Sorry it was late a day, I forgot I had finals to take this Friday. Anyway, enjoy!

* * * Ch. 6 – THE DENIAL TWIST (The White Stripes) * * *

There's something wrong with me.

My thoughts seem to be contradictory to everything else around me. Enough time has passed for me to understand that things really are well between Faye and Damian. But even with that, I feel a certain possessiveness; a kind of precedence that I should be granted. I'm undeserving of any of it, I know that too. But I don't care.

Besides, it's not like I can actually act out on any of these inclinations. No matter how much things have changed for me, none of it can take any effect. Nothing has changed for Faye. Nothing has changed for Damian. So, whatever it is that I feel, it simply becomes irrelevant, a spare factor that can be discarded without affecting anything at all.

At least I'm used to things being this way. Having gone through this before makes it much easier this time around. Not to say that it actually changes something. It just makes it easier for me to accept that I'm wrong and that there's really nothing I can do about anything.

I still hate it. But if I'm angry with anyone, it's me. After all, I'm the one that ended up choosing this of all times to realize everything. It's me who couldn't hold on to someone just because she's gone from my life. It's me who dismissed Faye from the very beginning…That's why, everything is simply my fault. I didn't learn from my mistakes and I'm repeating them again.

Even if it isn't something I want to do, because this is happening again, I'm becoming conscious of things about me that I had ignored before. Like, I don't know why I just realized that I'm such an emotional masochist. Even though I understand my position, fully aware that what I'm feeling is wrong, I still can't stop myself from thinking this way. And as if thinking about that wasn't enough distress, I've also noticed that I have this bad habit of thinking about Faye and Julia in relevance to each other.

If I'm thinking that I don't remember Julia's voice at all anymore, my next thought is to think about whether I can still recall the way Faye says my name. If I check that saved voicemail I have from Faye, my immediate response is to wonder why I haven't erased Julia's last phone number from my contacts…Stupid things like that.

I want to stop. I don't want to think about Faye without thinking about Julia. I don't want to think about Julia without thinking about Faye. I'm not certain as to why I'm automatically doing this. Is it because I'm realizing that things with Faye are just about as complicated as things were with Julia? I don't think that's it necessarily. Somehow, unlike with Julia, I'm already convinced that what I'm feeling for Faye is a waste.

I dial voicemail and play the saved messages until I hear the one I want. "Spike," Faye's voice says, "I need to talk to you…uh…call me when you get a chance."

I had received this message about a month ago. Though she initially just wanted to know whether Ed was still with us or if she had gone back to Earth, we spent a long time talking, or rather arguing, or something like that. Damian had been out that night, so it felt like there was no Damian at all. That time, it felt like it was okay for me to think about her that way.

I shouldn't be so pleased remembering something like this, but it's become inevitable. Whenever I feel depressed, I've developed this bad habit of listening to that message. It's an idiotic thing to do, but recalling that Faye and I can still talk like we used to, it somehow manages to make me feel better.

If Jet knew about this, he'd really think I'm pathetic then. As if it wasn't bad enough that he already knows what I'm trying to hide. I really hope no one else finds out about it. That voicemail and that conversation may be the only things that I have from Faye that are strictly mine.

That afternoon, as I'm listening to the voicemail again, I receive a call with an unknown ID. "Hello," I answer.

There is no response. The only thing I can hear from the other end of the line is background noise. People shuffling about. A dog barking. I hold the communicator closely hoping that maybe I'll be able to hear something indicative of someone. But there's nothing.

"I'm hanging up," I say distantly and, hearing no reply, end the transmission.

I place the communicator on the bedside stand and close my eyes. Not even five seconds pass when it rings again. I keep my eyes shut and wait for it to ring a few more times before I stretch out my arm and reach for it. The caller ID shows that it's from the same unknown number as before. I stare at the screen, letting the ringing continue until it stops. Then, I maintain my eyes fixed on the screen until it fades to black. When this happens, I let the communicator fall clumsily on my chest and I shut my eyes once more.

After a while, it feels like the weight of the communicator imposes too heavily on my chest. I lift it up and place it besides me with my fingers loosely wrapped around. I somewhat expect for it to ring again, but it doesn't. Then, as I'm thinking about the number, I notice that the area code matches one near where Faye lives.

Is it her? I have the urge to listen to that voicemail again, but I deny myself the chance to. For my sake, maybe it would be best if I deleted it. I lie on my bed, still waiting for something. By the time the communicator's body becomes as warm as the touch of my hands, I decide to dial back.

I hear the distant ringing and, after just two, the call is accepted. However, no one answers and instead of saying anything, I just hold the communicator against my ear. This time, if I listen closely enough, I can definitely make out someone's soft breathing. I keep listening, hearing the breathing, and waiting in silence.

"…I need you…," Faye says airily.

My blood freezes.

It takes me a second to feel the warmth pulsating through my body again. Once I'm able to put those odd feelings aside, I remark sarcastically, "I know you do, but that's not new."

She laughs quietly on the other side. Hearing this response from her, I have to smile a little.

"No, I'm being serious," she says in a tone much more befitting her. "I'm stuck. Or lost…I don't really know how to put it." Then, she adds a bit hastily, "I tried reaching Jet, but he wouldn't answer."

"Yeah…" I respond, "He's working on the boiler so he wouldn't hear anything."

"I see…" she says before another few seconds of silence pass. Then, she finally continues, "I'm at a park. But I don't know what it's called. Or at least, not exactly." I don't understand what she is expecting me to do, so I ask her. She says, "I don't know. Have Ed trace the call and figure out where I'm at."

"Fine, let me go find her." I keep the communicator stuck to my ear and walk to the living room where I had seen Ed earlier. Once I find her, I tell her to locate Faye. She does so quickly enough and then I tell Faye where she is. The call was being transmitted through a public phone in the northwest section of Silver Lake Park.

"Ah, so it's that park," she says, "I didn't realize it."

"How can you not realize something like that?" I ask her mockingly. "You've been living there for a year now."

"Shut up," she says. "Besides, I've never actually visited this park until now. And there's another one really close by so I wasn't sure." Then she just stays quiet while I listen carefully to her breathing pattern. "Are you guys nearby?" she finally asks.

"Somewhat."

"What sort of answer is that? Where are you guys at?"

"Uh…The next town over."

"How come you didn't tell me?" she says quickly. Then, she slows down her speech as she says, "I could have dropped by." But even with that change, the bitterness in her voice is still apparent.

Usually Jet was the one to keep in touch with her, so why didn't he tell her? Is Jet doing this for me? It feels like it may be. But, it's impossible for me to say that Jet was trying to save me the discomfort of seeing her and Damian together.

I don't answer anything and we end up having to let time erase the awkwardness again.

She breaks the silence by saying, "…come find me…"

Now I'm the one confused. I try asking her about it, but then I realize that I'm incapable of speaking while I continue processing whether or not I really know why Jet hadn't told her our location. Hearing no response from me, she must have felt inclined to explain.

"We fought," she says.

"You fought?" I repeat taken aback. Hearing it makes me forget what else I was thinking about.

"Just come find me."

I try not to sound hasty as I answer, "Fine, but you owe me."

"Fine," she says. And then I hear the transmission ended.

As I put my communicator away, I smirk a little. Then, I see Ed staring at me and realize she has been doing so for a while. She takes Ein away from her lap and stands up. She peers cautiously at my face as if there is something strange stuck against it. As she walks closer to me, her eyes become a bit mischievous.

"What?" I tell her giving a step back.

She smiles widely and says in a sing-song voice, "Noooothin'." But somehow, I have the feeling that I must have had reacted in a way that now she has given her enough evidence to ignore all the times I've told her I have nothing for Faye.

Suddenly, she dashes past me and starts running towards the boiler room. I don't know why, but I nearly chase behind her. I stop, realizing that it wouldn't make any difference if she told Jet something he already knew. Instead, I take the opportunity to leave the Bebop without having to explain anything to anyone.

I feel an odd anxiousness through the trip and even as I begin to walk through the park. The night is dark, but the lamps of the park make it seem otherwise. There is no wind and the air feels stuffy. I carry my coat on my arm, it being too hot to wear at the moment. I walk slowly, paying more attention to the path then the people around me. I glance at them momentarily, and dismiss them very quickly afterwards. When I walk through the area that Faye had called from, I spot the public phone easily. I make my way towards it hoping that I'll get a better idea of where Faye is by standing there. But then I hear my name being called.

When I turn around, I see Faye sitting on a bench right across from me. I didn't notice her before because I almost don't recognize her. She's changed her hair, it reaches her shoulders now and she has side swept bangs. It's a very normal hairstyle that somehow makes her match Damian even more. The longer I look at her, the more different she seems. Except for her eyes, tonight, I don't know why it is, but it seems like her eyes are still the same as before she met Damian.

"It took you a while to get here…" she says still sitting on the bench. I walk closer to her and she moves the stray hair of her bangs away from her eyes. I sit next to her on the other end of the bench. "You lied to Damian too," she continues in a more serious tone.

Even though it's been well over a year, I know what she's talking about immediately. "I didn't mean anything by it," I lie.

"I really don't care…even if we had done something, he shouldn't be bothered by it now."

It's strange for her to bring it up since it's been so long. I wonder if she just found out. Then, I realize something, "Is that why you fought?"

"No…that's not why. I just remembered I had to bring it up."

I light up a cigarette and begin smoking. "So what are you doing here anyway?...And I guess, what am I doing here too…"

"I don't know," she tells me. "I just didn't know what else to do. This morning I walked out of the car while we were arguing. It was in a stoplight so it was an easy way for me to get away from him. I roamed around and ended up in this park…I've been here since the afternoon."

"Why do something stupid like that?" I ask.

"Because I don't feel like going home and seeing him," she says bluntly. "And, while I cooled off, I came up with every ridiculous what-if scenario. So now I've scared myself into not doing anything. Like, since he has the means to trace calls or credit card use, I didn't want to risk him finding me…even though I'm sure he wouldn't do something like that to begin. Anyway, I've been doing nothing but sitting here. Then, I realized someone forgot their telephone card and so I decided to call you."

"So what now?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll stay at the Bebop for a while."

"Wouldn't he be able to find you easily then?"

"Probably. But I don't think he would go there…He doesn't like you, you know."

I smirk.

"And you're so pleased by that," she says with an air of frustration, "As if lying to him wasn't enough."

"I wouldn't have lied to him if he hadn't asked such strange things."

Just then I get a call from Jet. When I answer, he asks me if I've found Faye and if everything was all right. I tell him that everything's fine. He says that I shouldn't bother going back because he's on his way as well. He says that it would take a while, but that he'd be at the usual docks.

"Spike," Faye says distantly after I end the transmission with Jet. "For…how much do…" I stare at her trying to figure out what she's trying to ask. But I suppose doing so makes her even more unable. "Nevermind," she interrupts herself.

I lock my eyes away from her to ensure that I won't be staring at her for too long. We sit in silence. For me, at least smoking makes it feel like I'm doing something. But besides me, Faye is sitting as poised as a statue.

All of a sudden, she turns to face me. I feel her eyes boring into me and I decide to look back at her. However, out of all the things that she could have possibly said, she asks, "When was the last time you slept with someone?"

I glance away and evade it by saying, "That's not something you should be asking. You're just like him, asking strange things."

I hope that that will be the end of that, but she seems persistent. She says, "Just tell me."

"No."

She keeps quiet for a minute, but then she starts again. "Seriously Spike, it's not like it's believable you've been abstinent for so long…so the last time, when was it?"

"I'm not telling you," I state clearly. "What I do is none of your business…and why are you so curious anyway?"

She bites her lips together and then seems to arrive at a conclusion. She says, "If you tell me first then I'll tell you why I'm asking."

Regardless of my feelings, it's not like I'm cheating on her, so there shouldn't be a reason for me to feel guilty after I tell her. Besides I've become curious to know why she's asking, maybe if I tell her, I'll be able to figure out what's going on. "…five…six days ago, Thursday night I think."

She asks quickly, "And before that?"

"I don't know," I say suddenly becoming self-conscious, "I think it was like a week and a half before that…maybe less."

She turns away from me and covers her smile as she chuckles. "Ah," she says jokingly, "having heard this…you're not a saint anymore."

I answer easily, "I was never a saint to begin…why did you need to know anyway?"

"…I was just curious…because there was never any sign that you did anything…" she says staring at her hands.

"Liar."

She looks up and says, "It's the truth isn't it? You're always so underhanded it's impossible to tell."

"I never tried to hide anything. So that's not a reasonable response…" I repeat myself, "Why did you need to know?"

I see the blush creeping over her face, but I don't remove my sight from her. I know that she's always been bad about keeping secrets when I confront her like this. Finally, she awkwardly says, "We haven't…in…like a month."

I laugh, "He can't?"

"No!" she says suddenly slapping my arm, "It's me who doesn't want to!" Just as she finishes her sentence, her eyes become wide and her face turns entirely red. She turns away again, pretending to be interested in a stray cat cutting across the sidewalk.

I contain my laughter, but I can't hide the fact of how overly satisfied I am because I can't stop smiling. I didn't expect it, so I can't respond because I don't know what to say.

After a while, Faye glares at me with eyes of disgust. "Tsk. What an insensitive idiot. Sitting there, smiling at himself…Aren't you ashamed? Being so amused by something that's troubling me so much?"

I glance at her, for the first time really noticing how stiffly she's sitting. The smile gradually fades from my face. I remember how I've forced her to listen to what I've had to say before and decide not to avoid whatever is troubling her. "That's not it necessarily…I just…what am I supposed to say to something like that?"

She nearly whispers, "I don't know…Ordinarily, wouldn't it be something to make me feel better?"

"You should tell Jet then. You know I can't do things like that…" I watch her bite her lips again as her eyebrows knit together. Seeing her like this, I can't just ignore her. "I don't even get what's going on," I say.

She turns to stare at her hands. "If I tell you...will you say something to help?"

"I can't guarantee anything," I respond honestly, "…but if it helps just getting it off of your chest..."

"I'm so tired of thinking about this by myself." She exhales heavily. "I guess if you know it won't matter." She thinks for a minute before she speaks again. "For a while, I've noticed that Damian has gotten into the habit of speaking about our future…That's odd, isn't it?"

But she doesn't let me answer.

"Because, the way he talks it's like we're building a family. But doesn't that mean that I would be a mother? That's ridiculous right? I can't be a mom!" It seems, the more she talks, the faster the words leave her lips. "I know he's used to making decisions quickly and everything, but something like that shouldn't be considered like everything else. It just seems like too much…You know, I never intended to become like this with him. When he called me that first time, it was because he wanted an undercover bodyguard for some big social gala. He was paying me really well so I said that I would do it. But that same night he asked me to do it again and then I don't know how I ended up living with him rather than being his bodyguard. Which I didn't care about until he started talking about this family idea. It's funny! Because I'm not suited to be a mother, right?"

The way she asks this, it makes me uncertain of whether she wants to hear something positive or negative. Instead of answering her, I ask, "Since you said this had been going on for a while, why are you worried about it now?"

She stays quiet and avoids my eyes.

"Faye," I say.

"Because I began to worry. That's why I stopped wanting to do things with him. But two days ago he became pretty upset and said he didn't want to rely on someone other than me for that. I told him that I didn't care whether he did it with someone else. Of course, it was a lie. I wanted to be spoiled and have him tell me he would wait however long I needed. But instead, I only made it worse because he stormed out of the apartment. I followed him to see if he really had left…but I found him in the lobby. He was sitting away from everyone reading a newspaper. At the time, something like that, it was what I wanted, so it was supposed to make me happy right? Because he didn't go looking for someone else and tried to be patient for me."

"I suppose."

"But it didn't. It just made me even more nervous. I nearly panicked when I realized that I didn't know whether I could be as serious, because even after what happened today, I still love him this much."

Everything that Faye had said beforehand completely leaves my mind that instant. Everything except her saying she loved him. Because I already knew it, I didn't expect it to disturb me so much. But hearing it from her, it's something completely different. I feel numb. Yet, because my subconscious tells me that I need to pretend I don't care, I say, "at least you can say that much."

"Spike, I don't think I have any choice but to follow his plans now."

I glance at her and notice her face straining to remain static. Seeing her like that, I wish I could force some reaction from her. "Faye?" I ask quietly, even if I'm inexplicably angry, resentful, and nervous all at once.

"I know I'm not suited to being a mother, so now I'm regretting every time we ever made love." She says frustrated, "I should have been more careful so I wouldn't have to question myself about it now." At the end of her sentence, she's still sitting so perfectly, but her hands are clenched and her eyes are focused on something I can't even pin point.

If she had stated this from the very beginning, I would have understood much faster why she was so troubled. Faye doesn't say anything else and the time allows me to process what I've heard. When I'm sure I've understood, that's when I stop feeling anything at all. I don't know whether it's a conditioned response for men to ask this but, but it's the only thing I can say, "Are…you sure? Have you checked yet?"

She shakes her head, still staring at that space I can't see. "Even though I know I should …I'm…" she says calmly, "horribly afraid to find out."

We sit on the bench without saying anything. For about five minutes, I have nothing to do but analyze her situation. I expected that understanding all of these things would bring some sort of response from me, but I still don't feel anything. Of course, I'm not happy. But I'm not mad either. I'm not angry. I'm not jealous. I'm…nothing.

I stand up from the bench and watch her as she jolts from the unexpected movement. She's still sitting there, frozen. "Get up," I tell her. My voice has become nearly sterile but I don't even try to mask it. She doesn't respond and I have to repeat myself. When she finally stands, I begin walking away from the bench. She follows me and asks where we're going. "The pharmacy…a convenience store. Someplace like that." I say, "Right now, it's not helping you any not to know."

I hear her steps stop, but I don't look back. She says, "I guess, it's not something I can avoid much longer…" After about two seconds, I hear the rhythmic echo of her heels again. "Then what—"

I don't know what she's going to say, but I interrupt her and continue in that monotone voice, "Then…speak to Damian…Even if you're mad at him. Everything. You should have told him to begin."

"I can't," she answers calmly, "I know you don't get why I'm doing this. And it's not like I haven't tried telling him about it before…I just…I can't."

That's the last thing that we say until we reach the store over half and hour later. Even when we're at the entrance, we don't say anything. She glances at me shortly and is about to head inside when I pull her back for a reason even I don't know. I take my hand away from her and think up of an excuse for having acted as I did. I hand her my wallet hastily and tell her to buy me something to drink while she's there. After she goes in, I light one of my cigarettes. I wait, hoping that soon I'll stop feeling like everything I'm doing is purely mechanical.

I look through the windows and watch as Faye finishes the payment at the counter. Then, I watch her as she walks into the hallway under the restrooms sign. It seems like time has never moved so slowly when I suddenly feel a knot building in my chest. It makes me grimace and I realize that I must have unconsciously suppressed everything. But now that I'm alone, it starts to get to me.

I take long drags from my cigarette, carefully analyzing the taste of the nicotine in my mouth. I force myself to think about the flavor of the smoke as it envelops my mouth. But there are too many things going through my mind and the pain in my chest keeps growing while the numbness of my brain spreads to my arms and legs.

After about eight minutes, I wonder why it's taking her so long and I catch myself forgetting the windows and simply glancing at the entrance. I don't know whether I'm doing this because I'm considering entering or if it's because I'm too anxious for Faye to come out. I can feel the frustration building up on my face and I have to rub my hands over my features to clear everything away. Even if it's momentary, it seems to work.

As I take my hands away from my face for a second time, I hear Faye's heels. I turn to the entrance and watch her as she walks closer to me. Then, I notice that the more she approaches me, the less I can feel again. I look into her eyes and try to see if I can discern anything from it. But I can't.

Even though I'm the one who brought her here, I don't feel like I have the right to ask her anything. But I feel like if I don't say something, anything, she won't ever speak again. As it turns out, the only thing to leave my lips is her name.

Faye locks her eyes on mine, but, suddenly, gazes curiously at the ground for an instant. Then, she wipes her left cheek and stares at her hand, "Again with this?" she asks quietly. She glances at me with a look of disbelief and I can see her emotions beginning to seep through.

As she's about to clear her eyes again, I stop her hands. She looks back at me and laughs awkwardly. My blood feels thick and it seems my heart isn't strong enough to keep it running through my veins. "Faye," I say, slowly removing my hands from her skin.

She quickly hides her face behind my wallet and a can of cold coffee. I have the strong urge to push her hands aside so I can uncover her face. But just as I feel I can't restrain myself anymore, she says ecstatically "I'm so relieved!…I'm a horrible person, right? Feeling so happy I can't stop myself from crying."

She extends her hands and places the wallet and coffee a few inches away from my chest. I don't move. Seeing this, she mischievously pushes the cold can against my cheek. When she does, I'm suddenly forced to respond. I take the coffee and open it up saying, "You do this even after I helped you?" Then, I take my wallet away from her hands and put it in my pocket, just to make sure she won't conceal her expression from me again.

She says, "Sorry, I involved you in something stupid…"

Through all this, I can't move my focus away from her, even if doing so only makes my chest hurt more. I take a drink of coffee simply to do something more than stare. "You know," I tell her quietly, "you're still crying."

"…I know," she says smiling. Then, she holds her hand out, as if asking for a drink too. I pretend to hand her the can reluctantly and she takes a drink.

I watch her, the tears sliding down her face. While I take the can back, I finally say, "Stop…People are going to think I'm the one making you cry."

"Ah, but won't that be interesting to see?" she says clearing her eyes. She looks at her hands and grimaces at a black, eyeliner smear over her left palm. "My face must look terrible."

When she says that, I feel like things are okay after all. "That's what you're worried about…" I tell her mockingly, "Doesn't it seem a bit irrelevant now?"

"Why?" she says in the tone that I'm most familiar with.

I smirk. "You should really stop crying…Or at least, don't make it so noticeable." I hold the can tightly, restraining myself from clearing her eyes.

She wipes her tears and fans her face with her hands. "I don't have anything to cover my face…" Then, she reaches out towards me before saying, "let me borrow your coat."

I twist my torso so that her hands only manage to touch my shoulder. "That's just going to make it more obvious. Use something else." I face her again and take another drink.

"Fine," she says, "But don't complain about it."

I respond, "Why would I com—" then her forehead's on my chest, her hands on my back "—plain." I stand still, more from uncertainty then anything else, the coffee can awkwardly suspended inches from my mouth. "I'm not something else…," I say much softer than I had intended. I take another drink and swallow before saying with a more confident tone, "besides, it probably looks more obvious than if I'd let you borrow my coat."

She laughs and pinches the skin over my left shoulder blade.

I jump a bit, "Hey!"

I feel her balmy breath through the fabric of my shirt as she says, "If you're really that worried about looking awkward then you shouldn't just stand there like an idiot."

"Seriously?" I say incredulously, "As if I haven't done enough for you today."

"Just shut up and let me cry in peace for a little longer," she retorts. "Whether you like it or not, you've helped me be this happy, so don't ruin it for me or I swear I'll do something to make you regret it."

I don't tell her anything. Instead, I try as casually as I can to let my arms gently wrap around her shoulders. I know it's wrong for me to do this, but I can't deny that right now I really want to be holding her.

Although she's still being very quiet, I can feel the warmth of her tears building on my shirt. Since I know she's crying from relief, I don't feel guilty feeling so pleased being the one holding her. Time goes by much faster in this strange state. It doesn't even take three minutes when I can tell that Faye's stopped crying. Holding her like this is unnecessary so I hesitantly move away from her. Even before my arms have completely left her, she says, "Do you think that Jet and Ed are here now?"

"Probably," I respond, deciding not to mention the tearstains she's left on my shirt.

Faye clears the area around her eyes and says, "We should go eat somewhere before going back." Then, she steals the coffee from my hands. She takes a drink before saying, "Something that has really good wine would be nice. I haven't drank anything lately."

As I put my coat on to cover the stains, I tell her, "Why? You're fixated with the phobia of having Damian track you…In the end, I'm the one who's going to get stuck with the bill."

I take the coffee from her and she sighs, "I'll pay…we just have to make sure to run back to Bebop."

I smirk, "You still do things like that?"

"Not recently," she confesses. "But that would make it that much better! We can eat all the expensive things and as much of it as we want. Wouldn't that make up for all the stupid things I made you do today?"

"You just want to spite Damian," I say, "Yet you still haven't said why you are so mad at him anyway? Is it really just because he wants to build a family with you?"

"I nearly forgot," she says, "didn't I? But I did mention it a little…To put it simply…It's because today, I clearly saw him and Kat kissing and he lied to me about it…I don't think they've done anything else…but it's kind of a petty thing, isn't it? Anyway, that's why I wanted to know if I was making him wait too much. But I guess, I ended up telling you everything but what you wanted to hear…Well, let's go already, I'm starving."

Since she is set on the idea and I'm feeling bitter towards Damian as well, I decide to just go along with it. We find an expensive restaurant, but end up waiting over one hour to get a table. It's still a bit awkward to talk casually, so we only make conversation once in a while. When we are seated, we order the most expensive items of the menu. In the end, we aren't able to finish it all. But as far as meals went, other than the events beforehand, it was probably the best one I've had in nearly five years.

The best part of the night is making our way to the Bebop. After paying, we rush out of the restaurant as if we hadn't paid at all. It reminds me of before the time when I screwed up by telling her all those things and leaving. Before the time I realized I felt this way towards her…

It was much better then. If I had remained not noticing anything, I wouldn't care that tonight I inevitably learned that she is in love with someone else. I should have never even considered that I did feel something. If I had denied it like I did before, maybe then tonight wouldn't be so bittersweet for me.

When we're walking near the docks I call Jet to find out where the ship is. I tell him that I'm close and that Faye is with me. Then, I ask him if Ed's said anything strange. He says, "That's not something strange necessarily, but yeah, she told me about it." I ask him what she said but instead he answers me with, "Don't worry about it. I took care of it and she promised not to tell."

"But she knows," I say glancing at Faye who is pretending to be interested on the lamps by the sidewalk.

"Yeah, but I think she knew even before I did…Like I said, don't worry about it—No Ed, don't take it out of the oven yet!"

Ed laughs, "But it looks so fluffy!"

"What the hell is all that racket?" I ask.

Jet sighs, "Ed's trying to make a cake for Faye. I better go make sure she doesn't mess up."

"Alright," I say ending the call.

"…I hate that I don't know what you guys are talking about," Faye says distantly. "But I guess I should expect that…"

"…it's just something stupid…"

"Even if you say that, I still don't know what it is."

But I can't tell her.

Instead I mention that we're really close to getting to the ship. She doesn't say anything else and neither do I. Once we arrive, Ed jumps from behind Jet and nearly tackles Faye to the ground. She tells her that she's baking and drags her away into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Jet asks.

"Why not ask her instead?" I tell him but he only laughs. "Also, you should pay more attention to your communicator."

"Why? Did you call me earlier or something? I checked my phone and I didn't see any missed calls for today."

I don't answer and it takes a bit for me to speak. My mind is too tired and I don't want to think about anything anymore. "…Whatever, I'm going to sleep now."

"What's the matter? You don't want any cake?"

"Nah," I say making my way to my room.

For the next few days, Faye seems to sleep a lot. Or at least, I see her very little. Apparently, the only thing she does all day is eat and sleep. Other than that, I only see her while I leave the bathroom after my morning shower since she is usually the next one in. However, it only happens for about four days. After that, she begins waking up earlier than usual and using the bathroom before me.

Although I have to change my schedule a bit, I also have to admit it's really not an inconvenience. This is the same routine she used when she lived here, where for about six days every month, Faye would shower instead of bathe. I know that she's repeating this pattern again because she smells like Ed's watermelon body wash rather than her pineapple bubble bath.

After a week passes, I expect that Faye will leave again. But she doesn't. Instead, she's still sitting on my yellow couch, taking up my space. When I see her sitting there, I tell her to move. She rolls her eyes as she carefully files her nails and says that there's still enough room left for me to sit. I do so a bit displeased and then notice something unusual.

"You smell like a guy," I tell her. It's like me, to be more specific, but that's an odd thing to say.

"Yeah, I got tired of smelling like watermelon."

"Then go buy something you like instead of using other people's things."

She says dismissively, "Jet's going to go buy groceries today so I already told him to get me something different."

But it's not like I hate it. In reality, I like her smelling this way rather than the vanilla scent Damian prefers. I like that if she smells like me, then I can pretend that she's mine instead of his.

Since I've just come back from a bounty hunt, I tell her that I want to lie down. She says that I should go somewhere else instead followed by a definitive, "I'm not moving."

"Then don't complain," I say ignoring her suggestion and fully resting on my couch, my legs placed over her lap.

She hits my shins and tries to shake my legs off, but seeing no response, gives up and files her nails again. After a second she says, "I'm only allowing this because of the stupid things you know."

"Sure," I say smirking.

I feel very possessive, to an extent childish. Somehow, I believe that by doing this, she will remain there until I wake up. Because I want to deny that she's told me she loves Damian; and I want to tell Damian that she was in love with me before him. I want to think that she won't leave the Bebop again and that she's here because she wants to. But above all, I want to pretend that all of this somehow means that she will feel something for me again.

* * * Ch. 6 End, Continued on Ch. 7 * * *

Updates: Still looks like it'll be on Friday.

About the titles: There is so much denial in this chapter, I couldn't help but have the word included in the title.

Interesting fact: This was a difficult chapter. I don't remember how it came about that I ended up writing about this awkward topic. In any case, I was seriously trying to handle it appropriately, though it turned out to be such a difficult thing to do.

Reviews encouraged. Until next week!