine Prescott to make it tougher for the hoards of fans that would try to track me down."

"Or the—"

"I've paid off all the debt collectors, anonymously, of course. I just keep a low profile because of all the bad business we drummed up. With syndicates and other people we snowballed during the ol' bounty hunting days… I don't want Faye Prescott to get ragged on because of all the shit Faye Valentine had to deal with."

"A fresh start."

"Yeah."

"Your meals, Sir. Ma'am." The waiter appeared with a tray.

After they were served, the conversation dragged into idle chit chat. The food was delicious, but both knew there was another reason for their meeting. It wasn't only a birthday and it wasn't only to catch up on old times.

Most of the way through the meal, Jet was the first to finally build up the courage to speak about it. "So, Faye, what's the real reason you called me out here?"

"Cut to the chase huh? You were always good at that." She put her fork down and stared into the crimson liquid the wineglass held.

He raised an eyebrow was about to start speaking when she cut him off bluntly. Still gazing into the contents of her glass, she quietly answered. "I need some help killing a few ghosts that have been haunting me."

His brow furled. "Are you in trouble?"

"Not in the way you're probably thinking." She smiled sadly then looked straight into Jet's eyes as she took one of his hands in hers.

"It's been five years, nine months, sixteen days, and," she turned her wrist to look at the watch, "about an hour since Spike went off to see if he was really alive." She felt the hand in her grasp flinch. "I turn twenty-seven today. The same age he was when…when he…" Tears began to form in Faye's eyes as she related the cold facts that she lived with every day to Jet.

"Faye." Jet's voice was harsh, but she sensed the empathy.

"I finally found my past, but there was nothing there. Everything from that life was gone. It had been for years. I realized, too late, that everything I did have was aboard the Bebop." She paused. "I had everything there. Everything I ever wanted, except my past. We were the family I had been searching for, but I…" She let go of Jet's had and broke eye contact. Picking up her fork, she stabbed the utensil into the remainder of the fish.

With a small hiccup, she continued. "Memories don't keep you warm at night, they don't make you laugh at their antics, or steal the last beer and make you beg for it." She mashed her fish some more. "They don't…" Her voice hiccuped again. "They only make you smile when you remember the good times, and cry like a baby when you remember all the bad. But the bad times are so much more memorable, that they just overwhelm you and…"

"Faye," Jet had remained silent during her ramblings, but it was time for him to intrude before she did something she'd regret.

"No, don't interrupt!" She hissed, laying her fork down, with some force, but not enough to garner the attentions of any patrons or employees. "If I'm unhappy with my memories, Spike would have been too, right?" The watery quality of her voice was quickly being replaced by confusion and anger. "He had to; especially with Julia and everyone else he cared about dead. So why did he care so much? Why did he care about a bunch of dead people more than us? More than me?" She grasped the napkin in her lap and began twisting. "I wouldn't have gone off like that, so why did he? Didn't he want us anymore? He said he was going to see if he really was alive, but he wasn't." She glared almost accusingly at Jet, as if he'd known more than she had at the time. "He lied. He lived in his memories; that was the only place he lived."

"Faye," Jet began again, only this time more forcefully.

Quietly, before another word could be spoken, Faye finished her tirade. "And that's where he died."

Jet reached underneath the edge of the table to take her hands in his. Bringing them up to the table, he ran a comforting thumb across the backs of one of her hands. Uncomfortably, he began, "Now, Faye, you can't beat yourself up over this." She was going to protest. He could feel it in her body language and see it in her face, so he just kept right on talking. "Spike didn't go to see if he was alive." Damn, wrong thing to say. "He went because he had to. He had unfinished business. I'm certain he had every intention of coming back." He paused trying to think of something else to say. "I guarantee that, he left a full pack of cigs in his room and the last beer in the fridge," lightening the mood seemed to work. Hell, lightening the mood was needed. "There is no way he would have left the last beer if he planned on getting himself killed. He would have at least had one last drink, if only to spite you." Jet had to chuckle at that.

"You don't get it," Faye argued, "he was chivalrous that way. He would have left the stupid beer for one or both of us to remember him by. So we could have a farewell drink."

Confusion etched the big man's face. "Are we talking about the same man? Tall, gangly build, fuzzy hair, wore a blue suit?"

Faye pulled out of his hold and stared hard at the remains of the fish on her plate. Confused, she said, "I just… I…" I want to know what we're arguing about. I want to know… "Why? I want to know, why?"

Jet leaned back in his chair and heaved a heavy sigh. He thought that was the reason for this odd emotional outburst. "Well," he began.

"Are you finished with your plates?" Their waiter was back.

"Not yet," Jet told the man. "I could use another whiskey though."

"More wine, Ma'am?"

Quietly, "Yes, please, Merlot, 56."

Picking up on the tension at the table, the waiter went about his business as quickly and professionally as possible and then departed.

"Faye, he'd been like that for years. There was nothing special about the time, the day, or how old he was. He had been looking for a way out all along."

A sharp gasp caused him to look up. Oh shit. She was angry.

"Damn it, Faye. It's the truth. Now, listen here and listen good, 'cause I'm only going to say this once. Don't mope over him; if he knew you were going to keep up at it, he would have shot you himself. Now, you seem to have made a good life for yourself, he'd be proud. Damn proud I'd bet. You moved on, it was something he never could do. Never would do." He gave an exasperated sigh. "You're better than he was."

"I'm still lonely." She looked miserable.

"Hey, you called me and I came running; dumb as it might have been," he added. I'm sure if you stay on the kid long enough, you could get her here too, even the dog. And Jenny's with me, so… You've got a whole handful of us."

"It still doesn't keep me warm at night."

He had to think about that one for a sec. "I'll buy you an electric blanket or a pet poodle." The offer elicited a small burst of laughter from Faye.

"No poodles, but maybe a dog. I hear it's a great way to meet guys; dog walking."

"Yeah," Jet let out more of a groan than an affirmation.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Dog walking, it's a lame plan."

"Says, who?"

"Says me," he gave her an almost fatherly grin. The waiter arrived with their drinks and left promptly. "So, no more tears? You're over your infatuation with Spike?"

"No more tears and no, not totally, but enough."

That was good enough for Jet. Swigging his whiskey down in two swallows, Faye did the same with her wine. Of course, her near breakdown hadn't caused anyone to stare; but two relatively elegantly dressed individuals guzzling whiskey and wine like water was enough to cause a few whispers amongst the other patrons.

"Y'know," she said placing her empty glass back on the table. "We should do this more often." She then smiled at Jet, a real smile.

"What? Air our dirty laundry out in public?"

"No," she swept another strand of errant hair behind her ear. "I meant catching up. It was...good," she finally decided. "And maybe if we do it again, you can bring Jenny, along. You guys are the closest thing to a family that I have... I need you. Besides," perking up, Faye grinned at the man, a sparkling dazzling grin. "I wouldn't mind being an Auntie Faye-Faye."

She cackled with laughter at his startled form. "Hey, anything is possible." Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she stood then patted her old friend on the back. "Keep in touch." And she sauntered out of the restaurant leaving a stunned Jet to realize the bill hadn't been paid.

"Damn!"

AN: I'll admit Faye worked through her grief and other issues too fast. I doubt it could be done in one sitting particularly a half hour long session with an old friend, but that's the way it worked out. I'm sure this isn't the end of her emotional turmoil and she goes home to have a good cry. I will also add that, yes, Spike is supposed to be dead-dead in this story; despite the fact that I'm one of those hopeless romantics that repeatedly tells herself there was something between the two and he didn't die at the end of the series, but who knows its really just wishful thinking deep down.

If someone wants to write any related pieces to this story using it as inspiration, you have my blessing. Jenny is a blank slate, I have my own thoughts on her, but I'm not sharing those yet. However, I do ask that you please don't take huge tracts of this story and use flashbacks as the key feature in the piece. Thanks.