And.. more fic!
Title: Return
Summary: What happened after the end.
Fandom: Cowboy Bebop
Word Count: 199
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Faye
A/N: For 30_kisses. This is impossibly goddamned depressing. Sorry.
Spike's broken body looked so very small cradled in Jet's huge arms. He lay the lifeless form out in Spike's old room, now curiously cold and empty.
Faye sat outside the doorway to the tiny room as if she'd been ordered. Her eyes were still red and swollen, but she had no more tears to cry.
There was a cemetery, a meager little place where it always seemed to be raining. It wasn't easy on short notice, but Jet still had some strings to pull.
There wasn't anything left to do, nothing left to say. The undertakers would be there any moment to collect the body. Faye, somehow more terrified of the clean, officious men than the broken shell of the man she very nearly loved, pressed a kiss to the cold expanse of his forehead and left the Bebop, never to return.
Jet stood under a borrowed black umbrella, rain soaking up through the cuffs of his only good suit. There was nothing left to do but shake his head and walk away, a long cigarette littering the grave like an offering. He headed back to the one thing he had left, right back where he'd started from.
Summary: What happened after the end.
Fandom: Cowboy Bebop
Word Count: 199
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Faye
A/N: For 30_kisses. This is impossibly goddamned depressing. Sorry.
Spike's broken body looked so very small cradled in Jet's huge arms. He lay the lifeless form out in Spike's old room, now curiously cold and empty.
Faye sat outside the doorway to the tiny room as if she'd been ordered. Her eyes were still red and swollen, but she had no more tears to cry.
There was a cemetery, a meager little place where it always seemed to be raining. It wasn't easy on short notice, but Jet still had some strings to pull.
There wasn't anything left to do, nothing left to say. The undertakers would be there any moment to collect the body. Faye, somehow more terrified of the clean, officious men than the broken shell of the man she very nearly loved, pressed a kiss to the cold expanse of his forehead and left the Bebop, never to return.
Jet stood under a borrowed black umbrella, rain soaking up through the cuffs of his only good suit. There was nothing left to do but shake his head and walk away, a long cigarette littering the grave like an offering. He headed back to the one thing he had left, right back where he'd started from.