Please enjoy.

* * * Ch. 13 – Sparks (Coldplay) * * *

It doesn't feel like a stranger's home. Locking the door and realizing that I'm alone in her apartment, that doesn't feel strange either. Clearly, it isn't like returning to the Bebop. But neither is it the hostile sensation of entering a waiting room you'd hope to visit once in your lifetime.

I carefully step just inside of Faye's apartment door, looking around, trying to mull and decode the sensation. It's serene—not a cold, empty feeling—a bit intriguing. Something akin to a sense of familiarity and excitement…And I suppose a sense of danger too.

I glance at the window and instinctively wonder how long it will be before Faye returns. I walk across the living room and pick up my coat, digging through the pockets to find my communicator. It's ten and a quarter…so I have around four hours to kill before she gets back.

I ruffle my hair trying to figure out what to do in that span of time. But I realize a greasy sensation on my fingertips and I recognize the stink of sweat and ramen. And that much convinces me that I should shower first.

I make sure to lock the front door before walking towards Faye's bedroom. When I step into the room, the lights are off. I palm around trying to find the light switch, but I don't feel or see anything and I stop when my fingers graze a coat hanging on the wall. In any case, the door to the bathroom is slightly open and the lights there are on, so I give up without hesitation.

From the state of things in the bathroom, it's clear to see that Faye had left in a rush. The vent is still humming above me. A towel is barely hanging on the doorknob and a second has already slipped to the ground. Her clothes are on the floor, piled up messily in a corner next to the bathtub. The mist is stuck to the walls and the fog is still clinging to the mirror.

No matter where, being in her apartment, it feels like an atmosphere altogether different.

I can't get used to it. The odd sensation of being there. It's because this is Faye's home. Not the room she uses on occasion or the space she shares with someone else. For once, this is Faye's living area. Completely. And it makes me hyperconscious of everything, mundane as it may be.

So I stand in place for a few seconds at a time, inspecting my surrounding with extreme scrutiny. Moving on to the next section only when I feel that there is nothing else to be seen. All the meanwhile expecting to find the outlier that can give me an edge in understanding who Faye is today.

But it doesn't even take me a minute to look around. After all, it's not like I'm willing to go so far as to open cabinets and drawers unnecessarily. But really, it's just the same things that we have back at the Bebop, if a little more feminine.—Not to say that it's all pearls and lace necessarily, though no doubt that would suit Faye well too.

After I'm through with the inspection, I use the mouthwash Faye's left open next to the sink and remind myself that I need a toothbrush. Then, I undress, toss my clothes next to the pile Faye has already started, and step into the bathtub. It takes me a few seconds to figure out how the shower works. But I let the water run down to the bathtub first, adjusting the temperature so that I won't aggravate any of the damaged skin on my body. When I find something that feels right, I let the water run up the shower and hold my breath.

But it feels great. I exhale, glad that I've not scalded myself for a second time. Instead, the water seems to moisten the areas where my skin has been dry and tight. And the section between my shoulder and nape, which has been feverish even after taking medicine, is for once pleasantly cooled.

I spend a good fifteen minutes with my back against the water before I even decide to wash my hair and body. Afterwards, I spend another good fifteen doing the same until I finally convince myself to shut the water off.

Unfortunately, the effects of the scald become apparent again rather quickly. I grimace as the skin over my back tightens and the unpleasant warmth of my neck returns. I sigh, letting the remaining streams of water run down the drain. I reach out of the shower for the only towel left on the towel rack, pat myself dry, and wrap the towel around my waist before stepping out.

I look down at my pile of clothes and, for the first time, I realize that it's the only set I have with me. I think for a second, clicking my tongue as I wonder what I should do. It doesn't take me long to realize that, since there's enough time for me to wash and dry the clothes before Faye returns, it's really not an issue.

I reach down to pick my clothes. In the motion, the skin of my back stretches and it stings. I stand up promptly, carrying my clothes under my arm, and walk towards the sink looking for the body lotion I'd seen during my earlier inspection.

Once I spot it, I set my clothes next to the sink and try my best to carefully moisturize my back. Except, Faye's lotion smells like cherry blossoms and it feels weird to keep adding these scented things one on top of the other. I had expected to use the orchid scented shampoo and conditioner just as much as I had the pomegranate body wash, but I hadn't really considered anything else after that. The lotion is very fragrant, and in the end, I refrain from using it any more than I have to.

I lift my clothes, glance at Faye's pile next to the bathtub, and pick up my coat and shirt from the living room before walking to the area behind the kitchen. As I had suspected, the washer and dryer are there, as is a large rack holding many of Faye's clean clothes. The washer is empty and I put all of my dark clothes in first. But as the barrel begins to fill with water, it feels like a waste to wash so little at a time and I end up throwing everything in at once. I look for the detergent, add it in, and start the washer rather easily.

I watch an infomercial program for some useless cooking product while I wait, and stand up from the couch only when I realize the washer isn't running anymore. I make my way to the laundry area and open up the dryer. I had nearly forgotten that the sheets to Faye's bed were there. I pull them out and sit them on top of the machine before placing my clothes in and starting a new dry cycle. I carry the sheets to Faye's bed and let them fall on top of the mattress before returning to the couch.

But as it turns out, I can't find anything to watch. The news only repeat the same information I'd read about Damian last night. The other shows on television are either too boring or too obnoxious. And it doesn't help that some pesky weather announcement shows up every so often. So, I turn the television off altogether and decide to make Faye's bed as a means to kill time.

I re-adjust the towel around my waist before trying to find the light switch of her bedroom again. But my second attempt doesn't end any differently than the first and I have to rely on the bathroom light to see what I'm doing.

I pull off the sheets from her bed and begin setting the clean ones in place. As I move the sheets, I notice that whatever soap Faye uses has a distinct clean and light scent not quite as forced as the detergent we use at the Bebop. The sheets are soft and the down comforter is cool to the touch. I pass my hands over the fabric, fixing the wrinkles and setting the corners in place. When I look around for the pillows, the only two I can find in the room are clearly not part of the dark grey and purple arabesque set. I pick them from the ground and walk back to the living room. I toss them over the couch among the mismatch of other pillows where they seem to belong best. And it doesn't take me long to realize that Faye's L-shaped barricade is actually composed of the pillows that belong on her bed.

I lift all of the pillows at once. They're bulkier than I had expected, and my face ends up buried in them. It would be a lie to say that I don't stop for a second just to recognize that the scent of Faye's hair is imbued in their textile. My back burns too. And I can't tell if the heat on my face is still a fever or a result of my sudden embarrassment. And it's exactly because of this that I'm severely reminded of my current relationship with Faye.

I sigh heavily onto the pillows. I can't tell anymore whether I'm doing these little things unconsciously or not. And not only that. What would Faye think—what does she think about this mindset of mine? Because it's not like she doesn't know. Or maybe she's trying to ignore it. Or perhaps. Perhaps she's already forgotten.

I stumble my way back to her bedroom and drop the pillows into place. I pull off the shams matching the old sheets' pattern and replace them with the clean set.

The way I see Faye now. How long had it been since that began? I can't even pinpoint when it had happened. Not the moment I realized it. Not the moment I believed it myself. Not the moment I began trying to avoid facing up to it.

I mean, even today, I purposely ignored her clothes and used towels from the bathroom floor when picking them up and taking them to the laundry room would have taken little to no effort…All of this just so I could save myself the headache…And because of some pillows I'm suffocated by the guilt of thinking about her?—It's disappointing. Had I known it was going to end up this way anyway, I would've rather touched her silk camisole.

Well, whatever. I guess some things really can't be helped and I should just get used to the idea that I can't stop myself from being conscious of her. I can accept that, right?

I toss the pillows in place and remain standing next to her bed, staring at the patterns of her sheets for a few seconds...Or rather, at this point, isn't it so obvious that I have no other choice but to accept it?

The pit of my stomach feels cold and a sense of personal defeat begins crawling up my limbs. And although I'd finished fixing the sheets moments before, the realization makes my body heavy and I let myself slump on the bed. It's then that the sensation reaches my chest and my hands shiver. I bury my face in the freshly washed sheets, clutching the down of the pillows.

I inhale. I exhale. I let myself lie there in a state of disappointment and stupor. I feel so physically and emotionally drained that I dare not even open my eyes. And before I know it, I fall asleep over her sheets.

"Hey, I've brought lunch." A tug on my hair, it's Faye that wakes me up.

I instinctively dig my face in the blankets, unsure if I should be cursing myself for falling asleep like this on her bed or if I should curse her for rupturing the calm daze I had finally attained. Either way, I'm self-conscious, so I keep my face down, hoping that the warmth of my face doesn't show on my ears.

"What? You're not hungry after all?"

But even if I cover my face, it's not like I can hide from her.

"I'm awake," I say drowsily, rubbing what little sleepiness I have left in my eyes away. And immediately after, my hands jump to my waist where thankfully the towel is still in place. I sit up and hold my head for a bit, watching through Faye's shadow as she leans on the frame of her bedroom door.

"Did you wash your clothes?" she asks.

"…Yeah…they're in the dryer," I say standing up.

"If they're dry, then go change." She says, "I don't need a pervert roaming around in my apartment."

I let her insult slide and don't bother to reply.

I try to walk past her, but she puts her hand up and stops me mid-step, her fingertips hovering a mere centimeter from my chest. It's too abrupt, and I retreat to regain a good sense of space.

"…Is something wrong?" she asks.

The concern in which she says this leaves me at a loss of words and I can barely force myself to ask why.

"You're kind of...thinner...than usual…" She begins awkwardly, "Last time…," but she doesn't finish her sentence. Instead, her lips keep repeating the pattern of saying "last time."

…Ah, I get it. She's not sure whether she has the right to say it or not. "You mean…" and my voice fades before I can finish. I take a breath before starting again. "You mean, last time I lost weight was after Julia passed away." And it's easy to say, so much so that I can't tell if Faye's surprise is caused by the casual tone of my voice or the content of what I've stated. "…That's what you mean, right?"

"...Yeah."

"Actually," I begin, "I hadn't noticed that I'd lost that much weight, or at least enough that someone would notice. Jet hadn't said anything about it. And you know how he is about that."

"Well, I've never seen you this thin before…Or maybe it's because I haven't seen you in a while? I'm not sure. But you do—or did—have the bad habit of forgetting to eat because you were over thinking something. So, at least be aware of that."

That she's realized this. That she seems to be bothered—worried about it. It makes me a bit happy. Even if I try to control myself, a ghost of a smirk crosses my lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

Her hand falls to her side and I step across to the living room, turning towards the laundry area.

"I'm going to switch clothes, so you change over there," she says after me.

I hear the door to her bedroom close and I unconsciously turn back. From underneath the door, I can see a clear streak of light. And I can't help but wonder where that damned light switch is anyway.

I shake my head a couple of times and make my way to the laundry area. I pull my clothes from the dryer and change. It seems that washing everything together didn't do any damage. As I finish buttoning up my shirt, I hear the rustling of paper bags. And a second later, I can smell the scent of food.

Now fully dressed with my coat over my arm, I step back into the kitchen and I see Faye pouring some water into two glasses. She's wearing a loose, red sweater over a white camisole and a pair of light cotton pants. She looks much more relaxed than me. When she notices I'm standing next to her, she stares at me for a while and it's like she reads my mind.

"Are you comfortable in that?" she asks.

"I don't have anything else," I reply. Although in all honesty, I would be grateful to wear something with a looser fit.

She mumbles while contemplating something and I catch her saying "...I guess they should fit."

"What should?"

This much breaks her trance and she answers clearly, "I have some men's clothes you can wear."

"...You're going to give me some guy's hand-me-downs?"

"They're mine." Faye scoffs, "I wear them around the house sometimes." She walks to the coffee table and sits the drinks down. She wipes her palms together, smirking. "It feels kind of weird. I mean, because I was the one who used to borrow your clothes all the time."

"Is that what you call borrowing?" I answer sourly, "I didn't care if you used them or not, but would it have hurt you to at least wash them? I ended up doing it all the time."

"No," she corrects me, "you didn't have the patience to wait. I would've washed them, eventually."

"Eventually, huh?"

"…Anyway, I guess I got used to wearing them from time to time—men's clothes, I mean—so I've bought a couple for myself...I think they should fit you though." She walks around the couch towards her bedroom. "Also," she says more strictly, "believe it or not, everything in here is mine. And only Jennifer and a few of the other girls have come to visit me...Thinking about it, I guess you're the first to make it past the front door, so you should be grateful."

The first?...As in the first...man? I walk after her.

But when I follow her into her room, my attention shifts and I realize that I'm finally seeing the place well lit. Although the things she has have a strong presence, there's not enough there to make the room look crowded or busy.

The bed sits touching the wall parallel to the bathroom door. She doesn't have a headboard, but a large canvas hangs above the bed, a color field painting with dark blue hues and a strong texture. There is nothing to the right of the bed other than the door that leads to the living room. However, on it's left is a nightstand with magazines and a little further a walk-in closet with the doors slightly open. Inside, the light is off, but with the main light of the room, it's possible to see that it's holding plenty of clothes. A standing mirror framed in black hangs on the wall. And next to the mirror is a tall dresser. It's from one of its lower drawers that Faye begins to pull out a couple of things.

As I wait, I glance behind me towards the area where I had felt the coat before. Surely enough, there is a long hanging rack centered in the middle of the wall. It's mostly full, holding anything from purses, to sweaters, umbrellas, and hats. But what catches my eye is the strange way in which the coat closest to the door hangs. The sleeve is skewed, as if it's caught on something.

First, I glance at Faye who is still busy looking through a drawer. Then, I lift the sleeve of the sweater. As it turns out, the light switch is underneath. With my luck, it figures that would be the case. I let the sleeve fall and sit on the bed.

"Here it is," Faye murmurs pulling something from the drawer. She stands up and hands me a pair of navy and green flannel pajama pants. Then, she walks into her closet and quickly finds a light grey tee. She unfolds it and measures the width against my shoulders. "Yeah, this is the one," she confirms and tosses it to my hands. She walks back into the closet and this time emerges holding a lamp. She moves the magazines out of the way and sits the lamp down on the nightstand.

I don't know what look I must have had then, but she says, "Jess broke one already. This one managed to take a fall once, I can't risk the chance that it'll live through another." Then, she kneels down and plugs it in. She promptly stands and walks out of the room, closing the door as she says, "Hurry and change so we can eat."

I do so swiftly—or as quickly as it's possible for me to do without injuring my back any further. When I'm done, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that the clothes she's given me fit well. The band on the pants is even a bit loose. And as for the shirt, the only thing I can complain about is that I'm not used to v-necks. I fold my clothes and sit them on the corner of her bed before stepping out into the living room.

By this time, Faye has begun setting up what seems to be an exorbitant amount of food on the coffee table. "Seriously, I just asked for two," I hear her whispering. "No wonder it was so much to carry."

I walk towards the table and begin pulling a couple of boxes out of a bag Faye's yet to open. I laugh, "This is enough to feed an army."

Faye pauses and stares at me.

"What is it?"

"My clothes look good on you," she says very seriously before turning back to setting the food in place.

I scowl, "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I could ask you the same," she snaps.

"Alight, fine. But how come you brought so much?"

"I didn't want to. Except Marty wouldn't let me leave anything behind, saying he'd made all of it just for me. I felt bad so I ended up taking it. Will was there too, and he was nice enough to give me a ride and help carry the bags upstairs."

Will, huh?...I open up a box. There's a dozen or so hot wings.

"Did you not hear us?" Faye says unrolling the top of another bag. "Will wanted to come in, but he's so loud."

How common is that name? "…No. I didn't." I look around the coffee table.

"Well, I guess that's good. I thought he might have woken you up."

"No," I mutter, "you were the one."

"I did," she reaffirms. "But Will was being annoying. I know you wouldn't like to be woken up like that."

She's right about that. But is this the same Will that Jennifer kept bringing up yesterday? I hover the open box over the food that's already there. Now that Faye is placing more food, the table's getting crowded. "Hey…"

"What is it?"

Where am I supposed to put this box? "And who's Will anyway?"

"…What?"

"We're low on space, I don't know where to put this."

"No, that's—What do you mean by who is he?"

Wait. What did I ask?—Or I asked?—Fuck.—Why did I ask?—No, I know why I asked.—Rather. What should—No, that's not right either...If I try and escape this little thing I will never figure out what exactly happened with Damian.

Faye takes the box away from my stagnant hands, putting it on the lid of one that's already open.

"You know…" I begin, "does he just hang around Marty's bar or something?"

"He's Marty's nephew actually," she answers quickly. "So, yeah, pretty much. Or at least that's how I met him. He's the same guy that Jess was talking about last night."

"Is that so?" I say reaching for the last box inside the bag.

Faye takes the empty bag from me and begins folding it. "When you say it like that, it's obvious what you're thinking."

"And what is that exactly?"

Faye takes all the empty bags and stands up, walking to the kitchen. "That he's not being genuinely nice, but you know, ulterior motives and all that."

"Well, that's true. But I was actually trying to make up my mind."

"About what?" she says, returning to the living room with a handful of napkins.

"Is it admirable or disgusting?"

Faye sits with her legs crossed, choosing the spot next to me on the coffee table.

"It depends, doesn't it?"

"How so?"

"Ah, well, I don't really have any hard feelings for what happened with Jessica. So, I guess I would call it admirable. More than anything, stupid. But had it been that I felt seriously betrayed, then it would absolutely be disgusting. Anyway enough of that! I'm starving so let's eat."

And we do just that. We begin picking at the food, taking a bit from here and there without really claiming anything as our own. It surprises me how good everything actually is. As bar food, I had expected it to be at its best acceptable.

"It's good, right?" Faye asks me as she reaches for a couple of fries. "Marty's place is famous for it's food too, so there's quite a rush during lunch and dinner hours."

I nod and take a bite from a BLT. "Yeah, I could see how."

We eat silently save for a few words scattered here and there. It feels like no matter how much we consume, the amount of food on the table doesn't decrease. And gradually, we begin picking at the food less and less until we're just sitting on the ground watching television.

The stasis is nice, so much so that we don't bother changing the channel. And before we know it, we're watching a daytime show about couples trying to work out their issues. Apparently, the hostess of the show is a qualified therapist. Though from the looks of her, you'd think she were the one causing the problems.

The first couple to be consulted are two young men who are having issues with their sexual life. The second is a couple of which both parties have children from previous marriages. The third. The third is the one that stands out. The woman is dressed in pale colors, her hair neatly tied into a pony tail. The man dresses well too, or at least much better than I could ever hope to do, and has a gentle expression. They have no apparent problems, good communication, a healthy sexual life. Their issue—to my surprise—is that they're considering breaking off their engagement.

"She's lying," Faye says staring at the screen.

"About what?" I ask, preferring not to say that I think everything is staged to begin with.

"She said she doesn't mind when he's too busy to pay attention to her. That she's fine because she's got a life of her own to worry about. But does that even make sense considering the type of woman she seems to be?"

The type of woman? I turn to the screen and watch for a little longer. By the way she speaks, she sounds confident. And she sits elegantly, as if she were in control of the situation. In comparison to everyone on the set, she really stands out.

"Look at her clothes."

A salmon skirt. A cream shirt. A nude bag and matching shoes. Delicate jewelry.

"They're feminine?"

Faye laughs. "Well, sure. But those are all matching brand name clothes."

"So?"

"It's not right."

She seems really invested in this, but I don't understand at all. I sigh, "I'm not going to get this until you spell it out for me."

"Most women who love brand name clothes choose one piece they really want to show off and tone it down with the rest of their outfit. But, everything she's wearing is from Claude, one of the highest-name brands out there! For anyone who knows a bit about fashion, she totally stands out. So, it's not that she doesn't like attention. It's that she actually loves it! Saying she doesn't mind that her fiancé doesn't pay attention to her is totally bullshit."

I smirk. Seeing Faye get all worked up about a show is amusing. And it's even better that she remains as excited through the rest of the air time.

When the program concludes, couple one agrees to visit a sex therapist, couple two breaks up to avoid stressing their children, and couple three remains without much of a resolution.

As the end credits start rolling, Faye begins closing the boxes of the leftovers and stacking them together. She pushes them to the opposite end of the table and stretches her legs. She crosses her arms on the table and lays her head down.

"That was fun," she says. "It's nice to forget your own problems for a while..."

We sit in silence for a few moments, letting her words hang in the air.

But there's more to it than just that. I feel that there's definitely more. However, no matter how much I twist my brain, I can't find the right way to approach her. I feel ridiculous, feeling this concerned yet being unable to do anything at all.

I mimic her posture so that we can see each other evenly. "At least you get to eat good food. I don't think I can see cupped ramen anymore without becoming depressed."

"It is good, isn't it?" Faye replies smiling. She closes her eyes, "I'm tired. Are you still tired?"

"A bit."

"How's your back?" she asks, her voice already becoming drowsy.

"Better."

"Did the shower help?"

"Yeah."

"Did you see there's aloe vera gel inside the cabinet?"

"No, I didn't look. I used your lotion though."

She chuckles quietly. "So that's why."

"What's that?"

"I keep thinking weird things, like, "Spike smells just like me.'" And then she laughs.

I feel a jolt in my chest and I sit up. Really, Faye? If you're aware it's weird, don't say it so easily like that.

She bites her lips and turns her face, her forehead pressed to the table. "Spike…"

"What now?" I ask a bit annoyed since I can barely make out what she's saying.

She's silent for a moment longer before she speaks. "...Let me kiss you."

I fixate my sight on her wondering if I've heard correctly.

Honestly, there's no way I could stop at only doing that much. But, no matter how I try to deceive myself, I can't find a way around it. Something doesn't feel right at all.

Even after a while, Faye doesn't repeat herself and I feel that I probably heard right after all.

"No," I answer without another thought.

Faye clicks her tongue, rolling her head on the table so that she's facing me again, "Somehow that's hard to hear coming from a guy with a history of sleeping around with married women."

"I'm not a saint...you're the one who said that."

She laughs, "But you've been so well behaved lately. You were even giving such a cool 'I'm not interested' vibe when the girls were with us." She stands up, stretching her arms over her head. "But that's good though. That's how Spike should be."

"...What?"

"Well, you know...my impression of you or something like that?"

She stares at me as if expecting a response.

"I don't know." I say, "I'm the one who asked."

"Well, whatever..." She pauses for a minute, "Before I forget, Jet called me earlier."

"What for?" I ask, not realizing until it's too late that she's already changed the topic.

"He was checking in on us. He'd heard that the front was changing its trajectory closer towards us, so he was worried... He asked me to keep you here until it passes."

"Seriously? I was thinking of heading back before it got too late. I mean, this thing can't be that serious?"

"I don't know how hard it'll hit, but it's moving kind of slow so maybe that's the problem...You can talk to Jet about it if you want, but he made me promise to keep you here, so don't go wandering off."

I click my tongue.

"I'm going to take a nap, so you can watch television or whatever."

"It's fine," I say clicking the monitor off, "there's nothing interesting to watch anyway,"

And before I know it, I'm left alone in her living room, still sitting next to the coffee table, doing nothing.

I lean back carefully and rest my head on the couch with my eyes closed. The air seems to be hanging still. Even the tick-tock of the clock isn't enough to pollute the quietness. And so I sit there, listening to the muffled sounds of my heartbeat and the humming of the wind outside.

"My impression of you…" my lips mouth without my consent. I blink my eyes open and sigh before closing them again.

But as time passes, it becomes clearer and clearer. This is bothering me.

There was something about the way she said it. The words she chose. Even the tone. I can't help myself from repeating it. There's just something not right.

I throw my arm over my eyes to keep me locked in this daze.

What is it that she actually wanted to say? What is it that she wanted me to do? What is it that she was expecting of me?

But I get nothing.

I've had my fair share of this, loss of sense, if it could be called. It's easy for me to accept it...But. This once. Just this once. I don't want to just take it as is.

I move my arm away from my face and stand up slowly, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light again.

My limbs are stiff. The core of my body is cold. And my mind is foggy.

Even if her room is a mere meter or two away, I feel like I will never reach it. Every step feels like an impossibility. But I fixate my eyes to the grain of the door to keep myself in motion. Before I know it, I'm close enough that I can lay my palm flat on the wood. And the anxiety takes over.

What is it exactly that I'm trying to achieve? I can't answer such a thing. It's not that it's hard to explain. Or that I don't want to admit it...I simply don't know.

If I were to attempt and explain it. It would be that I want to try...that I'm really trying.

But I. No, without a doubt. I'm afraid.

I don't know when it happened that she became such a figure in my life. The type of person I'm reluctant to lose by messing up. Someone I need to keep even if only as a vague presence.

So it's impossible not to be a bit fearful. And to shy away from that which I don't know.

Because regardless of my personal interest in her, I would rather have an uncertain acknowledgment from her part than the jarring distinction of being pushed away by her hands.

I'm aware that it's my responsibility. Without a good reason, I'm wanting to find that which, in the past, I had dismissed without the least sense of remorse. It's my fault that I'm still hoping to find the thread wavering in the air and grasp it.

I lift my hand away from the door and close it tightly, my nails digging into my palm.

Maybe it's that it's been too long since then and now I'm trying to clutch it too tightly. Too suddenly. Too forcefully...Or maybe, it's that there is no thread to hold onto anymore.

I force my arms to relax until they're at my sides.

If I said I should give up...would that even make sense? For me, who hasn't tried to pursue more than I am given from her, would that even be possible? Because from the beginning, isn't it that I've already given up?

I take a step back.

I've already given up. The current me—standing next to her bedroom door, hoping for I don't know what—this current me has already given up.

My skin crawls.

To that extent. When did it become like that? To the extent that giving up wasn't an option I could make anymore.

It paralyzes me. The thought that I had somehow become someone like this without noticing it. That I had changed without realization. That I would be so trapped within myself.

A frothing sharpness builds in my core. I face the windows. The door.

I want to run away.

And I desperately begin searching the areas around me with my sight. For my communicator. For my keys. For my wallet. For my shoes. For my clothes.

But I realize much too quickly, escaping from this is impossible. Even if I could physically run away, I'm certain these thoughts would haunt me regardless of location.

I take a deep breath and my lips itch for a cigarette. The urge forces momentum into my body and prompts me to reach for the pack sitting on the dining table. I place a cigarette on my lips as quickly as possible and scramble to find my lighter.

I flick the wheel only once and inhale. Drag after drag, I feel myself regaining some control. But even then, I can't get rid of it. It seems this anxiousness won't disappear so easily after all.

As the cigarette continues to burn, I notice the ashes collecting on the tip. I hold it steadily between my fingers and look for an ashtray. To my surprise, there isn't a single one in sight. It's strange. But as I think about it, I realize that I haven't seen Faye pick up a single cigarette in her apartment...Her rooms don't seem to have the lingering scent of nicotine either and I wonder if this is one of those no indoor smoking properties...

I already have enough on my mind, to think about such things, I don't want to waste my energy on them. So instead of trying to figure it out or be scolded by Faye later, I step outside, carrying with me my communicator, the pack of cigarettes, and the lighter.

It's cold.

The cement has considerably chilled since the morning and I'm unable to advance much without putting on my shoes. I walk towards the rail and look out into the patio of the building. From here, I can see the streets for quite a distance.

While I stare out at the neighborhood, a gust of wind rushes by. The ashes of my cigarette get carried out into the open and my stomach becomes exposed, making what little body heat I have left disappear quickly. I pull my shirt down hurriedly, but my skin is already crawling. I shiver a bit, holding my arms crossed over my chest.

This weather. I wonder why Jet is so worried about it?

I unlock the screen of my communicator and notice three missed calls, all from Jet. I select the latest missed and click return. I hold the communicator to my ear, keeping my arms as close to my body as possible. It only rings twice before Jet picks up.

"Before you say anything," he says, "I don't have any underhanded intentions by having you stay with Faye for a while."

I click my tongue. "I hadn't even thought about it. Now that you've said it, I'm suspicious."

"No, I'm serious," He insists. "Though I'm also surprised since you're the one to notice these things first…Well, that aside, with the weather as it is, it can't be helped that you stay anyway."

"But the way things are here, I think it'll be fine for me to go back as long as I take off soon—"

"—Don't."

"Didn't you reject me too quickly just now?" I ask and take a drag from my cigarette. "It's even more suspicious now."

"Just drop that already," Jet snaps. "We were evacuated from the dock."

"What?"

"Haven't you heard? The front's trajectory changed last night."

"…Oh, that." But I've been so distracted that the weather has been the least of my concerns.

"I had to secure the Bebop and leave the dock early this morning. They wouldn't let anyone take off or land, so the majority of us are being kept in a shelter...Well, what I'm saying is, just stay where you are for now."

I don't respond.

"Are you alright?" Jet asks. But there's a particular way that he manipulates his intonation and I'm unable to hide it from him.

"No, not really," I stutter and chuckle a bit too nervously for my liking.

"You'll be fine."

"I'm…not so sure about that…" I keep quiet, contemplating just what it is I want to say. "Jet," I begin, "I just...I don't know anymore."

I hear him sigh on the other end of the line.

"Then, stop trying to figure it out by yourself." He pauses. "I get that it's hard for you to do... I'm sure it's hard for everyone. But nothing's going to get cleared up if you don't deal with it upfront."

I really feel like I'm being scolded. "...That's much easier said than done..."

"Of course it is!" Jet admits, "But Faye's at least tried to show you she cared. Why do you think she kept watch over you when you did something stupid and wound up hurt? How about doing everything but literally holding you down so you wouldn't go to someone else? That's not some sort of hobby you know."

I knew Jet was aware, but I didn't expect for him to bring it up like this. "...That's—"

"—It was hard for her," he interrupts. "When you two met again. She was having a hard time so she talked to me about it. And, Spike, she cried because she was so angry, saying she was stupid for having done that much."

I can't say a thing.

Jet calms down a bit. "It made me uneasy when she started seeing Damian...Because I knew that much... But you had flat-out rejected her by then, so it's not like she had any other choice but to move on. And…even if it didn't start out that way, I honestly do believe she did love Damian—or loves Damian...I don't know about that."

I swallow. If I ever had a shred of confidence, all of it is gone now.

"Faye'll kill me if she finds out I told you. But I'm at the point where I want to lock you up together and not let you out until things are cleared up...That's a pain to do though, so I'll have to settle with saying this much."

"I…" But I don't have the words. "…That is…" And I have to seriously think about it in silence before I can properly reply. I grimace, for the first time becoming aware, "After all that...Do I have the right to—"

"—What right!" Jet blurts before I can finish. "What happened is already in the past, so don't keep holding on to it. Didn't you learn that already?"

I don't make a sound.

"Listen," he says a bit more calmly, "I'm saying you can do whatever the hell you please. Do you understand that?"

I smirk. "...You can say some pretty fatherly things sometimes."

"Fatherly?" Jet sounds offended. "Older brothers exist too you know.—Ah. They're handing out dinner now. I better get in line before they run out."

"Alright. Take care of yourself."

"Who's saying fatherly things now?" Jet says mockingly and hangs up.

I put the communicator back in my pocket. Somehow, the call has left me exhausted. My muscles have tensed up and I can't get my body to relax. I sigh and light up another cigarette. I lean forward on the rail and look around the streets.

I can do whatever I want, huh?

* * * Ch. 13 End, Continued in Chapter 14 ** *

I really appreciate your patience and support. I know it's been a while, and perhaps you're bored of hearing this, but I promise this story will not be dropped. Please look forward to the next chapter!

Until later,

NonMetallicMetal