Disclaimer- I do not own Cowboy Bebop.

Title- Dangerous Ways

Rating- pg-13

CHAPTER ONE

(Two years after Spike's "death")

Location- Mars

When I woke up, glanced over at my clock on my nightstand and realized it was six-thirty on Saturday morning, I knew it was bound to be a bad day. There wasn't a good day in my history that had the potential of being dubbed "good" when I woke any time before noon on the weekend. I sighed, hand over my eyes, knowing that I wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep no matter how much I'd rather walk around in dreamland instead of reality. Dreamland didn't have bounties to pay my rent.

Part of me was relieved that I had gone to bed early the night before, having lost all my money earlier that evening to a couple games of black jack. There had been nothing to celebrate, no money to buy anything to mourn my sorrows in, and this morning I had no hangover to complain about. I quickly pushed the thought of a bad day away, thinking the day was already looking up.

And then I got out of bed, shuffled into my bathroom, put toothpaste on my toothbrush, held the brush an inch from my mouth and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink.

"Jesus Christ!" My voice echoed through my empty apartment as I held a hand to the frightened, panicked beat of my heart. Staring back at me was a sight to be seen and run away from; my purple hair, normally nice, smooth, and straight was sticking out of my head in every direction. It looked as if I had stuck a fork in my toaster and had gotten zapped. I had huge bags under my eyes, and a nice, big, red pimple on the middle of my chin that screamed to be popped. I knew I was a scary sight in the morning, but the ugly witch staring back at me was definitely more terrifying than the boogeyman at his worst.

In an effort to try and settle the tangle mass of my hair, I brought my hands up to smooth it out, only to realize that my toothbrush, pasted up and all, was still in my hand. The mirror reflected minty fresh goo clinging menacingly to the purple strands of my hair and I groaned in despair.

Today was definitely going to be a bad day. What the hell had I been thinking when I had thought it would be otherwise?

I threw my toothbrush in the sink, and moved to the shower, thanking God that the water was steaming; just the way I liked it. I stripped out of my oversized Bucky the Cowboy T-shirt, hopped in the stall, and stood under the soothing spray for awhile, thinking that with the way things were going presently, moment right here would probably be the highlight of my day.

I quickly wet and lathered my hair with shampoo, running and twisting my fingers around the sticky toothpaste and trying extremely hard to work it out. I felt I was doing a pretty good job, my hair almost successfully toothpaste free, when suddenly the smell hit me. Apparently the scents of jasmine and winter fresh mint weren't supposed to be mixed. On their own, both scents were appetizing, but the smell the developed in the combination of the two was nauseating. I quickly rinsed my hair, got out of the shower and toweled off, the smell lingering behind me as I ran out of my bathroom, throwing the fan on and slamming the door closed behind me.

I hadn't brushed my teeth yet, but I decided that it didn't matter, the smell lingering in my hair was worse than any morning breath.

"Hey, Fay- Holy shit, what the hell happened to you?" Jet had been reviewing bounties on his hologram screen and had nearly popped an eyeball when he saw me.

I walked into the living room of the Bebop, hair unsuccessfully tamed and thrown up into a ponytail with odd ends sticking up here and there and toothpaste still clinging to the end of a clump. My pimple was still sticking out of my chin like another being, cover-up failing to do its job, and make-up having made the circles under my eyes only worse. I knew what I looked like and I didn't feel like remarking on my appearance to Jet who stood there with a grin on his withered face. I was already in a bad mood, and the fact that an old man was amused by misfortune was pissing me off.

"Did you find anything worth going after?" I asked sitting down on the yellow couch across from Jet. I ignored the way his mouth was still gaping open and leaned over to take a look at the screen.

Jet, who had been leaning close, moved back and covered his nose with his hand, disgusted. "What the hell is that smell? Is that you, Faye? Please don't tell me you got some new perfume?"

I glared at him. "I'm having a bad day," I replied through clenched teeth.

Jet gave me a sideways glance. "No kidding."

"Listen, are we going to do any bounty hunting today or are you just going to sit there making fun of me?" I knew I sounded a bit whiney, but I had toothpaste in my hair, a pimple on my chin, and circles under my eyes. I had a right to sound a bit childish, damn it.

Jet hid a smile and touched the hologram, bringing up a file on a Dingo Sanchez. "This guy is a small fry, but he's easy money, and I know that rent of your is due sometime soon."

I looked up at Jet with something close to appreciation for keeping in mind my rent date; I had forgotten.

Two years ago, when the rest of the Bebop crew had dispersed, Jet and I had stayed together. Not because we wanted to, but because it was convenient. Jet, though he had been an ex-cop and knew the ropes well, wasn't nearly as good on the field as he was at planning the field action. I, on the other hand, had a knack for doing pretty well on the field, even if my methods were a little clumsy. I imagined that our relationship had started out much like Spike's and Jet's relationship had been; lots of bickering and on target cooperation.

But through the last few years, Jet, maybe in his old age, or maybe because of Spike's death, he had softened. Our relationship had turned from partnership to a friendship that had become very dear to me, though I know I would never admit it.

Unlike Jet, though, I had remained much the same on the outside since Spike left. I still liked food, I still gambled my life away, and I still liked to get on Jet's nerves. But inside, I treasured my time, my life, every laugh, every tear, and every chance I took. I no longer did anything just so it could be forgotten, I now moved in ways so that everything I ever did could be remembered. Spike had viewed life as something unimportant, and I, as a result, had come to value it more than anything.

I no longer ran from my past, I faced it. Half of each bounty went to fixing my old life by paying the debts that I knew would never be paid in full. The other half paid for the expenses of my present life; the rent of my apartment, my food, and the fuel for my ship.

"Only 1,000 yen," I said reading the screen. "Dingo Sanchez, wanted for two counts of armed robbery and one murder." I rubbed my chin, hit my pimple and did a mental grimace. Yuck. "Last seen in Tandium. That's on Venus?"

Jet nodded. "Yeah, as soon as you docked, I set the Bebop's course straight for the planet."

I leaned back into the yellow cushions and crossed my arms. "How did you know I'd agree to taking this guy on?"

Jet stood and stretched. "Because you've got rent coming up. You'd take hauling the Devil in if it meant paying your rent on time."

I felt a little defensive on his accurate observation. It wasn't that I was turning in my old habit of constantly being in debt, it was the fact that my landlord was scary as all hell. "Mrs. Ramierez is scary! I can't help it if I don't want to her make her angry, I mean, she'd probably tear all my hair out and cut out my heart if I was late on my payment!" I said sighing.

Jet laughed. "You shouldn't be talking about old Mrs. Ramierez like that, Faye," he said smiling. "You look scarier than I have ever seen your landlord right now. Plus, you smell bad. Mrs. Ramierez might be ugly but she always smells like roses." He moved to go through the door. "I mean, c'mon Faye, you have to admit that if that old bag was standing next to you at this very moment, she would look like a beauty pageant queen."

"Shut up," I said not really able to deny that remark.

It was five in the evening when we landed on Venus. From previous visits to the planet, I knew that if I wanted to keep my lovely voice, I needed to swallow down a couple special pills. Unfortunately, I had left them at home, and Jet didn't have any in stock.

"I'm not going onto that planet, looking like the bride of the living dead, and talking with a chipmunk voice," I muttered to Jet as we stood near my Redtail debating on what to do.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Faye," Jet said matter-O-factly. "By the time we get back to Mars and find another guy close enough to snatch, Mrs. Ramierez would have already pulled your hair out and torn out your heart."

"Damn," I muttered. He was right.

"Don't you have any money on you?"

"No, lost it all on black jack last night," I said as I hopped into the Redtail.

Jet tried to hide a smile. "Hope you have better luck with this bounty."

"Me too," I muttered and closed the door to the pod. Great, just great, I thought as Jet walked out of the haul, and opened the dock's doors for me. I got the good fortune to catch this guy with a voice that even little kids thought was hysterical. I let myself hope for a moment that I could make the apprehension without using my voice, and then I remembered I was having a bad day, so probably not. Probably I was going to be screaming my head off.

I ignited my engine, cursing silently to myself as I tapped the radio icon on my screen in search of a decent radio station. Finding a considerably decent song filled with a good rhythm and an upbeat tempo, I went to the menu on my screen and brought up Sanchez's profile. I moved the Redtail out of the Bebop and into space, setting the coordinates of Tandium, and switching my ship over to automatic navigation. Then I took the time to study Dingo Sanchez.

Sanchez was dark skinned, and his eyes were a bright blue. He looked tough, frowning menacingly in his mug shot, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl that certainly suggested a big, bad attitude. His height measurements read five feet, two inches, and I instinctively laughed.

I buzzed Jet. "You weren't kidding when you said this guy was a small fry. He's midget size," I said into the intercom.

I could hear Jet laughing. "You know where you're going?"

"This guy likes his ice cream and was last seen in Danny's Ice Cream Parlor."

"Yeup, you got it. Be careful, Faye, this guy is pretty good with his gun." Jet's voice held a note of concern.

I disconnected. "A small fry that likes his ice cream." I snickered, cracking a smile and enjoying the amusement that rolled through me. "This is going to be cake."

I walked into the ice cream parlor, and every head turned to look at me. Personally, in jeans, a T-shirt that had "Angel" written across the front, and black boots, I thought I looked pretty normal. I was in denial about the hair, the dark circles and the pimple. My gun was in a shoulder holster under my jean jacket, and I sat down at a booth, looking around at the eyes staring at the toothpaste in my hair and hoping to catch a glimpse of dark skin and blue eyes.

A waitress came in a bright pink uniform and smiled at me, pen and pad in hand. "Hello, welcome to Danny's Ice Cream Parlor." Her voice was sickening sweet, but I had to admire the fact that she didn't stare at my hair or crinkle her nose at the bad aroma surrounding me. She handed me a menu. "Our special's today are Space Cowboy's Delight, Hot Canyon Sundaes, Happy Danny's Float, and Cherry Lasso Shakes."

I pretended to skim the menu, all the while wondering who the hell came up with the names for the deserts. Talk about cheesy and corny at their worst. I pointed to a regular sundae on the menu, not wanting to say anything and reveal my chirpy voice.

The waitress looked down to where I was pointing and she nodded. "One Round-up Sundae coming right up."

It wasn't until she walked away that I realized I didn't have any money to pay for the sundae. My choices were, call out to her in a less than normal voice and cancel my order or, get up and walk away. Neither options sounded good, and I really wanted that sundae.

While debating what I was going to do, a figure walked passed me and after a few seconds I knew I had recognized the face. I stood from my booth, drew my gun, and shouted, "Dingo Sanchez!"

Dingo's head snapped up and he stared at me for a heartbeat. He was holding a huge ice cream cone almost a quarter of his height, and he looked absolutely surprised. Then a snicker escaped his lips, and that was when I realized everyone around us was laughing.

"Mommy, why is her voice so funny?" I heard a child ask his parent.

Damn it!

I took a deep breath, sighted down the barrel of my gun and glared at Sanchez who was now flat out laughing. Didn't he see the gun in my hand? I was going to shoot him! "Stop laughing or I'll shoot your ass," my chipmunk voice threatened.

"Oh yeah, girlie?" Sanchez asked.

"Grrr." Rabid dog on Helium.

"Come and get me, killer," Sanchez taunted laughing.

I moved forward one step, and the next thing I knew I was blinded by something wet and cold. I licked my lips, and realized that I was covered in ice cream; Sanchez's ice cream to be exact.

"Argh!" I screamed. "Son of a bitch!" Not only did I have toothpaste in my hair, I had chocolate gooey ice cream in my hair too! Anger bubbled up inside me as I wiped the ice cream out of my eyes, rage simmering underneath my skin as I caught a glimpse of Sanchez heading towards the back of the parlor.

I ran after him, jumping on tables, slipping and sliding, screaming in a high pitched, funky voice that I hardly noticed. How dare he! My mind raced. He had fucking hit me with fucking ice cream. Ice cream!

I chased Sanchez towards the back of the restaurant, through the kitchen and out the back door, slipping on the cement and almost falling. The next thing I knew a something whizzed passed my ear and before I could realize it had been a bullet and Sanchez was shooting at me, he shot again, just barely missing my right foot.

I ducked behind the dumpster, getting off a round of my own and missing miserably.

He had fucking hit me with ice cream and now he was shooting at me. Not only was this guy puny and pathetic, he was a jerk!

Anger surged through my muscles and suddenly I snapped.

Who the hell did this guy think he was?

I stepped out from behind the dumpster and started screaming. "Oh, this is just great, just fucking great!" I shouted in my helium induced voice, firing my gun blindly at him and not caring about the bullets that whizzed past my body. "First I woke up at six-thirty in the fucking morning on a Saturday! Do you know what its like to wake up that fucking early when you finally have the chance to sleep in! Then I go into the bathroom and look into the mirror and almost have a heart attack. A HEART ATTACK, for Christ sakes!

"On top of having a bad hair day, I get toothpaste in my hair. Do you know how hard it is to get that shit out of your hair!" I was so caught up in ranting, that I hadn't noticed he had run out of bullets about a minute ago. I also hadn't noticed I had shot him in the leg and he was on the ground unable to run. He reached into his pocket for more bullets and I shot his hand. "And then I noticed I had a pimple in the MIDDLE of my fucking chin. I'm twenty-five, twenty-five year olds don't get pimples!" My chipmunk voice was so high that it was past screeching. "And have you smelled me?" I asked. "The toothpaste and my shampoo mixed together and now it smells like a dog took a shit in my hair!"

I think I started laughing hysterically around this point as I pointed my gun at Sanchez's head and stood over him. I pulled back the hammer. "And on top of ALL THAT, I am talking like a fucking munchkin on drugs." I paused to let out a breath of exasperated breath.

"Then you had to go and fucking throw ice cream at me. Chocolate ice cream. Why would you waste good ice cream!" I waved my gun and he shrunk away. "And I could have dealt with the ice cream, but then you started shooting at me." I pushed the gun into his nose, and realized his eyes and nose were running like crazy. "I HATE being shot at," I said calmly.

Sanchez was sniveling like a baby. "Je-Jesus… You- you're… f-fucking CRAZY!"

Feeling a little bit better, I took the handcuffs out of my back pocket and clapped it over his good hand, grabbing the hand I had shot and twisting it, happy to hear his cry of pain. "Are you sorry that you threw ice cream at me and shot me?" My voice was high and sweet.

"Ye-YES!" Sanchez screamed as I hauled him to his feet.

"Good," I said happily.

I got home around three in the morning, money on my card, and too tired to spend it gambling. I had taken a shower, thoroughly gotten the smell, the toothpaste, and the ice cream off my person, soaking after wards in a rose scented bubble bath. Afterwards I went to my desk, exhausted beyond the point of sleep and turned on my laptop.

No new e-mails had entered my mailbox besides ads and other useless spam that I deleted on the spot. The Mar's online newspaper held no appeal, and after reading my horoscope, I found myself bored out my mind and too awake to hit the hay.

I decided to check up the recent bounties, wondering if Jet would be surprised on Monday if I showed up with a bounty of my own. Usually Jet identified the guys we went after and I just went to recover him or her. I was lazy, and there was no other excuse, but Jet neither complained nor objected to our current arrangement.

I skimmed through Venus's bounties; the desire to return to the planet was thin and almost non-existent. Earth had a few, and various systems had a few as well. Nothing worth my time or my attention. I clicked on Mars, hoping maybe I'd get something local.

Greg Finder, 100 yen, Teddy Hatsen, 70 yen, Mary Gilbert, 700 yen… I went down the list, looking at the money offered for the bounty's retrieval. I scanned the long list, deciding no one was worth my time or effort. And then the last entry on the page caught my attention.

140, 000,000,000 yen.

Who the hell-

When I saw the picture my heart stopped dead in its tracks.

I tried to stand and fell, shock making my movements jerky and unresponsive to my will as I searched around for my phone, eyes glued to my computer screen.

I found my phone on top of my bed, next to my gun and it took me six tries to dial Jet's number.

"Hello?" Jet asked obviously having been woken up.

"Jet…" I lost my voice.

"Faye? What's wrong?"

"Je-Jet.." I couldn't get my mouth to say anything other than his name.

"Faye, are you in trouble, are you there?" I couldn't talk any more and I dropped the phone to the ground; my fingers had gone numb.

Then I sat down on my bed and began to cry.