Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop. All belong to Hajime Yatate.
hold the girl: prologue
Faye looked at her singed yellow vest and matching hot pants.
What the hell?
She held both articles of clothing in front of her, and just gawked.
She examined and inspected the tight material, and had to give herself a pat on the back.
She did get very drunk last night, and she didn't remember much beyond that. But if Jet wasn't yelling her butt off and she'd woken up in her own bed, then it must've been pretty uneventful.
Faye laid the clothes on her bed and turned around to get some of that QUICK PRESS out of her drawer. It was a bottle (product) of enhanced baking soda and something that closely resembled detergent.
She hummed off key as she sprayed and spritzed the agent on the yellow.
"Ah," she said warmly. "Like new."
She took a few hangers laying nearby and hung the clothes up to air dry next to the portable fan she'd stolen from Jet's room.
As she shut her closet door, Spike barged in.
Slam!
"Who said you could touch the Swordfish?!"
Faye nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned around slowly.
"What?" She said with bemusement evident in her tone. "You know I never touch your toy."
Spike laughed without humor. His eyebrows were creased so hard she expected his eyebrows to never move again.
"Romani," he said seriously. "Don't touch my things again."
Faye should have simply nodded. She saw his facial expression, heard his tone, and listened to his words.
Only, she wasn't going to be accused of something she knew she didn't do.
Therefore, she stood up a little straighter and said, "I didn't touch your things."
Spike had almost exited the room when she spoke.
He stopped and turned around.
She kept talking.
"I may do a lot and say a lot. But I'm not a liar."
Spike rolled his eyes. "You're full of shit, Faye."
He tapped his foot and looked up at the ceiling. "You come in at bumfuck 5 am, dripping wet, and smelling like kerosene."
Faye took a step back. Her face wrinkled up into confusion. "What?!"
He wasn't listening.
"I didn't even know you took out my 'ship," he said. "It's not my fault the Red Tail is out of commission."
Faye shook her head in denial. "That didn't happen to me," she said. "I didn't take the red dingy thing. An- and I was still in my room."
Spike stepped closer to Faye.
Faye didn't look away.
She wasn't going to let him win.
"You really think so, huh?" He said. "You think you didn't do anything?"
She nodded.
He stared at her for a long time.
She stared back. If he thinks he knows–
Smack.
A pack of her preferred brand of cigarettes were in the palm of her hand. Spike held it.
She gasped. "What the–"
"Typical," Spike emphasized. "Con artists really do believe their own lies."
Faye's eyebrows were creased in anger, confusion, or stupid frustration.
It was hard to tell.
"But I–" She hit him in the shoulder. "I don't know why you're trying to set me up, asshole!"
Spike waved her away. He looked at the almost-empty box of cigs and took one. "You owe me for your little excursion, and mileage."
He let out a small snort and turned around. His eyes were no longer on hers.
Faye threw the box at him. "I don't owe you a thing!" She screamed frustratedly. "I never flew your stupid Swordfish!"
Spike didn't turn around or acknowledge her words with a smart ass retort. He simply kept walking, and exited the room without a word.
Faye stomped her foot in anger. "That bastard!" She spat. "He really thinks he can trick me?!"
Without much thought she walked over to the cigarette box she'd thrown, and picked it up. She took out the last cancer stick and lit it.
Despite how sure she was when Spike confronted her, after things died down, doubt crept in.
She couldn't have possibly gotten black out drunk to the point she could fly a spacecraft? She was Lady freakin' Luck, but she didn't gamble without a little self-knowledge. Meaning: she never pushed her limits to the point of death, or just based on the mere idea that she was bionic woman.
Faye sighed frustratedly and ran her fingers through her hair.
She then glanced at the mirror.
"What the…" she whispered as she looked in the mirror and examined herself further. "Where'd that come from?"
She saw parts of a bruise below her collarbone. Upon further inspection, she noticed the scabbing near her armpit.
So, maybe she got into a bar fight.
"But…" Faye murmured to herself. "I- I don't remember fighting anyone."
She decided then and there that she was not going to get black out drunk again.
If so, it wouldn't be alone.
˚₊‧꒰ა ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
"You know what the color means, right?" The old woman said. "It means purity."
She held out a lilac sweater. It had a sunshine in the center.
Faye let out a snort. "You're shitting me," she said before taking a sip of the rum punch she'd opted in order to showcase some respect for the woman. "What's that got to do with me?"
The woman shrugged. "Your balance is off."
"Balance?" Faye almost wanted to yawn. This was beginning to get redundant. She'd prevented the old woman from getting pick-pocketed and somehow she's turned into some test monkey for the old woman's seemingly repetitive speeches and philosophy.
The woman insisted she wasn't a psychic or did anything involving Crystal balls and such. She simply wanted someone to listen to her for once. The old woman decided Faye was very pretty and reminded her of an old friend from her youth.
"Have you heard of the song 'Hold The Girl'?" The old woman then asked.
Faye shook her head before taking another sip of the watered down "PG-13" soda pop cocktail. "No. Never heard of it."
"Not even that cover the one young girl did three years ago?" The old woman said. "Everyone claimed that she did it better than the original artist. Bullshit. I could almost spit."
Faye let out another snort. "Really?" She said with a little more interest. At least to let the woman know she was trying. Trying to listen to her meaningless stream of consciousness.
The old woman nodded. "Yes," she said adamantly. "I think the song lost meaning."
Faye made a sound of disagreement. "Nah," she said. "A song can't lose meaning to the listener, if they felt something listening to the original version the first time."
"Hmm…"
Faye reclined on the couch and looked up at the ceiling.
The woman insisted she stay the night.
Because she was feeling bored, Faye asked, "do you have any family?"
The old woman took awhile to answer. For someone so talkative, Faye was a little surprised at the silence.
Maybe she hit a sore spot.
"Yeah," the old woman finally said. "I have a granddaughter about your age. And a son. My nephew visits me once or twice a month."
She sounded sad.
"I see," Faye said. "What are they like?"
"My granddaughter doesn't do much. She works in the city but it's not a job. And my son, he married his second wife and moved back to Earth. And I'm not sure if I have any new grand babies. And my nephew? He's a case. But he's genuine, if not a bit impulsive. I had to visit him in the hospital about a week ago."
The old woman stopped braiding the bracelet she was working on. "You know, honey. I think people forget to reminisce. Forget to find meaning with others. People don't realize how much they mean to a person." She looked at Faye with a sadness the shrew wasn't familiar with showing. "You mean a lot to someone too, dear."
The woman continued. "People protect themselves. They protect themselves because they're used to disappointment or they've been hurt really bad by others in the past. Or they're afraid. They're afraid people will realize they're human."
Faye turned away to face the cushions. She then asked the woman, "but isn't it okay to protect yourself? It's better in the long run."
The old woman laughed. "Yes. It's okay to protect yourself. But in the long run you start to regret."
Faye closed her eyes. "I don't think I'd have any regrets," she murmured. "The people who mattered are gone."
"You matter, Dear." The old woman affirmed. "You have to look at the ones who stayed. And you have to meet others who fill the spaces left behind."
Regardless if Faye wanted to admit it, the woman's words took the edge off her negative feelings.
Matter.
That was a lovely word.
"Reach inside and hold you close;
I won't leave you on your own," the old woman said after some more silence.
Faye took another sip from the glass.
"Do you know what that means?" The woman asked as she clipped a few inches of thread from the spool.
Faye rubbed a hand over her face. Maybe the rum punch was making her a little more drowsy than she'd seen coming.
"I don't know," Faye replied. "Maybe it's talking about how one must learn to trust who they are. Or some crap about forgiveness."
The elder let out a friendly laugh.
Faye rolled her eyes. "Wrong answer. Right?"
"No! Not at all dear!"
Faye scoffed. "Then why'd you laugh?"
The elder woman sobered and said, "because you're right."
"Huh?"
"And you got to understand that you always have the privilege to still be whole."
Faye took a sip of the rum punch.
A/N: That's a wrap. A new chapter is posted whenever. Thank you for reading.