Some preferred alcohol. Others stuck a needle in their arm, or sprayed that Bloody stuff that was all the rage these days into their eyes. And then there were those like Faye Valentine whose preferred method of shutting down her brain and not dwelling on the immediate past was to gamble at the racetrack. Whenever she found herself amidst a crowd, clutching her tickets in hand and cheering on her chosen horse, the tension never failed to drain from her body. However, on this particular evening, Faye's luck had run dry– not because she'd bet poorly, but because the racetrack wasn't open for her to place any bets at all. The citywide Halloween festival had neatly shut down every other form of recreation. And of course I find out as soon as I get here. It looked like Faye couldn't avoid what was weighing on her any longer. She had to face the cold, hard truth:

That creep Vincent Volaju ruined my favorite top.

Of course, it wasn't just about the top. It was about the whole set, which Faye had taken to wearing so frequently that she'd once heard Jet refer to it as her "second skin." It came in the color that three years ago she'd decided appealed to her the most– a bright lemon yellow, as cheerful as the morning sun, or Ed on a day that ended in Y. It was comfortable, one of the few outfits that had made the cut after the Great Thermostat War that Faye had waged in response to Spike's constant complaints of sweating his ass off while she was shivering had resulted in Jet permanently setting the Bebop's temperature right smack in the middle. And it flattered her, which was one of its most important assets, since a distracted and flustered bountyhead tended to be an easy catch. Although, Faye supposed it hadn't done her much good with Lee Sampson. And it certainly hadn't worked in her favor when Vincent had…

Had gone and destroyed it. Well… whatever. That just meant that it was time to break out the sewing kit that Faye had bought a while ago. All she needed was to make a few stitches, and then the top should be as good as new.

I hope.

The first sight to greet Faye's eyes as she reentered the Bebop was that of Ed and Ein sprawled out together on the floor in a peaceful, happy slumber. Carefully, Faye made her way around them, a strange feeling of relief filling her chest. At least Ed hadn't squirreled herself away in some forgotten corner, ready to leap out at Faye at the least opportune time. She wondered how much Ed had even understood of what had gone on at the Halloween festival, then mentally caught herself. Ed had surely understood– she just hadn't cared. Must be nice to live like that.

Halfway down the corridor, the sound of jazz music drifting from behind a closed door brought Faye up short. She stopped and listened, trying to quiet her breaths. This wasn't the wild, hot stuff that Spike liked, with its screaming saxophones and pounding drums, but something mellow and moody. The saxophone moaned rather than screamed, and the percussion reminded Faye of the sound it made when she shook a bag of dried rice. Definitely more Jet's speed. It made sense, since the room that was closed off was the room that hosted Jet's bonsai collection. Whenever he played music for his plants, he often shut himself in with them, either to kill time or to get a reprieve from the rest of the Bebop crew. Probably both at once. Having drawn her conclusions, Faye tiptoed away to the end of the corridor.

It wasn't until Faye had stepped into the main room of the Bebop that it hit her just how late it really was. Every light in the room had been switched off, a surefire sign that Spike had gone to bed– or to couch, if you want to get technical. She flattened herself against the wall, to keep Spike from spotting her in the doorway on the off-chance that he was awake, and waited a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room beyond. Eventually, she picked up the sound of deep, slow breathing, coming from the vicinity of the couch. Guess he really is asleep. The urge to linger came over her, though she wasn't sure why. She fought it back, turning around and heading off to her quarters. So they managed not to burn the place down while I was away. Good.

It took Faye a good few minutes of rummaging through her stuff to locate the sewing kit, given that her quarters were a bit of a mess. They were certainly in a better shape than they had been when Faye had taken them over from Spike on the grounds that he never bothered sleeping there anyway, but as she moved through the room, she still felt as if the random junk that she'd acquired since boarding the Bebop was quietly judging her from every corner. I really need to sell some of this crap. If there was even a market for things like "the frilly toothpick that came with the best martini that Venus has to offer" or "five different half-used tubes of red lipstick." By the time Faye had found her sewing kit, everything else she'd dug up along with it had put her off remaining in her quarters. Though she had to admit that the sight of her bed was incredibly tempting. When was the last time she'd gotten a good night's sleep? She'd barely closed her eyes the night before, her back aching and her wrists numb as she lay on the hardwood floor at Vincent's apartment, helpless to do anything but wait…

Rapidly Faye shook her head, as if to shake her thoughts out of it. If I lie down now, there's no telling when I'll get up. This was a task that she had to accomplish immediately. She shrugged her sweater off, and her top came with it, sliding down past her elbows. Quickly Faye pulled the sweater back on, tying it up, and brought her top up to her eyes to inspect it. Vincent's knife had sliced cleanly through the elastic band that had once held the button that fastened her top together. She could either try to fix the band, or just sew both parts together. A flicker of frustration began to smolder within her, and she wasn't sure whether or not she ought to latch onto it.

At least it was your top and not your skin. But it very well could have been her—

Faye fled her quarters, making sure to shut the door behind her. The only place that would allow her some privacy without disturbing anyone else at this hour had to be the bridge. Off she headed, her top clenched in one fist and her sewing kit in the other.

The bridge was shrouded in darkness, just as the main room had been, but Faye doubted she'd need much light for her task. She switched on a single light before plunking down at the navigation console. Taking care not to accidentally bring the console to life, she spread out her top across its surface and opened up the sewing kit. It had been a while since she'd used such a thing, and for a moment, her hands weren't sure what to do with themselves. For a single sewing kit, the thread sure came in a lot of different colors… Red. Blue. Yellow, like her favorite outfit. Like the butterflies that had filled her darkening vision as she wobbled seasick across the floor, before Vincent had returned and…

Heavy footsteps startled Faye, blending with her memories of what had happened two days ago. Her head shot up to spy a backlit figure entering the room. Vincent! But this wasn't Vincent. She knew who it was the moment he spoke.

"Hey," Jet said, sounding a bit taken off-guard, as if he hadn't been prepared to run into Faye. "You still up?"

Faye shrugged and turned back to her work. " You're still up." Quickly she grabbed the first spool of thread that her fingers landed on– blue, which didn't exactly match well with the yellow of her top, but it wasn't like anyone was going to see it, anyway– and began to unspool it, her other hand grasping the needle. Jet moved further into the room, checking up on various equipment as much as he could without coming close to Faye. Since he didn't seem to be willing to acknowledge her, Faye decided she could affect the same lack of interest. As she wet the end of the thread in her mouth, she noticed that the pieces from the game that Jet had been playing earlier were still spread across the console, as if he expected to resume the game at a moment's notice. But who's gonna play with him? That game bores Spike to death, Ed would rather play chess, and I never was good at that sort of thing… Well, she hadn't found any skill with it in the last three years, anyway. One must never say never when it comes to the Girl Without a Past.

Another thing that Faye soon realized she wasn't any good at was sewing. Once she'd finally gotten the thread through the needle's eye and clumsily tied it, she found herself sitting dumbfounded, unsure of where to make the first stitch. Heat rose within her, sweeping over her. What'd I even buy this thing for, anyway? Maybe she'd thought she was the sort of person who liked sewing. Or she'd thought it was best for her to be prepared for any possibility. Such as someone holding her down, tying her wrists behind her back, and drawing a knife…

It was at that moment Jet decided to intrude. "What happened here?" From the other side of the console, he leaned over, and Faye instinctively grabbed the article of clothing he was inspecting, though she held herself back from whisking it away. She glanced up to find Jet's dark eyes searching her face. "You get in a fight or something?"

Slowly, Faye forced her arms to release the tension they were holding. It wasn't like her to be so jumpy around someone she knew, and she didn't like to imagine what could have caused that reaction. A sigh escaped her. "Or something." Why is THAT the first thing he thinks of? It hadn't been a fight, exactly, since she'd been too weak to defend herself, and Vincent hadn't really attacked her, anyway. Nonetheless, she didn't find it necessary to elaborate. For all Jet knew– or needed to know– Faye had gotten into a scuffle on her way back from the racetrack. The Bebop wasn't the sort of place where questions got answered, or even asked, really. Though given that Jet tended to do most of the asking, Faye had a feeling that he wasn't the one enforcing the status quo. Every now and then she wondered what life on the Bebop would be like if Spike wasn't around to share cryptic non-answers and direct conversations away from himself. Would Jet and I still not talk to each other, or would we talk about other things?

Jet drew away from the console, leaving Faye free to breathe again. "Looks like you got off better than Spike."

"Mm?" Deciding it was time to take action, Faye picked up her top and jabbed her needle into it. That's an odd thing to say. Why bring Spike into the conversation… unless this was Jet's roundabout way of filling Faye in on all that she'd missed in the two days that she'd been gone, and the hour she'd wasted on her way to and from the racetrack. If so, Faye supposed she might as well take notice, since she had no idea what had happened in her absence. She hadn't even waited around to see the situation with the nanomachines through to its resolution. All she knew for sure was that according to Jet, Vincent had been taken care of. Moving the needle in and out of the fabric, Faye murmured, "So Vincent got him too, huh?"

Jet nodded. "Wasn't even the first time. I told him not to go back out there, but…" At last he took a seat, placing his elbows on the console and staring down at the game pieces before him, his chin coming to rest on his clasped hands.

"Everyone does whatever they like around here," he muttered.

Because the remark applied to her too, Faye decided not to respond, as much as she wanted to say: and Spike likes being beaten up by a crazy person, I take it. Instead, she turned her full attention to her sewing, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as her focus deepened. Would this stitch hold? So far, it seemed to be going well, but she couldn't be sure, and she needed to be sure. She couldn't be taken by surprise like that ever again. She couldn't let anyone brandish a knife over her and cut her top open, because that was her favorite top and she valued it and Vincent had just cut it up like it was nothing—

A groan from the other side of the room disrupted Faye's thoughts. "You're doing it all wrong." Suddenly, Jet was on his feet, and Faye had no time to snatch her top away before Jet had grabbed it, plucking the needle away from her. Desperately Faye reached for what Jet had taken, but Jet moved back, out of her range. Her hands fell limply to the console.

"You aren't supposed to just weave the thread in and out," Jet chided, inspecting Faye's handiwork with a frown. He picked up the needle, and as much as Faye wanted to shout that's MINE, stop touching it, she couldn't move. Just like before. Just like before…

"You need some finesse if you're trying to use a running stitch." Carefully, Jet pulled out the thread that Faye had sewn into the fabric, raising his eyes to the ceiling as he did so. "What am I saying? Asking you to use a little finesse is a tall order."

Faye wanted to say something– anything, by this point– but her words seemed to have abandoned her, and when Jet glanced over at her, apparently expecting a response, she knew it was already too late. His brow furrowed, and he looked back at Faye's sewing project, examining it more closely. At once she could see the wheels turning in his head, the pieces falling into place– This cut is too clean to have happened during a fight. So Vincent got him too… Vincent got him TOO. Where'd you get all this information? Vincent told me! Vincent…

"Faye…" Jet said, and oh, she wanted to take back everything she'd just speculated regarding life on the Bebop without Spike. Sharing space with someone who both asked and answered questions would be horrible. She rose to her feet, palm out, finally able to speak. "Give it."

Jet did as Faye requested, handing the top over, but Faye hated the look in his eyes as he did it. She wasn't sure which possibility was worse– that Jet had drawn a completely incorrect conclusion, or that he was closer to the truth than Faye wanted him to be. She sank down into her chair, hoping that she could counteract Jet's assumptions before he said anything, but to her dismay, he beat her to it.

"Spike kicked Vincent's ass."

Faye's entire body cringed. "Good for him." Who gives a shit what Spike did? If that was supposed to make her feel better– if that was supposed to be retribution– then Jet was way off the mark. The last thing Faye needed was a pity party. And the last thing she found comforting was the idea of a man fighting the man who'd done her wrong. I can fight for myself. Except she hadn't, when Vincent…

" He didn't…" With a slight cough, Faye rephrased her statement. Her eyes glued themselves to the console, fixated on a game piece marked PAWN."It wasn't anything like that. Vincent… caught me off-guard with those nanomachines. He was going to…" What had Vincent been trying to do? For what reason had he spared her? Because misery loved company? To make her his bride of the apocalypse?

"He held me hostage for two days." Now that Faye had managed to say it, the reality of the situation she had been through began to descend on her. A tremor went through her, though she wasn't sure if it was due to her rising emotions, or the fact that she hadn't eaten in all the time that she'd been Vincent's hostage. UGH. She hated feeling like this. Carefully, she picked up the pawn and began to rub it between two fingers. "I made my escape as soon as I could." It hadn't been soon enough… but she had managed to escape, and she'd helped save the entire planet somewhere along the way, so why was she feeling like this? The pawn tumbled from her fingers. Before Jet could say a word, she added as a forceful afterthought, " Don't tell Spike." That's the SECOND to last thing I need.

"I won't tell Spike anything you wouldn't tell him." Jet sounded surprised, naturally, though Faye wasn't sure if it was due to what she'd just said, the fact that she'd said it, or her request. He too picked up a game piece, weighing it in his metal hand for a moment before decisively setting it back down. "Just… glad you're okay."

Faye didn't say a word. This night is just full of surprises, huh? It wasn't like Jet, or anyone Faye lived with, to express direct concern for her. Maybe he'd allowed himself that much in acknowledgement that Faye had shared more than she usually would. Or maybe… maybe it was just…

It was just exhausting, pretending not to care.

"Yeah, well." Faye reached up to brush back her hair, another tremor passing through her. This was definitely starting to feel like hunger pangs. Jet better have made something good for dinner, I swear. "He should have known better than to mess with Faye Valentine." Even as the words left her mouth, she realized how hollow they sounded. It was hardly a comfort when half the time, not even she knew who Faye Valentine was. Not to mention that she hadn't done shit to Vincent. He'd grabbed her and kissed her and tied her up and drawn a knife on her, and she hadn't been able to do anything. Wasn't even the first time. There'd been Gren, who'd apologized as he handcuffed her and left her alone, and the Syndicate men who had kidnapped her and used her as bait. Was that who Faye Valentine was, then– the universe's punching bag?

Today hadn't been the worst time, either. She'd been far, far more afraid of Vicious and his men than she'd been of Vincent. Not to mention that she would have suffered the same fate as Lee Sampson if Vincent hadn't found her in his apartment. Would you really rather have died than risk a little clothing damage?

But it wasn't just about the top. It was about the fact that Vincent had kept her tied up for two days. It was about the way he had talked to her, as if he'd expected her to come along with him on his creepy little crusade against the world. It was about the fact that he'd kissed her, and that no matter what his intentions had been, she hadn't wanted it. And that was the cold, hard truth.

I didn't want it. I didn't ask for it. I couldn't save myself.

And yet… Faye knew the instant the thought sprang to mind that it wasn't true. She hadn't wanted Vincent to kiss her and cut her top open. She hadn't asked for him to keep her trapped in his apartment for two days. But she had saved herself– which was more than she could say when it came to the life-or-death situations in which she'd previously found herself. When she'd been stranded in that church, Spike had fought off a wave of Red Dragons to get her out alive. After Gren had left her, Jet had found her, uncuffed her, and brought her back to the Bebop. This time, Faye hadn't been able to rely on her teammates, but as it turned out, she hadn't needed them. She'd set herself free, before helping to set the planet free from the virus that Vincent had unleashed. That was who Faye Valentine was– a person who, despite her moments of bad luck, could devise a way to dig herself out of them. It wasn't the bad luck that defined her– it was the way she responded to it.

Tie up my hands, and I'll get to my feet. Cut open my top, and I'll sew it back up. Save my life, and I'll make you wish that you'd killed me.

Was that the truth? Maybe not. But it was a truth that Faye wanted to believe.

"Hey, Jet." Faye clambered out of her seat, picking up her top, while Jet gave her a quizzical glance from the other side of the console. Before he could react, Faye tossed the top to him, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smirk as Jet reflexively caught it.

"Since you're so much better at this than I am," Faye announced, her hands coming to rest on her hips, "why don't you take over for me? I'll pay ya."

"Wh— what?" The aghast expression on Jet's face as he lay Faye's top down on the console made Faye's smirk grow broader. Faye Valentine, she now remembered, was also the sort of person who liked to keep her teammates on her toes.

"You'll pay me?" Jet declared. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Sure." Pressing her hands to her lower back, Faye leaned backwards, her stomach groaning as she did so. Ugh, she needed food. "How does a hundred million sound?"

In an instant, Jet shifted from flustered to stony. "Now where are you going to get that kind of money?"

Faye let her hands drop to her sides. "I know someone who'll foot the bill." The mocking bet that Spike had proposed a few days ago rang in her head– "If anyone can catch him with that drawing, I'll pay you the bounty myself, Faye!" Sure, it hadn't been her drawing that had caught Vincent, exactly, but it was because of her that Spike had managed to find and apprehend Vincent in the end, so basically, he owed her one. Jet seemed to catch on quickly, but his chuckles didn't inspire confidence.

"If you're expecting Spike to pay, I hate to break it to ya, but he's as broke as the rest of us."

"...What."

"Yeah." Standing up, Jet began to stretch too. "Vincent didn't make it out alive. There's no bounty to claim."

"What." So Vincent is dead. That's what he wanted all along, isn't it? To find the door that would take him from this reality to the next one…

"Tell you what." Jet picked up Faye's sewing project, shaking his head at her haphazard stitches. "I'll fix this for you on the house, but only if you make dinner for us tomorrow. That sound okay?"

Faye couldn't help but find the suggestion amusing. Since they hadn't made any money after all, she knew there wouldn't be anything new to eat in the kitchen. Well, I guess that makes my job easier.

"Sure," she said. "Just remember, that's my favorite top. If you're not gentle with it, you're not getting anything I make."

Jet snorted. "As long as you don't throw a bunch of stuff in a bowl and call it 'Faye's Special' again."

Faye sighed, deciding it wasn't worth rehashing the old argument that food served out of a bowl just tasted better. She'd cook whatever Jet suggested if it meant that she'd get to wear her favorite outfit again. Another thing that Faye Valentine was, was a person who kept her cool and looked cool while doing it. And though Faye had managed to save herself this time, she'd never turn down the opportunity for a little help, even when it came at the cost of having to cook for her teammates.

"Speaking of which. What'd you make for dinner, Jet?"

"Cup noodles," Jet replied. "Same as last night. And this morning…"

Sounds about right. Still, when she was this hungry, even cup noodles sounded like a sumptuous feast. Faye turned away from the console, her hand arcing in a quick gesture of farewell.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jet."

"Night, Faye."