One More Time (Page 7)

What about when that loser sort-of ex-boyfriend of hers showed up? You went down to the station with her, even tried to cheer her up after everything was said and done. You gave her some good advice. You told her to forget about the past and look to the future. Isn't that referred to as the pot calling the kettle black?

I said shut up.

And what about when you saw that tape of her when she was a child, all innocent and naïve? Don't tell me you didn't feel anything for her then…

Oh, all right! I admit I may care about what happens to her, but I just don't see her as a woman.

As a woman? Have you even looked at her?

I didn't mean that. Yeah, she's beautiful, and any man alive would stop and take a second look, but I've just never viewed her like that. She's been a good friend, someone who I can banter with. You know, someone who can take what I give and dish it out just as well herself. She's…

Real? Attainable? Flesh and blood instead of porcelain?

You've lost me again.

She's real. She's living and breathing and not your idealized porcelain doll. She's not perfect.

I never said she had to be.

Not out loud, maybe. But you thought it. Maybe just subconsciously, but it was there. It had to be. You couldn't bring yourself to let Julia go, to move on, no matter how hopeless it seemed, so you had to make a reason why no other woman could take her place. No woman can ever quite match up because no woman is perfect.

Julia wasn't perfect, either.

The real Julia, no, but the Julia in your head? What was she like?

. . .

Well?

You're right. Are you happy? You're right about it all.

Okay, so I'm right. Now what are you gonna do about it?

…I think I'm gonna give imperfection a chance.

* * *

Faye sat on a small chair in the main living area, the new impromptu "hospital room." Spike was lying on the couch next to her chair, his eyes still closed, his skin still pale. Bandages encircled his stomach, his shoulder, his arm, and his forehead, and an I.V. ran into his right hand. Sensors patches on his chest and head were attached to wires which ran into the Bebop main computer, monitoring him around the clock. Just like she was. She sat there, her shoulders hunched over, her head drooping. Her hands lay in her lap, moving every way they could without actually doing anything. Nothing to do now. Nothing to do but wait.

She looked up at Spike's face, a pained look in her eyes. "I can't take this, Spike. I just can't. This isn't like me, getting all worked up over some guy. I've always prided myself on being strong. I'm tough. I don't need anyone, least of all a man."

She looked down at her hands, still restlessly moving. "Actually, that's not entirely true. There was a time, a very long time ago, when I was normal. Well, more normal than I am now, anyways. I wanted the usual things, a husband and kids, the white picket fence. The world was beautiful, and the future was a wonderful thing. Have you ever felt that way, Spike? Has there ever been a time when you looked forward to each new day with hope? It's been so long for me…I can remember that I felt that way once, but I don't really remember what it actually feels like."

She reached down to take his hand in hers, holding it close to her face, resting her cheek on the back of his hand. "We're two peas in a pod, aren't we, Spike? Pasts full of pain and bitter memories, no real connection to the present, no real hope for the future. I see you, and I think how you're the only person who might be able to understand me. That maybe two broken, bitter people might stand a chance at healing each other. I think…"

She felt the tears welling up in her eyes and blinked to hold them back. She set his hand back down and reached toward his face, running her hand slowly through his hair. "I think…I really do think…that…" She smiled slightly, her eyes shining, before, with a choked sob, she lay her head down on his chest, her left hand closing on his hand once again, her right arm draped alongside her face. The unchecked tears streaming down her cheeks, she tried to speak between slightly gasping breaths. "It's not fair. It's not fair! I found you, and now you don't even care enough to come back here and say goodbye to me. I know you don't…feel anything for me, and I don't even know if there's any chance you ever will, but you should at least have the decency to say goodbye to me, you lunkhead!" She lay there for a few minutes, the sobs growing gradually quieter as her usual sense of control reasserted itself. She slowly sat back up, her nose a bit red and her cheeks a bit wet but without any new tears sliding down.

"I guess that's all I wanted to say, really. It's just hard, you know..." She sat there silently for a few minutes, listening to the regular beeping the computer was making in time with his heartbeat, watched his chest slowly rise and fall. "Anyways, I think it's Jet's turn for babysitting duty, so I guess I'll go get him." She got up unhurriedly, almost hesitantly, stretching her stiff muscles before heading toward the door. She pressed the door control, heard the whoosh sound it always made, then the faraway rumble of the ship's engines. Then her eyes snapped wide open, her whole body stiffening as she heard a new sound, one she had never heard before but which she instantly recognized.

Flatline.

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