Faye Valentine ran a finger over the rim of her glass, listening to the faint clink of ice clicking together as the frozen cubes melted slowly to mix in with the alcohol. Her sad green eyes drooped as she breathed a heavy sigh, her lips trembling slightly with misery. She brought the glass to her cherry lips, and threw the contents down her throat, feeling the vodka burn her gullet in a way that she welcomed.

"A million woolong," she muttered darkly "down the drain…"

Again, she filled the tumbler to take another sorrow filled swig. "All because that… that dealer caught me in the act… I can't believe it…"

Faye fumbled into a hand bag that she rarely used and came up with a packet of Holiday cigarettes. She shoved one in her mouth, lit the end and took in a long and blissful drag.

She hated that fact that she smoked. Faye thought it was a dirty habit – a habit that cost money as well as her youthful appearance but couldn't quite kick the practice. She wanted to, Faye really did, but the simple act of smoking a cigarette allowed a fragment in time to be momentous. Not that she wanted to remember this particular moment in her rotten life. It meant nothing to the woman. She just wanted to life to throw her a freaking bone!

Her eyes melancholy flicked up at the static TV screen in the living area when the familiar opening theme of Big Shot jingled across the monitor. She poured herself another glass, then used her foot to toe the volume up, better to draw the attention of the boys she lived with. The remote was spending a vast amount of time in an unknown world to the chagrin of the residents of the Bebop. Not that any of them actively searched for the device. They simply muttered about it, curst it then cherished the thing until it was lost once again.

Ah, the life of a remote must have been very fulfilling.

Right on cue, the dorkier of the two men who cohabited inside the Bebop sauntered in, hands in his pockets and looking as royally pissed off as she felt. With a mop of fuzz he called hair, and his blue suit that was his fancy gears, Spike parked himself next to Faye and rested a long leg on the coffee table, just in front of the TV. His brown eyes flicked to Faye, sulking on the couch with a glass in hand and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Jerk.

"How much did you lose?"

Faye shot him a dirty look and refused to answer.

"Let me guess… the lot."

"It wasn't my fault." Faye complained, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as if in pain. "Some dickhead thought I was Poker Alice and called security."

Spike chuckled, helping himself to one of 'Poker Alice's' cigarettes. Faye poured herself another glass and held it up to Spike in salute, and sipped it slowly, taking the time to taste the burning liquid instead of just using it to get trashed.

The Big Shot duo on screen wailed on and on about a bounty that had already been apprehended, going into detail about how the hunters managed to catch him and even relayed a short piece from the local authorities. The two watched in silence, not really paying any attention to what was being said but rather enjoyed one another's company.

Not that either of them would care to admit it.

By the time the show ended, neither were in the mood to move, or even talk about the small bounties that made it on air. Faye nursed a drink while Spike stared at the screen of meaningless flashes and puffed away.

"I'm bored." Faye confessed ten minutes later.

"Yeah." Spike retorted.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well what are we gonna do about it?" Faye asked half heartedly.

"What do you wanna do?" Spike asked, thinking about scratching his ass then taking a nap. Of course he had to wait for Faye to go since she was actually on his bed, so he was down for whatever crazy scheme popped into her head.

"How come I have to come with the ideas?"

Spike grinned. "Because you were the one who brought it up."

Again with the itchy butt. God, he really needed to scratch it!

Faye sighed. "This conversation is totally pointless."

"You got that right."

They elapsed into silence once again. Spike took the glass from Faye – who did nothing to stop him – and poured himself a drink.

"How about we get trashed and sleep on it until inspiration strikes?"

Faye grinned. "You're on."

***

Jet returned to the Bebop a few hours later to see that Spike was dribbling all over Faye's bare torso and the pair were knocked out cold on the yellow sofa. The glass and three empty bottles indicated to how the two managed to comatose themselves at brunch. However, it didn't explain the fact that Spike was wearing Faye's ridiculously revealing shorts that were giving the poor man the wedgy of a life time and Faye had shoes tied to her wrist like some obnoxious bracelet.

"You two were made for each other, you know that?" Jet asked the pair of sleeping dead. "God help you both if kids are in the oven."

With a shake of his head, Jet found a blanket in the nearest room and draped it over Faye and Spike. He chuckled and began to tidy up around his friends.

"You're like the left and right of my ass cheeks, don't you think? The butt of my existence." Spike chuckled his own joke as he kicked the bottles into the rubbish bin in the living room. He was surprised the two of them didn't get up with a start with the amount of racket he was making and shook his head in incredulity.

Faye stirred in her sleep, and snorted. Spike petted her stomach in what Jet assumed was supposed to comfort the woman as he dribbled even more on her.

"Yep, you're both bums. Good for nothing bums."

Jet left them to it, flicked the light switch off and dawdled leisurely towards his own bedroom. He heard the two snore together and fought a smile.

At least they had each other, right?