In a hidden cubby that formerly housed engine guts, Jet Black mused over figures: numbers upon numbers, and shorthand words that meant whole cases of food. He chewed a pen thoughtfully and scribbled.

Profit was looking good. Despite no previous restaurant or managerial experience, he had been able to keep abreast of inventory, simply by keeping detailed records. It seemed as though he would be able to exceed the forecasted expectations set down for him by a somewhat austere and heavy-handed accounting firm. He rolled his pen around on the paper, content in his own competency.

A knock on the door interrupted his pleasant musing. Without waiting for recognition, Mak came barging in, looking a little bit peeved. "Boss, just wanted to tell ya that Stacy's giving that friend of yours a bit of a hard time."

He pressed his full lips together with something like a frown. "Faye can take care of herself, I think."

"Boss," Mak said in a voice that she seldom used. "I think you'd better come handle this."

He looked at her, face growing stern. "Fine. That means you're closing accounts tonight." He tossed her the pen in a deft movement before brushing her aside and marching back up to the upper levels of the ship.

He knew just where to go: the bar. More specifically, his end of the bar. And waiting there was less of a scene than he expected, but a scene nonetheless. He silently thanked Mak for having enough good judgment to get him involved sooner as opposed to later.

Stacy had her heavily plastered face close to Faye's, snarling at her. Faye was bristling back, but overall she looked quite outclassed, in the way that a small, tenacious dog can only hope to bluff a bigger one. He took just a moment to compose himself before stepping between them. "Ladies, what's the problem?"

"Big Poppa," Stacy spat out in a whining, irritated voice, "just cuz she's your friend don't mean she can come all up in my space like this."

To this Faye was mute, contenting herself by bowing her head, and seemingly, throwing herself on his mercy. He understood completely. She was too tired, too worn, too beaten to fight back. He let his eye fall on Stacy quite casually. "How is she in 'your space'? Looks like she's just sitting on a bar stool to me."

"She gettin' attitude with me!" the blonde girl protested, plainly unused to being required to give an account of her behavior. "I don't know why she got to be cuttin' her eyes at me and actin' like she too good to speak. Bitch don't even look that good no way."

He held his hands up to stem the tide of poor grammar. "Enough. Stacy, you've fought with every girl in here since you came. I don't think that you're very happy here, and it'd be better for you if you moved on."

Silence ensued as the bar scene continued on noisily around them. Stacy's face showed her consternation quite clearly. She was trying, and trying hard, to decide if Jet was joking without resorting to actually having to ask.

Faye still held her subordinate position. His heart ached for her badly. What could have gone so wrong as to tame the lovably psychotic shrew that he had known?

Finally, someone spoke. "Big Poppa, you…you kickin' me out?"

"Not really," he said in a soft voice that made Faye tremble inwardly: that voice had always been a precursor of deep-rooted anger. "I'm asking you to leave, because I don't want you to be somewhere that you aren't happy."

The girl heaved a noisy sob. "Why you doin' this? Where I'm gonna go? What I'm supposed to do?"

"It's not my problem anymore." Jet took a second to relieve himself of the death-grip that Stacy had taken on his sleeve. "But I can't keep someone around who constantly picks fights. Go home to your parents, if you're that desperate. They're still looking for you." He forcibly marched the girl away, deaf to her pathetic weeping.

Faye watched silently, somehow moved by the girl's display of emotion. It took a few moments for her to hear the "hem" behind her. She turned to see Mak.

"Did he throw her out?"

"Yeah." Faye turned back around, puzzled. "She didn't strike me as the crying type."

Mak snorted. "She ain't. Nothing but crocodile tears. If you took her back in, she'd be waitin' on ya to step out of the door so she could get at ya. Spiteful, pure an' simple." She strolled away as a customer waved an empty glass at her.

The sound of fabric scraping against leather made Faye turn to the left. Jet had placed himself beside her once again. He didn't look at her, staring straight ahead at the back of the bar. "What's on Faye Valentine's mind tonight?"

She stared down at a plateful of bones and pepper seeds, having so very little to say at the moment. The desire to look for Spike was keen, but inevitably waning. She didn't have the slightest idea where to find Ed. And as for him…he had another life now, and there didn't seem to be much room for her. "Why do you do this, Jet?"

He looked at her, trying to judge what she meant. "The business, or…"

"You know what I mean," she cut in, voice growing angry.

He promptly turned away again. Those bottles must have been utterly fascinating. "Just trying to help, the best way I know how."

"By helping women sell themselves?"

"I don't make them do it."

"That's a great excuse. And here I was, thinking that you had the most morals and ethics of all of us."

"There is no 'us', Faye." His voice had picked up a bit of an edge. Apparently the spoken, and unspoken, references to their mutual past were beginning to wear thin. "That part of my life is over and done now. If you care to move on at some point, just let me know."

"Bastard," she hissed, slamming back the remaining dregs of her drink to give her the courage she lacked. "Spike's dead, and you – you didn't bother to stop him. You could have…you should have…done something!"

He shook his head, looking at her with eyes that held an odd mixture of pity and frustration. "How long are you going to keep living in the past? He's dead, woman! Accept it and get on with your life!"

She stared at him, dark green eyes brimming over with rage and tears. "Don't you dare lecture me, you…you dirty –"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe…" He grabbed her slim wrists to prevent the possibility of a slap, "…he wanted to die?"

She snatched away from him violently, jostling back into another patron. Unable to meet the man's surprised stare, she stammered out an apology before making a direct beeline for the door.

Jet turned back to the multi-colored bottles, face twisted with ire. Mak drifted by slowly. "You handled that real well." She looked at the drink orders before consulting the speed rack and retrieving several glasses from the cooler. "Ain't you even gonna go after her?"

"No need." Jet lit up and blew a smoke ring. "She doesn't have anywhere to go. Mark my words, she's sitting on the deck as we speak."

"You're so damned chivalrous," Mak drawled sarcastically, eliciting a grin from her employee. "Where you been all my life?"

The grin became wicked in an instant. "Naked and sitting on your bed, but you never got home quick enough."

The bartender squealed with laughter. "Does that mean the accounts are screwed up tonight?"

"You know it. Don't worry, you can have your overtime." He crushed the half-finished cigarette in a used ashtray before making his lazy way towards the main door.


As usual, he was right. Faye was sitting outside, staring forlornly into the black, brackish water. The dim illumination from the outdoor deck did little to penetrate the darkness. But as a plus, it made viewing the stars that much easier. He came and sat down beside her, noting her tiny hiss of defiance with amusement. "Where are you going to go tonight, Faye?"

"What's it to you?" she asked bitterly.

"If you don't have anywhere to sleep, there's still two rooms on the ship that have beds in them."

She sneered. It was definitely not her most flattering facial expression. "So you can take care of your 'willing charges', right?"

"How old are you, 78? I'd have thought you would have moved on past the playground insult level by now."

She stood. "I don't know why you're bothering with me at all. Obviously the past means nothing to you, so we have no claim on each other. I don't want anything from a man like you, who can just pick his friends up and throw them back down like rag dolls at his convenience."

He shrugged, looking up at her. "If you don't want anything from me, go inside and pay your bill. It's about 200 wulongs. You've got it, don't you? Considering how productive you've been, and how much money you've earned and all."

She seethed with useless anger. God, why can't I just quit while I'm ahead…

Seeing that he was winning, Jet stood and dusted off his clothes. "It's your decision, Faye. I'm not going to make you come inside. But remember, while your pride can make a good backup in an argument, it's a lousy substitute for a warm bed and feather pillows."

And then he turned away.

"Wait just a minute, Jet Black." Her voice was full of ice.

He stopped, barely deigning to turn his head back. "Whatever for?"

"While I may not have feather pillows to sleep on tonight, it's better than giving in to a Judas like you. And believe me, my pride can keep me warmer than any bed." She smirked, fully confident that she had bested him.

But alas, she was quite wrong. The serene expression in those dark eyes told her so immediately. "Keep telling yourself that. But remember, ultimately you're the one who always chose to be alone. Back in the 'good ol' days'. Hope that thought keeps you warm, too. It gets chilly on Ganymede at night." And with that said, he went back inside, leaving her trembling with outrage, and ready to collapse with grief.


When he strolled back inside the smoky, noisy bar, Mak was ringing an obnoxiously loud bell. And they all knew what that bell meant. Last call. He checked his Omega watch, a relic from the past that he couldn't quite bear to part with. 11:40. Just twenty minutes until they could kick everyone out at once.

"Where's your pretty friend?" Mak asked, regarding him narrowly.

"Outside. Just where I thought she'd be." Jet looked at his lighter, running the tips of his metal fingers over its unusual proportions and protruding edges.

"And you didn't get her?"

"Hardly. It's not my business to make her come in, you know."

Mak twisted her lips. "You like her, don't you?" she asked softly.

"What gave you that terrible idea?"

"Oh, the paperwork downstairs. Y'know, you sketched a pretty good picture of her face on the invoices."

"Shit," he growled, suddenly clutching the lighter with an unnecessarily firm grip.

"In triplicate, too." The bartender smiled sweetly as her employer's face turned a charming shade of pink. "You gonna help me clean, since I gotta do your paperwork?"

"Nope. That's what the wait staff is for. And incidentally, it's your paperwork too, my raven-haired beauty."

"Wow. Ya sure know how to make a girl happy." She picked up a few empty glasses and dunked them into the hot water wash.

"Damn right. I'm all about…"

"The ladies," they finished in unison, and laughed. But Mak stopped laughing, and gave Jet another of her odd smiles, before hurriedly rinsing the glasses and dropping them into the sterilizing tank. "You got a missile coming up on your right flank, hon."

"Bogey at four o'clock?"

"Darn tootin'. I'd better be on my way. Gotta get these rowdies out of here, cuz I can't stay all night again."

"And when you're here all night again, Mak, you're welcome to the guest room."

"Thanks," she said, prodding his shoulder playfully. She wiped her hands on her dishtowel before pressing the button at the base of an old-fashioned school bell, which clanged noisily. She shouted to be heard over the din. "It's 11:55, folks! Time to go home for the night!" With a small amount of good-natured grumbling, the crowd slowly began to vacate the premises.

"Is this seat taken?" a female voice snarled in his ear.

He didn't look up. "Have a seat."

Faye plopped down beside him, face still tight with rage. "Just for tonight, Jet. Tomorrow, I'm out of here."

"Just as you please," he answered placidly, angering her further. Why the hell couldn't he gratify her just once by being his old self? Scream at me, Jet. Make a big stinky fuss the way you used to. Do something to make me feel at home.

He did none of the above, instead rising to embrace a few select women with varying degrees of skin showing. They all saluted him with his nomen "Big Poppa", and Faye had to fight an awful premonition that arose, thanks in part to her growing superstition. What if he was planning…to make her…

No! She squashed the thought down and crushed it. He wouldn't dare…!

But still…she would have never pegged Jet for a silver-tongued smooth talking ladies' man. It was possible, after all…

"It'd better be damned improbable," she said in a low voice as the last few remaining guests found themselves being shooed out of the door.

Jet returned soon enough, walking towards the back of the ship and down a level. "Are you ready, Faye?"

She followed him silently as they passed so many familiar areas. The old food hold (although there had rarely ever been food there) was appropriately enough a huge pantry. The lower level mechanical closet now held several thousand wulongs' worth of liquor. Other rooms that she vaguely remembered were now locked and bolted, holding, she presumed, valuable equipment.

"Here we are." He retrieved a key from his breast pocket and opened an unassuming door, stepping back to let Faye enter.

She smothered a little gasp of surprised delight. This room had clearly been fitted up by another woman, or in any case been decorated with a woman in mind. It was frilly and lacy and everything that she had loved dearly as a child, and as a result was the complete antithesis of her old bunk on the Bebop. Eggshell-blue wallpaper covered the wall, matching the two lamps quite nicely. The boudoir, its chair, and the bed's frame were all made of brass piping, and complimented the wall sconces. A pastel dresser sat happily against the far wall, eagerly awaiting a burden of clothing.

"Did you do this yourself?" she asked him shyly.

"Mak helped, but for the most part, yes."

"It's so pretty." She stepped inside timidly, hardly daring to run her fingers over the furnishings. Jet laughed. "They're not made of mist, Faye. You can touch them a little harder if you'd like."

"I've wanted a bed like this for about fifty years now," she said, not hearing him. "They were…antiques on Earth, even in my day. They should be complete relics by now."

"Reproductions. Made using Earth plans. Go ahead, lie down on the bed."

The words lie down and bed coming from Jet Black's mouth suddenly struck a nerve, and she looked at him, irrationally annoyed. "How many of your sluts have slept in this bed before me, Jet?"

"All of them," he said. "But if it puts your mind at ease, not only was I not in that bed with a single one of them, but those are brand new sheets. Purchased yesterday." He put his hand on the doorknob, with seemingly every intention of leaving. "There's bath towels in the middle drawer of that dresser, and the bathroom is through that door." He directed her attention to a portal that she had previously missed. "You'll be glad to know that the water is quite hot. Good night, Faye."

She balled her fists, as there was little else that she could do to express her frustration at this point. "Damn you."

"Excuse me?" His voice was that same level of taunting calm.

"Why can't you just yell at me, Jet! It's not enough that you've somehow managed to get a business started all by yourself, but you're a noble pimp too? And now, you won't even get mad anymore – god! Why can't things just…" Her voice cracked, and a sob escaped. "…stay the same?"

She felt that damned metal hand on her bare shoulder. Even it didn't feel right: it should have been cold, but no – it was mildly warm, reminiscent of flesh. "Because things change, Faye. I change. You're changing. The world's changed. And you can't hang on to the past forever, because one day you'll look up and wonder where the hell your life went while you weren't looking. You can't see the stars if you're too busy staring at the dirt, you know?"

"Where did you get that one, a fortune cookie?" She wished that she could take the words back as soon as she heard them. But it was his own fault – leaving her behind and then expecting her to just cheerfully play catch up…

"No, it's actually a song lyric. But that's really neither here nor there, and I've got some work to do with Mak. If you need either of us, we'll be in the office. It's where the engine room used to be on first floor." He left before she could muster enough bile to spit at him again.

The irritation gone, Faye drearily went over to the bureau and found the promised linen. She also found an alluring pair of shell-pink lace pajamas, and she wondered curiously who had worn them before. But they looked and smelled quite new, and they were in her size…and they were definitely going to be hers tonight. Supplied so adequately, she stepped into the bathroom, which was as equally suited to her taste as the bedroom.

Forty minutes elapsed before she could find the will to leave the bathroom. It had been so nice to soak in a hot, steamy tub without fear of interruption from an incomprehensible hacker or a psychotic Welsh Corgie. She toweled her hair for a few moments, but gave up shortly; she was too tired. She'd just comb it out in the morning. Struggling into her pajamas, she crawled into bed and rested face down in the pillows.

"Damn it, he was right again," she muttered as her weight distributed to all the right places. "Pride ain't got nothing on feather pillows…"


Author's Notes:

1. Jet's quote "You can't see the stars if you're too busy staring at the dirt" is an alteration of the chorus from Billy Franks' "Earth and Nearby Space". The proper way that the song goes is as follows.

How can you understand me

My time and place

If I am the universe

But your concern is earth and nearby space?

Neat song.

2. Chapter title is one of maybe two Mariah Carey songs that I can listen to more than once and remain reasonably calm. Yes, this is becoming a pattern. No, this is NOT becoming a songfic. At least not in the general sense.

3. Please tolerate, as best you can, Mak's ever-changing accent. I've found, much to my personal dismay, that the way that a person may speak to a customer or a client very often differs from how they may talk with a peer; a more pronounced accent may come out, or possibly laziness concerning the language. I'm noticing more discrepancies as I go along, and it's becoming personally challenging to keep credibility alive. But if there's too much of a gap, please tell me. If that means I have to reload these first two chapters to make sure things match up, I'll get on it.

And that's it for now, I think. Chapter Three will be slightly more erotic. With some actual Jet/Faye tossed in for good measure. How 'bout that!