Husky breathing suddenly erupted by the window and Faye's eyes snapped up to see the man she had shot in the legs struggling with himself, contorted over the broken windowpane, clutching at his bleeding thighs.

In an instant, Spike was next to him.

'What does White Tiger have to do with the dregs of Red Dragon?' he demanded clearly.

'Wh-who – d'you think em-em-ARGH!-employed those – dogs?' the man spat. 'Red – Dragon is o-over. White Tiger ru-run that shit now.'

Faye strode over and pointed her gun at the man's head.

'So your syndicate has stolen the remnants of Red Dragon,' she said coolly, narrowing her eyes. 'You came after us because we killed those nobodies, huh? Some syndicate…'

'Shut your m-mouth, you bitch!' growled the man.

BANG! His head was cocked aside as half of his skull was blown onto the wall. Spike's expression was deadly.

'What a scumbag,' he muttered, before standing up. 'C'mon, Faye, I don't want to get involved in this.'

She stood up, too, her shoes tinkling as they disturbed the shards of glass. The pub was a mess and everyone was dead except for them; the bartender was slumped over the bench, his blood dripping to pool in the sag of a barstool.

Faye side-stepped a body to walk over to where they had been sitting, down the rest of her drink, and return to slip her fingers into Spike's. Together, they left the bar for the hotel, both with their other hands holding their guns in their coat pockets; but all was quiet.

Spike wearily fumbled in his trousers for the hotel keys, unlocked the door and led Faye inside. She hadn't noticed how tired she was but now that bed was so close, her eyes drooped. How convenient.

Spike lingered by the small linoleum bench to pour himself a glass of scotch while Faye fell back onto the bed, kicking her shoes off as she went. She pressed her face into the pillow that still smelled of him. The room hadn't changed at all since their glorious hour earlier that night; it was as though they had never left. She felt exhausted and sad, and strangely lonely. She hated the memories of Whitney that infiltrated her mind, filling her with a toxic feeling of desolation. Remember what happened last time?

But suddenly, she felt warm hands upon her chest and she opened her eyes to see Spike's face only a few inches from hers. He was untying her red shirt, slowly undressing her for impending slumber. His expression was smooth and soft, as warm as his touch and it was then for the first time that Faye believed that he cared for her. Only when he unzipped her yellow shirt and pushed the top aside, exposing her breasts, did their gaze meet.

'Don't be sad,' he murmured, inclining his head to kiss her softly at the corner of her mouth. 'I wouldn't dare hurt you.'

And he smiled slightly before proceeding to undo the button of her hot pants and pull them down over her legs. There was nothing sexual in his movements, nothing suggestive or overbearing; he kissed her again, this time on the lips, deeply and lovingly, before standing, taking his glass and going outside.

Spike closed the door behind him and sat down on the top step, taking out a cigarette as he did so. He felt very strange. It was as though he was a different person yet still using this old body. If he had have found out that White Tiger had taken over what had remained of the Red Dragon syndicate a week ago, he would have been inclined – even obligated – to find every member associated and murder them. He may even have left the Bebop to inform old comrades of the situation for not only was it an act of thievery but it was an impact upon his pride, being a former Red Dragon member himself. And White Tiger, being a rival syndicate in the past, had committed the scoundrel act of minor thugs. It was shameful. And yet Spike found, as he sat there smoking and looking out at the perpetual lights of Shuto City, that he didn't care. He felt no personal attachment to anything in his past anymore and it seemed that all that was important to him now was lying asleep inside of this back-street hotel room. He imagined her legs, wrapped lazily around those crinkled beige sheets; her skin would be washed in warm orange lamplight, every contour would be soft and supple; and her mind would be at peace, wandering in the space between dreams.

He had thought about this moment for a very long time but never had he truly expected it to come true. For so long he had focussed all his attention upon Julia and finding her again when what Julia represented, or what he really wanted, had been standing right in front of him, walking around him, sleeping in the room down the hall from him, all along. Idiot, Spike, he thought, shaking his head and butting his cigarette.

When he went back inside, he shut the door and the room seemed impossibly quiet. The only sound was that of Faye's breathing, deep and rhythmic, and Spike stood by the doorway for a moment watching her bare chest rising and falling, rising and falling in time with the beat of her slumber. Then he put his empty glass in the sink, undressed and slid into the bed beside her, wrapping his arm lightly around her waist and pressing his lips against her bare shoulder. Her skin was so warm and full of life. Step by step, little by little, with every breath Spike fell a inch deeper into love with Faye; his only fear was that she would get cold feet and run away. But he didn't think about that just now. For the moment, he let himself love her and be content.