DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Cowboy Bebop; Sunrise, Inc. does. I do, however, own this original story.

AN: This came to me in a flash while browsing RaverKomono’s doujinshi site, Space Cowgirl Radical Edward. Many thanks to RK for including descriptions for her artwork in her recent site update. The added insight to the origin of the Spike dolly, along with the artwork entitled “There Is No Music Box,” brought me a moment of breathless inspiration.

 So, RK, this is for you.

 

 

 --November 2074--

 

It’s cold today.  It’s been raining for about a week now, and there’s puddles all over the street. It’s fun to splash in them, but only if you’re wearing shoes—the sturdy kind that won’t leak. Squishy socks are nasty.

 

Getting dressed is more fun than it used to be, though it can get complicated on days like today. Brown corduroy pants, fuzzy flannel shirt. High socks are cool, gotta wear ‘em outside…and sturdy brown good-for-splashing shoes. Can’t forget, gotta have a big brown jacket that won’t let the rain in. It’s the smallest one the Camp N Pack sells, but it’s still too big for me.

 

I’m too big now for anyone to toss in the air, though.

 

Puddles, puddles! Splash, sploosh, splut! I laugh out loud. People give me funny looks, but I’m used to it. It’s not every day you see someone like me doing the things I do.

 

“Ed, quit it! Act your age.”

 

Spike’s such a spoilsport! I lean forward and gaze into the puddle at my feet. There he is, leaning over me, his elbows sticking out and his hands in his pockets. What a face he’s making! I reach back, palms up, and feel him curl his long, long fingers around mine.

 

“What age should Edward act?” I reply cheekily. “Edward has been sixteen ages!”

 

Spike rolls his eyes. “Just keep it to thirteen and over, okay? I don’t think I could deal with you acting any younger than that.”

 

“You know what, Spike?” I squeeze his fingers, and he gets this funny look on his face, like he’s trying not to smile but can’t help it anyway. “You worry too much. Just let it flow! Peace and love!”

 

My back is hurting from standing like this. Spike’s so heavy! We stand up and I run away from him.  He’s not smiling, so I come back.  I always come back to him.

 

“Since when have I ever been about peace and love, Ed?” Spike combs through his messy green hair with his fingers. I tried to comb his hair once when he was asleep. I still can’t find the comb. I guess he threw it pretty hard.

 

“Hmm. Good point.” I start skipping in front of a big store window. I glance over and see Spike walking behind me, just far enough behind so it doesn’t look like he knows me. He’s so silly.

 

I splash in a big puddle right in front of Mr. Lombardi’s Grocery Store. My shoes are all wet now, and so are the cuffs on my pants, but I don’t care since my socks are dry. My soles make squeaky noises on the tile floor as I walk back to get some milk and some Crunchy O’s.  When I shut the door to the refrigerator, I can still see Spike behind me. Poor Spike. He looks bored. Usually when Jet and Faye-Faye were bored, they always said they needed a cigarette. I can fix that!

 

Mr. Lombardi smiles at me as I put my stuff on the counter.  “Well, it’s Ed! How are you today, Widget?”

 

I like Mr. Lombardi, he’s nice. “Ed is okee-dokee!”

 

“Good, good.  Is this everything for you today?”

 

I reach into my big jacket and pull out the money Jet gave me. “This and a carton of Venus Golds, please. Unfiltered.”

 

Mr. Lombardi looks at me funny for a minute, but then he raises his eyebrows.  “Oh, right. For your friend Spike.”

 

I nod again. He’d better hurry. I can see Spike in the mirror behind the counter, and he looks really nervous. Like he might start busting stuff up if he doesn’t get some nicotine in him soon.

 

“Well, Ed,” Mr. Lombardi says, putting my stuff in a sack, “I’m sorry, but like I told you last time, you’re too young to buy these for Spike. If he wants them, he’ll have to come get them himself. You make sure and tell him that, okay?”

 

I sigh. “Okay.”  I pay Mr. Lombardi, and grab my stuff.  “Thanks.”

 

“See you later, Ed.”

 

The bell on the door pings as I leave the store. The wind’s gotten colder, and I wrap my jacket tight around me. I’ve splashed in all the puddles, so there’s no more water in them.

 

I go up the stairs and leave my wet shoes in the hall. I leave my stuff on the table and sit on my bed. I’m still wrapped in my big jacket, but I’m cold.

 

“Spike, you’ve got to stop asking me to buy cigarettes for you. Mr. Lombardi says I can’t. I’m too little.”

 

Spike sits down next to me with a sigh, and I watch us in the dresser mirror across from the bed. “I know, Ed. I’m sorry. I won’t ask you anymore.”

 

I curl up on my side, my head against his chest. “Ed is tired. Will you stay here until Ed falls asleep?”

 

His voice is so deep; I can feel it rumble against the top of my head. “I’ll always be here, Ed.”  His long fingers stroke my hair.  “Anytime you need me, I’ll be here.”

 

I snuggle closer to him. “Ed knows.”

 

*          *          *

 

--November 2077—

 

 

The demolition crew picks through the rubble of the old tenement building, preparing to sort the material into broken bricks, stone, and other recyclable building materials.  The vestiges of the people who might have lived in this building are all but gone. There’s nothing left now but trash and bent pipes to hint at those who slept and ate and dreamed within the drafty walls.

 

A workman clad in a bright orange jumpsuit leans over to gather another bucketful of pieces to take to the sorting area, but he stops short at the sight of a small mound, one that seems to be vaguely human-shaped.  For a moment, horror threatens to take his breath away, but another look tells him it is only a doll, a long-forgotten toy that someone left behind.

 

He picks it up, smiling a little. The doll, obviously handmade with large, black stitches against its dirty pink fabric skin, grins eerily from its moon-shaped face. Mismatched button eyes—one is rust, the other garnet, the difference barely visible under the dirt—and a matted piece of green fake fur for hair, now half-ripped away, make up the rest of this haunting little object.  The doll is dressed in a faded blue suit and dirty yellow shirt made of cheap, well-worn fabric. A little black tie completes this dapper dan’s ensemble.

 

He glances at the doll’s dirty face, and is suddenly a little sad despite the doll’s rakish, dotted-line grin.  He wonders if he should take the doll home, clean it up and give it to some deserving little kid.

 

With a gasp, he stumbles back a few steps. In a puddle at his feet, he catches a glimpse of a tall blue shadow, a stricken posture, two tear-filled eyes the color of the bricks.

 

He blinks, and then there is nothing, nothing but the steel-colored sky reflected in the water.  He stands up and scans the horizon, yet there is still nothing, save for a flock of doves taking wing in the distance.

 

This doll is not simply a toy, he realizes. It is a holy object, a talisman, well loved by the one who stitched it together. It belongs to that person, and no other.

 

 He looks down at the grinning face again, and smiles.

 

“Well, my friend,” he murmurs, gently placing the doll atop a pile of rubble. “Looks like someone finally outgrew you.”