Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Trust and the Art of Bonsai Maintenance ❯ Trust and the Art of Bonsai Maintenance ( Chapter 1 )

Jet Black stood in the doorway of the room where he kept his bonsai, his private sanctuary. Hand to his forehead, the cool metal actually felt good against his skin. It was almost a balm to the headache he was sure he'd be facing.

 

He'd visibly cringed when Spike told him about Ed's conscientious duty towards his bonsai, but surveying the scene for himself, Jet had to admit that the damage wasn't nearly as bad as he'd feared. The ship itself was a converted fishing trawler, which meant drains in most of the rooms, living quarters and storage alike. Thanks to that the floor wasn't really a problem, and he'd taken care to provide his bonsai with good soil and well-drained pots, so as long as he was careful about the moisture levels for a while, the trees themselves should be fine. As for the water pooled on the shelves, and the sodden boxes, well…that wouldn't take long to clean up.

 

No, it really could have been a lot worse and if there was blame to be laid, it ought to rest with him. After all, he was the one who had gotten overly dramatic about facing down Taxim in the first place--Ed had only done what he'd asked her to, and with her usual enthusiasm.

 

Stepping fully into the room, he lit a cigarette and sat down. Now that he was here he took advantage of the peace and quiet that the room afforded, allowing him to settle his thoughts. Recent events and the truth about his old partner just didn't sit well. After all, he'd always tried to live his life by a code, by a trust. Finding that trust had been brutally betrayed by one of his own was more than just a bitter pill, it was the kind of thing that shook a man to his core. He took a long draw from the cigarette, holding the smoke a moment before exhaling deeply.

 

One of his own.

 

It was a grand ideal, and the Black Dog had always prided himself on loyalty but was there really ever anything to be loyal to? He'd been betrayed by women and by men's institutions. Even now, in this marginal existence, he clung to the ideal of loyalty, of partnership and teamwork. And what did he get for it? Drowned bonsai, headaches, an empty pantry, and a never ending stream of repair bills.

 

He drew on the cigarette again, then reached to drop the ash into an ashtray still half filled with water. The absurdity of it finally got to him and he started to laugh. It was a quiet chuckle at first, then louder as he released his tension through the laughter. Once he'd composed himself, he dropped the remains of the cigarette into the water-logged ashtray and stood again. Pausing in the doorway on his way out, he looked back over the room. No, in their own way these were people a man could trust.