Bad: Chapter 8

"Years ago, my heart was set to live, oh
But I've been trying hard against unbelievable odds
It gets so hard at times like now to hold on
My guns they're waiting to be stuck by
At my side is God"

- Big Star


The thing about dads is, no matter if they're good or bad, you always feel the need to prove something to them.

Faye had spent a blissful three years, floating idly around the galaxy, not having to worry much about this. She had no impulse to affirm her value as a person to a father who didn't love her, nor was she concerned with meeting the expectations of one who did. She didn't know what kind of father she'd had, had no idea how he would feel about having a gambling addicted, con-artist-turned-bounty-hunter for a daughter, and was so able to live with a freedom most people never get to experience.

Things were different now.

After the initial assault of memories, the booming crescendo that subsided to low-fi static, the revelation that she was someone's daughter had come on strong and fast.

At first, there had been some spite. It was her father's business trip, after all, that had killed her mother and stolen her memories.

Her father was a driven, educated man, always set on the path that would provide him with the most knowledge, the most opportunities, the greatest advantages. As such, when the prospect of becoming the first non-military surgeon to permanently reside in space became a very real scenario, he'd begun to put the wheels in motion. She remembered standing in the doorway of his dark oak study, the evening sun pouring in behind him as he told her of his plans. The first step was to visit the colony, see if it would be a suitable enough environment to re-locate a family to. Their life on Earth was comfortable in way that their lives in space could not be, and that was a great concern to her mother. Faye herself had been curiously indifferent. Much to her parents' mutual concern, she'd yet to declare a major and honestly wasn't sure what she was going to do when her junior year rolled around. Taking some time off of school was an extremely welcome scenario, but Earth was home.

That was as far as they'd gotten.

Then so what if when she looked in the mirror and saw herself dressed as well as a common streetwalker did she feel her father's disapproval? It was because of that goddamn trip that she was here, and, by God, she'd gotten along all on her own. She'd had nobody and had been no one, but she made her bones in this pitiful galaxy all the same.

Still, she recognized the spite had been nothing but a petty way of shielding herself from those feelings of having disappointed the man that had given her the very traits she used to survive. It faded soon, and all that was left in its wake was sadness. Sadness because she knew that even if her father would be more than a little disenchanted with Faye Valentine, he would be downright devastated that the person he loved more than anything in the world had been subjected to such a life, especially through any action of his own. And this was the real truth of the matter.

But what was there to do? Maybe now she was somebody, but she was a somebody with a criminal record, massive debts that would crush her if she didn't keep moving, and an appearance and persona that was repugnant to almost anybody who wasn't a complete sleazebag. And still she had no one.

She'd made a mistake trusting Whitney, and she'd spent the last three years reminding herself of that mistake so she would never make it again. She would trust no one, not even those seemingly worth of trust. It was the first memory of her life as Faye Valentine, and it made a lasting impression.

Except now there was Jet. She did trust him, she guessed, but she knew she would never give him the opportunity to prove it. He seemed to care about her, but she suspected some of that was borne merely out of the fact that his best friend was a major fuck-up who he couldn't quite reach anymore. Surely she was only still here because she had nowhere else to go, and that, she realized, is what had to change.

Standing in the long-abandoned ruins of her childhood home, something lodged in her mind. The bedroom she'd slept in since the day her parents brought her home from the hospital. The sandbox in the backyard where she'd played, her mother and father lounging in the sun, reading. The living room she'd sat in, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her prom date. The driveway where she'd cried and cried as she and her first boyfriend sat in his car, breaking up the summer after high school. It was all gone, gone in a way that it was hard to tell it ever existed. The pain of the loss and the complete lack of anything resembling her former life had ended her quest to recover the past before it even began. She retreated to the Bebop, convinced there was nothing to be had, nothing to be gained by pursuing it any further.

But over the following weeks, sitting awake in her room at night, re-watching that old beta tape until she was sure the celluloid was beginning to break down, her present self, devilish opportunist that she was, began to examine the fragments of her old life.

Certainly there had to be something, somewhere, left of her father's grand estate. Just because the house no longer stood didn't mean there wasn't other, more…mutable equity. Her trust fund, her father's investments, the fortune he'd made as a lab researcher early in his career.

Her rapidly returning memories of her father's portfolio, a fire fed by her insatiable hunger for monetary gain, had given her sudden pause. Was it wrong to be so excited by the idea of reclaiming her father's riches? She began to regret even considering it. Profiting off the deaths of her parents, becoming a space-age grave robber—that was certainly something Faye Valentine would do, albeit guiltily, but was it something she could do?

She began to reluctantly abandon the idea until her father imposed again. She looked at herself in the shadowy mirror of her darkened bedroom and felt for a moment that he could be standing right beside her. There was not a single doubt in her mind that if her father had any say in the matter, not only would he tell her to do it, he would tell her it was responsibility to do it. That if she could chase down a life that been splintered by tragedy and eroded by time then she deserved it. Every penny of it.


"I don't understand any of this."

"That's not a surprise."

"Hey. Rude."

It wasn't a bulletproof plan, but Faye thought it was goddamn brilliant.

"Look, I just need help finding Edward. After that, I'll take care of the rest."

"How do we even start? We have no idea where she is."

"There's this."

Faye passed Jet at piece of thick card stock in the shape of one of Edward's demented smiley faces.

"Where did you get this?"

"It was taped to one of those hacker nerds' monitors. The ones I busted last month. They wouldn't tell me where they got it. Nerds are always so paranoid."

Jet quickly turned his attention to Faye.

"You've had this for a month?"

His tone was accusatory in a way she hadn't heard in a long time.

"Yeah. Why?"

He turned his gaze back to the odd little pennant in his hand. He didn't mean to think so ill of Faye, but the fact that she'd held onto this information until she was ready to use it bothered him.

"You should have said something."

He flipped it over. There was a drawing of an insane-looking black and white bird with the caption 'Kooky burra.'

"I haven't figured that out."

"Well, you're pretty terrible at computers."

"Don't I know it." She stretched her arms above her head, tired from another sleepless night.

Spike sat silent, watching this exchange. It wasn't that he didn't understand what Faye was getting at—it was why. There had to be something more to this.

Her plan in a nutshell was to blackmail a shady lawyer she'd met through Gordon Elson by having Edward hack into his private records and probe through his finances. Lawyers were always dirty and mob lawyers were ten times as dirty as the normal ones. One on hand, it seemed like a long shot. On the other, Edward had a way of making things happen.

But as far as he could tell, there was no angle that directly benefited Faye. There was something she was leaving out.

"So, what's in this for you?"

"Excuse me?"

Both Jet and Faye turned to look at him with expressions that were equal part confusion and irritation.

"Why are you doing this? You've obviously had this plan in mind long before yesterday, so what's your stake in this?"

"Money."

"Exactly how do you stand to gain anything from this?"

Faye exhaled forcibly.

"I'm trying to track down some money that belongs to me. That's all you need to know."

"Money that belongs to you that you haven't already spent? That's a laugh."

"Are you in or not? I've offered to cut you in because God knows you'd look fucking ridiculous in one of those orange jumpsuits, but if you're gonna get all suspicious then just fucking forget it."

"I bet you just couldn't wait to use that joke. Bet you were just savin' for the right moment," he said, smirking condescendingly.

"Fuck you."

"I'll look into this thing," Jet cut in, holding up the smiley face.

"Let me know when you know something," Faye said over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hallway toward her room.

Spike watched her go, waiting until he heard the door to her room hiss closed.

"What do you think?"

"It's a little thin, but we've operated on much less."

"I don't know. Something about this seems fishy. What happened, did she suddenly remember she had a bunch of money she'd forgotten about?" he joked.

Jet shrugged, the tapping of keys his only answer.

"Ask her."

"You ask her. She's your pal."

Jet rolled his eyes.

"This is getting old, Spike."

"What? I'm just saying, you guys are chummy. She won't tell me anything."

"Nothing's changed, you know. Everything's always how it was."

Spike shrugged, feigning ignorance.

"The only thing that's different is you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jet stood. "Forget it. I'm not going to argue."

"Fuck that," Spike said, standing himself. "Everything's been messed up around here since I got back and I'm sick of it."

"And who's fucking fault would that be?!" Jet bellowed. "You're the one that brought this shitstorm down on all of us!"

"You knew who I was when you picked me up. You brought the shitstorm on yourself. I tried to keep you out of it, but you just couldn't butt out. The both of you."

"Well, fuck me. I guess we're real assholes for giving a shit about you."

"Since when do you give a shit about me? I'm a pariah around here these days."

Without warning, the world turned upside down and he felt his teeth grind against each other loudly, a molar chipping in the process. He looked up at Jet from the floor. He was breathing heavily, his fist still cocked, ready to go to blows should Spike choose to fight back.

"You're fucked-up. You have no idea at all. No idea, you fucking asshole."

The adrenaline had obviously gotten to him, because Jet couldn't seem to complete a coherent sentence.

From the floor, he heard the alarmed staccato of Faye's boots on the metal floor approach from behind.

"What the fuck?!" she shrieked from the doorway.

"Go back to your room! Nobody wants you here!"

"HEY!"

Faye was instantly hurt by Jet's unkind words, but nevertheless hurried to help Spike as he attempted to stand. Spike let himself be assisted only because he couldn't manage on his own.

"You know he's fucking injured, Jet."

"Not too injured to run his goddamn mouth," he spat back, but Faye could see his eyes shining with unshed tears.

She watched as he dejectedly turned and left. She wanted to follow him, but she was still holding onto Spike's arm, keeping him steady.

She guided Spike backward onto the couch, his hand slipping into hers as he slid down. She released it quickly and kneeled sideways next to him, one knee pressed into the couch, the other foot still on the floor. He let her tilt head backwards to keep more blood from dripping down his face. His nose was bloody and his upper lip was split and he tasted blood in his mouth. Punching another man with your steel prosthetic arm didn't seem to be fair.

Faye disappeared for a moment and returned with some toilet paper and dish towel with ice inside.

She handed him the tissues. "Here. Put these in your nose."

He groggily did as he was instructed while she stood over him. She guided the ice toward his face and lifted his hand to hold it. "Hold this on your lip."

He noticed all women liked to play like they were moms to hurt little boys. Like he'd never nursed his own wounds before. Still, he didn't mind. It felt nice to have a woman fret over you.

"What the fuck did you say to him?"

He always forgot that part. After the women were done fretting, they always followed with an interrogation.

"Nothing," he said forcefully, his voice muffled by the dish towel.

"Bullshit."

Spike took the ice away and dropped his head.

"Just leave me alone."

"Why are you being like this? All I've done is try to help you. All Jet has done is try to help you, and all you've done is give us shit for it."

Us.

"Fuck this. I'm outta here."

He used all of his remaining strength to push himself up.

"Where are you going?"

"Away."

She called after him. "You know what, whatever. I don't care anymore."

"Good."

His head was swimming as he stumbled toward the hangar, leaving Faye standing slack-jawed and befuddled behind him, and he coughed violently as he climbed up the side of the Swordfish for the first time in ages. As the pod door closed over his head, he felt as if the whole world was closing in around him and everything began to go dark as he sat in the cockpit of his ship and lost consciousness.