Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop is, sadly, not mine. I wish it were. Then I could gloat a lot and be a very satisfied person. Ah, well. I also don't own the song "My Immortal" because I'm not in any way affiliated with Evanescence. Again, I wish I were. Then I could be friends with Amy Lee. -sigh-
A/N: This is an editted version of the story previously titled "Slow Reverie". Curiously, it was always called "My Immortal" (for obvious reasons) on my computer, but for some reason it got changed on here. So I had happy-fun-editting time and also happened to change the title. Hope this causes no undue confusion. Lyrics are in italics. Read, enjoy, and review!
My Immortal
00:00
Faye Valentine wearily stared at the glowing blue digits of the video player's display, flashing that it was midnight. It was dark in her cold room, the only light that of the little clock, the rest shrouded in shadows. But it was always dark in space. It was always night. Why should that change merely because the time finally coincided with the appearance? She rolled onto her back, staring up blankly at the ceiling, clutching her pillow tightly to her chest.
I'm so tired of being here,
Her arms tightened their hold, and she thought absently for a moment that she would squeeze the stuffing right out of it. In the next moment, she realized wearily that she couldn't care less. It wasn't the same anymore. Nothing even seemed right anymore, not since he had left and gone to die, to fall back asleep after his unpleasant awakening. She wanted to leave, but she could not make herself go. The Bebop was the only home she had ever really had, and it was only home he had ever really had, too. If she left, that would mean she was abandoning all hope, all ridiculous, impossible hope that he had somehow survived.
Suppressed by all my childish fears.
And if you have to leave,
I wish that you would just leave
Letting out a long, low sigh, Faye pulled herself into a sitting position, glancing around the dark room before rising to her feet. She dropped the pillow to the bed, her fingers closing on the little box of cigarettes that rested atop the video player. She fiddled with the top of the carton, opening it and sliding out one of the slim sticks. She placed it lethargically between her lips, letting it hang there limply, unlit.
Dropping the box back in its place, she paused, gazing at the glimmering metallic object that lay next to the indention of her head in the rumpled sheets. It was usually tucked safely beneath her pillow, but she had removed its shield and exposed it to her view. After a second's hesitation, her slim fingers closed on the lighter as well, her hand clenching into a fist.
Still not bothering to light the cigarette, Faye pressed the button that opened her door, and it slid to one side silently, showing the even darker hallway beyond. She lingered in the doorway, gaze lost somewhere in the black, before she shook her head slightly and ventured into the corridor, bare feet padding quietly on the cold metal floor. She now hid behind a portrayal of indifference, of apathy. Apathy. She almost laughed. She cared so much; she had cared so much, but it had not made any difference.
He had never cared what she had thought, and he had taken her with him when he had run off and killed her with his death as surely as if he had shot her through the heart.
Without realizing where her feet were carrying her, she recognized the landing before her, and crept tentatively onwards. She reached the railing and leaned her elbows on it, bending forward and staring wistfully at the empty yellow couch. She could almost see his long frame stretched out on it, his stupid hair peeping over the arm, a cigarette exhaling lazy trails of smoke to the fan above.
Because your presence still lingers here,
And it won't leave me alone.
These wounds won't seem to heal;
This pain is just too real.
There's just too much that time cannot erase.
Tears seared her jade eyes, and she closed her lids tightly, adamantly. This was so ludicrous, she told herself. Crying like this, a year after he'd gone. A hot tear leaked from between her lashes, carving its familiar path down her cheek, dripping off her chin to splash on the silver surface of the lighter. She wiped the droplet off with her thumb. He had not listened to her tears, and so his lighter would not be tainted with them, either.
When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears.
When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears.
And I've held your hand through all of these years,
She blinked, allowing another drop to fall, and sniffed quietly. Her mouth tightened on the still-unlit cigarette, and she tiredly made her way down the cold metal stairs and across the cold metal floor, slumping down on the lumpy yellow couch. It was not comfortable by any definition, but now, reclining on it, immersed in memories of him, she could not imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else.
But you still have all of me.
Swallowing against the pain rising in her throat, Faye slowly manuevered herself so that she was lying on her back, her head resting on the arm. She exhaled a soft sigh and brought up the lighter, cupping her other hand around it as she finally lit her cigarette. The flame extinguished, and she lowered the lighter again, breathing in the smoke as if she needed it to live. It smelled like him. She wasn't addicted to the nicotine; she was addicted to the scent, to the memories it invoked, to him. That stupid lunkhead. What about him had been so great, anyway? What had made her hand her heart away so rashly, without even daring to dream of the consequences?
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light,
But now I'm bound by the life you left behind.
She settled into the couch as if it had its own pull of gravity, lying more heavily than she thought should have been possible. She watched sadly as the smoke from her cigarette curled upwards, floating past the frozen blades of the fan, collecting about the ceiling. If only she had had one more minute with him. If only he had paused when she had unloaded her gun at his back. If only she could have said those three words she had so desperately needed to tell him. Then, maybe then, she could be free.
Your face, it haunts my once pleasant dreams.
Your voice, it chased away all the sanity in me.
Faye pinched the cigarette gently, bringing it away from her mouth as she exhaled the smoke, exhaling a little bit of her life with it. She replaced it just as gently, letting it hang from her lower lip again. She could not give it that nonchalance that he always had. Her eyelids slid down again, blocking out the room, the cold metal room. It was dark.
But it was always dark in space.
The sound of footsteps echoed in her head, and her eyes snapped open. He couldn't be back—it was too good to be true. There was nothing left in this world to keep him. Nothing. That was all she was to him: not enough to stay alive for. He preferred dying over spending any more time with her. She wanted to wipe the tears away, but it was so much easier just to cry.
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone.
But though you're still with me,
I've been alone all along.
The footsteps grew louder, and she dashed the tears from her cheeks, reclaiming her armor. She glanced up through the darkness and saw a silhouette. It was too broad to be his. And there was no stupid hair, no relaxed gait. It wasn't him. It didn't matter.
It was only Jet, after all.
She watched him descend the stairs and slouch in his chair, and he started upon seeing her lying there.
"Didn't see you there," he grumbled, retrieving his own cigarette and lighting it.
Faye scrunched hers out of the cold metal table, dropping the butt carelessly. "Happens," she murmured.
"What happens?" Jet asked, rubbing his prosthetic hand over his bald head.
"People not seeing me," she replied quietly, turning her gaze back to the ceiling. "It's like I told Sally. I'm nothing more than a ghost. Dead girl walking long after her time had ended."
"Faye, you're not right in your head," the big man told her, somewhat sternly.
She almost smiled, the corners of her lips curling up for an instant before falling back. "Jet, I died in a shuttle accident fifty-five years ago. Faye…Miller died a long time ago. And Faye Valentine's just a ghost that haunts people who don't want her."
Jet studied her somberly before asking, "So Miller's your real last name?"
"Faye Miller. It's a common name," she whispered, replaying a memory in her head. She could feel her eyes stinging again, and she bit her lip against the swell of tears.
When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears.
When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears.
And I've held your hand through all of these years,
"Hey, Jet," she said softly, rising to her feet and looking down at him. Her mind was made up.
He glanced up at her, his eyes softening beneath his unruly eyebrows. "What is it, Faye?"
She drew a deep breath, letting it out quietly. Her arms wrapped around her body, hugging herself. "I'm leaving. For good this time."
He nodded slightly, smoking in silence for a long moment. "I was surprised you stayed this long. I hadn't thought you'd make it a week." He paused, exhaling wispy trails. "Take care of yourself, Faye Valentine. And take care of that lighter."
She smiled this time, a smile tinged with sorrow and pain and just a hint of gratitude. "You too, Jet." She walked over to the circular door and rolled it open, heading for the hangar, when she paused, too, and glanced back at him. He looked so alone, sitting in the dark and empty room and smoking a cigarette.
"See you, space cowboy," she called back, and she saw his lips twitch in a smile. She had turned and gotten one leg through the door when he spoke quickly, stopping her.
"I wish I'd known her, you know," he said gruffly. "Faye Miller."
A ghost of a smile for a ghost. "She was a good kid, Jet. You would've liked her." She slipped through the door and nearly had it closed when Jet's voice stopped her one last time.
"He would've liked her, too."
A final tear fought loose, and she shut the circular door and made her way quickly but silently to her room, packing her few belongings before she went to the hangar. Her Red Tail sat there, and she opened the cockpit and tossed her bag inside. She clambered in after it, twisting the key in the ignition and closing the door. The Red Tail hummed to life, and she punched in the code to open the hangar doors.
She gazed out at the star-dotted expanse of space in front of her, and she shook her head, not wanting to think anymore. She gunned the engines, and the Red Tail soared into the deep blackness, soon just another falling star.
And you still have all of me.
Fin