The characters Spike Spiegel, Jet Black, Faye Valentine, Edward Wong, Ein, Antonio, Carlos, & Jobin are creations from the Cowboy Bebop TV series and movie. They do not belong to me.

The characters Dr. Billie Vaughn, Margaret Jones, Seymour (a.k.a. Ferret- face), Alexander 'Randy' Vanderhorn, Argo Kuzmin, Biko, & Police Detective Booker are my creations.


After Faye left him, Jet didn't go back to the Bebop; he found himself outside the Camouflage Bar. He had no idea why he was there or how he knew the way, since he had been there only once before. All the former detective knew was that he wanted to put off Faye's ranting how it was his fault she was in jail for as long as he could. He had more pressing things to think about, like how this bar fit in the puzzle of finding Spike. He walked in. It was night and the place was packed. It seemed Billie wasn't boasting when she told Argo that people came here for the good food. He spotted an empty space at the bar and settled onto the stool.

The blonde haired bartender smiled and said, "Jet, welcome back. What can I get … are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You don't look so good, so which is it: you're sick, you've lost someone, or you're having woman trouble?" Randy asked.

Jet smiled. "All three. I'm sick because I lost someone and believe I can find him, which is the cause of my woman troubles." He tossed a couple of pretzels into his mouth.

"That's impressive. Not many people have all three to deal with," Randy said while he gave Jet a dinner menu. "So, while you figure out what you need to talk about, choose something to eat because a bit of food won't add to your troubles." He left Jet to take drink orders from new arrivals.

Jet looked over the menu and thought of getting the prime rib, but then realized he didn't have the money for such an indulgence.

Randy caught the look of disappointment and practicality take over Jet's face. He walked back to Jet, pulled out a glass and started to fill it with El Presidente. Jet put his hand over the glass.

"No thanks. I'd prefer a Cowboy."

"Sure thing." Randy fixed the drink then leaned in towards Jet. In a hushed tone, he said, "Don't forget, Billie said that you can have a meal on the house, so order whatever it was that caught your eye a moment ago."

Jet nodded, then wondered why a bartender would be so observant of a customer he had no reason to worry about when the place was packed. This new mystery pushed Faye out of his mind. Since he had decided on the prime rib, the former detective decided to watch the blonde-haired, lean young man behind the counter. There was nothing remarkable about the guy. Randy was good with the customers, always ready to serve them a drink and chat. Jet's gut was telling him that there was nothing more to Randy than meets the eye. Maybe Randy was just showing his gratitude for Jet saving Billie and getting rid of Argo.

Randy returned to Jet. "Sorry, we don't have any specials tonight." He leaned into Jet again and whispered, "we're a little short handed in the kitchen tonight thanks to one of the guys getting caught with another woman by his wife." He straightened up. "You ready to order now?"

Jet chuckled at what he was told. "I'd like the prime rib."

"Good choice. How would you like it?"

"Medium."

"And what would you like as your side dishes: rice pilaf, potatoes, glazed carrots, or spinach?"

"Spinach and mashed potatoes," Jet answered, anticipating the next question Randy would ask.

"Very good, sir." Randy said with a wink as he walked over to the computer to place the order.

Jet didn't notice the wink because his mind turned to a new problem: how was he going to gain the trust of Billie and Randy to learn more. Helping to apprehend Argo was just a lucky coincidence for him, and Jet knew that somewhere down the road he was going to pay for the coincidence because that was just how his luck ran since he met Spike. Not to say he had any better luck before he teamed up with Spike, but when Spike was around, things went bad as much as they went good. Spike certainly had a way of making life more interesting.

He shook his head. "Stop thinking of him in the past tense. He's alive. My gut knows it," he muttered.

"Your lost friend?" Randy asked.

Jet replied, "Yeah." He didn't realize that the bartender had returned.

Randy gave Jet a warm smile. "If your gut is telling you that your friend is alive, then it must be true. I've learned to trust my gut instinct, and mine tells me you do the same." He glanced over at Jet's drink and saw Jet hadn't touched it. "Have a sip or two. It won't cure your troubles, but it might help you relax while figuring them out." Randy left Jet to get something from the kitchen.

Jet did as Randy suggested and took a long sip of his Cowboy. "Maybe, Randy is right," he thought. "My gut has never steered me wrong before, so why would it start now." His shoulders and right arm relaxed a bit, which surprised him because he hadn't realized that they had tensed up. Jet turned around on his stool to people watch. The Camouflage Bar had a different atmosphere from its sleepy lunchtime life. The place buzzed with conversations and laughter. Young hipsters and neighborhood locals rubbed elbows over pool, darts, drinks, and bets, while diners grazed on private conversations and delicacies on their plates. The jukebox sang with the voice of a classic rocker who had a penchant for the Blues. Slowly, Jet began to relax and push to the side, for now, the weights of the day.

"You had to return to the scene of the crime, didn't you Mr. Black?"

The moment Jet heard that question he tensed up again. Booker sat down next to Jet.

"No," Jet replied still facing the diners. "I came here to avoid Faye."

Booker, looking concerned, asked, "Trouble in paradise?"

Jet refused to rise to the cocky detective's bait. "I don't live in paradise, so I wouldn't know."

"So life with Miss. Valentine is hell?"

Randy returned from the kitchen with a plate of fried calamari. "Booker, you off duty already?" He tapped Jet on the shoulder and placed the calamari in front of Jet. "It's a great starter course before the prime rib. Your usual, Detective?" Booker nodded, & Randy poured him a Scotch on the rocks. "So, what are you two gentlemen discussing?"

"Jet's private life," replied Booker. Jet ignored the bait and started to eat the calamari.

"Which part: the lost friend or the woman?"

"The woman."

Randy asked, "You know her, Booker?"

"I met her earlier today."

"What she like?"

Booker smiled appreciatively at the thought of Faye. "She's trouble in tantalizing, barely-there wrapping." Jet eyed Booker then returned to his calamari.

"Thus explaining why she is trouble, right Jet?" asked Randy

Finishing a sip of his Cowboy, Jet replied, "That's not the reason for me."

In unison, the bartender and detective said, "Really?"

"She's trouble because she never thinks before she acts and expects me to clean up her mess," Jet remarked. He realized what he said and marveled at how this conversation made him open up about something that was neither of their business.

Randy laughed. "Sounds like a lot of women I know. Excuse me for a minute." He left the two men to fill an order from a waiter.

"Miss Valentine certainly has gotten under your skin," Booker commented after he took a sip of his Scotch.

Jet once again ignored the young looking detective. His guts told him that Booker was more than he seemed. Whether more meant that Booker was Billie's lover or that Booker was just another dirty cop helping a syndicate Jet was uncertain. He couldn't blame Booker for acting protective of Billie. She had the qualities Jet liked in a woman: intelligence, a sense of humor, compassion, a lovely smile... the thought of Billie's smile led Jet to daydream about how he'd like to make her smile. His face became flush.

"What am I doing?" Jet muttered. He had only met the woman once, and he was already fantasizing about her. The weary bounty hunter hid his face in his hands as he felt Booker's inquiring eyes on him.

Booker had watched Jet for a few moments before Jet's face became flush. The detective assumed the bounty hunter was thinking of Faye, so he didn't bother with the question Jet muttered. He believed Jet to be the honorable type, which meant Jet wouldn't become romantically involved with a woman under his care. Booker liked the idea of an old-fashion man still living in the world and smiled.

"So, Mr. Black, can I call you Jet?"

"No." Jet took a long sip of his drink.

Randy returned. "You done, Jet?" Jet nodded, and Randy cleared the plate. "Booker, have you decided on what you'll have?"

"Not very hungry. Just came in for a drink tonight. Is Billie around?"

"No. Since it's her night off, Maggie has her quarantined for the night."

Jet's heart sank.

Randy noticed the bounty hunter's momentary dismayed look and chuckled. "Maggie is an older woman who sees Billie as the daughter she always wanted. Besides," the bartender said while filling a drink order he was handed, "even if Maggie was interested in Billie that way, the feeling wouldn't be mutual. Billie's straight." Randy handed the waiter his order.

Booker laughed at the shock look on Jet's face. The last thing he expected to learn was that an ISSP legend like Jet Black could be so easily bowled over. He wondered if Jet lost some of his edge since he left the Force.

A moon-faced boy with black hair and a bowl cut approached the bar with a tray. "Who does the rush order of prime rib medium go to?" he squeaked.

Randy pointed to Jet. "To this gentleman."

The waiter served Jet then retreated to the kitchen.

"Ain't he young for a job here?" Jet asked.

"Francis is eighteen," Randy replied. "Poor guy's a mamma's boy who was kicked out of his home by his mom's new hubby. He would have been another sad street story on the news if Booker hadn't brought him here."

The detective became uncomfortable. "You give me far too much credit, Randy."

Randy ignored Booker's modesty, turned towards Jet, and continued. "Francis was a mess. His new 'daddy' did a number on him before throwing him out literally. Billie cleaned the kid up and talked with him for a while. I brought him some food and joined the conversation. After we made a few phone calls, Frankie had a place to live and two jobs lined up: daytime he works in a pet store and at night he works here. Both Billie and I won't let him work more than three nights here. Whenever we can we encourage Frankie to make friends and hangout with them, but he seems to be hooked on the 'Net." Randy was handed another drink order and excused himself.

Jet turned to face Booker. "This true?"

"About finding the kid? Yeah." The detective took a finishing swig of his Scotch on the rocks. "I was amazed Francis was conscious, let alone able to stand or walk. He's got a really thick skull to withstand the beating he got."

"Why didn't you take him to a hospital?"

"Francis was terrified of seeing a doctor. He kept saying, 'How am I gonna pay?' He was in shock, so I brought him to the only friendly faces I could think of that wouldn't make matters worse."

Jet didn't say anything.

Booker stood up and asked Randy if they could talk in private. Randy agreed. Jet started on his dinner. It had been a while since he had a real meal, so he took his time.

The life of a bounty hunter wasn't the most financially secure life. All it meant was there were more lean times in your life than you wanted to remember. Getting a free meal, literally, for a bounty hunter was a mixed blessing. It meant that you, hopefully, had decent-to-good food to silence the hunger pangs; however, more often than not it meant a favor was needed in return for the "hospitality." In the case of Jet's prime rib dinner, it was a thank you, no strings attached, which made the taste of each bite more satisfying for him.

Randy returned behind the bar and swiped Booker's card. He handed the detective his card and receipt.

"Good night, Randy, Mr. Black," Booker said then left.

Randy asked, "Are you enjoying your dinner?"

"Yes."

"Good." He left Jet to greet some new arrivals at the other end of the bar.

Jet finished his meal while contemplating nothing more serious than what spices were used. As he finished his Cowboy, he stood up and reached for his wallet.

"Stop that this instant, Jet," Randy ordered. "Put the wallet away; you're money is no good here."

"I forgot the meal is on Billie and you." Jet smiled sheepishly.

"Not tonight."

"What?

"When Booker pulled me aside earlier, he said he wanted to treat you to dinner. I said no and that he should ask you first."

"But Booker persuaded you to charge him for my dinner, anyway."

"Yes."

Jet's instincts were silent on this matter. Since they were not complaining, Jet assumed he could accept this gesture at face value.

Now it was Randy's turn to look sheepish. "Sorry about this. I promise the next meal is on us."

Jet smiled then left the Camouflage Bar to face the trouble that awaited him on the Bebop.

Faye had expected Jet to walk in the Bebop's door shortly after her, but he didn't. When the crotchety bounty hunter didn't return after 30 minutes, she became suspicious. The teal-eyed femme fatale never imagined he would ditch her. It wasn't in Jet's nature to abandon someone, especially when he was responsible for what happened. Faye didn't know what annoyed her more: Jet's absence or the echoes of her pacing footsteps. The stillness of the Bebop made her realize how empty the ship was. She hated that. Someone should be there because someone was always there: Ed, Jet … Spike.

Who knew the pitter-patter of feet or snoring from the yellow couch would mean so much? Faye would never openly admit that those things mattered to anyone except for Gren, the beautiful saxophone player she met on Callisto when she ran away, but he was dead just like Spike.

"Lunkheads," she muttered into the quiet.

The whole reason she ran away in the first place was fear. Faye was afraid of being alone, being left alone … just like she was now. The gate accident placed her in cryogenic stasis to heal, but all it did was steal her life, leaving her with no one waiting for her … leaving her alone in a world that lived on without her. What compounded her isolation was being conned by the first person she met. From that moment on Faye had decided she wouldn't give anyone the chance to take advantage of her again; she wouldn't let anyone get close to her again.

She would have given anything at that moment to hear Ed calling. "Faye Faye" or hear that fluffy haired, gaucho, lunkhead ask what trouble she had gotten into this time. The thought of Spike only made Faye angrier. He was the reason she went to jail. He was the reason Jet wasn't on the Bebop. If it weren't for Spike … if it wasn't for him, the three of them would be arguing over how to split a bounty. Instead, it was just Jet and her. All they were able to do was rub each other the wrong way. Nothing was right now.

Her stomach growled; she groaned. With the exception of a few pretzels she had smuggled into her pocket before being taken to the police station, Faye hadn't eaten anything for over a day. She opened the mini refrigerator and found a can of dog food. The find only reminded Faye of who was missing. She closed the door and walked towards the kitchen. Maybe Jet had left something there.

Her stomach growled again.

As Faye walked towards the kitchen, a memory of a girl with long black braids with Jet popped into her mind. The memory stopped the tough skinned bounty hunter in her tracks. A faint smile curled on her lips as she remembered Jet's reaction to Ed asking if the girl was his girlfriend. Faye wondered how Ed was able to get away with asking such questions. She wished she had that talent. As she started walking down the lightless hall towards the kitchen again, Faye realized how much she hated the echo of her steps. She ran the rest of the way in the blind hope of escaping the sound.

What greeted her in the kitchen surprised Faye: a week's worth of dirty dishes and pots. Ignoring the faint stench of the filth, she opened the refrigeration draw. Empty. Desperate to find something, she scavenged through the cupboards. Nothing.

"Why can't we keep any food around here," she asked out of exasperation. "How hard can it be to keep two people fed?"

Faye was shocked by what she asked because her question voiced what she didn't want to admit: people left. Spike, Ed, and Ein left the Bebop … left her. She couldn't blame Ed for that though; Faye knew she was responsible for Ed's leaving. She kicked the door of a lower level cupboard. The Time-lost woman wondered why she ever gave the kid that speech about belonging. She knew she was only trying to help the kid, but Ed belonged here on the Bebop with her and Jet. The same was true for that scruffy Corgie Ein.

Tired of her current train of thought, Faye did something new: she started to clean the dishes. Her mind slowly relinquished control of missing Ed and allowed the monotony of wash (scrub if needed), rinse, and dry take over. An hour had vanished by the time she had finished. Her stomach growled even louder than before. She sighed. Faye had no choice but to dine on the dog food. The echo of her footsteps followed her back to the common room. She walked over to the mini frig again. This time Faye removed the can of dog food and opened it. Her dainty fingers fed her each morsel. Once she finished the can, Faye flopped onto the yellow couch and got comfortable.

Jet was welcomed home by Faye's faint snoring. Relieved that she was asleep, he tried to quietly make his way to his room. However, Fate had other plans for Mr. Black: he accidentally kicked an empty dog food can and it hit the wall. The noise woke up Faye.

"Huh?" Faye sat up and looked around.

Jet tried to blend into the shadows.

Faye leapt up from the couch. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Out."

"You were supposed to be back hours ago."

Jet wondered if this was what it was like to be married. In his sweetest voice, he replied, "I'm sorry, dear, but the boys from work wanted to go out drinking to celebrate our new account. Is dinner cold?"

Faye clenched her hand.

"Look," the tired former ISSP detective said matter-of-factly, "neither of us are in the mood to talk, so save it for the morning." He turned his back on her.

She closed the distance between them and punched his head. "How dare you dismiss me like I'm some child. You're the reason I went to jail, and I want to know why." Faye's chest heaved with suppressed rage.

Realizing he couldn't get out of this situation, Jet made his way to the yellow couch and sank down. He ran his bionic hand over his baldhead unconsciously. "Faye, you went to jail for the same reason you lose bountyheads: you go off half-cocked with no plan or information and you jump to conclusions because you're blinded by the rewards. What happened to you today was completely your own fault."

"My fault?" Her pale cherry lips curled into a snarl. "You're the one who told me they were small fry. You're the one who told me there were bounties on their heads. So how can this be my fault when I was listening to you?"

In an even tone, he asked, "Why did you have to look at what I was working on?"

"I thought you were looking for bountyheads." Rage was breaking through to the surface, causing Faye's body to shake.

"Proving my point that you jump to conclusions."

An outraged howl erupted from the seething woman, causing Jet to stand up. Next thing he knew Faye lunged at him. He grabbed her slender wrists as her talon-like nails tried to gouge a pound of his flesh. The former Black Dog of the ISSP maneuvered the hissing cowgirl's wrists into the grip of his bionic hand as he turned her around. Once Faye's back was facing him, Jet used her arms to straightjacket her.

Realizing her back was pressed up against his chest, Faye mocked, "So, this is the way it's going to be, big boy?"

"Don't flatter yourself," growled Jet. "I don't need to force myself on any woman."

Faye laughed throatily.

"I'm doing this to protect the two of us."

"Protect me from what?"

"Yourself."

Faye struggled to break free, but Jet's hold was too firm. She stomped her heel into his foot, but she only landed up hurting herself on the protective steel-toed boot. Faye knew she lost. The taste of bile entered her mouth.

"Are you done?" Jet took her silence as a yes. "I'm sorry you didn't like the answer I gave, but we don't have the luxury for you to screw up anymore. Screw ups cost money we don't have."

"Did you access Spike's account and use his money to pay my bail?" Faye took his silence as a no. "Don't tell me it was from your 'rainy day' fund."

"All right, I won't."

A smile of smug satisfaction crossed her lips. Faye was about to tell Jet what a complete moron he is when she started to realize why Jet didn't use Spike's money. The revelation made her laugh. It wasn't the laughter of something funny; it was the laughter of hopeless realization. She finally understood that Jet would only believe Spike was dead when, and only when, he saw a body. Her knees began to give way to her weight. Jet let her sink to the floor.

Jet headed towards his room.

When he reached the entrance to the hallway, Faye said in a voice above a whisper, "There was an explosion where their fight took place. What makes you think there's enough of Spike to identify him by?"

"What makes you think there isn't?"

She picked herself up off the floor. "I told you before Vicious wouldn't let him live. Accept the fact that he's gone and move on."

"Sorry, Faye, I'm not used to losing people like you." Jet lumbered down the hallway, missing her retort. The events of the day wore him out.

The next morning Jet just laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew there was a lot he wanted to accomplish, but he wanted to avoid Faye even more. Their argument left him a little shaken. He had never seen her that angry before; she was out for his blood. He thought Faye would at least be grateful that the Mars Police didn't trip over the outstanding warrant for her while she was their guest. Then he realized that Booker might have had something to do with keeping Faye's past offensives off the radar. If the Mars detective did do that, then the dinner was a second favor. The thought of two favors in one day from a man he just met made Jet's guts twitch. Jet made a mental note to ask Ed to do a background check on Booker. He had enough mysteries to contend with without adding a "good willed" cop to his list.

Jet reached for a pack cigarettes and the lighter with the engraved image of a Mastiff his ex Alisa gave him one Christmas when they were together. He placed them on his chest as he remembered all the times he told Spike how dangerous it was to smoke while lying down. A faint smile curled on his lips as Spike's reply played in his mind, "Then you will save on the funeral because I'll already be cremated."

He lit a cigarette and took a slow drag.

Jet couldn't understand how Faye was so certain. His gut was telling him Spike was still alive, and his gut never steered him wrong before. He refused to second-guess his instincts; Faye had to be mistaken.

Jet had taken an unauthorized tour of the rumored Red Dragons Syndicate headquarters several days after the explosion. The whole building was not destroyed, but you could tell several floors were no longer habitable. He only had to follow the trail of destruction to know where Spike had been. Jet cursed a few times because the elevators were not working, which made his wounded leg ache as he climbed the stairs. When he reached the top flight, the Black Dog entered into a voluminous greeting room that could only be described as the Fallen Throne room. The deep crimson stains on the vermillion carpet, the chill of the night air creeping through the fissure in the windows and skylights, the still faint acrid taste of gunpowder and explosives, and the three toppled bullet-riddle throne like chairs were all that remained of this once great criminal empire. Though the Mars police's crime scene investigation unit valiantly tried to obtain every piece of evidence, Jet found several bullet casings from Spike's Jericho941. He found a trail of scarlet that staggered from this scene and followed it all the way down to its end in the middle of the lobby staircase. As he crouched with great pain next to the big dried red pool, Jet thought he could see the faint bloodied outline of a few footprints walking away from that spot. Someone or someones must have carried Spike away. If it was the coroner, Jet knew his contact in the Mars police would have called him. Who took his wounded, rash friend from this scene?

He took another drag and watched the smoke dissipate as it tried to reach the ceiling.

It wasn't adding up for Jet. If there was a coup in the Red Dragons, how was Spike related to it? Remarkably Spike had left the Syndicate with his life, and no one came after him until that Syndicate leader Mao Yen Rai was eliminated. What was the connection?

"I won't find the answer lying around," he muttered. He placed the lighter and the cigarette pack on the night table then sat up. As he swung his legs over the side of his bed, Jet felt a slight twinge near his left shoulder. He hoped it didn't mean his bionic arm was breaking down. If it was, it would have to wait for a little while.

Jet stood up and absentmindedly scratched beneath the waistband of his boxers. Grabbing his towel, he headed out of his room to the shower. As he walked through the corridors, he wondered if Faye was hiding or still asleep. He reached the shower room and locked the door behind him. Last thing he wanted was to have another run-in with that mouthy woman where he couldn't back out gracefully. Jet hung up his towel on the side so it wouldn't get wet, removed his boxers, then stepped in and turned the shower on.

The hot water ran down his tense shoulders and back, slowly working its magic on him.

Faye had a rough night's sleep on the yellow couch. She kept dreaming of Vicious and Spike fighting. The dream always ended the same: Vicious standing over a crippled body as a satisfied snakelike smile spread across his face. The problem was that it wasn't Spike's body in her dream; it was hers. Faye couldn't stop having this dream. She blamed Jet and his cockeyed optimism for that. As far as Faye was concerned, Jet was a hopeless romantic. His belief in Spike being alive fed into that pathetic mystique.

Her eyes felt dry and swollen, making it hard for her to try to sleep again, regardless of the dream. She sat up and wondered where she could go for some cheap food. Faye thought she remembered passing a hotdog vendor on the way to the Bebop last night. She stuck her hands in between and under the cushions, hoping to find some spare change. Then she remembered that habit belonged to another time and place. These guys didn't carry cash; they had credit/debit cards, so there would never be any change in the yellow couch.

"What good are men?" she muttered in frustration.

Faye headed towards her room. While in the corridor, she heard the shower and got an evil idea. She ran straight to the toilet and flushed several times. Faye stepped out into the corridor and smiled. She heard Jet swearing. Satisfied that Jet was punished for the moment for what he did to her, Faye leisurely walked to her room.