Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop nor do I own the characters, the show's plot and so forth; rights are owned by Sunrise, Bandai, Cartoon Network and a bunch of other folks I'm not sure of. Lyrics to the song "Broken Heart" is property of the band Spiritualized and used without permission but with the best intentions in mind. Story plot is the only thing that's mine – take that and I'll banish you to a room with a moose for all eternity (do you know how gross moose are?! Do you?!)

The actions and thoughts of one particular character are influenced by the events in previous episodes. Namely "Speak Like a Child" and "Brain Scratch." So that's why it's mildly un-canon.

Broken Heart

The atmosphere onboard the Bebop was one of tension and opposition, so viscous that it could be cut with the proverbial and clichéd knife. Jet had long since retreated to the comforts of his bonsai trees, hungrily puffing away on a cigarette to smooth over his grated nerves while Spike took to reclining on the simple couch in the Bebop's equivalent of a living room, staring at the vacant space before him with a steady gaze. Although more than likely to deny any sentiments of the sort, Spike felt Faye's absence as surely as if it were a wound nagging at him that hadn't quite healed over, the lack of her halfhearted musings around an ellipse-shaped cigarette or cringe-worthy tirades about a lack of food, hot water, or her share of a bounty seemed to strike a chord somewhere deep beneath his nonchalant exterior. It also didn't help that just a few days earlier Ed had said her goodbye's to the Bebop, taking Ein with her. He would've thought he'd be used to this kind of disappearing act from women by now. Taking his past experiences into consideration, he should have been used to women running off without any reason—Faye in particular, considering it was a bi-weekly occurrence with her that him and Jet had alternated responsibilities for—but the only difference from that violet-haired minx and, say, a certain hay-colour haired, golden eyed femme was that the former left clues that she wanted to be found. Couldn't say the same for Julia.

A twinge of guilt spurned Spike to conduct a series of gestures; first, an aggravated scowl that creased his brow, followed by a sudden backward slope of his head likely to give him some form of whiplash, the motion allowing the base of his skull to rest on the back of the couch with a defiant thud. In a single swipe he folded his arms over his chest, pressing them hard against his ribs and the pulse that his ire had riled up. His throat bared to the ceiling, Spike watched as the fan spun languidly overhead and his eyes glossed over with the gleam of guilt for having compared the two women so brazenly. It was obvious enough they were nothing alike, born from completely different worlds (Faye's quite literally, if her past was to be believed) and he had mercilessly chided Faye previously for trying to bridge the massive gap between them. He wasn't about to let himself get away with it, either. How careless of him to suggest such a thing…

Spike exhaled, forcing his frustration and anxiety out of his awkwardly positioned body with a sigh that seemed heavy and final, as if a decision were already made within his mind. He couldn't bring himself to harp on memories of Julia right now; maybe later… at a bar or on an aimless stroll through side-streets and alleys, slinking out of the haloes of streetlamps that created a bold juxtaposition with the ebony tints of his thoughts. That would have to wait until he found Faye. It was his turn after all; Jet had retrieved her the last time and no doubt if Spike made some vocal confirmation of his presence Jet would remind him of that.

A part of him was grateful to be allowed the excuse to distance himself from the Bebop's gloomy ambiance. It was a strange lull that he wasn't used to, a lull that settled in whenever any member of the crew was mislaid by some unspoken whim of their own, or in Faye's case a test of the others' attachment to her. And in case that bind wasn't as sturdy as she hoped it to be, she swiped some cash to assure that she'd be followed. Honestly, did she think they hadn't figured that out after the third time?

Not wanting to move into that branch of contemplation just yet, Spike jarred himself from the path his thoughts were straying into by another set of hastened motions, rising to his feet and quickly strolling over to the room where Jet's bonsai trees were kept. Not waiting until he had the older man's attention Spike blurted out, "I'm goin' to get her."

The shears Jet was holding in his hand flinched and hesitated, rustling the minute leaves just enough to pluck a few off, yet he barely noticed. With a cigarette dangling dangerously from his bottom lip, fastened there by moisture, he watched Spike wordlessly for a minute as he tried to figure out his partner's emotional state. As always, Spike's motives remained veiled behind a series of opaque cloths that seemed never-ending; just when you thought you found the core there was another layer of obscure emotions and intentions to sift through. That kind of unpredictability unnerved Jet, it was the kind of quirk he couldn't stand in Faye yet had come to accept as far as Spike was concerned. Interesting how one lets certain things slide, no? Straightening his posture from a slouch to rigid attention, Jet closed his eyes and pulled the shears away from the bonsai lest further damage be inflicted. "Did she take something of yours?" His eyelids ascended and caught Spike's quizzical expression and questioning stare, holding it in place. "I'm only asking 'cause it's not like you to volunteer for this sort of thing."

Spike snorted and leaned into the doorway, resting his shoulder against the frame. As far as he could remember Faye hadn't taken anything specific that belonged to him, apart from an extra pack of Pall Mall's and his Zippo lighter he foolishly left out in the open; nothing that would be sourly missed. Realising that Jet intended to catch him off guard and hopefully find a glimpse into Spike's aims he intercepted the barb with one of his own. "I thought you'd want her back. You're the one that needs the company." As soon as the words found open air Spike knew they were far harsher than he intended them to be, but his previous musings coupled with the hints that he imagined Jet's statement to hold proved to be his undoing.

Jet flinched and narrowed his eyes into a stony glare, pursing his lips into a disapproving scowl that told Spike he had jested at too fresh a wound. "Just bring her back soon or I'm leaving the both of you behind." And with that he returned his focus to his bonsai, angrily snipping at random branches and casting them onto the floor with the back of his hand. As Spike stepped out of the doorway he was almost sure he heard the man grumble under his breath, "Just excess baggage, anyway."

He sniggered quietly and shook his head, turning his back on Jet and making his way towards the compartment where his ship was held. He knew it was out of line to mock the older man's requirement for comrades, but it had been almost instinctual for him to shove Jet's prodding queries as far from him as was possible. Couldn't he just do this one thing as a favor, was that so hard for Jet to understand? Why did everything always have to have some ulterior motive to it? Was it that far of a stretch that Spike would commit an act of kindness?

"Maybe you're overreacting a little bit," he whispered to himself as he climbed the small set of stairs leading to the Swordfish. Removing his fingerless gloves from the recesses of his back pocket, Spike hoisted himself up the side of the ship and vaulted inside. Staring at the control panel he stretched either glove over his hands and hummed to himself, summoning up the memory of Faye's farewell message from the back of his mind.

"Don't come get me… blah blah blah… easier if we never see each other again… blah blah… place where I belong…" Well, that end bit was different. It was a more personal confession than Faye had previously revealed to them in these notes, and considering that Jet regarded the other bounty hunters to be members of a makeshift family, it wasn't ridiculous to assume that that was the cause of Jet's recent irritability. …Well, that and the fact that Spike had just taunted him, of course. Faye saying she wanted a place to belong most likely injured Jet on a hidden level, making all his efforts to accommodate the Bebop to their individual liking all for naught.

Spike scowled and met his transparent reflection in the glass slightly above him. This sensitivity streak he was running on had lingered long past its welcome, introducing Spike to alcoves of emotions that he'd be more that happy to leave to rot. He hadn't felt like this in a long time… sure it flared up now and then much to his annoyance, but the last time it came on this strong and held him for more than a fleeting ten minutes was years ago. Julia had been its catalyst and how strange that Faye should be the one to give temporary life to those atrophied niches. Nevertheless he willed himself to focus on the little things, delaying the need to submerge himself in such ponderings until it was unavoidable. He had gone this long without it, so paralysing it for another hour or so should be no titanic feat.

… Right?

Though I have a broken heart
I'm too busy to be heartbroken
There's a lot of things that need to be done
Lord I have a broken heart…

The bar was cloaked in insipid lighting, the bulbs dulled to a barely lit gleam to not upset the more "high spirited" patrons that were swaying off their barstools and high-backed chairs and conversing belligerently with the darkness around them. Faye felt right at home here, listening half-heartedly to the slurred confessions that the Les Aveux du Coeur's populace whispered as if those they longed to reveal these words to were present in the haze of smoke and neon; the bar was the kind of place she felt at ease with which was more than she could say about the other taverns. While those were sleazy, rundown shacks filled to the brim with men that eye-humped her without hesitation this one seemed more up her alley with the tear-stained, world-weary visages that loomed out of the shadows like ghosts in the night. Sometimes one story would usurp the other until they all bled into the same background noise that punctured holes her thoughts, leaving her in a prolonged state of absent stares and mechanised gestures (bringing the cigarette to her lips, inhaling slowly, holding the smoke in 'til it burned and finally releasing it from her nostrils, or taking a sip of her Blue Ruin, swirling the ice and watching the light catch on the melting cubes). This kind of melancholy was quite unlike her normal easy come, easy go attitude (at least she perceived herself to be that easygoing) and it unnerved Faye deeply to feel this wrong, this… upset about so many things all at once. When the weight of this mood had grown too much for her to bear she took off, her recently required memories giving her the courage she didn't know she had—but it was to no avail. What's the point of remembering who she was if the life was so far out of her reach, if everyone involved in that life was dead or nearing it? Faye shuddered even though Les Aveux de Coeur wasn't the least bit chilly and hunched up her shoulders, tensing the muscles of her back as if to prepare herself for a fight. She thought that everything would fall into place when she got her memories back, that all those missing pieces would somehow complete the riddle she had been fumbling over for the past three years, and it would be an understatement to say that she was disappointed by how they had let her down. The memories didn't solve a thing, they didn't bring anything into focus, just made the present that much more blurry. And as for the future… that was indistinct, a feeble hope that she didn't dare let herself indulge in.

Faye's eyebrows knitted together as the edges of her mouth twitched in memory of a brief conversation she and Spike had had weeks ago. She had admitted to him how important it was for her to remember her past and when he didn't quite get the feel of it she quickly responded with, "At least you have a past," thinking that would be enough to drive the nail home and get him to see things her way.

Spike, of course, had dodged that intent entirely and shot back, "And you have a future." The response had been so vague Faye wasn't sure if he was joking or if she should consider this to be one of his rare moments of intimate thought. She had stared at him in obvious surprise, taken aback by his words and unsure of how to continue the conversation from there, but there was no need. Spike had proved that any chances of discussing the matter further were futile with a simple turn of his body, shutting Faye out with the impermeable fortress his back so often transfigured into. His words had been gnawing at her brain ever since, so tempted was she to just ask Spike flat out what he meant while another part of her shrunk back in fear of what his reaction might be. None of the men on the Bebop seemed too willing to discuss matters of the heart openly, a truth she had learned the hard way by skirting the line many times with Spike and Jet. Occasionally she would test her limits, seeing how far she could take it before they really lost their tempers and snapped at her to mind her own business or keep her mouth shut, but other than that she stayed as far from their pasts as she could get.

She envied how they could just take all that for granted… the knowledge of what they'd experienced and seen meant nothing to them, they could just throw it away as easily as Faye chocked up her bounty at a casino; or, at least, she thought so. Giving it deeper thought, spurned by a speedy gulp of the last of her Blue Ruin and letting the alcohol slowly flood down her throat and into her stomach, Faye realised that in a way all of them were stuck on the past. Jet hadn't bothered to get a different arm after the set up by Fad years ago, opting instead for that creepy arm that made Faye think of a mannequin on steroids in order to remind himself of the betrayal that had twisted his life around forever. And what about that watch Alisa had given him? He held onto it all this time, finally relinquishing his hold on it after that encounter with her on Ganymede that Faye was smart enough not to ask too much about. And Spike was stuck in the past, too, chasing after that Julia woman, running off whenever the name was hinted at and verbally slapping anyone in the face who tried to talk him out of his quest. The woman's hold on Spike was extraordinary, it was like nothing she'd seen before… only in those tearjerker romance movies, which always ended in the worst tragedies imaginable for the lovers. Spike's reaction to her name was so unlike his responses to anything else that it made Faye maddeningly curious to find out more about the woman… but she knew better than to ask. Julia's memory was a cherished and sacred object that Spike wouldn't let out from the temple he kept her locked in, and Faye would be a brazen fool to try and pry open the doors. If that wasn't living in the past then Faye didn't know what was…

So, she had been wrong. It wasn't that Jet and Spike chose to ignore their respective roots, they were living testaments to all that had happened and to all that turned them into the persons they were today; they had just learned to subdue it to prevent any interference or untoward reminiscences. And could Faye blame them? But knowing herself better than anyone else, she knew that even with her memories in tact she wasn't any happier nor was she complete. If nothing else, the memories had done the exact opposite of putting things together, they just made the gaps wider and the ties frayed, impossible to mend without a steady hand.

With a frustrated grunt Faye ground the remains of her cigarette in the crystalline ashtray and twisted, digging her nails in until the paper frayed and what tobacco remained spilled out onto her fingers. Without a thought she flicked the traces away and set down her empty glass with a quiet tap on the varnished wood, the ice clinking together like the beads of a rosary, reminding her of the confessions going on around her in clandestine pitches. With a wry smile that was painted with nostalgia and regret she thought of the question she had posed at Gren months back, surprised by her ability to talk so openly and freely with a man who reminded so strongly of… well, that's not important. "I feel like I'm in a confession booth. You wouldn't happen to be a preacher by any chance?" She remembered those eyes, how blue they were, pure and unmarred by inner inhibitions or hidden intents. They were just so kind that Faye couldn't help but get pulled in like a moth to a flame. Gren wasn't the only one to emit that same alluring magnetism, although she highly doubted who she was thinking about did so intentionally… most likely it was her mind looking too deeply into something that was as shallow as a puddle. The thought made her frown deeply and hang her head in defeat, releasing a defeated sigh as she prepared to rest her head in the crook of her arms and let the soft music and hush of conversation lull her into a lucid trance.

At least she would have been more than happy to do so if it weren't for the feeling of eyes at her back. Attention was no stranger to Faye Valentine, it wasn't like she left much to imagination with her skimpy yellow shorts and form-fitting sleeveless top that was haphazardly concealed by a red sweater tied around her biceps and over her breasts, but that didn't mean she was all right with it. Normally she wouldn't mind it one bit, just pass it off without a second thought and move on with her business, but in this personal and rather sensitive moment she couldn't bear the thought of having to deal with pathetic pick up lines that were as trite and tired as they were back in the 21st century. She would have prayed to any higher power if she thought it would help her, but she spared no quiet words to a would-be deity, opting instead to wait for the admirer to show himself so she could brush him off and get back to her moping.

Only problem was that the admirer was such a strong replica of the person who had ensnared her thoughts and trained them on every aspect of himself that Faye found it hard to distinguish a difference between the two. So sure she was that they were in fact one and the same that when he carefully slid onto the stool to her right and she turned her head to glance at him she sat up, rigid with astonishment.

"Spike—?" she started, the name fluttering off her lips as if it had been pressing urgently against them for hours, yearning to be released. With a faint blush she took a closer look at the man next to her and quietly corrected her mistake, noting the differences. The most obvious one being the hair—while it seemed to have the same texture and ruffled consistency Faye noted with a facial tic that it wasn't dark green but a dull amber, and those mismatched eyes she had found haunting were not present in this man's face; in fact his eyes were a nice shade of gray, like the sea after a storm. His smile was half leering, the other half genuinely amused as if mulling silently over a joke that had just been told. Luckily he didn't heard Faye's verbal slight, or if he did he made no move to acknowledge it, and politely introduced himself.

"I'm Aubrey," He said and extended his hand, knuckles curved slightly and his veins prominent in the taut flesh, making the bulge of electric blue veins seem even more desperate and urgent.

Her mind going a mile a minute as she slipped her own hand into his and squeezed tightly, offering her own name as a reply, Faye noticed how that last bit could represent her present situation: sitting alone at a bar, blurting out the title of her heaviness as if she had wanted to purge it but couldn't find the means until this moment. Desperate and urgent... Faye suddenly realised how familiar she had grown to those emotions.

So when he asked her back to his hotel room twenty minutes and a significant amount of Blue Ruins later (a new record, yet Faye was hardly cynical enough to make note of it) she paused only once to consider her options. Looking into his eyes steadily, swaying a bit with her inebriation, she could have sworn that they looked different in this lighting, no longer grey but now a dark hazel that gave her a funny jolt in the pit of her stomach...

It was to these eyes that she said yes.

Though I have a broken dream
I'm too busy to be dreaming of you
There's a lot of things that I gotta do
Lord I have a broken dream