DISCLAIMER: Cowboy Bebop ain't mine. Period.

A.N. Okay, folks, this idea of Spike and Faye together isn't an original so please don't flame me! I just really got this thing inside my head for a long time now. And reading such marvelous fics from such talented authors inspired me to write (my) shit down. There are tons of great authors who write on Cowboy Bebop so well that i don't expect much reviews for this piece. But anyway, i write here just because i wanted to try something different.

Hope some still enjoy.

Forever Is Our Today

He took a puff of his cigarette and held the smoke for a while inside his chest. He liked that feeling. The way his lungs would tighten and grasp for some oxygen. Though he was a chain smoker for years, there was still this small mild pain that constricted in the middle of his chest every time he held the smoke filled breath for a very long time. It was a little masochistic for his part. Knowing he could not hold any smoke longer, he exhaled a sharp shoot of pollution from out of his mouth. The little pain was either for a benumbing form of relaxation or just another want for ache. He sighed for the umpteenth time and took another sip of his stick. There were several thoughts that crossed his mind as he kept himself locked inside his room. The air was thick and foggy because of the smoke, but Spike knew that there was an added dimness to it all –it was a slight mixture of depression, grief, and confusion.

First, there was this point of getting over Julia's death. It had been one months and three weeks since she died. Died. Who would ever thought that she would actually die then? Now that he thought of it, Julia could have died in a more dramatic setting. But he knew, as much as Julia did, that being shot, back-stabbed (literally with a knife or not), was all part of life in the syndicate. May the villain be Vicious or not, that kind of death was unavoidable.

Then there was thing about actually moving on. But there was just an idiotic sense about the phrase 'moving on' being too cliché, too cheesy. Melodramatic, the situation he was striving in. It could have been different if he was alone because he knew himself. He could easily change his mood to being apathetic. But he couldn't help but notice how the people around him acted. They vibrated too much of pity, grief, sympathy, undying friendship and all that teary 'we're always here' crap. Every time he would try to lounge on the couch and try to relax like the old times, he could always feel someone watching him, observing him silently, checking if he was crying or doing something suicidal. Sometimes, comrades really worry too much it made him snicker.

Thinking about comrades, Faye Valentine was the third issue. He couldn't forget the way she overreacted before he left one month and three weeks ago. After he received Vicious' fatal attack, his life flashed before his eyes and was he surprised to see the girl there, making a full blown appearance on his mind. It was a mystery to him, until now, why it was she that kept him blinking his eyes to check if he was still breathing. Then, the smell and the memory of blood that filled his head slowly began disappear, melting into the memory of Faye. Faye, Faye, Faye…

"Shit…"

He shifted in his bed, clamping his lips lightly around the shortening stick of cigarette. He draped his arm over his eyes and sighed again.

Since that day that he did find out that he was indeed alive, he began to take notice of her. He really didn't know how he managed to get to a hospital, but he was slightly aware of the medical attention he was getting. And was he so aware of her voice when he lay on the hospital bed, pretending to be asleep. He couldn't stop his heart from beating faster when he opened his eyes and the first thing he saw were her darkened emerald eyes that bore deep into his head and soul like thirst. He healed quick, but he was updated of how many time she stayed up to watch for him in the hospital. And when he returned to the Bebop, he always kept his eyes glued on her form. Maybe it was because she was the most 'affected' when he left and she dared to show it to him. Faye was a strong woman but still, like most women (and men alike), eventually broke down when it came to very sensitive aspects of their lives. Maybe because she was the one who shed tears for him that day. Someone actually tried to feel for him. Maybe that was it.

The next issue pops up. He was strangely being a man nowadays. Yeah, he was most of the time cold and cool but now, he couldn't help but realize that he was beginning to be what a man usually was… But it was her fault, he decided. Not only did she make a scene that day, but she always dressed slutty too. It wasn't his fault that he had erections when she was in the same room as he was, when she walked with that sway on her hips, when she bent over and got something from the floor, when she ate her food, when she sat crossed-leg on the sofa… It wasn't his fault her body was screaming sex. He didn't know if he were to hate her more or hate himself for getting all hot just looking at her. And when she opened that irritating little mouth of hers…

He crushed the remain of the used one against the wall and lit another stick. He popped it in his mouth and sighed again.

How could he be thinking of those things when he wasn't even over his first loss yet? How could he be fantasizing of Faye Valentine? She was a woman to be argued with, to be scolded, to be hurt, to be… taken care of, to be held, to be touched, made love to… He shook his head quickly and bit onto the soft warm filter of his smoke. And did he just say first loss? That was Julia, damn it!

But he wasn't too engrossed about it as much as he thought he would be. In fact, he was way far too much of a depressed retard when Julia was still alive. The fact that she was gone gave him peace of some sort. There was no denial that he wanted to come after her and die as well, but… now, he chose to live. Her death, it seemed, did set him free. It took him a while to realize that for all those times that they have been apart, he had been in bondage of her selfish love… being the masochistic person that he was, he still loved her, but the once raging perpetual love quieted down a bit, tamed.

And slowly, he knew, that the yellow would be replaced by deep violet. Blue by green. Like grief by love. But no! he argued with himself. Love was too much a strong word. More like lust. Yeah, lust. Lust was fine. Faye, after all, was all skin and curves. Ah... woman.

And it wasn't long enough till the silence was replaced by the clunking of a specific woman's heels –she, obviously, making sure her arrival was known by the whole crew. He didn't know if she did it on purpose, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He was relieved to know that she came back from wherever she came from. For several nights she always managed to leave the Bebop with such skillful stealth it plagued his brain that he wasn't conscious enough to notice. Her steps paused on his doorway and he swear he could smell the faint twirl of her perfume, the enticing scent easily making its way through the fog of cigarette smoke in his room. Lately, his nose had gotten extra sensitive whenever she passed by and in this instance, whenever she came home.

Spike frowned, wondering why she wasn't moving. The shadow her boots made from under the door was still, making it clear she just stood there, as if waiting for something. Curiosity tweaked the tip of his ears and like a cat on fours; he kneeled across his bed, hoping to get a better view of what position she stood before his door. Was she staring at his door or was she staring at a different direction? He kneeled lower, cigarette on his lips, wondering why she wasn't moving at all. Then he saw her shadow started to move in place. Was she doing a dance outside his door?

Out of the sudden, the door swung open and in she walked, a mind-boggling blur of red, yellow, flesh and deep violet across the room. Her shoes were held in one hand, her other fist on her hip. Throwing her white boots on the floor, she kicked the door behind her and then she leaned against the wall across the bed where he kneeled.

As of this moment, Spike Spiegel was sure of many things. He was certain that he wasn't dreaming –Faye Valentine was in his room with bare feet. She was there and he was there. He was also sure that she just did walk in his room on purpose, without any orders from Jet to make sure he was okay or any of that shit. And of course, his stick was all but filter –he sucked in way too hard with shock as she invaded his room. And she was standing before him with her usual drool-worthy clothes. And who would dismiss the fact that he was kneeling on his bed like a dog?

"Shit…" he muttered, placing his palms firmly on the bed, starting to do light push-ups. He glared at her and stopped. "Gee, Valentine, you've got some nerve to interrupt my exercise. But I'll stop because I think it's rude." He sat back again, trying to look a little exhausted. "So…? What do you want?" He took another cig from his pack and offered one to her, but she ignored it. He lit his stick and took a puff.

It seems that she didn't have anything to say. She kept her mouth shut, arms crossed under her breasts, her emerald eyes digging in his head. He turned away from her, trying to figure out why the hell she was being so silent.

Silence.

Then Spike did his biggest expected mistake.

He returned her gaze, locking his brown eyes with hers. There was no movement in the room, no blinking, just the smoke. From the short distance his insides twisted and relaxed at the same time. Her eyes were like the sea before a storm, calm and still yet dangerous. Her lips were temptation and the rosy hue of her cheeks was a warning sign. Her silence was his contained rage, if she spoke, he would go mad and take her once and for all. The distance between them was like air and all he had to do was breathe and he would take in all of what was Faye.

If there was one thing he never figured about this woman, it was her thoughts and plans. Unlike Julia, Faye was unpredictable, untamed, unleashed… She was freedom at its best. Though Faye was stuck with few tidbits of her past, Faye was time –she was free. Her past, present and future were hers to hold and cherish –if only he could manage to squeeze himself between her fingers, even to be just the smudge under her manicured fingernails, maybe he could get a glimpse, maybe a taste of that beautiful, vigorous abandon.

He didn't want to speak –it wasn't everyday he got to stare at her this way. To observe her with all the time he wants, besides, wasn't she the one who entered his lair? It was proof enough that she wanted this… just as much as he did.

Her eyes spoke of something else, something she herself wasn't truly aware of. Maybe she was doubting, fearing or probably loathing him right now. Or maybe it was just the simple case of being a woman and playing 'hard to get.' But no, this was Faye Valentine. She was probably struggling with her inner fears and doubts of herself as well. It was the fight of heart and mind; of independence and freewill.

But both of them were figuring it out just now –she came automatically because he called out to her unintentionally and now both of them were trying to solve the hardest mystery of the universe. Were they or were they not?

His eye scanned her slowly. Will she break the cord of silence? And then her crimson lips started to move, he could have missed it if he didn't pay attention. She was mouthing simple words: 'I… hate… you.'

The shortening stick was instantly on the floor. His male instincts told him one thing: Punish her. Love her.

In a flash he was before her, grasping her shoulders and making her gasp, trapping her against the wall. He tried to breathe steadily as he glared into her eyes. "Let me love you, Faye."

"Tonight…?" she asked in a whisper, her arms still on her sides.

Spike shook his head. He was so sure tonight was already great but only for tonight? Impossible. Their lips met in a feverish kiss, devouring each other with urgency and eagerness. He wasn't rushing her; he was just hungry for what she was and who she was… She was addicting, he knew, but as he kissed her now, she surely was his death. This woman, he discovered just as of this moment, would probably cause him his life –he was to surely give it to her. He would give his death to this woman who cried for him that painful day, who remembered that he existed.

His hands caught the hem of her flimsy straps, and with his fingers he pulled down slowly to expose her. Not once did he take his eyes from her face, he let his hands and body do the exploring. Her skin, he noticed, was on fire. But her cold hands on his chest proved that his skin burned even more. He kissed her everywhere, nipped on her skin and made her blush. He used his tongue to make her giggle and gasp, moan his name. Her fingers did the same thing, tracing and feeling over and over again.

All they could think of was, connect. They had to connect. Be with each other. Be together.

As he slid inside her warmth, she held onto him tightly. He embraced her harder before moving his hips, he wanted to show her, I won't hurt you. She was innocent and bare and he took everything away. He covered her exposed skin with his body, making her feel all but cold. And when he moved, she moaned –the pace began. The magic of the old dance started, the music filling them both with loving ecstasy and pleasure. Her breasts rubbed hard against his own, heart to heart, crushed feelings against loose feelings –all in one motion. They were one.

They came in one heightened moment –together again, and she had to say his name wildly against his mouth when his seed penetrated her womb. There was life, they knew, because there was movement and pain.

Breathing slowing down, the drumming of heartbeats coming to a gentle end, both remain close and tangled with each other. They've made love.

As Spike held her close in a possessive embrace, he planted a soft kiss on her hair. Where was the lust he pondered about earlier? Where was it? It was nowhere. All that was present was affection. Pure love...

"I love you, Spike," her lips mouthed again against the skin of his heart.

"I, you," he whispered. Why wasn't there hesitation? Oh yes, he remembered. Simply because there was freedom now. Faye was future, Faye was time… There was only, "Forever."

A.N. How wuzzat? I hope some liked it. I really enjoyed writing this, ahehehe...