VI.

Brothers in Arms

These fields of destruction

Baptisms of fire

I've watched all your suffering

As the battles raged higher

And though they did hurt me so bad

In the fear and alarm

You did not desert me

My brothers in arms

The comm beeped.

Jet rubbed his eyes and sat up. It felt strange to be back in his own room again, as opposed to staked out on the couch in the living room. The Bebop may have been huge, but rooms appropriate for bedrooms were scarce, and well, with four people… he had been raised as a gentleman, besides

Looking over to the crate near his bed where his comm. rested, he could see that it was Faye. He was both relieved and disgusted. So the wench was alive and she needed his help.

Too bad for her. He thought to himself, Her ship is probably totaled and she probably ran out of people to seduce. And now she calls on me for help, after storming out looking for trouble. If she wants to come back, she can come back with money and I'll think about letting her back on, but ain't gonna bail her out of trouble this time.

He closed his eyes, straightened his pillow, and attempted to fall back asleep.

Dammit, Faye, it's quite a talent to be able to piss someone off when you're not even around…

But he started up the Hammerhead, opened the hatch, and headed out toward the Red Dragon HQ, looking for a woman named trouble.

The rooftop was deserted when Jet landed his ship. A soft breeze whispered in his ear while sounds of city life echoed far below, oblivious. Only a dimly lit lamp above an iron door illuminated the area, casting shadows off air vents and loose gravel. A sick yellow glow. Empty.

"Faye?" He called out, praying she wasn't inside. Praying she hadn't gotten too involved with the Dragons. "Are you here?"

He stepped onto the ground, gloved fingers wrapping around his weapon, alert. Silence. Silence screaming. It was unnerving. Disconcerting. Put him on edge.

"Faye?"

He rubbed his forehead, then noticed a shadowed figure slumped against the concrete in the far corner. He rushed to it.

It was Faye.

Faye.

It hurt him to see her like this. Sprawled out on rocky concrete, limbs frail, her fair skin illuminated by fluorescent glow. Eyes closed, lips parted, thin strands of hair falling upon an expressionless face. Her shoulder was bleeding, crimson spilling onto shining vinyl. So very near her heart. He knelt down beside her, put his hand against her cool cheek. So weak, so vulnerable, and this was from a woman who always fought so hard.

He pressed his thumb against her wrist, the flutter of a pulse. She always fought so hard.

"Come on, Faye, lets go home."

And he picked the woman up and helped her into his ship as they took off into the night sky.

"Look who's here." Faye taunted, "You must really want me back."

"Yeah, nice try." He replied, leaning against the concrete building.

"You were jealous!" She smirked.

"Yeah, in your dreams."

She stretched, arms reaching for the rose colored sky. "I'm still in the dark," she had told him, "I may never know anything about my past."

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" Spike replied without glancing at her.

"That's easy for you to say." She spat, "At least you have a past."

"And you have a future." He shot back, flipping her a coin. "That's what counts."

The ceiling of the Bebop. A cheap fan whirring. Legs sticking to plastic yellow couch. Faye's senses slowly came to her as she awoke. There was a sharp pain in her shoulder, heavy pressure as she noted the white bandages.

She groaned.

"Welcome back." Jet said, without looking up. He was playing solitaire on the table across from her. The scenario seemed familiar.

"You're wrong, Jet."

"Oh? About what?"

"Spike's not dead. His star is still up there."

"Yeah, if you want to call this piece of junk a star."

Yeah, she did.

HOME ON THE RANGE.