There was a lot of freedom that came with the knowledge that one was dying. Spike didn't figure that they would understand. They looked at him and saw a living, breathing man. Spike breathed, but he did not live. At one time, he would have said that he died the day he lost Julia, but he had her back for a short time--such a short time--and even that didn't bring him back to life. Spike didn't know when he died, he only knew that the man they saw was a lie. He was nothing more than a ghost that hadn't figured out he was dead yet.

He knew now.

That was why he was going to Vicious. He had no delusions that he'd make it out alive. Spike was just tired. Pretending to be alive was exhausting and he was ready for it to be over.

Saying good-bye was easier than he thought it would be. Jet was stoic about the whole thing, as usual. Faye raised a fuss, but she was the type of woman that raised a fuss over anything and everything. As he severed those ties, Spike felt freer than he ever had. It wasn't that he didn't care. He did and that was the problem. With every farewell, it was like cutting a shackle off to a life that he didn't belong to. Spike knew that now. His attachments kept him here far longer than he had ever intended to be kept.

Spike walked off the Bebop feeling so light that he almost imagined a strong breeze could pick him up and blow him away. He'd lied when he told Faye he wasn't going to die, but to find out if he was still alive. Spike knew he wasn't alive. He wasn't going to die either. One can't kill a ghost. He was just going to finish this, once and for all.