Disclaimer: You know, it might have something to do with the fact that I don't know how to play poker. Strip, or otherwise.
A/N: I've got the next two chapters written out, but it's difficult to get on with editing them. In addition to a lot of schoolwork, tests, and more than enough projects, I'm leaving for the Philippines in a week's time, and I probably won't be writing as much in the two weeks after that. :( It's a weird little habit; I can't write on any other laptop except for mine, and I won't be bringing it along. So I'll try to finish as much as I can in the next week, edit it in the Philippines, and I'll post it there.

Oh, yes, and swunshine, I've never considered writing in Tagalog, Tagalog readers or none. It's just that I don't know how. ;) Thanks, again, to everyone who's reviewed!

EDIT: Thanks so much to Kendra Leuhr. I knew there was something wrong with Ed's character, and I couldn't figure out what until she told me. ;) I'd never had a talent for pinning down how exactly Ed talks. And acts. And basically everything about Ed. Thanks again, Kendra:trots off to voice lessons:

Sixty Frames Per Second
2: Going, Going, Gone

Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky was having the time of her life.

The Internet was a bit slower than was her liking, considering how connections were usually clogged on Sundays. But although her hacking program was much faster to use, she'd chosen to forgo the pleasures of easy hacking for the more complicated old-fashioned style: manually.

Or, to be more specific, guess-and-check.

And she was having a ball. Who said being a genius didn't have its perks?

She'd guessed Faye's password in a matter of seconds. And hacking into Jet and Spike's email accounts would be easy, too. She'd decided that when you stayed on a ship where your crew members wandered around aimlessly in their underwear, you got to know them pretty well, like it or not.

Thus leading to the knowledge of what they were most likely to choose for passwords.

"Show me your secrets, Mailbox Man!"

And with one click, she was in.

Much, much later, Ed was still clicking past emails that dated back to the twentieth century, trying vainly to keep her eyes open. The usual junk mail littered Faye's inbox, along with the odd birthday e-card (Ed counted at least fifty) and a few Christmas greetings and Valentines. Nothing really important, until…

"Oooooh! Faye-Faye has an email from Spike-person!"

Ein twitched in his sleep.

The email, she noted, was unopened. And it was, she also noted, blank. Disappointed, she scrolled back to the login page and typed in Jet's address.

She took considerably more time to type in the password; Jet-person was more complicated than the other two. After all, he never moseyed around on the ship with only his boxers on; she'd only managed to catch a glimpse of them when he was showering.

And then she remembered.

Alyssa.

"Six letters!" she proclaimed triumphantly, typing it in. "Jet-person's Mailbox Man, coming up!"

There were emails from Spike-person.

She marked those at once, and read them. In thirty minutes, she was done, and was scribbling it down on her notepad.

When she accessed Spike's email, her jaw dropped.

The man had, obviously, never cleaned out his mailbox.

Viagra offers? she wondered absently, listing them down on her notepad. She'd have to ask Faye-Faye what Viagra was later. And porn. And… oh, she wondered why Spike-person would want to have… er, breast implants. He didn't really seem like the type, she thought pensively.

When she finished, she chewed the tip of her pencil for a moment, and then wrote down the passwords as well.

Faye-Faye: Redtail

Jet-person: Alyssa

Spike-person: Valentine

Some people, she thought blandly as she hopped onto her bed and burrowed under the covers, could be so predictable.

"I'm not so sure what you're trying to say here."

Spike huddled into his coat, trying not to shiver as he craned his neck to look over Jet's shoulder, past the trickle of everyday traffic and the colors of autumn in the city. The vivid red and orange hues of fallen leaves lay against the gray sidewalks and deadened black trees, assaulting his senses along with the blare of horns and the whisper of impatience.

"Jet? Are you even listening?"

The older man turned to look at him, and he looked… sad. Colorless among the blurs and hazes of the city. Out of place.

"Were you even listening, Spike? You wanted something good, and I'm giving it to you." He passed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "God knows why when I just want you gone. But if this is what it takes…" He gestured towards the dingy restaurant across the street, barely noticeable with its muted wooden shades and the handwritten sign.

Le Poisson.

Spike felt his gut clench. And he'd never been wrong before.

She spotted him as soon as she entered, a tall, elegantly-built figure folded into the worn plastic chair that the restaurant had deemed suitable as seating arrangements. He looked up when she approached, eyebrows knitted together in a frown above dark violet eyes.

"You left me at the casino opening last night."

It wasn't, by any means, much of a greeting. But Faye ignored that; she'd grown used to Jimmy's crude welcomes over the years. She dropped her handbag into the chair next to him and sat, reaching into a pocket for a cigarette. Speaking with him always made her nervous, but, as the bistro didn't exactly react well to smoking customers, she would have to be content with chewing it.

Jimmy watched her from under a fringe of ash-blonde hair, the frown deepening when she didn't answer. When she was at eye level, he reached and drew the cigarette away, flicking it into an empty ashtray. Funny how much that simple gesture seemed like a quiet threat.

His eyes were beautiful when he was this close.

"Something happened," she muttered as the way of explanation, shrugging the thought away. "I'll have a beer, thanks," she added to the waiter.

He bowed respectfully and left, knew better than to say more than was necessary in front of the blonde man with the strange eyes. He'd seen what had happened the last time another waiter had overstepped his boundaries, and it hadn't been good. Everyone's salary had been cut to pay for the damage repairs.

"Something happened," Jimmy repeated doubtfully when the waiter was out of earshot.

"It was… important."

"More so than a meeting with me?" He touched her cheek, and her gaze remained steady on his. "I find that hard to believe, Miss Valentine."

"I met a man."

He drew his hand away, studied her, and, in a moment, he understood.

"Who was he?"

She was silent. But you already know. "He was my old partner."

"Spike Spiegel."

It was more statement than question, so she chose to ignore it. He was quiet for another moment, looking at her. She avoided his gaze, watched the passing of the cars out on the street, heard the honks of their horns, and wished she was out there instead, breathing in the wind, and not in here, in this stupid restaurant that reeked of fish and bad memories.

Bad memories.

This damned city had too many of them, she thought bitterly. She had, after all, met Jimmy here.

I remember, she thought, her gaze traveling lightly over his immaculate coat, folded neatly over the back of his chair, and the chic tie, half undone, and his wrinkled white dress shirt. He wasn't any different from back then, other than the state of his dress. He'd been perfectly groomed that time. But the long frame, the harshly-angled face, the eyes. Violet eyes.

The very same person she'd first seen in Le Poisson.

She'd picked him out of the crowd. He attracted her. Truth be told, he attracted all women, and, on the rare occasion, men too, but he'd paid more attention to her than was usual. He'd smiled at her, winked, and when he'd paid the bill and left, she'd found herself following him.

It was how she'd gotten into such a mess in the first place: her own stupidity, a one night stand, and enough drinks to loosen her tongue about… well, everything.

And she couldn't have chosen a worse man to have spilled it to, Faye thought sullenly.

A beer slid in front of her peripheral vision, startling her out of her thoughts, and she focused on it, mouthed a thanks to the waiter who smiled and jogged away. Taking hold of it, she took a deep gulp, felt the alcohol warm her stomach, and her mood improved slightly.

But not nearly enough, especially when Jimmy leaned forward and met her eyes.

"Just because Spike Spiegel's back was no reason to cancel on me."

"He surprised me," she replied evenly.

She didn't say the rest; she didn't need to. Jimmy knew it, and so did she: she would never cancel on him in the long run, Spike or no Spike. Ghosts or no ghosts. There was still the silent, unspoken promise that both of them knew about, but didn't discuss.

I'll stay with you.

He was silent, watching her.

As long as you stay with me.

Jimmy never used her for sex, but she was still his 'toy', something he played around with when he got bored. Mind games, insults. They hurt, but in turn… he'd offered something she'd never had before.

I'll stay with you.

And she'd taken it without comment. It had been something the Bebop had never been able to give her.

Something Spike had never been able to give her.

She stretched her head back, leaned it against the back of the booth and closed her eyes, suddenly tired. Somewhere, far off in the distance, she heard Jimmy speak.

"I want to see this Spike Spiegel." He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, smiling gently when she shivered at the contact. "There's a party that I would like you to attend on Saturday evening. Formal attire. Nothing extremely fancy, just a little wine and a little mingling. Take this… Spike… as your date."

So that was it. The price she had to pay for last night. Bring Spike Spiegel to a damned party, and see how she could handle it. Not very well, she supposed, and opened her eyes when his chair scraped against the floor. Jimmy had already taken his coat and was sliding into it, and she watched from her seat with blurry eyes as he smiled at her.

"I'm sorry I have to cut our conference short. I have to go. I have an important meeting to get to."

He held out a hand, and she grasped it for a moment before letting go. And, for a moment, they looked so ordinary that it made her heart ache; just normal people on a normal date, and a proper handshake that meant strict business and nothing more.

Although, she knew, it was as far from the truth than it would ever be.

He kissed her then. And everything shifted, changed, hung in a precarious balance that didn't know which way to tip. A slight pass of his lips over hers, and she tasted the ghost of desire, lingering on the tip of her tongue, barely there, a small spark of red. When he drew away, he smiled for the briefest second.

And then he was gone.

Jimmy.

Faye ran a hand over her head, slumped back in her seat, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was over. She could leave the matter well enough alone. One party with Spike… so what? He'd probably moved on to Jupiter by now, and the possibility that he'd be back was as remote as Ein winning a game of poker against her.

She toyed absent-mindedly with her lighter, staring into the empty chair Jimmy had been occupying.

But, hell, now that she'd seen him, could she let it go as simply as that?

She sighed, rested her forehead against the palm of her hand. Easy come, easy go, she thought grimly. Goddammit, Spike, I want you to go, so what the hell are you doing here?

Unable to resist any longer, she lit her cigarette and took a deep pull.

She thought again of Jet. He'd left her well alone, high and dry, after Spike had run off, on Earth while he jetted off to Mars or some other remote place in search of Alyssa. Selfish bastard. And the fact that he lied to her made her burn with anger and a sense of deep hurt.

He'd been her father, yet she didn't know where he was now. Probably still trawling around in space, looking for that woman.

Years on the Bebop, she thought bitterly, and she had nothing to show for it but a kid and a dog.

Not quite alone, not quite enough.

She rubbed at her eyes and fished in her pockets for some cash, came up with a crumpled fifty, and tossed it onto the table. She was out of here. All she needed to do was attend the party with a phony Spike Spiegel and Jimmy would never bring up the subject again.

All she had to do was find someone like him.

She reached for her handbag. When her fingers curled around the strap, she felt something tug her gaze upward, through the window. And, when it connected, she felt the familiar shock of awareness.

Because there, across the street, was Jet Black, his face crinkled into a sullen, worried expression, overshadowed by age. Spike Spiegel stood next to him, his mismatched eyes on hers, his hands stuffed into his pockets, and the same, slightly shell-shocked look on his face that he'd had back in the casino.

There'd never be anyone like him.

Not even close. And she knew it.

When she could breathe again, she acted.

Faye Valentine bolted out the door and took off into the darkening night.

tbc