Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Somewhere, Some Other Time ❯ Chapter 1

Author's Note: ^___^ Hi, everyone. This is my first fanfiction, so... Let me know what you think of it! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I really don't own Cowboy Bebop. I promise. ^.^

Cold. It seeped into her spine from where she was crumpled against the wall, taking residence in between her wing bones. The tears which had collected in her eyes were now flowing. But she didn't want to cry.

"You're so stupid..."

To whom was she speaking? Maybe it was Spike... maybe it was herself. Carefully leaning forward, she let her fingers only brush against the handle of her Glock before grasping it fully. Violet tresses hanging damply in her eyes, she rose.

"Go get yourself killed for all I care."

When she left this time, she wouldn't ever be coming back.

21 December 2119

The artificial lights made her hair seem oddly colored, she decided. Then again, in this place, everything was artificial. It occurred to her she was avoiding the subject. Hadn't stopped her before.

"Ma'am?"

When had she become a "ma'am"? Was it something a person could look back on, and point at in acknowledgement?

"Do you need assistance?"

"Ah... yes. I'm looking for a Mr. ... Spiegel?"

"Your name, please?"

"Faye Valentine."

She hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans. She'd put the yellow outfit away decades ago.

"I'm sorry, but only family is allowed."

"Family?" Weighing the girl's expression, she blinked in disbelief.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm a distant relation, then."

"You're not on the list..."

There was a list? She tried to peek at it, but the girl jerked her arms back protectively.

"I need to see him."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but - "

"Look," she said, her voice rising, "You've got to let me see Spike." Times like this made her wish she still had her gun.

"Only family - "

Faye snatched the folder from the woman's grasp, examining it quickly. His name, she noted. "Emily Spiegel", "Julia Spiegel", and other followed. The word "critical". "Cancer". It was funny how things didn't change. One would think there would be a cure for those by then... Cancer. Whatever. This was Spike they were talking about.

318. She watched as the numbers on her right increased by two. 308... 310... 312... Ahead of her, a woman with short blonde hair led a small child down the hall. After a moment, a young man followed them, one hand resting in his green mop, one hand hanging lazily by his side... Green? She shook her head. It was a popular color then, anyway.

318. Her emerald-hued eyes reflected in the window of the door. She held her breath. Why was she so terrified, dammit? She was Faye Valentine. She didn't get scared. All that was behind this door was...

Inside the room, a figure moved toward the door. Eyes widening, she recoiled a bit in shock before propping against the near wall, heart pounding. A doctor emerged, quietly shaking his head.

Then it was really shot, wasn't it?

No! This was a two-person room. She just needed to convince herself that. Or maybe, it was just one huge mistake, because Spike Spiegel had died years upon years ago, sprawled somewhere with too many bullet holes or something. That's the way it had been when she left. Nothing had changed... nothing had changed...

So she could just leave, right? Her hands trembled. Should she go in?

Faye took a breath, opening the door. The sterile, freezing air burned her lungs, and that was why there were tears in her eyes - that was why. Oh, so it was a one-person room. A pinkish curtain was pulled around one side of a hospital bed, and the floor was lit strangely by the static of a television bolted to the ceiling.

She crept to the curtain and pulled it back slowly, as if she was uncovering a corpse. Well, in a way, she was.

"Who's - ...Faye?"

His eyes were open. Tired-looking, dark eyes, and graying hair to match. She shrunk to the wall with a quiet gasp. Fear.

"I've gotta be dying if you're here. But that's stupid; you can't look the same."

All the blood rushed from her face. She couldn't speak.

"I guess that's what happens when you die. Who am I kidding? I'm already dead, right?"

She allowed her gaze to flutter over his face... Advances in technology had caused him to age slowly, appearance-wise. His hair hung a bit limply, his cheeks were a bit sallow, his skin was a bit paler... no, - in the darkness - ashen gray.

"...Spike..."

It wasn't more than a whisper, but he heard it. "She speaks... heh, how ironic. It's always been quiet before."

"Spike, I..."

"No," he said, quietly. "Don't say it. Well, at least she doesn't haunt me anymore. I owed you something, didn't I...? I paid back every debt, but not yours."

"I'm not a ghost, you lunkhead!"

He closed his eyes. "Whatever, Faye."

They still sunk back into those old roles. It made her smile, but only a little.

"So you're really dying, huh?"

He didn't answer. She cleaved through the shadows, not caring that her sweater made her projected form bulkier. Boots clicking on the tile to warn of her approach.

"I thought you died years ago," she commented, and sat on the bed, staring at her thumbnails.

"Stop lying. You knew I was alive."

"I couldn't come back."

Silence.

"You have a family..." Her voice was softer now.

"Yeah."

"I thought you hated kids."

"It's been a long time."

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

"You look the same. Well, less slutty, but still."

"I stopped ageing." Faye narrowed her eyes. "Another wonderful side effect from the world of cryogenics."

"...Wen..."

"What?"

"It's amazing I remember this stuff. He was a bounty head... something with a gate accident, or something."

"I remember." She swallowed. "Your... wife..."

"Emily," he provided.

"For God's sake, Spike! You leave us thinking you're a goddamned corpse and here you are, perfectly comfortable living somebody else's goddamned li - "

"Watch it, Faye."

"I've lived a hundred fifty years! I had nothing. I told..." She stopped sharply. "You know what Jet said? He said you were nothing but trouble. He didn't care if you died; it didn't matter to him. He was lying."

"Jet... died a while ago."

Clenching her fists. "And you didn't come to the funeral, either."

"It didn't matter if I came or not. You know that. You're the only one who hasn't changed, Faye."

"You're wrong! What, do you think I could just live through everything and not give a damn?"

It became quiet again. His pale, withered fingers brushed over the sheets, weakened... He smoothed out the wrinkles in much the same way he could have formed everything about her - her soul, for God's sake - Spike? Was this the same... it couldn't possibly, not in a million years, be the same man...

"You named your daughter..." It sounded like an accusation.

"Julia," he said, nonchalantly.

"And your son?"

"Emily named him. I don't see - "

"Were you happy, Spike?"

He seemed to think this over. "I was dead. Emily... brought me back to life again."

He still danced around the question. She traced the pattern on the sheets... couldn't he answer her? Just once? Glancing at him from the corner of an eye, she noticed he was staring at her.

"What?" she snapped.

"So you are real."

"I told you - "

"What are you doing here?"

His tone... where had she heard that before? It sounded like someone she'd known, once. Soft, and doubtful, with a bit of hopelessness left to flicker about the edges of his voice...

"Ed came back from wherever she'd run off to. She was... changed, I guess you could say. But she found you, the first time you turned up alive." At this, she turned to him. "You could've said something! And Jet... you weren't even there for him! He busted his ass for you, and you didn't even show up when he died!"

"I've forgotten," he interrupted, quietly.

"Well, that's nice. I'm glad you could forget it, but now there's only one of us left to remember."

"What... happened?"

Gren. He sounded like Gren. Faye's eyes widened, and she clutched at a fistful of the sheets... this couldn't be real. What did he mean, what happened? With Jet? Her? The whole damned universe? Maybe, maybe, it was only himself...

"What happened? You died; that's what happened. You're dead, and Jet's dead, and now you're dying all over again."

"Were you still... you know, cowboys, whatever... before - "

"I wasn't ever a 'cowboy'. I was a romani."

"I see."

There was a pause. She laughed softly, blinking to discourage the tears from falling. Here she was... this was her only chance to talk to him, and what could she say? All those lost, sullen questions, frozen in time... Did he still have the Swordfish II? When his daughter was married - assuming she was married - did he walk her down the aisle? Did the memory of Julia - the old Julia, the first Julia - ever fade? Was there ever a time, maybe on a sleepless night or a day when he was completely alone... did his heart betray him; did he think of her? Did he panic when he could not imagine her face any longer? Was there a moment... just a tiny fraction of a moment... in which he woke, as if from a nightmare, and all he could muster was, "...Faye..."? But she could voice none of them. The questions hung between them, and Spike's current condition sliced through them until they were no more.

"Why are you here, Faye? Why now?" She couldn't answer, so he continued. "Did you just come to tell me off before I go so you could get the last word, or what?"

"...No." She watched as he closed his eyes.

"Could you turn on the light? It's pitch black in here."

She scowled, but did so without a word. As the room was lit, she didn't face him... Spike in the darkness was very much a different thing.

"They've been gone a while. Your family, I mean."

Quietly, she placed her palms on the off-white wall, leaning into it until its cold, textured surface brushed her forehead.

"You afraid of being caught here, Romani?"

"No..." The tears slipped down her cheeks, despite her efforts to stop them. Just a couple, really. She'd promised herself she'd never cry for him again... But was she crying for him, really? No... No, she was crying for herself.

"Look at my eyes, Faye."

He'd said that before. Turning, she swallowed in distress. "Why?" She would not look at him.

"Oh, nothing. Just a surgery I had a couple of years ago... I just wanted to see if you'd notice."

Her eyes followed a path along the room, up and to the left. Alternating gray and white tiles... the polished metal surface of the railings on the bed... a tray littered with salmon pink cups... the pattern on the fabric of his hospital gown - she traced his form upward, taking in everything about him, that which was different along with that which was the same...

He was staring at her with a half-smirk, and his eyes... his eyes...

She gasped softly. His eyes...

"The old one stopped working a long time ago," he said. "Guess they got the color right this time, huh? They match."

She was crying in earnest now. "Why do you have to die?"

"People die, Faye. It's what they do. I just got old."

"I don't want you to die... I don't know what..." She was saying too much. The sound of footsteps arose from the long hallway, causing her heart to beat faster, but they passed by the room. The lights flickered a little. "...I'll do..."

"You lived this long without me, right? Gosh, Faye. I'm starting to think you actually cared."

"...maybe I did..."

He didn't say anything. She stared at the floor.

"I... have to go..."

Backing up to the wall - when had she stepped so far forward? - Faye hit the light switch, fleeing to the door.

"Faye."

She froze.

"...If I... ever see you again..."

"Don't say it." Silence, and then...: "Just... so what was your life like? Did you ever think of us, Spike?"

He chuckled, but only a little. "Julia - my daughter - dyed her hair your color once... I made her dye it back immediately. But I never really looked at her the same after that..."

She smiled through her tears. "... lunkhead..."

And she left. The voices from the hallway drifted quietly over her as she exited in the other direction... cries, and a few murmured words of consolation, the rumble of a cart, and the soft humming of those damned fluorescent lights...

At least he'd been all right. None of the other things mattered all that much - he'd been living, really living, and that was all... she needed... to know...