The lighting was dim and the air held a scent that was an odd potpourri of stale smoke, creosote, and cheap booze. A song quietly played through overhead speakers, that sounded like they had been blown for years. The words were cracked and muffled, but the tune sounded old and depressing. Perfect.

Elbows resting on a stained and scared bar top, Faye Valentine slouched on her stool, nursing a whiskey sour that tasted as if it had been made with turpentine. It didn't matter, it was cheap, and she was broke. It would get the job done for the night, and damn the consequences the morning after might bring.

She grinned slightly and wondered if sleeping with Spike would be much the same as drinking the cheap booze. The grin was however, fleeting, as a scowl soon replaced it at thoughts of that man. He was the reason she was sitting in this shitty bar for the second night in a row, drowning her feelings with equally shitty booze.

One could clearly argue that it was her own reactions to the situation that led her here, but she preferred to pass the blame on to the lanky cowboy himself.

A month after he had decided to "find out if he was really alive" as he had so bluntly put it, he had shown back up on the Bebop one night out of the blue, just as she and Jet were getting ready to dig into another unsatisfying dinner.

To make matters worse, Jet had simply given him a stern nod, and then fixed the damn man a plate, like nothing had ever happened in the first place. He just took him right back in like he did to every damned stray that crossed paths with him.

The two of them just settled right into conversation, Spike going into the story of his fight with Vicious. He hadn't even bothered to acknowledge her presence at the table; and she sat there listening to his smooth voice recite the tale of his most recent brush with death she realized that her unappealing dinner now seemed down right offensive.

There was no 'Oh hey Faye how are you?' or 'Sorry I left you in the hallway like a complete and utter asshole when I decided to play Russian roulette with my life.' Not that she should have expected such a thing. She was fairly certain that the word sorry was not in his vocabulary.

Leaving the table without a word, and with little reaction from her so called comrades, she had headed for her room, not caring to hear the end of the story.

Lighting a cigarette she inhaled deeply, watching the acrid smoke slowly dissipate in the humid, almost stagnant air of her current watering hole. In the two nights that she had spent glued to her preferred barstool, she had only seen one other woman in the whole place.

Even now as she sat and smoked she could practically feel the occasional pair of eyes bore into her back. She didn't mind, if they wanted to stare like a bunch of slack jawed, inbred mountain folk, then so be it. As long as they stayed out of her personal space it was sort of nice to be the center of someone's attention.

She was fairly certain she could parade around the Bebop nude and all she would get would be some sort of lecture about free loading from Jet, and Spike bitching at her about using all the hot water in the shower. Not that she wanted much more from Jet, Spike however was another story, and that horrible admission to herself was almost nauseating in itself.

Staring at the bar top, she could see a word long carved into the top. It was worn mostly away though she could make out a B,T,and H, though she was fairly certain she could fill in the missing letters. Faye wondered who the mystery bitch could have been, and why she was even one in the first place.

Green eyes stayed fixed on the bar top, trying to decipher the shapes in the warped wood, if she squinted

hard enough, one particular shape almost looked like a shark, at least sort of. She briefly wondered if she drank enough tonight if it would swallow her up and stop this cycle of never ending thoughts bouncing around in her skull. Peace and quiet would be nice for a change.

Downing the rest of her drink in a rather large gulp, she cringed as it hit her empty stomach, and then signaled the bartender for another. She rolled her shoulders, her back tight from sleeping, or rather passing out, in the cramped cockpit of the Redtail. She didn't have the funds for a hotel room, or the fuel to get very far, or anywhere really.

Anywhere was better than the Bebop for the time being. Three months had gone by since the all mighty prodigal son had returned home. It marked what had been the longest three months that Faye could recall. They barely spoke, save for a few petty arguments here and there, or just the minimum amount required to collar a bounty.

Though they barely spoke, Faye was not at all oblivious to the actions of Spike, and that is what she found more unsettling that anything. Sure he still ate like every meal would be his last, smoked like a chimney, and by all accounts was no more or less cordial to Jet. However there had been a few instances that had left her shaken.

One night she had wandered into the kitchen in the middle of the night to get some water, and there he sat on the couch, in total darkness. He just sat there staring at nothing, almost in a trance, from what she could make out from the dim lighting from the hall, he wore a blank expression of a war weary soldier, stoic and lost. Even as he finally turned to look at her, his expression never changed. They didn't acknowledge one another then, and never spoke of the encounter.

She knew he didn't sleep much, she could usually hear him wander around the ship long after Jet, and even herself had retired for the night. Sometimes he left the ship, she would often hear him when he returned, stumbling through the halls presumably drunk.

Once she had heard him slump against her door after such a night, and sob. Something she didn't think he was capable of, though she made no move to get up from her bed and comfort him, she found the situation absolutely heartbreaking.

That was simply how it was between her and Spike. There were certain walls that weren't meant to be torn down, and certain rules that were meant to be followed. It was an unspoken understanding, and to break any of those just couldn't be allowed. He would never come to her and seek comfort, though she knew if he did she would offer it. She wouldn't pry into business that wasn't hers, the more unattached they remained, the better off they would be. She almost had herself convinced of that.

As a fresh drink was placed before her, Faye took another large gulp. She wondered if the boys had even noticed she was gone. She hadn't left some self pitying note behind this time, begging to be chased with out directly saying the words. And she hadn't taken anything from the ship that didn't belong to her. For all she knew they probably figured she was hold up in her room, or were chumming it up over a bottle of the good stuff that Jet had stashed somewhere, celebrating her departure.

Crushing out the cigarette that was little more than just a filter by now, Faye gave a heavy sigh. She knew that she was wrong, she cared about those bastards, and because they were all the more alike then any of them would like to admit, she knew they cared as well.

Life was sort of funny that way, or maybe it was just another shitty luck of the draw. Of all the people in the universe, the two she would get closest two would be just as fucked up and miserable as her. As they say however, misery loves company, and how true that was.