Disclaimer: No. I don't own Cowboy Bebop. Trust me. If I owned Cowboy Bebop, I'd own Spike Spiegel, and THAT would be incredibly time consuming. In fact, I'd probably never have written this in the first place. Come on now. Do you really think I'd be writing sXf Fan Fiction if I owned him? But enough about me…
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"Do you know a story that goes like this? There once was a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths and was reborn a million times and was owned by various people who he didn't care for. The cat wasn't afraid to die... One day, the cat was a free cat, a stray cat. He met a white female cat, and the two cats spent their days happily together. Years passed, and the white cat died of old age. The tiger-striped cat cried a million times, and then died. It never came back to life..."
Faye knew Spike came back last night. She was awake, tossing and turning, listing for any shred of comfort that he was there, that he had never left, that he was coming back breathing. It had been hours, each passing minute seemed more hopeless than the last. She didn't want him dead. She would rather him be with Julia somewhere- but not dead. His rejection she could handle. His death, she could not.
She heard the hatch open. He had landed. He walked in the door- and from the sound of things- he was alone. "Good for nothing bastard." She muttered to herself, and allowed herself to seep in the comfort of his presence. She was asleep before his cries could echo through the ship, filling the small space with the sounds of human despair. Julia loved him, had died loving him. He had lived to find her again- even when it seemed unattainable- it had kept him going. What was there now? Spike buried his head in his hands and shook with sobs, until he too fell asleep.
When Faye awoke, Spike was telling Jet the story of the cat that died a million times. "Shit." She knew what he was driving at. She knew exactly what he meant. She threw herself from bed out the door, interrupting the conversation with her screams.
"That's a terrible story!" She cried out, turning red in the face. "It's not worth it, just because she's dead." I'm alive. She thought to herself. I need you.
Spike looked up solemnly. "You wouldn't understand." His eyes narrowed, readying to throw her a verbal punch in the face-anything- just so she'd stop talking that way. He hated to see her that way. It made him feel like he was letting her down. Like she actually cared about him, like he was hurting her. "A no good whore like you can't know anything about love."
"And ignorant bastards like you couldn't possibly know anything about no good whores like me." She turned to leave the room. "For someone who's always told me that the past didn't matter, it seems to matter a lot to you."
"Faye, look at me." She turned around, her fists clenched to stop herself from crying. Look at these eyes. One of them is a fake, because I lost it in an accident. Since then, I have been seeing the past in one eye, and the present in the other. I had believed that whatI saw was not all of reality... it was as if I was living in a dream."
"Don't tell me that. I don't want to hear it. Go throw your life away. Don't you care what it would do to us?"
"I'm not trying to die. I'm trying to wake up." And with that, he left the ship. Faye fell to her knees, sobbing as she heard the swordfish take off. "Bastard!" she screamed into the air. "Bastard!"
She ran into Jet's room, pulling a large, hooded, black jacket from his closet and slipping it securely over her shoulders, allowing the hood to fall to her eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jet called to her, as she stood with one leg on the yellow couch, loading her glock to capacity and filling her pockets with bullets.
"I'm going after him." She looked at Jet, saw the worry and hurt in his eyes as she informed him of her plan. She placed her hand gently on his good shoulder. "At least one of us is coming back. Don't worry. You won't be alone." She smiled softly, and sadly, at him.
"I don't know why you'd do this for him." He grumbled.
"Neither do I." She steadied her breath, and stepped into the Redtail.
It didn't take her long to find him; she just followed the artillery fire and there he was- dodging the bullets or sending his own through the ships that were out to get him. She kept her distance- out of range of his radars or line of vision, and picked off a few of the other ships that he probably couldn't see. She prayed he didn't notice, he would have been angry, made her return to the bebop. But where would he be if she wasn't watching his ass, huh? She had to give him another chance. At life, at happiness, at everything he had been missing out on. She didn't intend to kill Vicious, she knew that Spike would want to do that himself, but she could at least stop Vicious from killing Spike in the meantime.
When he arrived at the building, she left the Redtail docked out of sight from the Swordfish, and crept behind him, silently. He had no problems picking off the syndicate minions, and all Faye had to do was, as quietly as possible, step over their bodies and follow him to Vicious. She watched as Shin fell, loyally. So he did have room for others besides Julia in that heart of ice. Maybe Faye would find a place in it someday.
Who am I kidding? She banished such thoughts from her mind and focused on what she had to do. The elevator stood open, eerily, and she stepped inside and allowed it to take her to the top floor. Her heart was in her mouth. It jingled softly at the top, and Faye, unrecognizable in the large jacket, crept into the room, hiding in the shadows, waiting for Vicious to, indirectly, determine her fate.
She watched them switch weapons. Saw the shift in Vicious's eyes as he prepared to strike. She watched his arm tense up, saw his malicious grin, watched him lick his lips. And as if in slow motion, she watched him start to move the katana in the direction of Spike's waist. This was it. She ran with all the speed she could in front of that sword, pushing Spike out of her way, and as he stumbled backward, the blade was pressed into the side of her stomach. She teetered there for a minute, a drop of blood spilling from the open gash in her side, and collapsed facedown on the floor. A single gunshot echoed in the room, and Vicious joined her there, a single noise escaping his throat.
Stunned, Spike walked over to the cloaked figure that had jumped in front of a blade for him. She saw the figure's chest rising and falling labouringly, as if every breath was a struggle. He kneeled down on the floor and turned the figure over, to face him. Her chin peeked out of the hood. It was a woman. It had to be. Julia? No, that was impossible. He had watched her die yesterday; watched the color fade from her lips as she whispered her goodbye. But who, if not Julia, would risk her own life at the expense of his?
He pulled the hood backward, slowly, watching features appear on the pale face one by one.
"God damn it, Faye." He choked on the words in a mix of disbelief and guilt. Her face was the only think in the room that was illuminated; a sliver of moonlight from the window fell gently upon her closed eyes and danced over the subtle movements of her eyelashes. She looked beautiful, in the middle of this dark, cold hell that was full of ugliness and hopelessness. Like a rose, growing in the cracks of a tear-stained sidewalk. He came back to reality. "What the hell were you thinking?" He whispered to her, knowing she wouldn't answer, but hoping that he could maybe answer that himself. What was she thinking? The thoughts of hope that had fluttered into his mind like the first butterfly after a devastating winter, triggered by her angelic fallen figure on the floor, begged him ask that question of himself. "What the hell am I thinking?" He lifted her off the floor and started quietly in search of a hospital.
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"Do you know a story that goes like this? There once was a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths and was reborn a million times and was owned by various people who he didn't care for. The cat wasn't afraid to die... One day, the cat was a free cat, a stray cat. He met a white female cat, and the two cats spent their days happily together. Years passed, and the white cat died of old age. The tiger-striped cat cried a million times, and then died. It never came back to life..."
Faye knew Spike came back last night. She was awake, tossing and turning, listing for any shred of comfort that he was there, that he had never left, that he was coming back breathing. It had been hours, each passing minute seemed more hopeless than the last. She didn't want him dead. She would rather him be with Julia somewhere- but not dead. His rejection she could handle. His death, she could not.
She heard the hatch open. He had landed. He walked in the door- and from the sound of things- he was alone. "Good for nothing bastard." She muttered to herself, and allowed herself to seep in the comfort of his presence. She was asleep before his cries could echo through the ship, filling the small space with the sounds of human despair. Julia loved him, had died loving him. He had lived to find her again- even when it seemed unattainable- it had kept him going. What was there now? Spike buried his head in his hands and shook with sobs, until he too fell asleep.
When Faye awoke, Spike was telling Jet the story of the cat that died a million times. "Shit." She knew what he was driving at. She knew exactly what he meant. She threw herself from bed out the door, interrupting the conversation with her screams.
"That's a terrible story!" She cried out, turning red in the face. "It's not worth it, just because she's dead." I'm alive. She thought to herself. I need you.
Spike looked up solemnly. "You wouldn't understand." His eyes narrowed, readying to throw her a verbal punch in the face-anything- just so she'd stop talking that way. He hated to see her that way. It made him feel like he was letting her down. Like she actually cared about him, like he was hurting her. "A no good whore like you can't know anything about love."
"And ignorant bastards like you couldn't possibly know anything about no good whores like me." She turned to leave the room. "For someone who's always told me that the past didn't matter, it seems to matter a lot to you."
"Faye, look at me." She turned around, her fists clenched to stop herself from crying. Look at these eyes. One of them is a fake, because I lost it in an accident. Since then, I have been seeing the past in one eye, and the present in the other. I had believed that whatI saw was not all of reality... it was as if I was living in a dream."
"Don't tell me that. I don't want to hear it. Go throw your life away. Don't you care what it would do to us?"
"I'm not trying to die. I'm trying to wake up." And with that, he left the ship. Faye fell to her knees, sobbing as she heard the swordfish take off. "Bastard!" she screamed into the air. "Bastard!"
She ran into Jet's room, pulling a large, hooded, black jacket from his closet and slipping it securely over her shoulders, allowing the hood to fall to her eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jet called to her, as she stood with one leg on the yellow couch, loading her glock to capacity and filling her pockets with bullets.
"I'm going after him." She looked at Jet, saw the worry and hurt in his eyes as she informed him of her plan. She placed her hand gently on his good shoulder. "At least one of us is coming back. Don't worry. You won't be alone." She smiled softly, and sadly, at him.
"I don't know why you'd do this for him." He grumbled.
"Neither do I." She steadied her breath, and stepped into the Redtail.
It didn't take her long to find him; she just followed the artillery fire and there he was- dodging the bullets or sending his own through the ships that were out to get him. She kept her distance- out of range of his radars or line of vision, and picked off a few of the other ships that he probably couldn't see. She prayed he didn't notice, he would have been angry, made her return to the bebop. But where would he be if she wasn't watching his ass, huh? She had to give him another chance. At life, at happiness, at everything he had been missing out on. She didn't intend to kill Vicious, she knew that Spike would want to do that himself, but she could at least stop Vicious from killing Spike in the meantime.
When he arrived at the building, she left the Redtail docked out of sight from the Swordfish, and crept behind him, silently. He had no problems picking off the syndicate minions, and all Faye had to do was, as quietly as possible, step over their bodies and follow him to Vicious. She watched as Shin fell, loyally. So he did have room for others besides Julia in that heart of ice. Maybe Faye would find a place in it someday.
Who am I kidding? She banished such thoughts from her mind and focused on what she had to do. The elevator stood open, eerily, and she stepped inside and allowed it to take her to the top floor. Her heart was in her mouth. It jingled softly at the top, and Faye, unrecognizable in the large jacket, crept into the room, hiding in the shadows, waiting for Vicious to, indirectly, determine her fate.
She watched them switch weapons. Saw the shift in Vicious's eyes as he prepared to strike. She watched his arm tense up, saw his malicious grin, watched him lick his lips. And as if in slow motion, she watched him start to move the katana in the direction of Spike's waist. This was it. She ran with all the speed she could in front of that sword, pushing Spike out of her way, and as he stumbled backward, the blade was pressed into the side of her stomach. She teetered there for a minute, a drop of blood spilling from the open gash in her side, and collapsed facedown on the floor. A single gunshot echoed in the room, and Vicious joined her there, a single noise escaping his throat.
Stunned, Spike walked over to the cloaked figure that had jumped in front of a blade for him. She saw the figure's chest rising and falling labouringly, as if every breath was a struggle. He kneeled down on the floor and turned the figure over, to face him. Her chin peeked out of the hood. It was a woman. It had to be. Julia? No, that was impossible. He had watched her die yesterday; watched the color fade from her lips as she whispered her goodbye. But who, if not Julia, would risk her own life at the expense of his?
He pulled the hood backward, slowly, watching features appear on the pale face one by one.
"God damn it, Faye." He choked on the words in a mix of disbelief and guilt. Her face was the only think in the room that was illuminated; a sliver of moonlight from the window fell gently upon her closed eyes and danced over the subtle movements of her eyelashes. She looked beautiful, in the middle of this dark, cold hell that was full of ugliness and hopelessness. Like a rose, growing in the cracks of a tear-stained sidewalk. He came back to reality. "What the hell were you thinking?" He whispered to her, knowing she wouldn't answer, but hoping that he could maybe answer that himself. What was she thinking? The thoughts of hope that had fluttered into his mind like the first butterfly after a devastating winter, triggered by her angelic fallen figure on the floor, begged him ask that question of himself. "What the hell am I thinking?" He lifted her off the floor and started quietly in search of a hospital.