Disclaimer- I do not own Cowboy bebop

Note (Author response):

Heather: I love you!

Kenzier: thanks for the support and the comment!

Lexi: Whee! You're my biggest fan. Without you, I wouldn't write at all. :sniffles:

Rukusho: Updating, updating… as fast as my little Asian fingers can type.

Milky Wings: Bad mornings suck, thank you for your comment.

Neonlights: Read ahead and see who mystery person number one is! Haha, I actually just got done reading Stephanie Plum, and I fell in love with the style. I actually was just thinking earlier that I was mimicking too close, and I am going to try and add more of my own style into this baby! But, one has to admit, Faye is a bounty hunter that can be really ditzy at times, and she can be real Stephanie Plum like.

Coldqueen: Faye… model of girl power! Hiyyyaaa!

BrigidForest- Yes, I did notice a lot of repetition after I wrote this… I will try and write a little more clearly instead of repeating myself. Thank you so much for the critique it is greatly appreciated.

Title: Dangerous Ways

Rating: PG 13

CHAPTER TWO

Mars was a dangerous planet to live on if you liked late night walks alone on the streets and had a penchant for trash digging in dark alleyways with only two ways out: the way you came in or a bullet to the brain. Hardly anyone left their homes without some form of defense, whether it was a gun or brass knuckles. Being completely helpless simply wasn't known on Mars; it just wasn't done.

As I slipped out of my apartment in yellow spandex shorts, a red hooded sweatshirt with "Devil" written in black on the left sleeve, and black sneakers, one would wonder where my form of self-defense was. There wasn't any place to hide a gun, and with my fragile frame it didn't look like I could kick the crap out of anyone.

But I wasn't stupid enough to walk out unarmed, right?

Since it was almost five in the morning, and I guessed that all the would-be psychos were in their beds dreaming of blood and cake, I thought that probably I was pretty safe without a weapon. Besides, running with a gun smacking against your hip, or in your pocket, or across your shoulder just made exercise pretty damn uncomfortable. Hell, even the small cell phone clipped to the waist of my shorts was uncomfortable.

I walked out of my apartment building, made sure my hair was tied tight in its ponytail, did a few stretches and began running down the sidewalk in the crisp morning air as if I didn't have a care in the world. Unfortunately on the inside, I was a knot of insanity. My brain was doing mental back-flips, and my chest was tight with more "caring" than I would have liked.

After I had dropped my phone with Jet on the line in my apartment I had stared stupidly at my computer screen for the next few minutes before I had gained a little bit of self-control. I had called Jet back and had told him to come over and have breakfast at ten. Ignoring his snide remark about me getting up anytime before noon two days in a row on a weekend was equivalent to Hell freezing over, I had told him I would explain everything later.

Then I had dragged out my jogging clothes from the back of my closet and gone out, trying to sort out the emotional and mental roller coaster I had been riding since I brought up the portrait of that 140,000,000,000 bounty on my laptop.

Spike Spiegel, wanted for the mass homicide of seven high-ranking officials of the Inner Solar System Police, a secretary, and the secretary's dog.

There had been background information on the incident, but I hadn't read any of it. I had been too transfixed on the name and the face staring back at me.

He had looked relatively the same as he had when he had walked out of my life. In his picture his hair was still green and fuzzy, his eyes still just a little bit mismatched, his face still long and angular, and his nose still long and thin. But the look in his eyes had changed. There was a sense of emptiness, a sense of lifelessness.

Anger was breathing heavily just underneath the sheen of sweat that covered my skin. Hope swam just below, and joy mingled on the undercurrents of any optimism.

He was alive.

Part of me was screaming that the Spike I was looking at couldn't possibly my Spike. The Spike I had known had gone off to die, the Spike I had known wouldn't have just left Jet and I in the dust.

But he had.

I pumped my legs, ignoring the scream from my lungs for air. That bastard had abandoned us; let us think he had been dead for the last two years! Practicality told me there was a reasonable explanation why Spike had left Jet and I behind. Blind rage and irrationality didn't care about logical excuses and told me that there was nothing in the whole galaxy that would justify Spike running away.

Thoughts raced through my head with less clarity as I continued to run at an insane pace and deprived my brain of much needed oxygen.

What if it was a scam, part of me asked. What if the picture posted for bounty was some imposter, someone who was just a look alike using Spike's tarnished but generally good name?

Suddenly I was thrown from my thoughts with a thump, sharp pain echoing from my palms and knees as soon as I hit the ground. My foot had caught on something and I had gone down without so much as a second to scream.

"Ouch," I muttered, looking over my hands and knees, checking for other possible injuries besides scraped skin.

That was when I noticed what I had tripped over.

"Oh, my God."

The first to arrive on the scene was a squad car. Two ISSP boys walked out of the car, the fat one walking towards me and the tall and skinny one walking towards Mr. Dead and Stiff about three feet away.

I stood from the curb when the fat cop got close. "Miss Valentine?" Fatso inquired taking out a pen and tablet to take my informal statement. His gut hung over the top of his pants, and with every step he took the fat giggled like jello. I imagined this guy had too many jelly donuts on and off the job.

"Yeah."

"You the one who called in the dead body?"

I gave him an annoyed look. Did he see anyone else on the streets sitting close to a body this early in the morning?

After a minute of trying to stare me down he asked, "What exactly happened?" He poised his pen, looking serious and absolutely absorbed in his task of writing down the next few words that would come out of my mouth. Probably Fatso did a lot of writing down statements. When you looked like you probably couldn't outrun even the slowest criminals you usually got stuck with the paper work.

"I was running and suddenly I tripped over a dead guy," I said indifferently. "Nothing else to really say."

"Did you see anyone fleeing the scene?"

I caught a camera flash and watched for a moment as the tall cop took pictures of the crime scene. "No, I didn't even see the body until I fell."

Fatso gave me a once over. "You'll need to come back to the station for a formal statement."

I shrugged, sitting back down on the curb and waiting. It was just my luck on top of everything else that I'd find the next item on the worm food menu. And somehow I blamed Spike because had he been really dead, I would have been in bed dreaming about winning millions at the slots.

A few other cop cars pulled up, their sirens splitting the air and my head, before the engines shut off and cops poured out onto the pavement like a disease. In a matter of minutes yellow tape was being put up, and cops were mingling, probably discussing everything plus the kitchen sink but the murdered victim.

The corpse had been an older man with wild red hair, on top of his head and on his chin. His face had been pale, his green eyes wide and scared, his mouth open in a silent scream forever. There had been a bullet hole right between his eyes, and he had been laid out in the middle of the sidewalk spread eagle.

"Usually you bring the bodies back alive," A voice said above me.

I looked up and caught Drake Shane staring down at me with a humorless smile. There was a flutter in my stomach as I stood and found myself very close to his body. Drake Shane, a cop that was just the side of clean, but who always succeeded in solving the majority of the cases he was given, was the man of my dreams. He was tall, dark and handsome with black hair, dangerous blue eyes that seemed to spark from within, and a body that was supermodel perfect. We had struck up a friendship working on a case together a year back. Jet had been off on vacation, and Drake had needed to find his man, and I had needed money for my rent. We had had a totally professional partnership much to my dismay, and had caught David Greendale all too soon before Drake and I had gone our separate ways.

Every now and then we crossed paths and a friendly hello was exchanged, unfortunately nothing more.

"Bring 'em back, dead or alive, is the bounty hunter motto, detective." I was thrilled that Drake was here, excited because I had a school girl crush on him that both amused me and made me feel very young. But the whole Spike thing and tripping over the cold feet thing had kind of frayed my nerves.

Drake grinned, amusement entering his eyes. "It's been a long time, Valentine."

A gave a small smile. "You got a cigarette?"

Drake reached into his pocket, stuck the cancer stick in his mouth, lit it, and handed it over to me. "Those things will kill you," he said looking towards where the crowd of cops were dissipating.

I inhaled some smoke and blew it out without an answer.

"You need a ride down to the station to file your statement?"

I gazed off at the coming day, the sun coming over the horizon of the distant buildings. I took another drag, and sighed. "You offering, Detective?"

Drake just smiled.

"Sure, that sounds nice," I said.

Drake pulled up in front of my apartment building in a beat up 4x4. The car was an old model, but Drake kept it in good shape, almost brand new except for a few dents and scratches here and there.

It hadn't taken long to file my statement. It had taken eternity and then some for Drake to get the details about the victim. Since Drake had been my ride home, I had to sit at the station twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Officer Shane to quench his curiosity. I passed the time winking at all the cute cops that walked by, humming, and counting the seconds inside my head, anything to get my mind off what would catch up with me at home; Spike Spiegel.

"The man you tripped over was Carl Craft," Drake said turning off the engine and leaning back in his seat. "Does the name ring a bell?"

"No, why would it?" I muttered.

I had my forehead pressed against the glass of the passenger window, eyes closed. When I opened them I knew my apartment would be looming over me, and inside my apartment my laptop was glowing in pregnant silence.

"No bells I assume?" Drake asked for confirmation.

"No, definitely no bells, maybe a screaming headache."

We sat in silence for a minute before Drake spoke again. "I'm assigned to a new case."

I opened my eyes and glanced over at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Anything you need my help with?"

Drake turned to me, blue eyes blazing, black hair messy over his forehead. He looked rumpled, and that was when I noticed his worn jeans and large worn T-shirt underneath a beat-up windbreaker. He must have gotten called out of bed.

"Have you ever heard of the name 'Spiegel'?"

I groaned and turned away and smacked my head against the window.

"Careful, you might break the glass." Drake's voice sounded amused.

"Just the glass? I was hoping maybe I might have broken my brain from thinking."

"And why would you want to do that?"

I opened my eyes and stared at my apartment building, the memory of Spike walking down the hall of the Bebop, never to return, never to come back… until now. "What's it to you if I've heard of a Spiegel?"

"I'm working on a mass homicide case. Spike Spiegel is the one and only suspect." Drake's voice had gone serious, emotionless; his cop voice.

I sighed. "Yeah? Well, I saw his bounty." I quickly decided that my ties with Spike and what little knowledge of him I had was best to be kept secret until Jet and I discussed what to do.

"Carl was going to be called in for questioning. He reportedly had information that would connect Spiegel to the homicide of eight people."

This piqued my interest but I tried not to let it show. "Really? Sounds suspicious."

"Your name came up on a profile done on Spegiel. It said you were partners with him awhile back."

Partners? More like conditional enemies. I kind of stuck onto Spike and Jet like Band-Aids stuck on skin. I gave a smirk. "We weren't really partners."

"Any information you have on him would be helpful."

I turned and gave him a smile. "Not getting anywhere with any other leads?"

Drake was looking at me, grim faced and serious. "I thought since we had a working relationship that maybe you'd like to share information with me."

I opened the car door and got out. "I don't think I have any info that would be helpful in finding him. I mean I know he liked to eat meat, and hated it when there was never enough money to buy it," I offered swiping at the hair that had come loose from my ponytail. At least that statement was true; I hadn't even known Spike was alive until about three hours ago, and I knew that Spike hadn't liked beef with bell peppers without the beef.

Drake looked at me for a moment then started his engine. Staring out at the horizon, he spoke. "You know it's a federal offense to withhold information about a fugitive. You could be labeled as aiding and abiding."

"If you have any question of my innocence, my number is in my statement at the station."

"Faye, if you know anything-" His voice had come out a little more human and a little less cop.

"Thank you for the ride, Detective." I closed his door and walked into my apartment building without a glance behind.

I was tired. There just wasn't any other word for what I was feeling. My mind was wired with questions about Spike, about the dead body that had almost killed me. My knees and palms stung like fire, my eyes were sleep deprived, and my legs were felt like putty from the running. I was so tired, physically and mentally that I hadn't even had a sexual thought about Drake the whole ride back.

I punched the up button on the elevator and wasn't surprised when the door opened immediately. All the sane people were still sleeping. I got in, punched the number of my floor and leaned against the wall of the elevator, rubbing my eyes with my fingers. When I reached my floor, I stepped out and walked towards my door.

I had gotten my keys out and would have stuck them in the lock, but a man was standing in front of the lock. I quirked an eyebrow, focusing on him with a frown of disapproval. "May I help you?"

The man was tall. He had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, green eyes that were emotionless and a mouth that would have been soft if it hadn't been set in a grim line. He wore a spiffy uniform, and my eyes strayed to the intricate designs on his shoulders when his voice jolted my eyes back to his face.

"Faye Valentine?"

My eyes narrowed and suddenly I regretted not having my gun. I took a step back. "And you are?"

The man smiled. "My name's not important." He took a step towards me and as I made to take another step he grabbed my arm. With his other hand he discreetly showed me his gun just inside his jacket. "Don't scream. Just open up your apartment door and don't try anything funny or your fish food."

Gulp. With heart pounding, I moved to open my door with Mr. Cute and Creepy right behind me, his hand tight around my upper arm. I unlocked the door with shaky hands, opened the door and walked in. When I heard the door close behind me I turned around and tried to sound brave. "What do you want?"

The man had his gun out now and was pointing it straight at me. "I'm here to kill you, Miss Valentine."