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Feb. 1st, 2006 04:04 pmThere's partnership and then there are chosen partners, and the two things don't always match. Faye self-imposed her partnership on him and Jet when she walked onto the Bebop and decided to stay, but it wasn't like either of them asked her to be their partner. They were already partners and he knows what people say about two's company, three's a crowd: hell, Faye's always been a crowd all by herself. It was like she took over half the ship just by being there. The phrase no one invited you ran through his mind way more often than it probably should have during the time she lived on the ship with them. But in the end, he kind of missed her when she left, although he never would have admitted it.
What a ragtag fucking group of comrades they made. Him, Jet -- it was fine when it was just the two of them -- then the damn dog, then Faye, then Ed.
For a while. Then they all left, and it was just him and Jet.
And then it was just Jet. With the way time works at this place, Spike's not even sure Jet's had a chance to miss him. Faye hadn't.
Still, he knows how long he's been at the end of the universe: it's been almost a year and a half. He hopes there's no limit on occupancy. No expiration date. He sneaks a glance over at Beth, reading that poetry book he gave her for Christmas with a look of great concentration on her face, and he loves her. But he glances away and down, smiling in a very self-satisfied kind of way. From the little ski-jump turn-up at the end of her nose to the bottom of her heart, he just fucking adores her. What's the right word? Oh yeah: contentment.
Contented is a strange place for him, he thinks. He's not so sure he deserves it, but he knows Beth does. If there's anyone who deserves it easy after two solid years of struggle, it's her. Sometimes, he wishes he could make this room into more of a home. But it's a room and it's theirs, and it's served its purpose pretty damn happily. If he could make any changes to it, they'd definitely be a window that looks out on something and a hot tub.
Hell, they've got the shower and they've had enough fun in there to make the damn thing illegal all by itself. He makes another one of those very private smiles, then takes in a deep breath.
His ribs feel fine. His shoulder feels pretty damn good. He's glad he heals quickly.
He's also trying hard not to smoke so much around her, just because. It's a little baby in there, dammit, and that little baby deserves clean air. Or at least cleaner air.
Or something. If they can ever get to Tharsis City, Doc can tell them exactly how that kid's doing.
What a ragtag fucking group of comrades they made. Him, Jet -- it was fine when it was just the two of them -- then the damn dog, then Faye, then Ed.
For a while. Then they all left, and it was just him and Jet.
And then it was just Jet. With the way time works at this place, Spike's not even sure Jet's had a chance to miss him. Faye hadn't.
Still, he knows how long he's been at the end of the universe: it's been almost a year and a half. He hopes there's no limit on occupancy. No expiration date. He sneaks a glance over at Beth, reading that poetry book he gave her for Christmas with a look of great concentration on her face, and he loves her. But he glances away and down, smiling in a very self-satisfied kind of way. From the little ski-jump turn-up at the end of her nose to the bottom of her heart, he just fucking adores her. What's the right word? Oh yeah: contentment.
Contented is a strange place for him, he thinks. He's not so sure he deserves it, but he knows Beth does. If there's anyone who deserves it easy after two solid years of struggle, it's her. Sometimes, he wishes he could make this room into more of a home. But it's a room and it's theirs, and it's served its purpose pretty damn happily. If he could make any changes to it, they'd definitely be a window that looks out on something and a hot tub.
Hell, they've got the shower and they've had enough fun in there to make the damn thing illegal all by itself. He makes another one of those very private smiles, then takes in a deep breath.
His ribs feel fine. His shoulder feels pretty damn good. He's glad he heals quickly.
He's also trying hard not to smoke so much around her, just because. It's a little baby in there, dammit, and that little baby deserves clean air. Or at least cleaner air.
Or something. If they can ever get to Tharsis City, Doc can tell them exactly how that kid's doing.
