Chapter 7: I Plead Insanity
can't be responsible
"Faye, how many times have I told you not to flush your god damn tampons in the...what are you staring at?"
Faye was looking out the window of the Bebop like a woman possessed. Jet cautiously made his way over to her. He stared at her for a few seconds and then stared back out the window. Nothing there but the Swordfish, parked right next to Faye's ship like always. "I thought you sold the Swordfish to get the Red Tail back," he mused.
"Well, what's it doing here?"
"Good question," she said flatly. She refused to take her eyes off of the craft for a second.
Jet scratched his head. "Maybe they didn't like it," he offered.
"No," Faye shot him down. "Cause they would have demanded the money back. Not just drop it off over night and disappear without a trace."
Jet seemed to consider this, and then added, "Maybe it's a Christmas miracle."
"It's July, Jet."
Jet shrugged. "Maybe they're getting a head start," he said in a mock na•ve tone.
Faye grumbled and stomped away from the window, as if the sheer stupidity of the remark was enough to break her trance with the ship. "You know what that is," she pointed frantically to the Swordfish while lighting a cigarette. "He's haunting me."
Jet had to roll his eyes at that one. "Who's haunting you?"
"Who? Who the fuck do you think? Tall, skinny guy with stupid hair? Used to work here?"
"Spike is haunting you."
"Well, how else do you explain the fact that there is a DEAD MAN'S SHIP IN MY DRIVEWAY!!!!"
Jet waited a beat, then suggested, "Christmas miracle?"
"AAAAAARGH!" she kicked the couch a few dozen times before collapsing on it. "Ok, fine. Maybe it isn't Spike's ghost. Maybe I'm being stupid."
"Fuck you. But I would just like to say, FOR THE RECORD," she pointed her last remark skyward, as if addressing some heavenly being. "That if a certain someone were haunting me, it would be pretty DICK. It's not like I had anything to do with a certain someone getting killed. In fact, I even tried to stop a certain someone, if you remember. SO KNOCK IT OFF!!!" She fired a few shots into the air for good measure.
"Faye, I swear to God, you put one more hole in my ceiling, I'll beat your ass like a rented mule. And I'm sure there is some sort of explanation. You think dead folks don't got better things to do than annoy you?" Jet shook his head and rubbed his sinuses, which were starting to bother him.
"Well, if any one of them were going to take the time out to irritate the living, it certainly would be Spike."
"So, what, am I gonna wake up one day and find "wench" spelled out in matches on my floor?"
"Wouldn't surprise me."
"You know, it is a shame he's dead. You two are made for each other," Jet rolled his eyes, clearly done with this conversation. "You're both fucking nuts." And with that, he slammed the door to his room and popped a few Advil. He was too old for this shit.
"Question," Ravi began through a mouth full of crackers. It was all the girl ate. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front Spike's couch, as she seemed to do every night when the crew had left. It was the only time she ever really spoke more than a few words at a time.
"I don't feel much like having a girl talk, Ravi," Spike mumbled. His eyes were closed like he was trying to sleep. Truthfully, he would not be able to fall asleep for at least another two hours.
"What's the deal with your partners?"
Spike groaned. "There is no deal. I have no partners," he turned his face into the sofa so his back was to her.
"So what are we? Are we your partners?"
"I didn't say that either."
"It just seems odd to me. That someone who was faking his own death would hang out in a big city where his partners are likely to be. Also odd that he would bother to play pranks on them," she said in a sing-songy kind of voice. He liked her so much better when she was mute.
"Hmm. Well, I happen to think it's odd that a 17 year old girl steals auto parts for a living. Why would she do that?" Spike whirled around.
Ravi narrowed her eyes into guarded slits. "You're not the only one in the universe with a past, you know," she mumbled.
"Um, excuse me, kiddo, but you're the one who goes around asking about it. It's not like I walk the planet playing violins for my own ass all the time. You're the one who's trying to make me into some tragic hero," Spike actually sat up, preparing himself for a full out battle. This kid was really beginning to grate on him.
"Is that what you see yourself as?"
"I don't really think about myself all that much. What the hell difference does it make, what I think of me? All that matters in life is how others see you. If you see me as a tragic hero, then I guess that's what I am."
"You're tragic all right. But you're no hero of mine," she huffed.
Spike made a frustrating growling noise. "I don't know what you want from me, but you better spit it out or shut the hell up."
"You fucking baffle me, is all," Ravi admitted. "You just walk around like you're waiting for someone to kill your ass, but yet manage to survive it all. You keep trying to play everything off like your some cool cat who doesn't give a shit about anything, but then the thing with the Swordfish...I just don't get you."
Spike sighed. I don't get you. He's been hearing that sentence all his life. "I'm not yours to get," he said softly. "And I'd just like to point out the obvious here," he continued. "You don't say two damn words to your partners. I'm the only one you speak to for whatever reason. So don't lecture me on emotional bankruptcy, when you live the majority of your life in a constant state of moping around."
"So I'm a hypocrite," she smiled. "You wanna piece of me?"
"Good night, Ravi," he snapped as he turned his back on her for good.