Disclaimer: Don't own Cowboy Bebop, Watanabe Shinichiro does.

Thanks to Shaq for the beta.

Mellow Yellow

Fingering the flimsy yellow vinyl fabric, she sighed a little and took another sip of her drink. It was a quiet enough bar, minus all the lecherous looks she was receiving from the male population of the room – there were only men in this god-forsaken moon – and the low croon of the saxophone. She hadn't really thought about it when she high-tailed it out of there, not that she ever thought about anything as someone with a large mop of brown hair would like to inform her, but the urge to move, to do something made her impulsive. Never mind that the name 'Julia' made her even more jumpy.

The underlying thrum of curiosity had long passed. Julia wasn't here to greet her – not that she was expecting her to – but it would be nice to discover, or catch a glimpse of, the woman that haunted that man's dreams. For someone as cynical as Spike Spiegel to be this affected... She just had to meet this woman and see for herself.

So what kept her here? She wasn't too sure. All she knew was that she wasn't that willing to move, and who would want to? It was below freezing outside and all she had to wear was a leather jacket that didn't cover the bottom half of her body. Dipping her head just a little, she stared in disinterest at her stocking-covered legs and shifted them a little to get the blood circulating again in one of them. The movement caused a little stirring in her audience and she casted a flirtatious little half-smirk over her shoulder before turning back to study her legs again.

It was times like these that had her thinking just how strange her life had turned out. If she had her memory back, maybe she could do a comparison of the many changes that had taken place. Had she always been like this? Had she always used her looks as a means to get what she wanted? Was she always this impulsive and stubborn?

Lord knew it had been an uphill battle when she had first woken up – it still was a struggle to keep up with the world that just didn't seem to care. Of course, having that bastard dump his load of debts onto her didn't help matters in any way, but she had felt a twinge of regret for Whitney. He had, at least, cared. Had taken the time to show her what the world was like now and what she needed to do to get back on her feet. Too bad that his last will and testament eclipsed everything else.

Events snowballed after that. She had discharged herself – ran away – from the hospital, spent a better part of two weeks hiding in a decrepit building trying to get her bearings and 'redesigning' herself. She may be disorientated and a little lost, but she was not stupid. She had seen the way men looked at her when she was making her speedy getaway and she knew that if anything, her looks would benefit her if she wanted to survive in this strange new world. She just didn't particularly like the idea of flaunting her assets this way, but one had to do what one had to do. The little ensemble had been easy enough to acquire, the prostitute she had been sharing the building with was more than happy to loan her some clothes when she had explained that she needed a disguise because her abusive boyfriend was out for her blood.

But getting the attitude right was the most difficult, even more difficult than learning to shoot without having the gun kicking back in her face while seducing a drunk and stealing the Red Tail from right under his nose, and then being left alone to figure out how to fly the bubble-like machine. Most of the times she could pull it off, but on days when things seem to be as grim and grey as they looked, it was worse than pulling teeth. At those times, she just didn't bother and hid herself in whatever hole she could find until she could patch up the cracks where her vulnerability was oozing out like an infested wound that refused to heal.

That had been several years ago, and she had plenty of time to become a master at hiding herself from the world. It had gotten to the point where she didn't have to think about it, and the mask would slide on as easily as the little yellow vinyl outfit.

Author's note: I have no idea what this is. I've never tasted Mello Yello in my life but the bloody thing is like haunting me...