So now my soul is duct taped to this body
whose life will some day end.
I've found a limited amount of answers,
but the questions never end. – 30 ft tall

A noise startled Ein awake. I almost caught the uneatable thing this time. I almost found out why it was uneatable. Getting to his feet, Ein went looking for the cause of the noise. He didn't have to look hard.

"Faye, I told you, that's how it's going to be."

"I am not becoming a nursemaid to Spike!"

"Did I ask you to, Faye?"

"No, but I assume that's what's going to happen. The woman always becomes the nurse. Fuck that, I'm outta here."

"There's a promise I'd like to see you keep."

"Fuck you too, Jet Black!"

"You already did that."

There was a long pause. Faye's coffee mug went whizzing through the air and exploded near Jet's head. She turned on her heel and began to stalk out the door. Unfortunately, Ein got underfoot, and she tripped over him. Ein yelped and ran to Jet, narrowly missing getting kicked broadside.

"Goddamnit, Faye! Don't kick the damn dog!"

"I hatethat thing! He's always staring at me, like he can read my mind!" Faye broke into sobs. "I just don't think I can deal with Spike being the way he is now, Jet. He's not the same person."

"I've been around Spike a lot longer than you. And I don't like this idea at all, either. But we're not going to have a choice. He's getting a lot stronger, and the PT department says he's improving physically, but they're getting tired of putting up with him. It's been a long time since you've seen him. He can get up and move around now, and he's starting to talk."

Ein knew that was true. The implantation of the chips into Spike's cortex had been successful. Spike was starting to regain movement of his mouth, and his left leg was improving as well. He had some limited use of his left hand. However, Spike's accomplishments only did more to anger and depress him, according to his chart. He was brutal to the rehab staff and this Dr. Barleigh in particular, lashing out with his good limbs hard enough to hospitalize one technician, which caused the remaining staff to hunt Spike down with a tranquilizer dart. No wonder they wanted to get rid of him.

Faye finally sighed and said, "So who has to work with him?"

"We'll figure it out. Ein should help. Animals are good therapy."

"For what? Kicking practice?"

Sheesh.

Later, Ein reviewed the notes in Spike's hospital chart. It seemed that Spike had regained full mental acuity, although, it was noted, he had an "anger management" problem.

Sounds like a full recovery to me, the other voice mused.

Ein chortled at that notion, and how true it was. So he can think, he can walk, some, at least. But he still can't talk nor use his hand very well. Meaning he can't fight. Meaning Spike has essentially lost his entire idiom.

There had been a brief period when Spike wasn't quite so angry, when he first had those chips implanted in his brain. They didn't help with his communication skills as well as they thought they would, though. And after all the years the lab had to work on them, too. They probably never improved much. The chips had always been limited in their capacity.

The real question is, though, would the chips work in a human at all?

Ein shuddered. The chips hadn't worked as planned in dogs, either.

This time, the Corgi was the one unceremoniously dumped into his Plexiglas box with a bone-shaped cookie. In Kid's opinion, his own testicles had a better taste sensation. He idly wondered how the coats would like eating these horrible cookies. Still, he snapped up the 'treat', as he didn't want to necessarily find out how the coats would react to his refusing food, as Ranger was doing. Kid gave himself a shake and a scratch to his ear, and then went to the divider, beyond which he could see Blood, lying quietly with his eyes closed. Blood?

Kid? Blood's eyes fluttered open, and he stood and stretched mightily. How'd it go?

They showed me some of the same pictures as you. I think I saw what they wanted me to see. At least they seemed pleased, in their heads. I tried to hear their thoughts, and I got some of it, I think.

That's not bad, Kid.

But there was something else. . . I couldn't see the computer, not the screen of it. I wanted to see what they were actually saying about me. So I looked over at the computer and . . . I think I saw inside of it.

Inside the computer?

It was strange, Blood, like lots of hills and valleys like the outside, but dark with lots of bright lights, and all kinds of strange noises. And it was big; Blood, so big, and I thought that this couldn't be the inside of the little computer. But I could see words, and I knew what they meant, and there were lots of files, full of information about all of us. The one that was open was "417". I knew it was about me. I was so surprised that I barked, or something, and then the computer stopped working.

The computer stopped working?

This isn't dictation, Blood.

Ha ha.

But I could hear the coats thinking louder then. They couldn't figure out what was wrong with the computer. But one of the coats kept staring at me. So I just thought about nothing, and then I didn't tell them what I saw on any of the other cards.

Good job, Kid. Now we've got more time, I think. Keep doing things like that with the coats. . .

But don't let them know I can do that.

You're catching on, Kid. You might make a dog of yourself yet.

There was a thud. Kid and Blood immediately looked over to Ranger. In the low light, it appeared that Ranger was attempting to get up on all fours and then not making it.

Ranger? Are you okay?

The fire stick . . . like the shining wire for rabbits . . . it's the end.

Blood and Kid looked at each other, and then back at Ranger. Blood finally spoke. Why are you talking about the end, Ranger? What about the shining wire?

It's so bright, so bright, the glare and the hum. Whispers. It wasn't supposed to happen. And the goose. The fox in the field is the uneatable. It hurts. It hurts so much.

Blood and Kid continued to stare at Ranger. Kid, were you able to get into the file for Ranger?

I didn't try.

Can you try now?

It's . . . I don't know. The computer is so far away.

Just try, dammit!

Blood, I . . . okay. Kid shut his eyes tight, crouching down with his nose on his paws. He could almost see the computer, he could almost see it in his mind, and he reached with all his strength, and he stumbled through the hills inside the computer, blindly looking for something, anything that could help Blood tell him why Ranger was acting so scary.

Blood was pacing. Ranger's jaw was slack and saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a shiver and began speaking again.

It's the end and it's time to celebrate it hurts finding the white stuff under the sink and you're done it hurts to run into the street helped and supported no play living with voices it hurts ran into the street and the cars the cars oh the noise they made but it won't be taken as a real threat and Sister oh Sister the Mistress smells wrong it hurts if only temporary then . . .

Kid? Kid? Have you found anything yet?

Kid wrenched some of his attention away from the directory of files he was poring over. Dammit to hell, Blood! I can't do this if you're interrupting me!

Ranger now began to beat the top of his head against the wall of his box, and Blood began pawing at the wall of his box and whimpering.

I'm sorry! Just . . . please, do something!

Something . . . there must be something . . . this is too slow! It was harder this time, the computer was must have been off, and not logged in directly to the files that recorded the dogs. Suddenly, the files went flashed brightly. A coat was in the system. No! They'll find me in here! Suddenly, he found a single small file, dark and pulsing: 1025. Ranger's number. But before he could reach it, the system stopped. Then the lights came on in the lab. Dogs began barking everywhere. Kid looked over to see Ranger, who had managed to work some of his wires out of his head, and he was bleeding. Human voices, loud, yelling to be heard over the din of the dogs. Blood was running back and forth, and Fang, who had awoken with the lights, clawed frantically at the Plexiglas divider. But Kid couldn't take it all in. The files went dark. He swayed, and crawled over to the divider between himself and Blood.

Blood . . .

Kid! Are you okay?

I think so . . . so tired. I saw Ranger's file. But I couldn't get in. I think the file was corrupted, and then the system locked me out. I think the coats knew I was there.

You did good, Kid, don't beat yourself up.

Ranger? Is he okay?

The coats just took him away.

What's going to happen to him, Blood? What's going to happen to me? Am I going to go like Ranger? Are you?

I don't know, Kid.

I'm scared.

Me too.

Spike sat at a table in the Physical Therapy room, his hand in a shallow box of uncooked rice. This session involved Spike simply running his left hand through the rice, back and forth, picking up handfuls of it. He had been doing this before with a box of dry pinto beans. The beans were much easier than the rice. Twenty-seven years old and I'm playing with food, thought Spike with a sigh. He also didn't like being under the watchful eye of Nurse Queen Bitch with the ever-present pneumatic injection of Haldol, either. But the times in the weeks past when he'd fought against the PT technicians, he'd been tranquilized Chappaquiddick – as his mother was fond of saying -- and restrained to his bed. And then Barleigh would come back and give him merry hell.

Speak of the devil and he sends his dog, thought Spike as the very man he'd been thinking about came stumping into the room. "How is my favorite recalcitrant patient today?" bubbled Barleigh. He looks dreadfully pleased, thought Spike. Maybe he finally got himself some. Or he diddled himself with his cane. I hope he washed it off.

"Good news, my chickybaby. You're going home."

Spike's eyes went wide. Home? To the Bebop? Then he chided himself, for what other home did he have?

"Don't you have anything to say to that?" probed Barleigh. Spike shook his head. "Do you have nothing to say or are you saying 'no, I'm not going home.' Which is it? Use your words."

Spike glared at Barleigh for a moment. He knew how much Spike hated to do this. "N-n-n-n-n-n-uh . . . th-th-th-in. . . t-ooo. . . shhhhhh-ay." And the gibbering moron speaks again.

"You know, you have that perfect village idiot thing going for you. Maybe you should consider a career change. Anyway. Sign here. Your compadres are waiting for you outside."

So soon?

Barleigh gazed at Spike for a moment. "Interesting. With all the fuss you've been making, I thought you'd be jumping for joy to get out of here. Well, jumping as well as you can jump. But we can't do anything more for you here than you can do on your own elsewhere." And then Barleigh extended his hand. Spike stared at it for a moment, and then gripped Barleigh's hand with his. "Good luck, and goodbye, Mr. Spiegel. I hope that the next time I see you, you will be running circles around me." And Barleigh stumped back out of the room, leaving Spike sitting there, his left hand in a box of rice, filled with an unexplainable feeling of apprehension. What's going to happen to me, Barleigh?

Waiting again, thought Faye, as she and Jet sat in yet another waiting room, waiting for Spike's release. Whoever said that one of life's biggest lessons was how to wait wasn't just whistling Dixie. Faye looked over at Jet, who had a magazine on his lap that he wasn't looking at. Jet held his chin in his hand as he appeared to stare at something across the room. Feeling rather snarky, Faye began to whistle Dixie.

"Stop that," snapped Jet.

"Touchy."

"Show some respect for where you are."

"Funny, that sounds remarkably like something you said to me yesterday."

Jet caught Faye's eye and frowned. Yesterday, indeed. . . They had gotten the call that Spike was being released. Jet was baffled. "What do you mean, being released?"

Thompson, who looked very weary on the other end of the comm., said, "We can't do any more for him here. Either he goes back with you guys, or, if you can't handle him . . . well, then I don't know. He won't take his meds, because, as he says, they make him catatonic."

"Spike actually said that?"

"No, he actually wrote it on a wall, but it was punctuated with quite a bit more foul language. He took Barleigh's cane one afternoon and broke it over his knee. He's stronger than he realizes, but a lot of that is fueled by anger and frustration."

"How much of that frustration is from the stroke itself? The damage to his cortex?"

"It's hard to say."

"So how in the world do you expect us to handle him?"

"He's your friend. But you'll have to be stern."

Jet sighed. "He's a grown man, not a dog, for crying out loud."

Thompson sighed in return. "He'll be released into your care tomorrow at 2 p.m. We'll try to wear him out in PT for you."

"Thanks," replied Jet. He clicked off the comm. and rubbed his face. Jesus.

Just then, Faye burst in with a pair of large grocery bags. "Food, glorious food . . ." She cut off her sing-song tone when she saw Jet's face. "What?"

"Spike's being released."

Faye's face fell. "When?"

"Tomorrow at 2 p.m." Faye remained quiet and moved into the kitchen. Jet followed her and watched her for a few moments as she put groceries away, leaving some chicken on the counter. This was their current routine: Faye would buy the groceries, and each day, she'd leave out whatever it was that she'd like Jet to make for dinner. Jet would comply. It was such a simple arrangement, one that made for peace on the ship, as well as being so comforting when the two of them were in a constant state of flux regarding both Spike's and their own futures. Faye ran out of groceries to put away, and she stood with her back to Jet, gripping the counter edge. "You knew this day would come, Faye."

"I know. But . . . it's like when someone you know is dying a slow death. You know they're going to die, but it's still a shock when it actually happens. This is the same thing. But in reverse."

It wasn't exactly, but Jet knew what she was trying to say. She was frightened, that's all there was to it. Against his better judgment, Jet came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Faye immediately brought her hands up to his.

Oh, god, she smells too good, thought Jet, as he dropped his nose into the short hairs at the nape of her neck. Jet's warm breath warmed Faye and gave her goose bumps at the same time. She drew in a ragged breath, although she didn't mean to, and her eyes flashed open as she waited to see if Jet caught it. He had, and he took her reaction to be a statement of acquiescence, and he tilted his chin to lightly kiss the back of her neck. Faye drew another sharp breath, and her eyes fluttered closed. She took a half-step back to better hold her back against his front, and her hips tilted backwards to better feel his crotch against his backside, immediately feeling what she hoped she would. Faye turned her head slightly to give Jet better access to her left ear, and she drew Jet's hands up to her breasts. Jet reached one large hand into her abbreviated top, and the other undid the few buttons with practiced ease, and her blouse fell open. Faye arched her back, reached behind her, and came in contact with the fly of Jet's pants, feeling how hard he was within them.

With a timeless grace, Faye turned within Jet's arms so that they were now face to face. Jet was landing kisses on her jaw, and his hands reached down to cup her backside. Her hands remained on the front of his pants as they unbuttoned the fly and then her right hand reached into the warmth of between his legs and Jet gave a throaty moan. Still connected in this way, Jet and Faye made their way to Jet's room, only a short distance from the kitchen. Once there, Jet left the door open as he stripped Faye of her brief clothing in one swipe of his hands. His garments were more difficult to divest of, but they managed without a word, and Jet lifted Faye and followed her into his bed in one fluid movement.

His hand raked up her thigh and between her legs without preamble and he dropped his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She was already wet with want, and her fingernails scraped down his back. He kissed down her breast, down her stomach, and moved her left leg so that he could access her better with his tongue. Faye cried out at his first touch. Jet gave a single chuckle and went back to his ministrations with his mouth as Faye gasped wordlessly and bucked her hips. Jet stopped just short of her release, which annoyed Faye enough to roughly push Jet onto his back and straddle him briefly as she clamped his collarbone in her jaw.

Faye then worked her own way down, pressing her breasts together with him clasped between them, and Jet groaned with his own pleasure. Then Faye settled back on her heels, and lightly ran her finger up the underside of his shaft. Jet groaned again. Faye grinned wickedly, and then leaned forward to lick the trail that her fingernail had just made. "Oh Jesus, Faye . . ." Jet dropped his head back and moaned. "Show some respect for where you are."

"Paybacks," said Faye softly, but she was aching for release herself. Faye knee-walked forward again, and settled herself on Jet, moaning herself at the pleasure of feeling him inside her. For a while, they rocked together, gaining speed until Faye leaned her head back with a guttural cry, and shortly after, Jet grasped her hips tightly and made his own cry of pleasure. They continued to rock for a few moments, keeping the same rhythm, until Faye came slowly to a stop, breathing hard. Jet was breathing in time with her. They looked at each other for a moment, and Jet took one of Faye's hands and kissed the palm.

Their eyes met again, and remained locked as they both regained control. Faye looked away and bit her lip. Jet's brow furrowed. Faye rocked backwards a bit, removing him from her, and she moved to get up from the bed.

Jet held on to her hand. "Faye. . ." Faye stopped moving, but she kept her gaze decidedly away from Jet. "Faye," he began again. "We've done nothing to be ashamed of."

"Speak for yourself," muttered Faye, and she pulled her hand free, grabbed her discarded clothing, and hurried from the room.

Jet watched her go as he rolled to his side. Spike's coming home, he thought. What's going to happen to us? To me?

If Jet had been able to read minds, then he would have found out that Faye was asking herself the exact same thing as she threw herself on her own bed: What's going to happen to us? To me?

Ein was cognizant of everything that had just occurred. He wasn't as good as reading into people as he used to be, nor as well as others that he had known, but the anguish in the air was unmistakable. What's going to happen to us?

We'll all find out soon enough, the other voice said.

Ein suddenly ached with longing for the companionship of Ed. He wished he could learn what was happening to her. But she was on another planet. And although he could have possibly tapped into Tomato from where he was, he didn't.