A/N: Very quickly, I gave Faye a last name in this. Just preparing you guys, lol. Hope you like the chapter, it's a bit long.

Spike paused outside the borders surrounding the hospital, his brow furrowed. He hadn’t wanted to stay there longer than had been necessary. He was too used to seeing people bandaged up, unconscious. Dying. He didn’t need to see it again. He didn’t ever need to see it again.

“Sing for me.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. Screw this life. Screw all the lives he had been allowed. They were all the same in the end anyway. Nothing ever changed. Nothing ever would change.

A cigarette puff curling from her lips. Green eyes, heavy with weariness. He felt the breeze ruffle his hair gently and the sky was a clear blue. The last time he had died the sky had been blue as well. Why was the sky always blue when bad things happened? All around him, residents and visitors of the hospital mingled on the premises, laughter erupting from a little girl as her father brought her up the walk. Or sniffles as a young woman wept under the afternoon sun. Someone had passed away on her. Or would soon enough. He pulled out a cigarette and not too far off someone cleared his throat brusquely. He lifted his cigarette to his lips, glancing over.

“Don’t happen to have an extra one, do you?” an older gentleman in a wheelchair asked him with a small smile.

Spike stared at him for a moment, frowning, cigarette hesitating before his lips. The man rested under a towering tree, lost in the shade, and his smile was gentle. Somehow Spike knew cigarettes were the reason the man was currently in a wheelchair, currently a resident at the hospital. Also a hint was the oxygen tank he carried strapped to the wheelchair, the mask set aside carelessly. Wordlessly, Spike inched forward and offered the man a cigarette.

“Thank you, young man,” the elderly man said with a groan as he leaned forward in his wheelchair to accept the cigarette. Spike watched him quietly, several voices rising in his head. Wasn’t this just the story of his life? The story of every human out there in this universe? Relishing something, desiring something even when it could be the very thing to kill you? He blinked slowly, keeping his thoughts to himself. One more casualty, perhaps. The man didn’t have long for this life.

The old man merely stared at the cigarette in his hand for a long moment. Spike watched him silently. Was he debating smoking the cigarette? Was he thinking of everything smoking had done to him, of the little that smoking had done for him? Life was fleeting. Was the old man questioning his decisions about life now?

The man lifted his head from the cigarette to look at him. And then he snorted, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. “Kids these days. I can’t light this with my hands, you know.”

Well, there went that idea. “I’m not a kid,” Spike murmured and he glanced down, fishing matches out of his pocket.

The man studied him intently as he dug through his pocket, not moving even when Spike pulled the matches out and offered him the first light. “No, you aren’t,” he agreed quietly. “You look like you’ve seen more than I have.” And he lifted his head to Spike, staring at him with clear blue eyes. “And I’ve seen it all.”

Spike didn’t answer, his face blank.

With a shrug the man leaned forward, cigarette to his mouth and he finally lit his cigarette from the flame Spike held. “Well, my name is Charles,” he said, pulling back. “Charlie, if you want,” he added, taking a drag and relishing it by the look on his face. A moment later he wheezed a bit, the smoke curling from his mouth.

“Spike,” he replied around his own cigarette, lighting it with the same match before putting it out. He flicked the match, also taking a nice deep drag even as Charlie managed to control his coughing.

Sometimes that was the ticket.

“Pleasure to meet you, Spike,” the man nodded, swallowing thickly, eyes watering. Spike waited for him courteously as the older man held the lit cigarette up before his face and examined it. “These things are what put me in this chair,” he said in a hoarse voice. “But even now I can’t seem to say no. Even after everything.” He sighed noisily then motioned toward the hospital. “Visiting? Or a resident?”

Spike glanced at the hospital over his shoulder, squinting against the sun. “Visiting,” he replied quietly and he turned to look back toward the old man. He wasn’t really in the mood to speak to anyone. He wanted to be alone with his smoke. He wanted to think.

“Let me guess. A girlfriend,” Charlie stated knowingly, smiling widely once more, blue eyes crinkling mischievously.

Spike snorted at that, head falling back. “Not even close.”

Charlie laughed at his answer, causing him to turn to look at him once more. “Closer than I thought,” he said merrily and he lifted the cigarette to his lips again. This time, the drag he took seemed to be just what he needed. When he exhaled the smoke it came from his mouth and nose airily, thick plumes. “You’re one of those.”

Spike frowned, dark eyes trailing the smoke before flying back toward the older man. “Those?”

Charlie nodded. “Those. One of those guys who doesn’t want to seem like he feels anything. The kind of guy who doesn’t think he can be affected by anything.” He laughed again, more to himself. “I used to be one of those. Thought I was untouchable. And well…then this happened.” He motioned to his legs and the oxygen tank at his back. And then he turned his attention back, staring at Spike. “Still think not even death can touch you?”

Spike returned the stare, his face darkening. What did one say to something like that? He didn’t know the old man. The old man didn’t know him. And he was under no obligation to tell the man anything anyway.

And yet, he wanted to tell someone. Anyone. A total stranger would do. Someone he’d never see again. He wanted to tell him that the day he had met Julia, the day he had fallen in love with her, had been the day he had begun to fear death. He had wanted to live then. Really live and it couldn’t have been at the worst time or under the worst circumstances. He had been an idiot. A traitor.

He had fallen in love like the best of them. Like the worst of them.

Charlie was still waiting for an answer from him.

“I died not too long ago,” Spike replied finally, taking a drag. Perhaps he would keep his stories to himself then. “I’m over it.”

The old man laughed at that as if it had been the funniest joke in the world. Spike looked at him quickly, still frowning, eyes slightly widened. He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a joke, and most especially not one quite so entertaining. But the more the man laughed the lighter his own face became. Shaking his head, Spike looked forward once more, staring out toward the front of the hospital. “I’m so happy you think my life is humorous.”

Charlie’s laughter died down, his shoulders still shaking merrily. “Not your life, young man,” he said with a point of his cigarette in Spike’s direction. “Your view of it. I find it quite funny.”

“I see that.”

“You died. You’re over it. Was that the same attitude you had before?” the old man asked him. “Before you died, that is.”

Spike swallowed faintly. “Oh, no,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I was meaner before.”

“I bet,” Charlie nodded knowingly. And he sighed. “Exactly like me. All those years. Those wasted years.”

Spike frowned once more, listening to him mumble. Slowly he looked over, his cigarette raised to his lips but he didn’t take a drag. “I doubt you were exactly like me,” he grumbled.

“Exactly like you.” Charlie nodded beatifically.

Spike stared at him intently. “And you changed?”

“Oh, yes I did, young man. A bit like you but much nicer,” he answered.

Spike let it pass. “And what, if I may ask, changed you?” And he looked away once more, not really interested in the answer. He wasn’t even sure why he had asked the question in the first place. Was it to avoid returning to the hospital room? Perhaps he wanted to hear someone else speak rather than the sound of heart monitors and the drip of an IV.

Upon escaping from Jack’s office building they had immediately made for the hospital. All gunshot wounds had to be reported and they had done so. To Jet’s friends in the ISSP. And now he had a lot of favors that he owed but he had merely grumbled about it and accepted it. Once Faye had been admitted it had been touch and go, as they said, for the first few hours. Whatever serum Jack had administered seemed to have worked its way out of her system, having left her weak and worse than they had originally expected. For an hour, after arriving, the blood loss had been significant and he had believed it in the moment.

"When the guy held the gun to your head in the alley. I saw your face. You wanted it. You wanted it all to be over."

In that second, when she had slipped away for the slightest instant, the heart monitors blaring almost angrily, he had remembered just how much she had wanted it to be over once. Waiting outside the room as the medical staff had converged on her, he had remembered his words to her and the look on her face, her reaction. And when the heart monitor had returned to a regular rhythm the vision of her face had drifted away from his mind and he had walked away, finding it strange that it had shaken him.

He had yet to tell her that the ISSP and the Mars Police had searched Jack’s entire building and had found bodies. Jack’s had been among them, shriveled away to nothing but bones wrapped in the leathery shell of old skin. Nothing but a withered old man.

At the moment she seemed to be out of danger though they were continuing to monitor her. Now Spike was left hanging around the hospital, uncertain as to why he couldn’t leave to go back to the Bebop yet.

He snapped back to reality. What had they been talking about? Oh right, being exactly like him. The only person he knew who had been exactly like him had died the same day he had. The second time around. There was no one exactly like him in the world anymore, of that he could almost guarantee.

“I fell in love,” Charlie had replied somewhere in the background.

Spike sighed, his head falling back. Of course he had. He hated women. Especially women with attitudes. They were always the downfall to a good man. “Happens to the best of us.”

Charlie was looking at him. “Maybe,” he said quietly, blue eyes losing focus for a moment as he seemed to remember something that only he saw. “But I married my girl. And we were together up until last spring when she passed away.” He hesitated as Spike’s eyes came open to gaze up at the sky overhead. “You’re not with yours anymore. I can tell.”

Spike swallowed, eyes shifting across that sky. Blue, blue sky.

“Bang.”

“You don’t know me,” he said to him then, faintly. A voice so soft it was almost inaudible. Julia. The blond-haired angel that had been struck down in the end. Blue. “You don’t-” he uttered painfully.

“How often have you died, Spike?” Charlie asked in a sympathetic tone.

Spike looked at him, lost for a moment. Julia. Had he given this man his name? He had the split instant vision of his hand lifting up before his face, index finger extended, thumb pulled up, aiming at a blue sky. Bang. He couldn’t remember for some reason. He couldn’t even focus then, not well enough to even remember giving the guy a cigarette. All he remembered then was a blue sky and Vicious dying. Julia dying. Was Faye soon to follow? After all, what had Black Jack been in the end except Faye’s Julia? The one that had gotten away, ironically enough. Except she had never really understood it until he had been gone. The coppery scent of blood staining his clothes. He had smelled it on Faye when she had been struck down in that sterile room. Choking him, that scent. As if he had swallowed the blood. “What?” he asked thickly, frowning.

“I died twice,” Charlie went on as if nothing was wrong. Spike stared at him dumbly as he continued. “The first time I met Kathryn, I died. I died and came back a new man. That man that I was, before Kathryn…that wasn’t me. Not the real me. She fell in love with the real me. And when she passed on, I died again. To cleanse myself of all the anger I felt when she left me.” Charlie nodded to himself. “Now I’m just me.”

Spike turned his head away, desperately fighting the urge to pull out his Jericho and shoot to his heart’s content. He had been angry after Julia’s death as well. Angry and wounded. And he still hurt. But it was better now. He’d just managed to make it miserable for everyone else. With a small inward sigh he took a nice long drag of his cigarette.

“You’re not there, Spike,” Charlie murmured. And he looked down at the cigarette in his wizened hand, seeming to examine it. “You’re not there. But you’re on your way.”

He understood. Or he thought he did. But everything he thought for the last few months, for the last few years had been wrong. Or maybe not wrong. Just skewed. “On my way where?” he asked, staring blindly, his vision as distorted as his thoughts.

“To being the real you,” Charlie answered and he nodded. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Even as he said the sentence Spike turned his mismatched eyes on the old man, merely staring at him. Charlie stared him dead in those eyes, not batting an eyelash as he seemed to realize Spike had two different colored irises.

“Yeah. Your eyes,” Charlie whispered, studying him intently, seeing straight through him. “They say a lot about you, young man. A person’s eyes always tell a story.”

Spike gazed at him even as Julia’s eyes appeared before him, floating dreamily.

“Life is a dream, after all…”

And Faye’s large green eyes, staring into his when he had drawn close to her. Her voice, angry and raw when she had been screaming at him in the Bebop, just as he had been on his way out. Shooting round after round into the air as he had walked away.

“Don’t tell me these things! You never told me before! Don’t tell me now!”

“It’s time to be reborn, my boy,” Charlie was saying in the background. “You’ve hidden yourself enough.”

Spike stared at him blindly, clutching his cigarette hard enough to crush it. He didn’t understand what was going on. Almost as if he had been drugged, the entire afternoon suddenly seemed surreal with visions of a dying Julia and a bedridden, flatlining Faye. “I was reborn. Not too long ago-“

“That’s not true and you know it,” Charlie cut him off, head cocking curtly. “You’re still hanging on to that piece of yourself. Your past. You’re going to let it keep biting you in the ass-“

“All right, that’s enough,” Spike tossed his barely smoked cigarette, stamping it out a moment later under his boot. Jaw clenching, he glared at the elderly man, his eyes cold. “Nice to meet you, Charlie. See you around.” And he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning to walk back toward the hospital. That had been quite enough. One couldn’t even get a decent smoke anymore without someone pretending to know everything about him.

“Hold on, Spike.”

He sighed inwardly, slowing nonetheless. He owed the man nothing. He could walk away. If he had walked away from things before, he could sure as hell do it now.

“Sit with me for a bit,” Charlie invited from behind him. “I’m an old man and I have nowhere to go anymore. Sit and I promise I won’t mention anything on the subject of dying. Unless we’re talking about me. And if I keel over on you in the middle of our chat I sure do apologize.”

Spike groaned silently, hesitantly. But he didn’t want to.

“Humor an old man. Let’s talk about your friend in the hospital.”

Tuning slowly, teeth gritting, Spike glanced at him. “Yeah. I really should be getting back to her anyway,” he said, motioning absentmindedly. “She gets these mood swings, attitudes, if I’m not around. Likes to piss people off if I’m not there to-“

“Well, aren’t we the cocky bastard,” Charlie said but he was smiling once more, his deep blue eyes the color of the sky above. Those eyes unnerved him when he looked into them. Much too brilliant, almost powerful. “She’s a sweet young thing, isn’t she?”

Spike paused, slowly coming back toward the old man against his will. “Actually, she’s a giant pain in the ass,” he admitted. “And she’s about your age.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “Is she now?” he asked almost mischievously “And she goes after younger men? Maybe I can steal her away.”

Spike had a sudden image of Faye on Charlie’s lap, giggling coyly, the old man’s hand on her thigh and he swallowed the bile that flooded his throat. “I don’t think you’re her type,” he said to the old man with a grimace. And he paused, glancing toward the tree trunk that shaded them. A small brick wall bordered the trunk, having fallen and crumbled with age. He sighed wearily, plopping down on the remaining bricks beside the old man and it was nice in the shade. Cool. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to stay and talk with the old man but he didn’t need to see the icy death that hovered in the hospital corridors. Like haunting ghosts, that cold feeling on his neck.

“Are you her type?” Charlie asked him curiously, cigarette winding down in his fingers.

“Yup,” Spike replied absentmindedly, eyes hooded. And he came to a thoughtful stop as he returned his attention to the question and to the old man. “Or I think I am. Who knows? Maybe I’m not. I don’t make it a habit of talking to her.”

Charlie’s expression was one of humor. “And yet you’d come to visit her in the hospital.”

Spike glanced at him briefly, shrugging faintly. “We’re friends,” he said almost lamely.

Charlie leaned back in his wheelchair, staring at Spike, plumes of gentle smoke wafting from the cigarette. “I can see that. Do you really see that?”

Spike frowned at that. “That we’re friends?” he questioned. And at Charlie’s nod, he replied “Sure, I see it. We just don’t get along very well. We work together better than we live together.”

Charlie smiled once more, a definitive impish twist to his lips. “Ah. That kind of relationship, then.”

Spike arched a brow in confusion. And then, in understanding, he sputtered, “What? No! I didn’t say that! I mean, yeah, we live together but I also live with another guy. And a kid! And a dog!” He recoiled, distaste crossing his face slowly.

The older man seemed to be enjoying his awkwardness a bit too much, finally finishing his cigarette and tossing it. But then, his tone softening, he asked, “What do you do, Spike?”

Spike blinked, still a bit off guard and cautious. But upon realizing that the man was asking only in curiosity he looked ahead once more, scanning the front of the hospital. A small smile faintly lifted the corners of his mouth as he contemplated his answer. What did he do? He was a pain in the ass and he took up space. But he wasn’t going to mention all that. “I’m a space cowboy,” he murmured, settling on an answer.

Charlie burst out laughing, clapping his hands together humorously. “A bounty hunter! Well I’ll be…” And he lifted his head to the sky. “We didn’t have bounty hunters in my day, when I was a kid. Or we did but we didn’t rely on them too much. We had anonymous tips and the cops did their jobs.”

Spike looked at him.

You remind me of Jet.

“Those days, on Earth,” Charlie sighed quietly, and his eyes saddened a bit. “Those are the days I treasure the most.”

Spike motioned to him absentmindedly. “Earth. That’s where she was born,” he added in. “My friend, I mean.”

The man looked surprised. “Is that right?” he asked with the beginnings of a grin. And then as an afterthought, he murmured, “Well sure, she would have been born on Earth. Especially if she’s my age. Hell, maybe I even know her. What’s her name?”

“Faye.”

Charlie smiled faintly, his eyes losing focus for a long moment. “Faye,” he sighed almost wistfully. “Yeah. I knew a Faye. Prettiest girl at the prom.” A longing look came into his eyes as he gazed outward blindly. “Beautiful Faye Anami. I don’t know what ever happened to her.”

Spike nodded that he understood. He didn’t know what had become of anyone from his past either. And sometimes it was for the best. Other times the loss was almost too much to have to live with.

“Does she tell you about Earth?” Charlie asked, snapping him out of his reverie. “Before the Gateway incident?”

Spike paused thoughtfully. “No, not really. She doesn’t talk about her past. For a while she didn’t even remember it,” he replied.

“Old age will do that to a person,” Charlie nodded wisely.

So will cryogenic freezing.

“I miss being on Earth,” Charlie murmured and he looked around as if searching for a difference between the Earth of his memories and Mars. “Before the risk of being killed by a piece of moon rock. Things were much simpler then. And the moon was beautiful. As bright as beautiful Faye.”

“Beautiful Faye,” Spike echoed with a slight shake of his head. Faye would jump on that one. He would have to quickly erase it from his memory.

“This Faye of yours-“ Charlie began slowly, a small frown crossing his face as he turned to Spike once more curiously.

“Tell me about Earth,” Spike cut him off quickly. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about Faye. He wasn’t in the mood to think about her. He thought of Faye these days and he got white hospital walls and beeping monitors. The flat-lining heart monitor with its insistent shriek. The sooner he got Charlie off the topic, the better.

“Earth?” Charlie sounded surprised. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Whatever,” Spike mumbled with another inward sigh. If he stared hard toward the sun he was sure he could see the blasted thing crawling in the sky. For the smallest moment before it burned his retinas.

“Ok, then. I was born in Mississippi, 1994,” Charlie said and the story sounded like it was going to be long and boring. Spike slumped wearily, looking about in lost confusion. How had he gotten himself involved in this?

“We had our share of wars, conflicts. Terrorism, even. It was a bad time to be alive,” Charlie said and Spike bit back a retort. “But all the simple things made it good. Breathable air. A full, bright moon. An old song. It’s one thing I’ll never get over. The old blues. Bluesy-jazz. The craze in my youth was that rap music. Or that…grunge noise. In Raleigh, especially. But I loved that old blues sound. Jazz. Folk, even. Louie Armstrong. Joe Oliver. Yeah, Joe Oliver. ‘Now you’ll get a chance to see Papa Joe’s red underwear.’ Joe Oliver…”

Spike stared at him, thoughtful as the man’s voice drifted.

“My Funny Valentine. Great, great song, that one,” Charlie continued.

My Funny Valentine.

“Johnny Mercer. Strange little music he had. And Charlie Parker…”

Spike glanced up at that last one.

“I was named after him, Charlie Parker.” Charlie rambled. “He was a great.” His voice was soft as he spoke, his gaze lost. “I danced with my Kathryn to those old tunes. I didn’t meet her until well into my thirties. She wasn’t that much younger but we shared an interest in that old blues music. I met her on Mars. She had been born on Earth as well and it was pure coincidence that I would meet her on Mars. But when we met and when we danced, we lit the room up.” He paused, his voice distant. “My Kathryn.”

Spike listened quietly.

“Is your Faye into blues and jazz?” Charlie asked him. “Mine was.”

Spike paused. Was she? He didn’t know. She didn’t like heavy metal, he knew that much. He couldn’t remember the song she had been humming…no. That was a lie. He remembered it. He remembered it only too well. And he had hated her for it and strangely enough, appreciated her for it at the same time. He just didn’t want to be reminded of it.

“I don’t know what kind of music she likes,” he said quietly, only realizing then. He didn’t know anything about Faye. Because she didn’t speak of it? No. Because he chose not to listen. He leaned forward slowly, frowning. What did he know about Faye? Born on Earth. What year? He didn’t know. Where had she lived on Earth? Besides Singapore and Raleigh, Mississippi-

He looked at Charlie quickly, feeling something fall into place then almost abruptly.

“This is my song.” Her voice, ghostly, whispering so close that it almost seemed she stood beside him, her lips to his ear.

“My Funny Valentine,” Spike uttered numbly and Charlie glanced at him.

“Sorry?”

Spike stared blankly, his lips parted. “My Funny Valentine,” he answered, feeling more things click into place. Maybe he really was a lunkhead sometimes, the thought bringing the briefest quirk to his lips. “She loves that song. It’s her song,” he explained to Charlie, staring at him fully, searching his face.

The old man smiled at him gently. “That song. My Faye loved it. She had a dresser and we carved our names into it along with My Funny Valentine,” the old man nodded. “I remember that day as if it were yesterday.”

Spike stared at him silently, his breath feeling as if it had gently been ripped from him. This was what epiphanies felt like, he realized then. Charlie was quiet beside him as he lifted his head to the blue sky, nostalgia crossing his face for the smallest breath. And if he just stared at him, just examined the old man’s face and looked underneath it, under all the lines and weathered skin, he could see a face he recognized from a photo in a girl’s frilly pink photo album.

Softly, he said, “Tell me about your Faye.”

The older man blinked. “My Faye?” Charlie echoed. And then with a small sigh he said, “Well…that’s the one that got away,” he murmured, his blue eyes sharpening and resting on something far off. A point in the past maybe. “My Faye, she had the biggest, most innocent green eyes. Beautiful, beautiful green eyes. You could fall into her eyes, they were so big. And she was mixed, part Asian. The Asian continent on Earth, I mean. Well. It’s before your time. Beautiful, beautiful Faye.”

Spike nodded for him to continue. Faye on his back, laughing the way only a carefree kid could. Charlie with his golden good looks and mischievous grin. And Jack, the dark shadow in the back, lost in a window and in time. Forgotten.

Charlie hesitated for a long moment, tossing aside the cigarette now that it had burned down to the filter. “She could’ve been the one. I loved her. Loved her and needed her the way…” He broke off, blinking up at the blue sky almost questioningly. “Well. I didn’t need her the way he did.”

Spike stared at him curiously.

Charlie pursed his lips, bowing his head then. “It doesn’t matter. That was all a long time ago. We had barely started before we were over.”

“Couldn’t make it work out?” Spike asked him, wanting to push. Needing to know suddenly more than Faye ever had. Wanting to know how one Jack Mitchell McCullough had become Black Jack. What had started it all. Because he knew what had ended it.

Somewhere, now lost in a past that no one would remember except this man beside him, a teenage Faye was throwing herself onto Charlie’s back, gripping him for dear life. And Charlie was lifting her higher up, securing her to him, never knowing what would become of them all. Who ever knew what the future held? Who could have known that Charlie would grow up, grow old and live out his last on a different planet? Who would ever have known that Faye Valentine had once been a young woman, clutching to a brilliant life that would end before she was even done with her teen years? And who would know now that Jack McCullough hadn’t died on that shuttle when he had followed after Faye to profess his love for her? Who would ever know anything of those three people and their ill-fated triangle?

The older man looked at him, still pondering his question. “Could we have?” he was mumbling. “I think we might have. If things had been different. I knew…when we ended…that there was someone else for her. I knew. She didn’t. But I had a friend back in the day…such a long time ago, on Earth. And he loved her the way I never could. The kind of love that…would rip you apart if you couldn’t do anything about it. The way I felt for my Kathryn.” Charlie nodded slowly, seeing through Spike. “Faye…she just didn’t know.”

Spike sat wordless for a moment. “A friend?” he echoed.

Charlie nodded once more. “But it was a long time ago. And then Faye was in the accident. And he had been on the shuttle as well, my friend had. And they both-“ He broke off then, falling silent.

Spike stared at him, his lips parting slightly. Should he tell him that both of his friends had survived the shuttle? That the last few months had revolved around what had come of that accident? That it had all stemmed from the feelings two friends had felt for one girl? For Faye Valentine of all people?

For a long moment Charlie was silent. His blue eyes stared out over the hospital lot, his mouth twitching slightly. Then, as if waking from a nightmare, the man jumped and turned his head back toward the bounty hunter, eyes wide. “Listen to me! Going on about death after promising I wouldn’t! I’m a fool of an old man.” And just like that the smile was back on his face, his blue eyes sparkling once more. “Another story for another time!”

Spike blinked at him, taken slightly aback.

“I think…” Charlie began, and he lifted his hands to the wheels of his chair, sending Spike a wink, “it’s time for me to get back inside. Just a bit of air, the doctor said. Nothing about a cigarette. If he catches a whiff of it on me he’ll have my ass. But then…” He grinned at the bounty hunter, his voice softening, “I ain’t afraid to die.”

Spike stood quickly, awkwardly. “Right. Of course. Do you…do you need help getting back?” he asked, motioning faintly back toward the hospital.

Charlie shook his head. “I may be getting on in years, young man, but I still got some fight left in these old bones yet.”

Spike nodded, silent.

“It was very good to meet you, Spike,” the man said and he nodded toward the hospital. “Come see me sometime, if your friend is still stuck here. Room number is 413. And you give her my very best. We seniors have a hard time of it these days.”

Spike nodded once more, hands lifting to shove into his pockets.

“Oh and one more thing,” Charlie said, his hands hesitating on the rims of the wheelchair. “Your friend. Faye. Bring her some flowers. Because you might not think so, but she does mean that much.”

Spike nodded, not certain that he actually would do that. “Hey, Charlie-“ he called, bringing the man to a stop yet again. “My friend, Faye…she can use all the company she can get. Room 607. If you don’t mind taking some time out to visit a…stranger.”

Charlie paused, pouting slightly. “Hmm. Maybe I will. Maybe she’ll have some good Earth stories to tell. After all, there’s very few of us left who remember.” And with that he sent Spike one last smile before wheeling himself back toward the main entrance to the hospital.

Spike watched him go, his breath sticking to his lungs strangely.

It rained that night. The blue sky disappeared, vanishing into grayness before settling into a deep night. And as the rain had come down he had felt it, clothed in a new trench. That eerie feeling of déjà vu. How strange to lean against a wall, smoking a cigarette, and think of another time that he had been caught in the rain in the exact way. There were no roses this time. Only a cigarette and a rainy day. And carnations. He had stolen them from a street vendor. He didn’t feel bad about it either. And this time he was leaning against a hospital wall.

Ed had arrived with Ein mid-afternoon, the entire hospital exploding with distaste and disbelief that someone would think to bring an animal into a sterile environment. If only they knew that Ein was twice as intelligent as the entire staff of doctors. Spike had been saddled with the corgi while Ed had stayed with Faye. She had been asleep, the hacker had told him. She had sat in silence with her Tomato, watching over the older bounty hunter, and the room had been quiet the entire time except for the occasional beeps of the heart monitors. And the hacker hadn’t enjoyed those.

“Only for a little while longer,” Spike murmured. Tonight, standing under a window in the rain, it wasn’t so bad. There was no one waiting for him and he wasn’t waiting for anyone either.

Jet had been out all day. When Ed had returned to the Bebop with Ein he had gone out and disappeared. Spike had no idea where he had gone but it wasn’t like he needed him to check in anyway. They were all grownups. Spike had decided he would visit with Faye for a bit in the evening and drop off the flowers to her after having made himself scarce all day. He didn’t need to stick around, especially as Faye had been either unconscious or asleep the entire day.

He lowered his eyes to the carnations in his hand. He didn’t want the flowers to signify anything. Because they didn’t. They signified nothing. And he knew if he gave her the flowers she would run with it once she got over her initial surprise.

But sometimes, people just deserved flowers.

Finishing his cigarette, he flicked the butt, tossing it into a small puddle. And feeling the familiar sensation inside, he turned and headed into the rain once more. This time, now, he had a place he needed to be. Even if only for a moment.

He paused in the middle of the hallway as he came within distance of Faye’s room. Jet was visible inside the room, his head bowed, his tone low. He didn’t appear to be happy but Jet was never happy these days. And at least he knew now where the older bounty hunter had been most of the day. He slowed, drawing closer a step, his trench loose around him. And yet somehow, feeling the strain in the air, he suddenly felt constricted in the long coat, his figure stiffening slightly. Pausing just to the side of the doorway he caught sight of three gentlemen in the room with Jet and Faye. Two of them were in some sort of uniform and the third, an older man wore a business suit, all with their backs to Spike and standing opposite Jet who was at Faye’s bedside.

“You’re being stupid, Faye,” the older bounty hunter was growling toward the figure in the bed. “You always do stupid things when you get like this-“

Faye responded quietly, much too quietly to even seem like it was her. All he could see of her from his angle were her legs, still under a thin blanket. They shifted a bit, the blanket dragging.

“Forget the money!” Jet shouted at her, her legs immediately halting in Spike’s line of sight. Then quickly, in correction as Jet glanced at the men in the room he added, “Well, don’t forget the money but quit worrying about-“

Faye said something else, a quiet murmur. Spike took another step, straining to hear.

Jet hesitated for a long moment, his eyes sliding shut, his frame weak. “Don’t do it, Faye,” he murmured almost inaudibly. “Not unless you think-“

She cut him off quietly, her tone subdued. Sad.

“-it’s right,” Jet finished. And he hunched over, placing his hands on the side of the bed and pausing. The legs did not move again and the tension in the air was palpable, sparks seeming to fly between the people on either side of the bed. “He’ll hate you for this. You know that, don’t you?”

Faye laughed wryly and spoke once more, mumbling.

Jet sighed. “He doesn’t hate you, Faye,” he rumbled gruffly, shaking his head at her in the bed.

Spike came just close enough to hear her groan dramatically. Ever the drama queen. “But he doesn’t care about me either, does he,” she stated and she hadn’t been expecting an answer to her remark. It was just what it was.

Jet stared at her, his mouth open to speak. But there was nothing to say to that. He closed his mouth with a snap, head falling wearily for a long moment. The legs on the bed had not shifted in the last few moments he had been present and if not for her voice he would have believed her to have fallen back to sleep. Jet lifted his head once more, his eyes shifting toward the doorway. And catching sight of Spike there he straightened immediately, surprise crossing his face. “Spike...”

Spike frowned at him suspiciously from the hallway, eyes darting to the three men in the room as they all turned to look toward him.

Jet’s eyes dropped to Spike’s hand. “With flowers,” he added on, blinking in disbelief.

The figure in the bed moved and he heard the sound of surprise, recognizing Faye’s tone in it. “Wha?”

The older gentleman in the room turned back toward Faye and bent, reaching to the bed. “Ms. Valentine, you have my card. We’ll be in touch with those…items you requested. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to contact me.” And turning to the other two men accompanying him, he jerked his head toward the doorway. Spike stepped aside as one man, his manner that of a bodyguard, led the businessman out, followed closely by the third who also seemed to be a bodyguard. Spike waited as they passed by and then watched them stride down the hallway and into the elevator as it opened for them.

Jet was staring at the flowers in Spike’s hand still when he turned back to face the room. Then, as if aware he had been caught looking he glanced quickly toward Faye. “Well, I’ll be getting out of here for a few. Need to smoke me a cigarette.” He patted the bed as he wound around the foot of it and then breezed by Spike, the corner of his lips quirking.

Spike blinked after him in bemusement, drawing closer to the room and finally pausing in the doorway.

Faye was already attempting to sit up when she caught sight of him and he couldn’t help the slight grimace that crossed his face. She was hooked up to a heart monitor beside her bed, an IV dripping on her other side, the tube disappearing under the blanket where her arm was hidden. She had ripped the oxygen mask from her face and now clutched it with claws for fingers. Numerous wires snaked under and out from beneath the sheet covering her and she looked haggard. “Oh my God,” she uttered hoarsely, her pale face blanching further as her eyes dropped to the flowers in his hand. “You really brought me flowers.”

He dragged his eyes away from her and looked down at his hand. Sure enough he was still clutching the carnations in his hand and he didn’t remember at the moment how he had even gotten them. “Yeah,” he said dumbly and he looked at her once more slowly, not wanting to see.

She lifted her eyes back to meet his, noting his uncomfortable stiffness in the room. Her mouth twisting faintly, she set the oxygen mask down beside her pillow. “Yeah,” she echoed him awkwardly. Quickly, she shook her head though the gesture was not as haughty as he was used to from her. “You don’t have to stay Spike. I’m not the prettiest sight, I know.”

He shrugged at her, bringing her to silence. And as he entered the room she lowered herself back to the bed wearily, watching him with a strange expression. “I don’t really have anywhere to be,” he replied. And as she tilted her head, her eyes widening slightly, he added, “Plus, there’s no food on the Bebop. No one’s done any kind of shopping but I know you have food here so I figured, what the hell, it’s not like you’ve been eating it.” He arched a brow at a tray of cold food beside her bed.

As her eyebrow twitched at him he pulled up a chair and plopped down into it. She stared at him, eyes closing, mouth opening, no doubt to insult him. But after a silent moment she merely swallowed whatever she was going to say. With a small sigh she flattened back down to her bed, squirming to make herself comfortable.

His lips quirking slightly, Spike leaned forward and dropped the flowers onto the blanket covering her.

Faye froze, her eyes darting down to stare at the carnations for a second in utter silence. Then, slowly, she lifted a hand and reached toward them with a finger, dragging the IV under the blanket. Spike watched her silently as she extended a finger and ran a tip along the edge of one of the flowers, her lips parting. “They’re beautiful,” she murmured. And a moment later, without missing a beat but revealing that it had been on her mind since he had come to the door of her room, she whispered “I don’t want you here.”

Spike’s face settled into a blank expression as his glance turned into a stare.

Faye didn’t pull her eyes from the flowers, her fingers trailing across the soft petals. But she was very aware of his eyes on her, as if he tried to burn a hole into her forehead. “I don’t want you here,” she repeated. “And I don’t want your flowers, Spike.” She paused the moment the sentence was out of her mouth. “Actually…leave the flowers.”

Spike’s eyes grew heavy at the last remark. “You would think a life or death situation would change a person,” he stressed to her knowingly.

She sighed at his words wearily. “It usually does,” she whispered, gazing at him. And as he returned her gaze she paused, observing him intently. He allowed her to examine him, maintaining an open expression. She tightened her lips into a straight line, seeming to weigh something inwardly. And then she cleared her throat as she came to a decision, feigning nonchalance and stating, “You owe me the answer to a question.”

Spike lapsed into a long silence, his jaw clenching as if he had known it would come up eventually. He should never have made that bet with her. But she had caught him off guard with that punch. It was unfair. But the truth was he wasn’t sure he was ready to answer any questions at the moment. The last few days, the last few weeks, had taken enough out of him to leave him uncertain that he would answer only what he wanted to answer and not what she needed to hear. But he leaned forward slowly to hover closer to her bed and he nodded, attempting to stifle the cold feeling in his chest. “Shoot.”

Her green eyes shifted from one brown eye to its mismatched twin, her breathing quickening slightly. “Ok. If I ask you this, Spike, you have to be honest. Like really honest and not your version of honest where you kinda shrug, flirt shamelessly but still don’t answer anything in the end-“

“I got it. Shoot.”

“No, really, Spike. You have to be-“

“Geez, Faye,” he grumbled to her irritably. “Just ask the fucking question.”

She hesitated as he stared at her, a slight frown on his face. And her eyes flickered toward the flowers once more, her hand passing over them gently. He waited for her, his silence overwhelming. Slowly, not knowing how to ask the question, she began, “Do you think…”

He hitched a brow at her.

She glanced at him once more, a quick look. This was going to be more embarrassing and more awkward than she had anticipated. As she realized he was waiting for her she said, “Do you think you could…ever…” And she didn’t finish the sentence because he had caught on. Just from her tone and from her reluctance, he had gotten to the point of her question. The expression on his face was one of understanding. She broke off, her lips parted, her pale face almost anxious.

He didn’t answer her for a long moment, his hand lifting to settle on her hip unconsciously as he also let his fingers play with the carnation petals haltingly. Her hand drew away from his as she waited, as her eyes narrowed, trying to read the expression on his face.

Quietly, his eyes caught to the flowers because he wasn’t about to look directly at her, he said, “Maybe…one day. But not now. There’s too much…and not now.”

She gazed at him, at his averted eyes. Neither one matching the other. One as different from the other. And she turned her face toward the window of her room, not wanting to look at those mismatched eyes anymore, aware of the presence of tears in her own. She didn’t want him to see them. Painfully, she swallowed, closing her eyes from the night sky and wanting nothing more then than to be left alone. Faintly, she whispered, “You can go now, Spike.”

She felt his eyes on her again suddenly but she didn’t care. She was happy her eyes were closed and her face was turned away. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to smell him either. “We’ll talk about this-” he said quietly from her other side, his voice falling away.

Never.

“When you’re better. When you get back to the Bebop.”

She didn’t reply, her hand dropping back to her side, falling onto the bed.

With a small sigh he said, “I’ll see you later, Romani.” And she heard him leave, his soft footfalls, and the door closing behind him.

After a long moment she turned her head back but he really was gone.

Maybe just isn’t enough anymore.

With a tremulous breath she closed her eyes once more. “So long, cowboy.”