A/N: Yeah a month later, I'm really sorry. And I wouldn't mind if it was super long or really well planned, but it's not. I just had tons of work to do, and a lot of stuff's been happening at home, so I just haven't been able to do much. I know, I know, the excuses, they are feeble.
Oh and I'm sorry about all the spelling errors and stuff. I dunno if it's my computer or what, but I ran good old spell check and read through the whole thing last night before I posted it (I swear!) Hahaha. Ah well, I'm fairly sure I've corrected them all now. Because there's nothing more annoying than spelling mistakes. Yuck.
Hopefully now though I can get really focused and make the next chapter a good 'un.
Hopefully. Well, I hope you enjoy this much anyway, and thanks to everyone that reviewed the first wee bit. 'Tis much appreciated.
"Faye do you really think this is a good idea? Your head still hasn't healed"
Exhaling a long plume of smoke, Faye surveyed Jet over the top of her sunglasses.
Why does he bother with this? He knows I'm gonna go.
"Now Jet, you know I've got people waiting out there that need my attention. I can't neglect them. You forget, I've been putting certain people's kids through college for quite some time now."
Jet's eyes narrowed in anger.
"That's exactly why you can't go! Don't you think you've been helping these dealers and swindlers for too long? Look at my goddamn ship Faye! Damage caused by your recklessness.
The engines have been offline for the past three weeks after that run in with that drug dealer from Venus. And the navicomputer's still in pieces after that virus you picked up 'searching for leads'."
Jet knew as well as Faye did that she'd been checking the odds on some big race the previous month.
"That money should go towards paying for the stuff you wrecked."
Faye rolled her eyes. Luckily her glasses were dark enough that Jet couldn't see her do it. Taking another drag she managed to mutter, "This measly pay won't cover that damage,"
Much less pay for that new dress I need.
Faye had the unfortunate habit of misusing the word 'need'. It was very closely linked to her misunderstanding of the concept of 'being a victim.' She was still convinced she was one. She knew that she had to be a victim of something, but details like that don't need explanation in the fuzzy logic discussion. She was a victim of modern society. And archaic society. All those people trying to obey the rules and do their jobs? Merely pawns in the great master plan to wear down Faye Valentine.
And Jet trying to talk a little sense into her was merely the world trying to crush her yet again.
"I need at least 3 times this crappy amount to pay for what needs to be done, Jet, so I'm gonna get up and make it the only way I know how."
With that Faye marched off the ship, her nose so high in the air she nearly tripped over an empty noodle cup on the ground.
Jet let out a sigh of exhaustion. "You've never made money that way and you know it."
He continued to stand there long after the echoes of her sharp footsteps had faded away. The niggling hope that maybe, just maybe she could develop some of that comradery that had been alive on the Bebop not too long ago was the only thing keeping him from shutting up the ship and getting as far away as its present state would allow.
When they'd been looking for Spike it had been like they'd been working with the same consciousness. For the first time in their professional relationship, Jet Black and Faye Valentine had been of one mind. Since they'd stopped, well, since Jet stopped and Faye's lack of means cut her search short, it had all fallen apart. Jet slept at night just for a break from the arguments. But then came the inevitable silence.
That was when the guilt set in. When questions took hold and ravaged his mind until he could do nothing but sleep.
And he had too much to do right now to tire himself out with more questions.
Shaking his head he began to walk towards the hangar. The major hull damage was along there, which was one of the reasons Jet had been so steamed about the whole thing.
It's one thing to damage the ship. It's entirely another to wreck both the Bebop and rest of the ships on board.
Yeah, that was better. Best to cloud the mind with mild annoyances. It blocked out the heavier stuff. It had often occurred to him that this particular way of dealing with the situation was one of the main reasons why he kept Faye around.
No one could annoy Jet more than that attitude with a woman hanging off it.
Jet's footsteps slowed to a stop. He narrowed his eyes at a twig that had broken under his foot, and added another niggling guilt to the list.
Opening a door to his left he saw his bonsai, each one shedding and wilting from lack of attention. His newest attention promptly registered across his already careworn face.
"Sorry guys," he murmured, bending to snatch up a handful of day old dead leaves, "I knew I'd let it slip somewhere."
Nearly buckling under the weight of sixteen shriveling bonsai on his conscience, Jet finished his journey to the hangar, and began the monumental task of the Bebop's one hundred and thirty second patch up, alone.
Faye's burst of self importance didn't end when she got to the racetrack. Denial is an amazingly strong tool. And this wasn't the first time Faye used it to haul herself out of a potential pit of despair.
All he does is hold me back. Treating me like a criminal in my own home. Wait, no that's wrong, it's not my home, I could leave anytime I like. I left just now didn't I? Who's to say I don't go back. I don't need him. He never could understand the workings of a woman's mind anyway. How could he supply my needs?
Slowing to a faltering stop Faye noticed a number of people were staring at her.
A haggard old woman patted her arm in passing.
"Don't worry deary, a girl like you sure doesn't need any man to stick around."
Faye watched the woman waddle away in a daze for a moment before squeezing her eyes shut in mortification.
Crap, I must have been talking to herself.
Promising herself she'd lay off the interior monologues Faye stomped into the bookies.
This was Faye's favourite out of all the bookies' she'd visited during her 'travels'.
This was one of the few in the solar system that was totally automated. No greasy teller. No crappy little pens, no grubby paper. Just a touch screen and you.
Should you wish to examine the cheap ass holodeck in the corner, showing freeze-frames of all the runners and spouting illusory odds every 3 minutes or so, you can go right ahead. But Faye had learned the hard way that you touch that thing and you may as well tape a sign to your forehead with 'Rube' written across it. No, no. The holodeck was reserved for kids and tourists.
However, it had become habit to check if anyone was standing at it. If you lost the entire contents of your wallet by some cruel twist of fate, they tended to be a good source of small change. Or large amounts of cash. But Faye wasn't greedy. Well, not when it came to pick-pocketing. She still had some tiny shred of dignity left.
Leaving the building with several slips of grey flimsy to which her happiness was now inextricably linked, Faye allowed herself one last indulgent look at her oasis of calm.
A hot fire for your pay check. Jet's new phrase of choice with regard to the place was still surprisingly fresh in Faye's memory. Squeezing her eyes shut, she marveled at how shaken she'd been by the fight.
This is pointless, she thought, this is only going to hurt my luck, and I'm not gonna give Jet the satisfaction of making me lose.
Shaking the thought of him out of her head (and dashing tears from her eyes, though she chose to ignore that particular detail) Faye eyed the slip for a hefty bet on a spunky looking contender in the second race with renewed confidence.
After making sure she'd regained all elements of her swagger, Faye made her way to her second port of call.
The bar.
Ordering a watered down wine derivative native to Mars (it was still early) Faye slipped into reflection. It had become easier and easier over the years to block out the salivating males on either side of her. They always seemed to be weighing up the probability of something or other. It was only until a couple of months previously when one such gentleman had tried to staple her shirt to the table she was sitting at had she figured out what they'd been hoping for.
Lazily playing with the rim of her glass, her chin propped up with her free hand, Faye's train of thought returned yet again to the events of that morning.
She'd been back at the ship a week and feeling a hell of a lot better. Well, that stuff Jet had been giving her may have had something to do with it. Quinzaprole or something. Apparently it was strong stuff; Jet hadn't gone into the particulars of how he'd managed to come by it in the first place. But hey, she could deal with wobbly vision provided the blinding pain in her head was gone.
Frowning, she exhaled sharply. Guilt wasn't something Faye was used to, and damn did she feel guilty now. She felt bad for Jet, though wasn't entirely sure why. He seemed so listless lately, and his attempts at appearing focused were simply pathetic. With a slight shake of her head Faye wondered just what it would mean if Jet found out about this one particular unselfish thought. Trying to equate it to money, and how little of it they were coming across in their present lackluster state Faye's mind wandered back to the unconscious look of pain that seemed stitched across Jet's brow. For a split second Faye wondered if she was contributing to it, before she recoiled in self remembering disgust.
Why is this bothering me so much? I mean Jet feeds me and keeps a roof over my head, but it's not like we don't have an understanding. He's never had a problem with how I live before. And I'm not that reckless anyway. My luck's gonna pick up soon. And it's just money that I play around with anyway. I don't run off to get shot.
The hand under Faye's chin smacked the table before she fully registered she'd let it slip. She narrowly escaped having her face follow it.
Fuck
That revolting lump was back in her throat and she was sure she could feel tears pricking behind her eyelids. Suddenly Faye felt the overpowering urge to pull her shirt down to get those toothless idiots to stop hoping she'd fall out of it.
But the risk that she'd start crying while doing so stopped her. She just stayed perfectly still, staring at the glass topped table, trembling slightly and wondering why the hell Spike's face was staring back at her.
Desperately trying to claw back any remnant of her previous composure, Faye began to tremble more and more violently.
Goddamn it, this is stupid. He isn't anything. Somebody I used to work with. Used to.
An old acquaintance. Part of an extensive past.
Concentrating on the relative futility of all other elements of her past, Faye felt the calming leaden presence of quiet depression.
Lighting one of two cigarettes at her elbow, Faye took a long drag on it and slowly articulated a recurring thought she'd been too arrogant to face the past six months.
It's just as well. Nobody here appreciated him anyway.
Faye's eyes lost focus, directed slightly above the projection of the race playing out on the wall to her right. Recollections of what a damn fine bounty hunter Spike was were flitting across her memory. The various chases, beat ups and shoot outs. All of them involving huge personal risk, and each one undertaken with that nonchalance what was just that tiny bit alluring, though Faye would never admit anything of the kind, to either herself or anyone else.
But the thought was there. Just as it had been for months previous.
Suddenly she was roused by shouts behind her, urging on a familiar sounding name through what sounded like the final leg of the race.
Returning her focus to the projection (or at least what was visible over the heads of several short, sweaty men clamouring in front of it) Faye caught the very last seconds of the race; Number 2 crossing the finish line an inch or two in front of its nearest contender.
And if it hadn't been for the mammoth explosion behind her, Faye might have had herself a winner.