Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it. Oh yeah, and from this point on, I also don't own the song names I'm using for each chapter. Still got your souls, though.

Warnings: Violence, minor OCs, and spoilerific...stuff.

Chapter 1: Call Me, Call Me

Vicious briefly faded into consciousness only once, about halfway through the ride back to the Bebop. His eyes had squeezed tightly shut at the excruciating pangs jolting through every inch of his body; then they had slowly opened, surveying his surroundings with bullet-numbed confusion. When they fell upon Jet at the controls, they sharpened slightly with vague recognition.

Jet must have felt Vicious' eyes on him, for he glanced into the rearview mirror. Their eyes locked for just a moment, long enough to acknowledge each other's existence; then Jet reverted his attention to navigating, leaving Vicious to roll his eyes up towards the dull-toned interior of the aging ship for the last few moments before darkness embraced him once more.

When they reached the Bebop, Jet pulled into the docking bay and climbed out of Hammerhead, wincing slightly when forced to put some weight on his bad leg and quickly pulling out the much-hated walking stick to relieve the strain. As he hobbled around to the back, he quickly scanned the hangar and noted with some letdown that Red Tail was nowhere to be found.

Shaking his head quietly, Jet returned to his task. Reaching into the back, he slipped his hands under the unconscious Vicious' arms and hauled him out with as much care as he could discipline himself to use. That done, he hastily closed the hatch and limped to the door.

Just as he extended an arm to activate the door, however, he heard something from inside that could only be described as a shriek of triumph. Before he could think to react, the door slid open...

...and out of nowhere, ahyperactive blur shot out and slammed right into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. Jet just barely regained his balance in time to realize that the blur had latched itself onto his cane-arm—that is to say, it was still extended to open the door—and it was no longer a blur; now it was quite recognizable as a familiar hacker-child whom Jet had never expected to see again.

"JETPERSONJETPERSONJETPERSON!" Ed squealed, her arms and legs clamping firmly around Jet's extended arm and allowing her lightweight little body to hang freely from it.

"Ed...?" Jet murmured, his face betraying his surprise; but Ed only sent him one of her trademark huge grins and gripped his arm more tightly.

Taking his confusion in stride, Ed abruptly gave him a dramatic thumbs-up, her hand close enough to his face that he went cross-eyed for a moment. "Ed learned how to HITCHHIKE!" she proudly responded to his unasked question, wiggling her thumb at him.

After a moment of allowing himself to be mildly horrified at the thought of her hitching rides from God knows what sorts of people, Jet finally let out his breath and awkwardly sidled through the door; the fact that he had Vicious under one arm, Ed hanging from another and a crutch to carry, on top of the fact that his leg was still pretty useless, made it rather difficult.

Once they were inside the ship, Ed finally liberated Jet's arm and dropped to the ground.

Upon seeing Vicious, however, Ed's eyes grew wide. "Oooohhhh..." She leaned in close, until she and the unconscious Dragon were nearly nose-to-nose. She studied him for a second, then jumped back. "New Bebopper! Who's he, Jet-person?"

"No one you need to know. Leave him alone, Ed," Jet warned dismally, setting Vicious down on the couch. Then he went into the bathroom and got the emergency first-aid kit from the medicine cabinet; the dangerous lifestyle of cowboys made a handy first-aid kit practically a requirement, so naturally he owned one. Actually, he had secretly obtained a new one just for when—if—Spike returned from his showdown with Vicious. The pure irony of it all made Jet grimace as he closed the cabinet and took the kit back to the living room.

That settled, Jet took a deep breath and perched on the coffee table in front of the couch. ...For Spike, Jet reminded himself, then proceeded.

A long while later, Jet finally fastened and cut the last bandage. It had blown Jet's mind just how many serious injuries Vicious had. It wasn't just the bullet that made him realize yet again just how dangerous Spike could be. Jet had treated the bullet-wound to the best of his ability; it had gone clean through Vicious very close to his heart, miraculously missing any vital organs. What baffled Jet about that was that from the look of the wound, the shot had been fired in a very close range; yet it had missed. How could Spike miss at that range?

However, the very thought of Spike gave Jet a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he forced the thought out of his mind. Rather than dwelling on it, he merely stood, threw a glance at where Ed had plopped down on the floor nearby with her computer, then grabbed his cane and retreated into the next room.

"Bang."

Vicious' eyes blinked open, squinting even in the dim, flickering glow of the overhead lamp. At first he had no idea where he was; a rapid, deafening pounding in his ears made it impossible to think. Closing his eyes briefly, he willed his heart to slow and his body to ease out of its suddenly taut state; already, every breath felt like he was being ripped apart inside.

Trying to keep his breathing even but shallow, he allowed the brief moments of consciousness that he did remember to play over in his mind. As the somewhat abstract images gradually evened out and flowed together more smoothly, his swift pulse and ruptured breathing followed suit.

Once he'd managed to relax his muscles for the most part, he slowly reopened his eyes and allowed himself to take in his surroundings, from the chipping paint on the walls, to the cheap television set nearby, to the strange, scrawny child who contentedly typed on a laptop...with her toes...a few feet away. Inevitably, the latter kept his interest a bit longer than the other two.

As if the child could sense his eyes on her, she leisurely clasped her hands behind her head and leaned far back, looking at him upside-down and fixing her catlike yellow eyes with his. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"...HI-HI!" she suddenly burst out cheerfully, making Vicious flinch in spite of himself. Raising a slender arm, she pointed to herself. "Edward is Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the Fourth!" Vicious stared at her oddly, to which she responded by staring right back.

After a moment, she abruptly moved her pointing finger from herself to Vicious. "Ed knows you!" she declared. "Youuuuuu are friend of Spike-person!"

Instinctively his every muscle tensed, which almost made him want to cry out in agony. Ed seemed completely oblivious to his sudden discomfort and giggled. "Edward is right, isn't Edward, huh?"

Taking a few breaths, Vicious turned his head away from her, disregarding the question. From what he could hear, the girl seemed to await his answer until it became clear he wasn't about to give one.

"That a no?...No no?...NOOOOOOOOO!" Ed wailed, falling backwards with her feet sticking into the air, then started flailing her limbs around. "Crash and buuuuurn!"

"Ed." Ed stopped and looked over to see Jet in the doorway, face stern and eyes wary.

"Hello, welcome to House of Edward, how may Edward help you?" she asked, looking at him neutrally.

"I told you to leave him alone," he repeated, hastily setting down two pills and a glass of water on the coffee table. "Painkillers," he explained briefly to Vicious without meeting his eyes, then returned his focus to Ed. "Come with me, Ed, and bring your laptop. I need you to help me with something."

"Okie dokie smokie croakie!" she replied in a chipper voice, then grabbed her laptop and scampered away, following Jet. "Bye bye, Person-person!" Vicious' brow furrowed slightly at the nickname, but when he glanced up, she was already gone.

Jet allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief once he'd gotten Ed away from Vicious, and once he reached the hall, he paused to watch her cartwheel by him, then drop into a lotus position on the floor. "No name for him, huh?" he asked, a bit curious, as that wasn't a usual thing for her.

Ed only giggled. "Ed knows who he is. Viciousssss!" she hissed, curling and uncurling her fingers in the air to suggest something sinister. "But Ed does not know his REAL name, so he is Person-person." All was stated matter-of-factly, as if that was the obvious solution. Then, quite abruptly, she changed the subject. "Help for Jet-person! What does he want?"

Jet hesitated a moment as he tried to figure out where even to start, then blinked to attention after a short time. "Yeah...think you can hack into the files of the major crime syndicates on Mars? See if there are any notes that even imply anything about Spike. Don't forget to keep your line encrypted, they're usually pretty good at tracing." Ed grinned at the challenge, then pulled her goggles from her neck and snapped them over her eyes.

"Yes sir, Jet-person, sir!" she said, saluting with two fingers, then began to type furiously once again. "Voodoo, sky-blue, kangaroo! Spike-person, where are youuu?" she rhymed as she typed. Jet shook his head at her fondly, and once he was sure she would be busy for a while, he left to the ship's kitchen; in all the confusion with Spike and Vicious, he had completely lost track of the time. It was getting late, and neither he nor Ed had eaten a thing since lunch.

As he heated up what was left of the bellpeppers and what Spike had once aptly named 'anti-beef,' Jet found himself thinking of the last meal he had shared with Spike, only hours ago. It felt like years already, that Spike had told him the story of the tiger-striped cat that lived a million lives and died a million times. Jet really didn't know what he thought of the story now; he just knew that he would give anything to have Spike here to tell it again.

Once the food was heated, Jet spooned it onto three plates; he frankly didn't want to be within ten feet of Vicious, but that didn't mean he was going to starve him. Glancing at Ein's empty food dish, he set down the plates briefly and grabbed the last can of dog food, dumping it in. Ein trotted in as soon as he heard the food hit the bowl. Jet shook his head as he stood up. "Well, Ein, I guess you get a share of the ramen next week," he informed the data dog, then grabbed the three plates and left the kitchen.

"Food, Ed," was all Jet said as he set the plate down next to her in passing. She was sitting in the exact same place he'd left her, in the exact same position, typing at the exact same rapid pace.

"Thank you, Jet-person...leave a plate-plate-plate at the beep-beep...beep..." she mumbled, completely absorbed in her hacking. Jet chuckled a little at her ever-changing moods as he left the room.

Vicious glanced up when Jet slid a plate down to his end of the coffee table, but didn't say anything when Jet didn't. The two men barely exchanged a glance before Jet left for his bonsai room.

Finally alone, Jet exhaled slowly. Something about Vicious just completely threw him off. He didn't notice how tense his muscles were until he relaxed them; the sudden release was almost painful, so taut had they been.

Everything was so quiet now, he realized as he stared at his little bonsai trees. No Spike was there to lighten the mood with his sarcastic and remarkably quick wit; no Faye to complain that the shower was broken, whether it was in fact broken or not. Now there was only a distracted Ed, an indifferent Ein, and...a Vicious. "...Damn you, Spike," Jet found himself saying softly. "I knew I shouldn't have let you go. Now look what we got ourselves into. You're God knows where, probably half-dead if not dead already, I'm stuck in a ship with Ed and Vicious...shit...and Faye took off before I got back. She's probably having better luck with gambling than we are with anything right now..."

It was at this point that Jet realized that Spike wasn't going to answer. He was talking to someone who may very well have been dead by then. It was unbelievable how empty the ship felt already. They had been partners for three years; it seemed unthinkable that it should come to a halt now.

When he was finished, Jet pushed the plate aside and pulled out a cigarette. He had no idea how to keep bringing in bounty, much less survive in a ship with Vicious and Ed, and manage to bring Spike back, all in the same lifetime; it was definitely a nicotine occasion. He lit up, then took a long drag to calm his nerves a little. With his free hand he grabbed the empty plate to take it to the kitchen area.

As he passed through the living quarters, Jet noticed that Vicious' plate was still only half-empty; yet Vicious now lay with his eyes closed, clearly finished. It was hard to tell whether he was already approaching sleep or was just dead tired. Shuddering slightly, Jet grabbed the half-empty plate and started to limp towards the kitchen. He was barely out of the room, however, when his vidphone started beeping.

Letting out his breath in exasperation, Jet shoved the plates into the sink and answered it. "Yeah?"

The man on the other end of the line was not one he recognized. In fact, he looked more like the type of guy Jet would have tracked down in his ISSP days. At first glance, there wasn't much to be remarked on; he had coarse black hair just past his shoulders, mostly pulled back, dark olive skin, and he wore a dark green trenchcoat. Nothing really notable. However, it was his eyes, a glimmering silver, that threw Jet off guard. They screamed of a bloody-eye addict, the irises and pupils abnormally small. They made him look more than a little bit insane.

"Jet Black, right?" the man asked, his quiet, smooth voice making it difficult to guess his age.

"Yeah, that's me," he said guardedly. "We met?"

"No," the man replied simply, an apathetic sort of calm in his voice as he appeared to study Jet. "We don't really have to. Meet, that is. If you cough up some information, we could well have never exchanged a word."

Jet cocked an eyebrow. "What kind of information are we talking about?"

"The kind that you have. Could be worth dying for, if we're understanding each other." Those glittering silver eyes flashed, daring him to refuse. Jet's demeanor didn't change.

"Yeah, I hear you."

"Your cooperation is appreciated." Jet raised one index finger calmly.

"Hold on now. Whatever it is you're after, I'm not saying anything blindly. Can't give information if the deal's one-sided," he said simply. The man took the protest in stride, keeping a reasonable manner about him.

"True enough. I don't have much information you'd be interested in, but I could throw some woolongs into the deal if that's what you're after. Unless, of course, you need more incentive than that."

Suspicion clouding his eyes, Jet crossed his arms. "What kind of incentive are we talking here?"

The man looked at him a bit strangely. "Don't tell me you haven't even wondered about your partner's whereabouts yet? I've been under the impression that you'd be more suspicious than that." Jet's eyes widened slightly and his mouth clamped shut.

Giving a small sound of affirmation, the man stood with the purposeful grace of a cat, and reached forward as if to come right out of the screen; however, he was only moving his vidphone monitor. An impending sense of dread began to pulse through Jet's system, and he could swear he felt his stomach drop straight out of him when the dread was confirmed: when the man's hand was out of t he way, there, partially concealed by shadows, was Spike. He was propped into a chair, unconscious, his hands tied behind his back and attached to the chair. Even through the mediocre connection, Jet could tell that his partner was not in good shape.

"He hasn't come to yet," came the man's voice from off-screen. "If we hadn't picked him up, I doubt he ever would." Moving the monitor back to its original position, the man sat down again, leaning one elbow on his desk informally. "If that's enough incentive for you, I'll move on to your part in this. All you are required to do is make a small delivery at a place and time I will specify."

"And what's that?" Jet heard himself croak out after taking the time to find his voice. The man paused a moment, glancing behind Jet briefly before focusing again.

"Your ship's newest occupant, the Dragon—the reason isn't your concern," he added as Jet drew breath to ask what for. "I assume you're familiar enough with how this will work; thus, if you decide not to cooperate," he continued, the casual aura around him dropping very suddenly, "you'll understand when you find your partner's head on your doorstep."

Once again, reviews are embraced and flames are shunned. Later.