By: Rael
Warning:Cowboy Bebop Ending Spoilers
She turned the tap on too hard; the water gushed into her cupped hands and sprayed itself on her shirt, soaking through the thin white cloth to her skin. She flinched at its iciness instinctively, then splashed the water over her face.
Turned the tap off. What was she even doing here? In this bathroom, on this ship, on this planet? ... Well, where could she go, if she didn't stay here? Anywhere. Who would care? She didn't.
One week.
Her reflection in the mirror was pale. Surprisingly expressionless. What expression was she supposed to wear? Grief? Tears? She'd be damned if she cried. He'd got his ending. What about theirs?
One week.
She left the bathroom; she didn't try to dry her face or change her shirt. What difference would it make? The real cold, the numbness, the emptiness so deep it was hurt, was from her. Within her. She didn't care if she froze to death.
One week.
A long time ago, on a different planet, a girl had dreamed...
She dreamt of remembering who she was. Of finding out where she belonged. Of finding the people she used to love, and who used to love her. That was all she needed, she told herself. She'd have all the answers then, she would *know* where she belonged.
Like Hell she would.
One week since she'd been desperate enough to let Ed drag her all over Earth in search of an elusive not-a-memory in a video. One week since she'd met the old lady - that was all she could see her as, an old lady; her well-meaning, wrinkled face told her nothing about who she was or what she'd meant to the girl Faye used to be.
One week since the ruins of what she'd once called home shattered the only dream she'd ever been stupid enough to let herself believe in. The other memories were coming back now, piece by piece.
For what? So that she could feel the pain of losing it all again?
She remembered the girl in the video now, a girl so vastly different from who she was now, they were like two different people. She'd been beautiful, naive, vibrant. Childlike in her faith in the goodness of the world, sheltered all her life by a rich, loving family. And who was she now?
Two years and more of living on the edge, fighting to survive in a world she barely understood, alone, under the shadow of a debt she could barely imagine repaying had created a vastly different woman now. A gambler, a cynic. A survivor.
Or so she told herself.
You told me the past doesn't matter. Like she'd ever believed him. They both knew it wasn't true. Him because his memories haunted him so completely, they blinded him to the future; her because her lack of memories...
One eye looked to the past, one eye looked to the present. As far as he was concerned, there was no future to see.
She stopped, in the middle of the hall. Right at the exact same spot he'd been standing when she pulled her gun on him.
How was she any different?
She'd never looked at the future; the struggle to survive the here and now, the pursuit of the mysterious used-to-be had always obscured it. Maybe she'd let them hide it, refused to think about where she thought she was going, or where she wanted to be ten, twenty years down the road.
The past would hold the answers...
The past was dead. And in one short week, so was Spike. His past was... no, had been very much alive. And so he'd followed his beautiful, dangerous love to the death.
Easy for him, she thought darkly. Such a tragic, dramatic end. Suited him to a T. Oh no, no quiet passing away in old age, no succumbing to some incurable disease, or finally getting taken out by one of the petty criminals they were always chasing. He had to die, guns blazing, with a good, loud bang instead.
She hit the wall with a clenched fist. Not too hard, because she honestly didn't need to add broken knuckles to her list of Things That Had Fucked Up Her Life. Like the Debt. Like her past, or lack of it, and its recent, confusing return. Like Spike's death.
What about US? She wanted to scream at him. What about Jet, about her, about Ed even; about the people who'd come to trust him, care about him, think of him as a friend, or something close enough that it made no difference? We care, so why can't you, you bastard?
She could almost see him now, staring back, almost *laughing* at her. Go figure it put yourself, she could hear him say. It's your problem...She cursed and hit the wall again. Harder, this time.
Dead men might tell no tales... but they could still be annoying as Hell...
Notes: Eh. Needs an edit? Iffy, at best. And I don't necessarily think that Faye was in love with Spike... Attracted? Fascinated, much as she'd die before she's admit it? Yes. But SpikexFaye? Not looking at the canon and everything. But that's just me. ^_^
Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, don't sue, stealing bad, ask before archiving? and all that jazz.
April 2002
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