Title: Handcuffs and Gypsies [1/1]
Series: Falling Star, Part 3
Author: Sonya
Email: sonyajeb@swbell.net
Timeline: While Faye's handcuffed in the Bebop's toilet, before the boys find out there's a bounty on her head
Spoilers: Honky Tonk Women
Summary: An untold encounter between Spike and Faye while she's held prisoner on the Bebop. People say that hate is the closest thing to love....
POV: Faye Valentine
Archive: Regulars are welcome to it. Newbies must ask first. But no worries, because I almost always say yes.
Disclaimer: There was once a girl who wrote a story about some characters and places that weren't hers. But she added this little disclaimer to make it a tad less illegal. (i.e. Cowboy Bebop isn't mine and never will be. As if you hadn't already figured that out.)
Author's Note: This is the third in a series of missing scenes and tags for the entire series. Every episode (I hope) will get the special "Sonya treatment" before I'm done. The goal? To add to the richness that is Cowboy Bebop without destroying the cannon. Therefore, all of these stories will fit in with the already established storyline. They could be filmed and added to the episodes and everything would still make sense... I hope. (You'd tell me if it doesn't, right? *g*)
Feedback: An author's best friend. So please give me some or I shall be friendless. And we don't want that, do we? (Besides, I'm a bit nervous about my take on Faye's POV. Does it suck? Are there any redeeming qualities at all to it? Please clue me in, guys. Thanks!)


And do you know what we call you? A Gaujo! That means a country bumpkin that doesn't know which way is up!

Gaujo. I like that.


Oh, god! He's so damn annoying! I mean, really, who does he think he is? Those tacky, wrinkled clothes... that way too skinny body... And that hair! Oh, god, that hair! Who ever heard of a green Afro... and on a white guy, no less! And yet he thinks that he and his one-armed pal can just lock me in here on a toilet in their crummy old ship? I don't think so. Those two have got another thing coming! Or, at least, they would if I could manage to pick the lock on these handcuffs and get one of my hands free...


I heard the footsteps coming my way and quickly stashed the hairpin I'd been using to pick the lock on my handcuffs up one of my sleeves. After all, it wouldn't do to get caught red handed, now would it?

The footsteps slowed to a halt just outside my door and I felt my heart freeze in my chest, wondering which one of them it was going to be. Which was silly. Why should I be afraid of either of these morons? But there'd been something in the younger man's eyes when he looked at me. I couldn't quite place what it was, but it was there. And it frightened me. Not that I was about to admit that to anyone! After all, I was Faye Valentine! And I was afraid of nobody!

It was really quiet outside for a long moment and I began to wonder what the hell was going on out there. Was this mystery person just going to stand there all night?

Suddenly, there was a beep and the door whooshed open, revealing Mr. Fuzzy Hair himself.

Just great. (And please note my sarcasm there.)

"What do you want?" I demanded, giving him my iciest glare. It should have been enough to have him quivering in his boots. But he didn't even flinch. He just stood there with this damn annoying smirk on his face, like he knew something I didn't.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there grinning like an idiot or are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

When all else failed, try yelling. That was my philosophy. Of course, I'd have preferred to just shoot the bastard, but they'd taken away my guns right off. And there was the issue of these damn handcuffs to deal with, too.

He held out one hand towards me, everything about his movements fluid and graceful, as if he didn't have a care in the world. It was damn annoying.

"Hand it over," he said, skipping the preliminaries and cutting straight to the chase.


"Hand what over?" I asked, my voice all saccharine sweetness and my best innocent look plastered on my face. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

One eyebrow arched higher and I knew he didn't buy the act for a second. Damn him.

"You know what I want," he said, crossing his arms casually across his chest and meeting my eyes dead on.

"No, I don't have a clue what you're babbling about, you moron, so why don't you cut the crap and clue me in?" I snapped, dropping the nice girl routine like an old shoe.

He didn't bat an eyelash at the abrupt change in behavior. He just smirked that all-knowing smirk of his that never failed to piss me off and reached one long, slender finger down to tap lightly on my wrist, just above the handcuffs. "Hand it over."

I rolled my eyes. "I already told you, I don't-"

"Yes, you do," he cut me off, his entire easy, laid back demeanor disappearing to reveal the barely concealed rage that lurked beneath. And before I even had time to register that anything was different, he had leaned forward, placing his hands directly on top of mine, his face mere inches from mine. "Now give me the damn lock pick before things have to get ugly."

I gulped. I couldn't help it. His intensity scared me, especially when I hadn't been expecting it. And most especially when I was chained to a commode and had nowhere to run to escape him.

Recovering my facilities quickly, I pulled another act out of my bag o' tricks. I leaned forward so our noses just barely touched and let a seductive smile curl its way around my lips. "If there's something I have that you want, why don't you come and get it?" Yeah, I know, I was anything but subtle.

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. In your dreams." But I had gotten the desired effect. He'd backed off a bit and was now leaning against the doorframe. All the intensity from a moment before had seemingly vanished, leaving in its place that calm, easy going smirk that I'd been complaining about silently just a few scant seconds ago. But at this point, it was actually a welcome sight. Would wonders never cease?

I smiled a deceptively sweet smile at him and replied breezily, "You hardly rate a feature presentation in my dreams. Sorry to burst your bubble... Gaujo."

He shrugged easily, a liquid roll of his shoulders underneath that god-awful blue jacket of his. "I'm sure I'll live... Romany."

And then, without another word, he turned and walked out the door, letting it slide closed behind him with a soft whoosh of recycled air. Well. That had certainly been interesting. I rolled my eyes. Not.

Jerking my wrist at a precise angle, I waited for my makeshift lock pick to slide into my ready fingers. But it didn't.

Frowning, I shook my wrist again. Nothing.

Craning my neck, I tried to see up under the sleeve of my uniform jacket, but only confirmed what I already suspected. The hairpin was gone.

My mind flashed back to that one scary moment, when that jackass had gotten right in my face. His hands on top of mine...

Well, shit.

The little thief had stolen my lock pick right out from under my nose.

Damn him.

I heard him whistling merrily as he walked off down the hall and couldn't resist kicking the door as hard as I could with my foot. It made a large thump that succeeded in breaking his rhythm. And even though my foot hurt like hell now, I couldn't help but take a perverse satisfaction out of that. He thought he knew it all, but he didn't. And if it was the last thing I did in this life, I was going to one up Spike Spiegel. And then, I was going to rub it in the smug bastard's face.

My foot throbbed painfully and I pouted. If this was a permanent limp, I was so going to punch his lights out. Just as soon as I figured out another way out of this damn toilet...

See You Space Cowboy...