A/N: YO!! I'm back! Sorry my update took so long, but I've been banned from the computer, so I've had to sneak brief writing spurts late at night. And school starts on Wednesday, so I'm a little stressed. It'll be my first year at the high school (I'm a sophomore), and I'm super nervous. But enough about me, let's talk about you! Here's my reviewer thank yous…

Call me Rin: Eh. I dunno. I usually like happy ending stories, but I'm slightly depressed right now, so we'll just have to see how it turns out. See, my stories write themselves. I just type them! But I promise I'll put some serious thought into it. If you love happy endings, check out Widow's Waltz (maybe you already have) as that story is guaranteed to have a happy ending! Thanks for the review!

Animefreak44: Arigato mas! ^.^

Arbitrary: I love those books to! Did you read the sequal (Sabine's notebook)? From the replying to herself and going crazy, I'm guessing you have… No, Faye's not going to go crazy (or at least not crazier) thanks for the review!

Sorrow: Thank you very much! I tried to give it a little more darkness than my other fluffy fics…

Cowgirl13: Arigato mas! You're my first reviewer again! (sniff) makes my heart go squish! ^.^

Well, here's chappy 2. The song is 'No Angel' by Dido. Hope you enjoy!

If you gave me just a coin for every time we say goodbye

Well I'd be rich beyond my dreams, I'm sorry for my weary life

I know I'm not perfect

But I can smile

And I hope that you see this heart behind my tired eyes

Dear Spike,

Well, here I go again. Writing more letters to fucked up dead guys. I really do need a shrink. Probably more than one…

You know, there's this one old movie called 'It's a Wonderful Life' that I used to love when I was little. It was about this guy who started having a real tough time, and wished he had never been born. So then his guardian angel comes down and 'poof' the guy was never born. Then he goes around and sees how horrible everything would be if he weren't born. See he unknowingly influenced all these people's lives, and without him the world would be this really bad place. So he realizes that he really was worth something and wishes himself back to being born again, and everything's hunky dory.

I hate that movie.

Real life isn't anything like the movies. If I had never been born, everything would be exactly the same as it is now. You'd still be dead, the gate would still have blown up, life would still keep going – like that stupid energizer bunny… I forgot. You were never subjected to that annoying thing.

Some people have all the luck.

You know Spike, if you had never been born, it would be kinda like the opposite of that movie. Julia and Vicious wouldn't be dead and would probably be married now.  All those buildings you blew up would still be standing. And I wouldn't be messed up like this. Well, not this messed up.

But if you hadn't been born, Julia would still be with that creep, and he'd still be alive. All those bounties you caught would still be free. None of our Bebop crew would ever have met each other. Jet would still be working for the ISSP, that Hakim guy would have stolen Ein, Ed would still be… Well, no one really knows what Ed would have been doing… And me… I'd still be a nobody, running from my debt, never really amounting to much. But I guess that never really changed. Maybe I'd have found some guy and married him. Maybe I'd have children. Or maybe not.

But if you had never been born, life would have been as boring as hell.

Guess what? I got a cat. Don't you smirk at me, Spike. I don't want to hear about me turning into an old spinster with a house full of cats. No, I'm an old spinster who looks like a 24-year-old woman, with a tiny apartment on Mars and one cat. His name is Gaujo, matter of fact. He was as alley cat before I adopted him, so he's kind of beat up looking. He's tiger-striped, and one side of his face is all scarred from a fight with another cat. He's blind in one eye from that, so for the first week or so after I took him in, he was running into walls and stuff. It was kind of sad and funny at the same time.

But anyways, I first found him a little bit after that big fight, corned by a pack of rats in the alley next to my apartment. Well, I blasted the heck out of the rats (yes, I still have my Glock), but poor Gaujo thought I was after him. He was spitting and hissing and clawing, and putting up a good fight. So I told him, 'hey, if you don't want my help, fine. Die alone then. I hope you get eaten by a dog!'.

Shut up, Spike. I know you're laughing.

If you tell that I can't, I will, I will, I'll try all night

And if I say I'm coming home, I'll probably be out all night

I know I can be afraid

But I'm alive

And I hope that you can trust this heart behind my tired eyes

Anyways, I just marched right into my apartment and slammed the door. Next day, Gaujo was still in that alley, and this time, it was actually a dog that cornered him. Well, after Ein, I'm developing sort of a soft spot in my heart for canines, so I didn't shoot the mutt. I just threw a few cans, cursed a bit, and gave it a well-aimed kick in the ribs. And again, Gaujo put up a good fight, so I left him. Next day, same thing except the rats were back. Day after that, it was two other cats. I'm telling you Spike, Gaujo sure knows how to get in trouble! Finally, he seemed to realize that I was helping him, not hurting him, and actually let me pet him. But every time I tried to take him back to my apartment, he'd start having a hissy fit (quite literally. I see now where that term came from) so I just left him to his own devices.

Finally, after a few weeks of cajoling and cat food cans on my doorstep, I got him inside. The poor thing didn't know whether to hiss or purr! I made him go to the groomers and the vet, because I won't put up with fleas and I won't have him spraying everything.

After the first month of bumping into chairs, shredding everything, and pacing non-stop, Gaujo adjusted and is doing remarkably well. Every night, when I come home from work, he purrs a welcome, I give him a quick pet and take a shower, then we both have dinner, and cuddle on the couch while watching late night TV until bedtime.

I'm working as a waitress now, at diner on Mars. The pay is not spectacular, but it's enough to get by. At least I'm not living off the odd cup of soup, dog food, and vegetarian beef and bell peppers (as Jet liked to call it). And it turns out, I'm actually a decent cook! Living alone brings out the oddest things in people, eh?

I've developed this new persona that I use at work. I just act all perky and nice, and everyone thinks I'm a country girl, just moved here from Venus. The uniforms are just like the ones in old-fashioned diners (yes that is old-fashioned, even for me), and they even have the tacky looking hat thingy. Problem is, my manager is an old lech, and my uniform is just as short as my favorite old yellow vinyl two-piece suit. You'd never recognize me if you saw me now, running around in a skimpy little uniform at work, jeans and a bomber jacket on the street, and sweats and an undershirt at home.

Days are long, nights are longer, and time drags on infinitely. Nothing interesting really happens in my life, as nothing really happened in it before. I think my time on the Bebop was my one chance, my one window of opportunity to make something happen. And I blew it, Spike. I stubbornly shackled myself to my pride and watched the door slam in my face. And look at me now. I'm working as an underpaid waitress at a little po-dink diner with a gross perv for a boss. I live alone in a grungy apartment in the worst part of town, with my cat – who is named after you. I don't go out, I don't make friends – I just sit around and mope. I don't even gamble anymore. How sad is that?! I worked as a dealer at the 'Lucky Stars Casino' on Ganymede for a while, but I just couldn't do it. Day after day, watching people lose, win, and cheat, I began to feel more and more out of place. I quit a week later, and moved to Mars. I sold the Redtail, and used the money to get my apartment, a car, and deposited the rest. In the bank that is, not in the casino. Oh, and I also went halvsies with Jet, to get you a special plot and a nice funeral.

I guess I should tell you about your grave and funeral, since you probably can't see it from wherever you are. The plot Jet and I got you is in the Titan War Memorial Park, which – even though you didn't fight there – I thought quite fitting. Vicious is there too, I suppose. I didn't really pay attention to where he was buried, though I suppose you probably want to know. I'll look next time I visit. Anyways, your grave is near the edge of the graveyard, off the path a little ways. It's under this really big Weeping Willow, which shines silver when the moonlight hits it (in case you were wondering). Your gravestone is dark gray – not fancy, but beautiful just the same. The inscription reads, 'Spike Speigel 2043-2071. "The music box is broken, or is it? It starts to play and a haunting tune fills the air. I awake suddenly from my dream, there is no music box, and yet, there it is – a tiny one, nestled in the palm of my hand, and I awake from my dream again as if I was peeling an onion… It's a dream no matter how far I go. I can never reach reality, trapped in an endless nightmare." –A Cowboy' I found that when I was in your room once (probably looking for cigs or your lighter), and I opened a drawer and it was full of pictures, endless pages of writing, and a few dusty rose petals. I confess, I was so entranced by your writing, that I lifted a couple of the pages. One of them had that poem scrawled on it, and it seemed so perfect – almost as if you had purposely written that for your epitaph.

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I won't try

I'm no angel, but dos that mean that I can't live my life

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry

I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly

You did, didn't you? You knew you were going to die, so you wrote that. God, Spike… When I watched you vanish that night, somewhere, somehow, I knew you weren't coming back. I could have stopped you, I know. I could have shot out your legs, could have gone with you, could have made you promise to come back. I know it was selfish, but I didn't want you to leave me. Maybe if I had been selfish, you'd still be alive. But there's no use thinking about that now.

Let's talk about another thing I don't think you saw. After you left, Jet and I saw the mess you left behind on TV. I mean, how could we not? It was on every channel. When I saw you mouth the word 'Bang', I knew it was over, and I smiled. I knew you had found paradise, a place where there are no guns, no sorrow, no bounties, and no past. I hoped you would be happy there, to live (well, not exactly) with your blonde angel in perpetual bliss.

Jet and I went to the city morgue later, to identify your body. We talked it over, and decided on the plot and gravestone. Jet threw a fit when I told him that I wanted to sell the Redtail, but you know he can never say no to me (especially when I play the 'poor girl who just got here memory back' card). I don't know why, I just felt that I needed to have a part in your final resting place.

Your funeral was small, as can be expected. All your friends are dead now, and who else were we going to invite? The ISSP? Punch and Judy? But I did manage to track down Ein, Ed, her father and McWhathisface, VT and Zeros, Rocco's sister (I thought you'd like to know, she made a full recovery from the surgery, and her vision has returned), Doohan and Miles, these three random old guys, even Andy (who is now a Sherlock Holmes-esque detective, going by the name of 'Basil'). They all came to pay their respects to you, Spike. It was kind of awe-inspiring to see all these people who you affected. And think of all the people who would have come if they hadn't died. Julia (of course), Shin, Lin, Annie, Mao, Rocco, Maria, Gren, maybe even Vicious. But as to that, we'll never know.

Anyways, at your funeral, we all listened to some preacher give the traditional 'Dearly Beloved…' speech. Jet gave the epitaph, but I wasn't really listening, I confess. I couldn't stop staring at that wooden box that you were going to be buried in. Locked away in a box in the cold, hard, unforgiving ground. By the time I snapped out of it, the pallbearers were beginning to toss dirt on top of your coffin.

And suddenly, I knew it was wrong. "Stop!" I yelled. If I had just announced that I was going to live in a convent, everyone couldn't have been more shocked. "Stop!" I said again, softer. "Spike Speigel was a cowboy, a free ranging wanderer. Would he really want to have is body rot away, six feet under? Would he really want to be tied to this one spot? Imprisoned underground? I don't think so." Everyone muttered a bit, then fell silent as Ed stepped forward flanked by Ein. She looked up at me, and I was shocked to actually see tears in her eyes. Ed? Crying? She slowly walked over to me and took my hand. "Ed doesn't think so either." Ein licked my other hand, and sat at my feet.

I know I'm not around each night

And I know I always think I'm right

I can believe that you might look around

Then Doohan stepped forward. "Me neither." He was followed by 'Basil', then Rocco's sister and VT, then everyone else, until only Jet was left standing there. A smile slowly crept to his face and he actually had to wipe his eyes. For the first time since your death, he was getting teary-eyed. He walked over to me and enveloped me in a bear hug. I cried then too, into Jet's black suit. I felt Ed's arms go around my waist, and Ein sat on my feet. And we stood there, as it began to rain, in the Titan War Memorial Park, our Bebop family, holding on to each other

Yeah, it's sappy, yeah it's mushy, deal with it. I think my relationship with Jet, Ed, and Ein has matured a little since your death. We're no longer family by default, sticking together only because there's no one else. Maybe if you hadn't died, we would have come to this maturity anyways. Maybe we could have been a family. We each needed a place to belong, somewhere to come home to. And that was the Bebop. Or didn't you notice it? Though we all had our issues, and from time to time, someone might disappear for a while, we always came back. Even if we didn't mean to. Family is like that.

Anyways, back to your funeral. After deciding that your body should not be imprisoned six feet under, we had you cremated, and then Jet, Ed, Ein, and myself each took a handful of ash, and scattered it (you?) into the vast range of the Cosmos.

There's still a plot and gravestone for you in the Titan War Memorial Park, a place for people to come and grieve. I thought it a fitting tribute to our Lone Ranger.

There's a picture of you pinned to the fridge in my apartment. I can see it from where I'm sprawled across the couch to write this letter. I don't know when it was taken, I just happened to find it when I was looking for a record of an old bounty I caught in the back storeroom. You're sprawled across the couch (gee, what's new?) and had apparently been reading 'Bruce Lee's theory on Life, Liberty, and Punching the Hell out of Bad Guys' before the picture was taken. It was slightly candid, as your book was still up, but you're face is turned towards the camera and you look slightly confused. I bet that look was followed by your eyebrow twitching look and then a shout of "FAYE!" or "JET!" or "ED!" – well, no probably not Ed, as the picture was relatively well taken, and you happen to be centered and right side up. You look all innocent and cute, which for you, is reason enough to keep the picture.

There are also a few more snapshots up there, but they're of the entire crew. I've got the group mugshot when we accidentally grabbed that undercover ISSP officer, a picture from the one Halloween that we all dressed up for, and another random one of us all sitting out on the nose of the Bebop, on Ganymede, I'm assuming. There's also a small clipping about the Gate accident that I dredged out of the Central Mars Library, a crayoned letter from Ed, Jet's comm. Number, and a shopping list. The entirety of my life is summed up in a few snapshots, an old newspaper article, and a shopping list.

How fitting.

Well, this was a nice long letter. It'll probably take a while to burn, so I'd best be getting started.

Happy trails,

Faye

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I won't try and try

I'm no angel, but does that mean that I can't live my life

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry

I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly…

A/N: Well? Like it? Hate it? TELL ME! Savvy? ^.^