Archive of Our Own

Jet, standing in front of the machine, grinned as he collected their bounty. “And this one should last us a while. Provided nobody blows it all immediately.”

“Please,” said Faye lightly, under her breath. “I’d like to think you know me better than that by now.”

Meanwhile, Ed stood to the side, watching the proceedings silently, aside from bouncing up and down on her heels with her arms splayed out behind her. Ein stood loyally at her side, his tail wagging. He gazed up at the Bebop crew almost reproachfully.

Jet regarded the two of them thoughtfully for a moment, then punched an amount into the machine. It spit out a small number of bills, which he handed to Ed. “Here,” he said with a small grin. “Buy yourself something nice. A souvenir.”

Ed’s eyes lit up. “Souvenir!” she cheered, grabbing the bills as Ein wagged his tail and barked in celebration. Before the rest of them could say anything, she was off to explore the spaceport, Woolongs in hand.

Spike frowned at Jet. “I thought you just said you didn’t want us to blow it.”

“What? That?” Jet said dismissively, gesturing in the general direction of Ed and her cash. “That’s nothing. We still have plenty. Besides, the kid deserves something nice every once in a while, just like the rest of us.”

“Okay,” Spike said, “but if she comes back on a massive sugar high, or blows up the damn ship with whatever ‘souvenir’ she gets…” He turned around, so Jet couldn’t see his slight, amused smile. “Don’t blame me.”

Ed cheerfully made her way out of the spaceport and across the busy Mars street, walking in her characteristic fashion—stretching her arms and legs out in front of her at almost parallel angles to the ground with each step, Ein at her heels. She wasn’t sure yet where she’d go or what she was going to buy—maybe a tasty treat! Or something for her computer!

Then she glimpsed a large mall across the street—the fancy kind, with expensive stores that she’d seen before from afar but had never actually gone to. It was rare that the Bebop crew had enough money to buy anything at those types of malls, or enough time between catching bounties to go on a shopping spree. Ed was enthralled by the possibilities. Maybe she could find a souvenir in the mall! Even if not—she knew she had a limited amount of money—it would be fun to explore.

She and Ein made their way across the street and bounded into the mall. But as soon as they’d stepped inside, Ed stopped short and looked around in wonder, unprepared for the sight that greeted her. She’d never seen any place decorated quite like this before. Green wreaths and garlands of pine needles, accentuated with bright red bows, hung from the ceilings and decorated the walls. A song that Ed could faintly recognize—“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”—played softly over the speakers. And at the center of all the decoration was the tallest tree Ed had ever seen, maybe three stories high, all decorated with red, silver, and white ornaments, twinkling lights, and a shiny gold star on top.

Disbelieving, Ed crept closer to the big tree, standing on tiptoe to reach one of the shiniest red ornaments. She slowly reached out and tapped it with a finger, sending it slowly swinging back and forth, reflecting her wide eyes and incredulous face back at her.

It was Christmas?

Already?

Ed was familiar with Christmas traditions from her few years at the orphanage; in fact, the holidays had always been her favorite time of year. She loved the decorations that everyone would help put up around each room—wreaths and garlands and even a tree just like this one, although theirs was much smaller and more scraggly, and the ornaments were all mismatched, multicolored and largely handmade. She liked learning and singing Christmas songs of all sorts; her favorites were the ones that went “fa la la la la” and “glooooooria!”, which she’d often continue singing much longer than necessary. She enjoyed hearing Sister Clara tell the funny story she’d always bring out around that time of year—something about two ordinary people who had a child that turned out to actually be the Son of God. It was a confusing story at parts, and whenever Sister Clara told it she’d get peppered with questions from the restless kids—“What’s a manger?” and “What’s a sheep?” and “How were the Wise Men even able to see the sky?”—until she gave up halfway through the telling and distracted them with candy or a spray from a hose.

But best of all, to Ed, were the presents! They’d accumulate under the Christmas tree, all sealed up in wrapped boxes in tantalizing bright colors, not to be opened until Christmas morning. Some were given by the nuns to the kids; some the kids gave each other; some were marked “Anonymous Donation” and were from random people who lived elsewhere. Ed could hardly contain her excitement every year as she wondered what she got. And on Christmas morning, an ecstatic energy would fill the air as all the kids greedily ripped open their presents—storybooks to read, toys to play with, hats and jackets that would keep them warm until spring. One year, on the night of Christmas Eve, they’d even had a visit from someone named Santa Claus! He was a fat man with a red suit and a curly white beard, and he’d given each child at the orphanage a delicious candy cane and a small present—Ed’s had been a little stuffed monkey with Velcro hands, which she’d quite liked. Ed knew the orphanage wasn’t very fancy and didn’t have much money, but when it came to Christmas presents, everyone did the best they could—which made the holiday feel even more extra-special. It was almost magical.

And now it was Christmastime again—and no one on the Bebop had even bothered to tell her. They hadn’t kept track at all. They didn’t even seem to care!

Ed couldn’t even say anything for a while, she was so shocked. How could the whole crew forget Christmas? But then she remembered that, to be fair, she had too. Ed hadn’t celebrated Christmas for a long time since leaving the orphanage; truth be told, she’d barely given a thought to it. And it had been a long time since she’d stirred up the memories of Sister Clara and all her old friends during the holiday season.

But seeing all these decorations, all this festivity, immediately rekindled her interest, reminding her of all the things she loved best about this time of year. And more than anything, she wanted to share this happiness and cheer with her new family, her very best friends in the whole universe. She resolved, right then and there, that she’d give them all a merry Christmas—and she knew exactly how!

“Come on, Ein!” she said, beckoning to the dog, who was curiously sniffing a white ornament on the lower branches of the tree. At her voice, his ears perked up and he trotted obediently to her side. She grinned down at him, then turned on her heel, one leg stretched out in front of her, pointing in the air with her index finger—ready to set out on her quest. “We’re going Christmas shopping!”

Ed glanced around the many storefronts in the mall, trying to decide where to go first. Her gaze fell on a shoe store, a shop for spaceship parts and decorations, and a kiosk filled with lots of sparkly, dangly trinkets. But then the largest storefront in the vicinity caught her eye—it led into a super-fancy department store, with beautiful, fashionable women and handsome, dashing men streaming in and out. It was the kind of store filled with swanky designer clothing that the Bebop crew ordinarily would never be able to afford. She probably couldn’t afford it even now, but maybe she’d find something small and nice in the store to give as a gift, and she knew immediately whom she’d shop for there.

“Faye-Faye!” she yelled joyfully, as Ein barked.

She was skipping into the store when she suddenly came face-to-face with the commanding hand of a guard standing at the front. “Hold it,” she said. “You can’t let that dog in here.”

Ed frowned, then said the three words that she’d learned worked in this kind of situation, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what they meant. “Emotional support animal.”

The guard narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but let Ed and Ein through. As they walked past, Ed heard her mutter, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

The store was even fancier up close, with pretty clothing, brightly-colored signs, and shiny accessories in every direction. Fascinated, Ed turned her head in every direction, trying to absorb all the sights. She longed to touch everything, even the things she definitely couldn’t or wouldn’t buy. She and Ein bounded off, eager to explore.

On one shelf, she found a funny glass ball on a base with tiny plastic Christmas trees inside. When she turned it upside down and shook it, it shed lots of little white flakes that made it look like it was snowing all around the trees. Ed, mesmerized, shook it and shook it for a long time. On another shelf, she found a long red scarf, almost twice as long as her entire body, with tassels and fringe at the ends. She wrapped herself up in it and twirled around gleefully, laughing as she let the ends whirl about; Ein barked and jumped at the scarf as it spun, trying to bite the tassels on the ends. She probably would have done it for longer if she hadn’t gotten dizzy and knocked into a shelf and gotten scolded by a mean sales assistant with a mustache. (At least she hadn’t broken anything—she suspected the man would be even madder if she had.)

Farther into the store, she found a white bathrobe made of material so soft she couldn’t help but rub her hands and cheek against it. Faye would probably love it, Ed thought excitedly, with all the baths she always took. Ed was just about to grab it before she noticed the price. “Too much,” she said to Ein regretfully. The Bebop crew was doing well after their payout, but not that well. Ed put the robe back on its hanger as Ein whimpered in disappointment.

Then, as she wandered up and down the “Clearance” aisles, a shiny purple box caught her eye. She picked it up and saw that it was marked “gift set.” Inside were four tiny bottles of nail polish—four!—in beautiful colors: dark red, darker red, sparkly glitter pink, and snow white.

“This is the one!” she whispered to Ein, who wagged his tail and barked in seeming approval.

Ed had quickly observed how much time Faye spent doing things to make herself beautiful, and she already knew Faye liked nail polish. She’d even let Ed paint her nails on a few occasions, and Ed had enjoyed turning Faye’s fingers and toes into a multicolored rainbow canvas as Faye relaxed with a magazine and tuned out the ship. Ed didn’t exactly understand the purpose, and all Faye’s attempts at explanation just made her even more confused. But as far as Ed could tell, it made Faye happy, or at least as happy as she’d ever seen her—and that was exactly what Ed wanted her Christmas gifts to do. Maybe, once Faye opened her present, she’d even let Ed paint her nails again! That would be fun. They’d be having fun together.

Best of all, the gift didn’t cost very much, especially compared to the other things in the store. As Ed skipped her way over to the checkout line, she was surrounded by colorful signs imploring her to buy more, buy gifts for her, buy gifts for him, buy buy buy! It was nice of the signs to offer, but she decided she’d decline. If she only bought this nail polish at this store, then she’d still have plenty left over to get presents for Spike, Jet, and Ein. It was nice to have plenty for once; she was used to the whole crew being hard-up for cash and down on their luck. This was a welcome change—and just in time for Christmas, too!

The checkout line was at least ten people long when Ed and Ein joined it, and it moved slowly because the cashier seemed to insist on making lengthy conversation with everyone who arrived at the front. It didn’t take long for Ed to grow bored and restless. As she and Ein waited and the line inched ahead, one tiny bit at a time, she uncomfortably fidgeted—tapping her toes, waving her arms, and humming. She was tempted to dash out of the line altogether, but she reminded herself that this was important. This was for Faye.

Finally she got to the front of the line, where she plunked the gift set down onto the counter with purpose and thrust the correct number of bills at the cashier. The woman smiled indulgently down at her as she scanned the gift. “Oh, how lovely! Is this for your sister? Or a friend?”

“Uh-huh,” Ed said, pleased. “For Ed’s friend Faye-Faye.”

The cashier looked momentarily startled by Ed’s unusual syntax, but recovered quickly. “Well, I’m sure she’ll love it,” she said, warmth in her tone. “Would you like it gift-wrapped? No extra cost. Today only.”

Ed’s eyes widened at the prospect, and she nodded enthusiastically. Ripping through the paper of a brand-new present had always been one of her favorite things about Christmas Day back at the orphanage—it was so satisfying and exciting at the same time. She was excited to hear that the tradition could continue with the presents she gave. With deft movements, the cashier wrapped the gift in blue paper with white and gray snowflakes, then expertly sealed the whole thing up with a blue ribbon tied in an elegant bow. Ed watched the whole process in fascination—this paper looked almost too pretty to rip apart.

Faye would love it!

“Thank you!” she remembered to say to the cashier. “Merry Christmas!”

The cashier laughed good-naturedly and waved at Ed, who happily exited the store, clutching the handles of a little gift bag with the wrapped present inside. She spun and twirled through the mall in search of the next present. “Glimmering, shimmering!” she chanted, laughing, as she pirouetted around and skipped along with Ein following faithfully at her heels.

Ed was enthralled by all there was to see as she explored the mall—the sights and the sounds and the opulence unlike anything she’d experienced before. She laughed with delight as she jumped up to touch the decorative Christmas garlands hanging from the ceiling; she even jumped up to grab one and swung from it a couple times, but quickly let go before any more mean employees could yell at her. Then she flipped herself over and walked on her hands for a while (no one could scold her for that, right?). She peeked in the windows of every store she could—specialty stores, accessory stores, even fancier department stores—on the lookout for things for Jet, Spike, and Ein. She took in all the signs that were posted in windows or that stood proudly on poles—“Sale!”, “50% Off!”, “Limited Time Offer!”, “For That Special Someone…” That last one made her grin. The Bebop crew was special to her, all right!

Despite her eccentric mannerisms and ways of walking, not to mention her canine companion, not many people looked askance at her. The mall was just filled with so many people of all types and walks of life, although the distribution definitely skewed wealthy, or at least upper-middle-class. There were grungy-looking college students; giggling, gossiping teenagers sipping boba from the food court; rich old ladies with long coats and parasols; parents with whining children in tow, admonishing them that they better behave or else Santa Claus wouldn’t come. There was even a trio of three bickering old men who looked vaguely familiar to Ed, though she couldn’t quite place them.

She and Ein had traversed nearly the entire length of the mall before she came across a gardening store. Part of it, the part that sold fertilizer and trowels and pots, looked like any other store—but there was also a special section filled with plants, whose walls were all made of glass. How did they get the walls to be like that? Ed wondered as she wandered inside.

She could see her face reflected in the glass, just like she had in the Christmas ornaments earlier, except that this actually looked like her real reflection—not all bulbous and red. She tapped the glass and giggled. As she perused all the plants, Ein warily sniffing all the ones on the lower shelves, she saw bright, colorful flowers; small, hardy shrubs; and even something called a “Venus flytrap” with a little informational card that told her all about how, if a fly landed on it, it would snap its jaws shut to digest it, almost like an animal. The card also said that despite the name, it actually came from Earth and not Venus, even though Ed had never seen one of them on her home planet before. She sang quietly to herself as she explored, intrigued by the store’s selection.

Then she came across a display of bonsais, each one in its own pot and carefully trimmed. In their wide variety of different shapes, they looked stately and majestic. Ed regarded them for a second before her face split into a wide grin. She knew someone on the Bebop who liked bonsais!

Jet would love it if she gave him a new tree on Christmas, Ed just knew it. Maybe he could add it to his collection, meticulously honing and trimming it the way Ed knew he liked to do. It helped him relax, he said. Helped him decompress from all the crazy things the others on the Bebop put him through—at which point he’d cast a pointed glance at Spike, Spike would loudly protest, the two of them would begin bickering and Ed, bored, would leave.

She picked up one of the smaller trees, holding it above her head and closing one eye to check the price sticker on the bottom of the pot—then, almost immediately, she put it back down. Wow, bonsai trees were expensive! This one almost cost more than her whole stack of money, maybe even twice that. How did Jet afford all of his?

Maybe he got them from less-fancy places.

Never one to be discouraged, though, Ed skipped off to the regular, non-glass section of the store. Maybe she couldn’t give Jet an actual bonsai tree, but she could give him something for his bonsai trees. The store sold lots of tools and accessories and other stuff that would work well as gifts.

After some searching, Ed and Ein came across a shelf of planters—short, squat, rectangular things that seemed perfect for bonsai trees, both because Ed had seen similar ones in Jet’s collection and because they had tags with pictures of bonsais on them. They came in muted, no-nonsense colors—black, gray, brown, blue—so different from the glittery brightness and splendor in the department store and the gift she’d given Faye, but somehow it suited Jet. Ed couldn’t tell why, it just did. Plus, these were way more affordable than the actual bonsai trees.

“Which one, Ein?” she asked, gesturing to the shelf at large.

Ein pointed his snout at a dark gray planter and barked. Ed grinned and took it, holding it high above her head as she skipped to the thankfully-much-shorter line in front of the counter. When she got to the front, she jumped up a bit as she plunked the planter down in front of the cashier.

Unlike the cashier at the department store, this person—a short, dark-skinned fellow with round glasses—didn’t waste any words. He said nothing as he processed Ed’s purchase, except to read out the price; he continued to say nothing when she handed him the required amount of money. As he wrapped up the planter to protect it and placed it in a bag, he remarked simply, “A gift?”

“Yes,” said Ed. “For that special someone!”

The cashier looked a little bemused, but nodded anyway as he handed Ed the bag. She smiled and, as she ran off with her purchase, said over her shoulder, “Meeeeeerry Christmas!”

Once she’d exited the store, she opened the bag to look again at Jet’s gift, Ed looking down at it along with her. Even though it seemed to suit Jet perfectly, something about it felt somehow lacking. It wasn’t extra-extra special enough; it needed more Christmas cheer. But Ed had a plan to take care of that—to add in the unique special-ness—once she was back on the Bebop. She couldn’t wait to get started!

For now, though, all she could do was continue in her quest.

Although still in high spirits, Ed refrained from skipping or hopping and instead took each step through the mall deliberately—carefully stretching out each leg before putting it down—so as not to damage Jet or Faye’s presents, both hanging from her fingers in their respective bags. She couldn’t wait to see the look on the Bebop crew’s faces once she presented them with their presents on Christmas! Maybe if they were in bad moods—which they seemed to be a lot—these would help cheer them up. “Christmas cheer, far and near!” she chanted joyfully. “There and here, Christmas cheer!”

She wasn’t sure where to go next until she spotted a pet store. Of course! Ein would need a present, too. But there was a problem—how would she get Ein a present that was a surprise, when he was right here with her?

Ed furrowed her brow as she thought. She couldn’t just leave him somewhere. And lots of people seemed to be carrying their own pets into the pet store, so she probably wouldn’t be scolded if she brought Ein with her, like she was at the department store.

She bent down to Ein’s level to make eye contact and spoke to him directly. “Ein, Edward’s gonna buy you a Christmas present. It’s a surprise,” she said emphatically. “So you have to not look. Okay?”

Ein barked once in confirmation, and Ed beamed. She knew Ein would understand.

The pet store was a lively place, full of color and wonder and surprisingly few actual pets being sold. (If there were, Ed wasn’t sure she and Ein could resist the temptation to free them all.) As it was, she was fascinated by all the pets people were bringing in, now that she could get a closer look; she saw cats, dogs, a bird perched on someone’s shoulder, and a fluffy white bunny rabbit in somebody’s arms. The last of these intrigued her—she’d only rarely seen rabbits on Earth before, and even then always in the wild; she didn’t know they could be pets. She longed to reach out and stroke this one, its fur looked so soft, but when she tried she was met with a stern, vicious glare from its owner. Ein didn’t seem to be having any such interpersonal issues. He and somebody’s Siberian Husky were softly barking back and forth, apparently deep in thoughtful conversation.

Ein’s distraction gave Ed the perfect opportunity to sneak off to another aisle—keeping an eye on him all the while, of course—and grab a can of the good kind of food for him. Gourmet, the label proclaimed. Deluxe. It even had a picture of a happy-looking dog that looked kind of like Ein, which Ed studied thoughtfully. Ein was always stuck eating the cheap, bargain kind of dog food, and Ed thought he’d appreciate this treat. After all, everyone on the Bebop needed something special on Christmas, and that included Ein, too. She could decorate it, too, to make it extra-extra special, but something told her Ein wouldn’t care that much about presentation.

Ein was still conversing with the Siberian Husky by the time Ed made it to the counter, but gave a little yip of pleasure when he saw her and trotted to her side. Ed made a shushing gesture at him and moved to hide the can of fancy dog food from his view. He seemed to understand and obediently turned away, pretending to be very interested in a display of cat toys. Ed couldn’t help but smile as she paid for the food. She had the smartest dog in the solar system.

She spotted a bowl of dog treats on the counter with a sign above it reading “Free - Take One!” As soon as Ein’s gift was safely in a bag and out of sight, Ed called to him to get his attention, then tossed him a treat, which he gobbled up eagerly. “Christmas treat,” she said, then giggled. “But before Christmas!”

When Ein was happy, then she was too.

The only person left to get a Christmas present for was Spike. But here, Ed was stumped. When she tried to think of a suitable present for him, nothing readily jumped to mind. What did Spike even like to do for fun when he wasn’t bounty hunting? He didn’t trim bonsais, like Jet; he didn’t gamble or make himself pretty, like Faye. Really, the only thing Ed could think of that Spike liked to do was smoke cigarettes. He was always taking long drags of them and staring off into the distance, contemplating what looked to be some of the very serious things he didn’t like to talk about.

That’s when inspiration struck—maybe she could get him a new pack of cigarettes! She was sure he wouldn’t mind a refill.

There was one problem: she wasn’t exactly sure where in the mall she was supposed to buy cigarettes. She and Ein peeked in the doorways of several stores, popping their heads inside and looking around, but didn’t see anything promising until they arrived at a grocery store that sat in an enclave off the mall’s main corridor. There, behind the counter, were rows and rows of shelves filled with boxes of cigarettes of all brands.

The store was relatively small and, for whatever reason, not very busy; maybe people were more interested in Christmas shopping than grocery shopping right now. Only two bored-looking people manned the counter. Upon entering, Ed did her best to ignore the tantalizing food and treats, the expensive kind the Bebop crew could never afford, that filled the shelves—she was here on a mission, after all. She dropped down to the floor and crawled around the counter, out of the cashiers’ sight, Ed trotting beside her and sniffing around for danger. Once she’d gotten to the other side, she reached up to the shelf and had almost grasped hold of a box when—

“Hey! Whaddya think you’re doing?”

Ed pointed at the cigarettes by way of response.

“You can’t be back here.” The man behind the counter squinted at her as she got to her feet. Of the two cashiers, he was the closer one to her, short and stout and with an impressive mustache. “And what the hell are you doing buying cigarettes anyway? You’re, like, ten.”

“Edward is 13,” she corrected him with a smile.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. I can’t have kids buying restricted materials; I’ve gotta hold up the rules here. Unlike some people,” he added, shooting a vicious glare at his coworker.

“That was one time!” said the coworker, a lean and lanky man, putting his hands up defensively.

“These cigarettes aren’t for Ed,” Ed said sweetly. “They’re for Ed’s friend, Spike-person. They’re Christmas presents.”

“Doesn’t matter who they’re for, kid,” said the first man, staring down at Ed from over his mustache.

“Spike-person can smoke cigarettes,” said Ed, trying to explain. “He’s old enough. 27 years old. Birthday: June 26, 2044.” She knew all sorts of factoids about the Bebop crew from her net-dives.

“Well, unless he’s here with you personally and he has ID, I can’t let you buy these. Because, unlike some people, I have scruples.”

“One time!” his coworker protested.

“He can’t be here with Edward,” Ed explained, getting a little frustrated. “Edward is getting him a Christmas present. And it’s a surprise.”

“How many times do I gotta tell ya, kid?” said the mustached man, looking exasperated. “I’m not selling cigarettes to a rugrat. Now get out before I kick you out. And take your dog with you, too.” He roughly gestured with his foot at Ein, nearly kicking him. Ein hopped back with a little yip of surprise, then bared his teeth and growled.

Ed sighed. “C’mon, Ein,” she said, giving him a little pat on the head so he’d feel better about being kicked. Even so, the two of them left the store defeated. She’d been telling the truth to the cashiers—why didn’t they understand that she wasn’t going to smoke the cigarettes herself? The only thing she could do now, unless she had a different idea for a present for Spike, was go somewhere else to find stores that sold cigarettes and whose owners had fewer scruples. Whatever those were.

Or…

Ed looked around at here surroundings, slowly grinning as an idea formed in her head. She made a shushing gesture at Ein, then went to a nearby sunglasses kiosk. As surreptitiously as she could, she grabbed a pair of purple sunglasses from the rack, out of sight of the salesperson. It wasn’t stealing, she reasoned—she’d make sure not to damage them, and she’d give them back right afterwards. Plus, it was all for a good cause! After slipping on the sunglasses, whose oversized lenses and purple frames covered most of her face, she took a cloth off an empty, unmanned plastic table that must have held a kiosk that had since been dismantled.

“You ready, Ein?” she whispered to the corgi, who gave an affirmative, sotto voce bark.

“Helloooooo! Cigarettes, please!”

The mustached cashier looked up from his magazine in frustration. “Ah, geez, not again. Didn’t I just tell you to scram, kid?”

“Not a kid,” said the person in front of him, who looked exactly like the kid from before, just wearing weirdly huge sunglasses and a large white tablecloth, which they’d wrapped around their body like a chiffon. They were still accompanied by a dog. “An adult! Here to buy cigarettes!”

“You think that disguise is gonna fool me?” said the cashier with a huff of exasperation. “Gimme some credit. I have at least a couple brain cells in my head…unlike some people!”

His coworker frowned. “All right, now you’re just being difficult.”

The kid in front of them held out a hand, grinning widely, in case the cashiers had forgotten their purpose. “Cigarettes, please!”

“For the last time, kid—” the cashier narrowed his eyes—“get lost. Before I call the authorities.”

Ed had been sure that would work.

After all, the Bebop crew sometimes had to pretend to be different people—when they went undercover in order to catch a bounty—and that usually worked. What had Ed done wrong this time? Had her impression not been convincing enough?

And more importantly, what was she supposed to get Spike as a present now? She’d admit that she didn’t know or hang out with Spike as much as Jet or Faye or Ein, and he generally seemed to reveal less about himself—although it wasn’t like the Bebop’s other crew members were really open books. Spike didn’t make gift shopping easy.

Still, Ed didn’t want everyone on the Bebop to get a present except for Spike—she wanted her whole family to be happy for the holidays. Besides, she loved a challenge. She wasn’t about to let a few grumpy cashiers get her down!

Newly alert, she began to cast about for stores that seemed to be selling interesting things that would make good presents. Ein seemed to be on the lookout too, sniffing with the tip of his tail wagging back and forth, and the two of them searched together. A sneaker store? Probably not. A bookstore? Nah. A fancy jewelry store? Almost definitely not!

The two of them was just about to turn around and start down the length of the mall again when Ed’s eyes fell upon the store for spaceship stuff—just a few doors down from the department store where she’d started. A peek into the store’s windows and through its door told Ed that it sold everything from small replacement parts and tools to decorations and accessories, the latter of which seemed to get precedence in most of the displays. Spike was always working on his Swordfish II; maybe Ed could get him something for that! She entered the store with Ein, a renewed skip in her step. Who needed cigarettes anyway?

Unfortunately, upon browsing for a while, Ed quickly found out that the really good, high-quality tools were expensive, and the cheaper tools were all things that Spike or Jet had already, things that Ed had seen them using. (And, okay, that she’d also seen in their toolboxes while she was exploring. Or snooping around. Whatever you wanted to call it.) For an amateur mechanic, Spike was decently well-stocked—which, unfortunately, wasn’t so good for Ed’s present-buying endeavor. She glanced down in disappointment at her rapidly-diminishing stack of Woolongs.

“How are we doing?” asked a saleswoman with long crimson hair, who had seemingly just materialized behind Ed. “Would you like any assistance in your shopping today?”

Ed couldn’t answer the first question—she didn’t know how the salesperson was doing—but she decided to elaborate on the second. “Ed is buying a present,” she said, clearly enunciating the words so that there wouldn’t be any miscommunication this time. “It’s a surprise. It’s for Ed’s friend Spike-person. 27 years old. Born June 26, 2044.”

“I see,” said the saleswoman with a wide, manufactured smile. “Well, with your budget—” she cast a disparaging glance at the money clutched in Ed’s hand and her lack of any other wallets or purses, but carried on just as perkily as if nothing had happened—“you can have a look at some of our lower-end, affordable tools, excellent additions to anyone’s collection…”

Ed was just about to leave when the saleswoman continued. “Or you can have a look at our special kiosk for custom accessories, available for a limited time only!” she said, gesturing to a small, colorful kiosk. Custom Keychains & Dashboard Accessories! it proclaimed. Upload your photo here! Beside the text was an image that showed a photograph of a smiling family, next to keychains and little pop-up thingies with the exact same photo on them, as well as a price value. It seemed affordable. Just barely.

Ed barely heard a word of the woman’s continuing sales pitch. The gears were already turning in her head; she was bouncing up and down on her toes, and it was all she could do to keep from squealing out loud in excitement.

“So, what do you think?” asked the saleswoman with a sunny smile.

“Be right back!” Ed said over her shoulder as she sprinted off as fast as her long legs could carry her, Ein following not too far behind. She had a plan. A multi-part plan…

It didn’t take Ed long to find the shop she was looking for, a craft store she’d passed on her way to find Jet’s present. It took her an even shorter time to duck and dash through the aisles, squirming around people while Ed darted between their legs, and find what she was looking for: a pad of small, photo-sized paper and a package of eight colorful markers. They’d be useful in more than one stage of the present process—not only for Spike’s gift. Ed and Ein then had to endure a long, boring wait in line, during which Ed couldn’t help but hum with impatience—why did the craft store have to be so darned busy?—before they could pay for their items and run back across the mall to the spaceship parts store.

The saleswoman had already moved on and was pitching a deluxe toolkit in a glittery box to an annoyed-looking teenage girl by the time Ed got back. That was okay; in fact, Ed kind of preferred it that way. She squeezed herself into a mostly-empty bottom shelf where she wouldn’t be disturbed, folding herself up like a pretzel in order to fit. There she broke out the art supplies and worked on the first stage of her plan. Ed sat on the floor next to her, watching her attentively.

It took her a few tries to complete the first part of her plan to her satisfaction; she worked on it for a long time, her eyebrows furrowed and her tongue sticking out in concentration. Five sheets of paper from her newly-purchased pad suffered for her attempts. But once it was finally done in a way she liked, she was able to go to the kiosk with her completed work for Part 2. She studied the kiosk quizzically—technically, it wasn’t made to accept physical materials. The photos it turned into keychains and dashboard accessories were supposed to be e-transferred to it. If Ed only had her computer with her, she could hack into it, mess with its inner workings, maybe digitally recreate her own creation if it came to that—

Or she could use the machine’s built-in camera she hadn’t noticed before to take a picture of what she’d made. Yeah. That worked too.

All purchases considered, she had just enough Woolongs left to pay for the custom dashboard thingy. She inserted them into the machine and had to wait, again, for what felt like hours, before it spit out the accessory. But once she held the completed gift in her hands, she could clearly see it stuck on the deck of the Swordfish II, bringing it some cheer and a little personal touch. She actually did squeal out loud, and Ein barked happily right along with her.

Spike would love it. He may not appreciate it as much as he would a fresh box of cigarettes, but Ed knew he’d love it. Besides, you could get a box of cigarettes anywhere (provided you were old enough). This was different. It was extra-extra special.

She put the accessory in the same bag as Ein’s gift as Ein dutifully looked away, feeling a rush of joy swell up in her heart. This whole Christmas was going to be extra-extra special, and that was all Ed wanted.

As she walked out of the mall the way she’d come, by the big Christmas tree and underneath the garlands and red flowers, a man in a silly-looking green suit and a hat with pointy ears caught her attention. He smiled and held out a basket of red-and-white wrapped treats. “Take a candy cane!” he said jovially. “We’re giving ‘em out free to children under 10.”

Candy canes! Ed remembered with delight the minty-sweet treats she’d so enjoyed the few times she’d gotten them at the orphanage, during the holiday season. She eagerly reached out for one, but stopped and frowned. “Ed is thirteen.”

The man hesitated, then shrugged. “What the hell, take one anyway. Spirit of giving and all that.”

Ed clapped her hands and squealed with joy before grabbing one. It looked so tantalizing in its minty-sweet goodness. The man grinned down at her as she greedily unwrapped the end. “All right now,” he said, “you take care. Happy holidays.”

“Happy, happy holidays!” Ed chanted back, giggling. “And a happy you near!” She knew that wasn’t right, but the words felt good in her mouth.

As she danced out of the mall (as best she could while laden with bags), she happily sucked on the end of the candy cane. She hadn’t even thought of getting any souvenirs for herself—the presents for her friends on the Bebop, the thought of making them happy and spreading cheer, was the souvenir. It was her motive, what she was excited about, what she couldn’t wait for.

But the tasty treat didn’t hurt, either!

In the days and weeks following their big payoff, the Bebop crew was in high spirits—at least, comparatively, meaning they sniped at each other a little less and gave voice to slightly fewer complaints about the lack of decent food or the malfunctioning temperature systems. None of them mentioned Christmas, though. Ed thought maybe they’d all just forgotten it, the way she had while she was living on her own. But she’d loved being reminded of it. She hoped they would, too.

Ed’s spirits were also noticeably higher, which for Ed meant she’d regularly careen around the ship like a pinball, singing and chanting at the top of her lungs: “Fa la la la la, la la la la, la la la la, la la la la!” But she was also more secretive: she’d regularly disappear off to secluded corners of the Bebop doing who-knew-what, and at seemingly random times when Spike, Jet, or Faye walked past certain spots, she’d suddenly become panicked and defensive. “No no no, don’t look there!” she’d shriek as she physically turned them around and pointed off in some other random direction. “Look here!”

The other crew members, although they didn’t really discuss it together, unanimously chalked this up to Ed’s normal eccentricities. She’d always had weird habits; as long as it didn’t affect the rest of them, for the most part they didn’t worry too much. But if Ed was hiding something weird—like some sort of scientific experiment, or a revitalized mutant fridge monster that she was secretly planning to unleash on the rest of the crew, or…well, something like that, anyway—then they’d really rather she tell them.

It wasn’t long, though, before the big day arrived and they found out the truth.

That morning, Ed’s eyes flew open immediately upon waking up and she joyfully whispered, “It’s Christmas!” She rolled over to Ein, who was asleep next to her, and whispered, “Ein, it’s Christmas!” His eyes flew open too, and he barked with excitement.

Ed immediately began to dash around the ship with Ein following close behind, shouting, “Christmas!” This was met with a huge yawn from a still-sleepy, scruffy Spike; a noncommittal “hmm” from Faye; and a glance at the calendar, followed by a “Huh. So it is,” from Jet. Ed resolved to wait until everybody was fully awake and all together to give them their presents.

A few hours later, she got her wish. Everyone was gathered in the main living area when she and Ein entered; Jet was on the couch watching Big Shot, Spike was smoking a cigarette and occasionally glancing at the screen, and Faye was reading a magazine, having tuned out entirely. Once the broadcast had ended, Ed planted herself in front of everyone and said, decisively, “Christmas.”

“Oh, right, it is. Merry Christmas, everyone,” said Jet, to which Spike and Faye gave halfhearted responses of “Merry Christmas” before turning back to what they were doing.

Before Ed could continue, Jet suddenly added, “Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot.” He pulled something out from behind him on the couch—a funny-looking red-and-white hat like the kind Santa wore. “Found this in a back cabinet somewhere,” he said, before reaching up to put it on Spike’s head.

“The hell is that?” protested Spike, ducking out from under it. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Jet with a slight, teasing grin. “Probably wouldn’t fit over all that floofy hair anyway.”

Spike glared at him, then passed it over to Faye. “You wear it.”

“I’m not touching that thing,” said Faye, batting it away without looking it up from her magazine.

Ed frowned. They were getting distracted. “Presents,” she said forcefully.

“Huh?” said Spike. “Oh, I mean, yeah, I guess if you consider this a present…” He held the hat distastefully between two fingers.

“No!” said Ed. “Edward got presents for everyone! Christmas presents, surprise-surprise!”

This brought everyone to a halt.

“When—how—” Jet slapped his forehead. “That’s what you were doing that day we got the payout?” But Ed didn’t respond; she had already dashed off to retrieve the gifts.

She returned with her arms full of one beautifully-wrapped box with a bow, one lumpy package ensconced in protective paper, and two small objects that were messily taped and wrapped up in what appeared to be old scrap paper, which had been drawn on with markers to look more festive. She deposited the pile of gifts on the table in front of the couch, then grabbed the professionally-wrapped one and grinned. “For you, Faye-Faye!”

“Ed, you really didn’t have to—” Faye began.

“Open it!” Ed insisted, thrusting the package at Faye.

Faye hesitated, but eventually took it, undoing the bow and tying it around her wrist almost unconsciously, as if by habit. She opened the wrapping paper gingerly, as if she half-expected the gift to be something weird and non-contextual—maybe even something freaky that would jump out of the packaging of its own accord.

Which made it even more surprising when the wrapping paper fell away and revealed a small gift set of nail polish that was actually quite…nice. The colors looked like ones Faye would willingly wear, especially the dark crimson. The kid had a surprising sense of style, Faye thought, especially for the price range she was working with (Ed hadn’t known to take off the price tags, and a CLEARANCE sticker was prominently stuck to the top of the box.)

And, Faye realized as she looked over at the kid—who was watching Faye with shining eyes and an eager, anticipatory smile—she’d put real thought into this. Real effort. She cared. That was more than Faye could say for a lot of people in her life…

God, she needed to put a stop to this before she got all sentimental.

“Thanks, Ed,” she said with a small smile. “It’s beautiful.”

And that was all she was going to say.

“Merry Christmas tooooo yoooouuu!” Ed singsonged with delight. “Okay, next present! For Ein!” She grabbed one of the colorful, amateurishly-wrapped presents out of the stack and placed it in front of Ein. He put a claw under a section of the wrapping paper to tear it open, revealing the can of the gourmet dog food. He started barking up a storm in excitement, and Ed giggled.

“Ed, you’re gonna spoil the damn dog,” Spike complained. “He’ll start expecting this every week.”

“I think Ein understands how we live by now,” said Jet, casting a glance at the dog.

“Christmas treat for Ein to eat!” chanted Ed, to which Ein barked once more. “And now…” She kicked herself up into a handstand and walked on her hands over to the present pile, where she somersaulted back into an upright position and retrieved the lumpy package. She carefully cradled the gift as she went over to hand it to Jet.

“Thanks, Ed, this is really…” Jet began, but trailed off as he unearthed the gift. He squinted, looking at it quizzically, turning it over in his hands. It looked like a small, shallow, dark-gray tray whose outside was absolutely covered in Ed’s multicolored marker drawings, just like her makeshift wrapping paper. The thing was decorated with hearts, stars, rocket ships, little smiley faces that resembled her online avatar, and what looked like a crude caricature of Jet himself.

“A planter!” Ed said. “For Jet-person’s bonsais! Ed made it extra special.”

Oh. These little drawings were Ed’s attempt at personalization. Jet looked again at the planter, trying to visualize it holding one of his bonsai trees as part of his collection.

“Damn, that gift almost looks more colorful than mine,” Faye joked.

It wasn’t—large swaths of it were still its original dark gray—but it was still weird, colorful, silly; it probably wouldn’t fit in at all. And yet…

How it looked didn’t really matter, did it? Jet appreciated the gift itself. And even more than that, he appreciated that Ed knew he’d enjoy it, that she’d specifically picked it out based on what she knew he liked, and then customized it, made it uniquely hers. It was a simple, thoughtful, uncomplicatedly kind gesture, so rarely seen in his day-to-day life of dealing with lowlifes and criminals.

“It’s great, Ed. Thank you,” he said. Then he pointed to the drawing of him in mock offense. “But I don’t think my head’s that big!” Ed giggled, and Jet couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Okay, okay! Last gift!” Ed said, darting over to the table. Only a single gift remained, the smallest of them all, covered in more of Ed’s makeshift wrapping paper. She presented it to Spike. “For you,” she said in a high-pitched singsong.

Spike held up his hands. “Oh, no, no, no. I don’t need anything.”

“Open it,” said Ed, standing on tiptoe with the gift in her open palms.

“I don’t need anyone to give me gifts,” said Spike, closing his eyes and blowing out a ring of smoke. “I’m fine on my own.”

Ed looked confused and disappointed. Jet, next to Spike, elbowed him. “C’mon,” he said, “the kid bought you something. You could at least humor her.”

Spike sighed. “Fine,” he said, finally taking the gift, eliciting a squee of happiness from Ed. “Let’s get this over with.” He tore off some of the wrapping paper, then looked more closely at a section that was covered in drawings of flowers in purple and green. “Wait a minute, this isn’t scrap paper…” Spike peered at it. “Isn’t this our water bill?”

He handed it to Jet, who examined it, then nodded. “Yep. This is our water bill.”

Ed grinned nervously. “Oops.”

In her defense, it was the only paper she could find. And it had just looked so pretty once she’d drawn on it…

Spike rolled his eyes and took the rest of the paper off. Their water bill was a problem for later.

He shook out the gift, then examined it in surprise. It was one of those kitschy little plastic things people stuck on the dashboards of their spaceships, with a suction cup at the bottom so it stuck straight up. It looked like a photo of a drawing, done in the same style and with the same markers as Jet’s planter and the water-bill-turned-wrapping paper. Spike had to squint to see it clearly, but it looked like a drawing of them—of the whole Bebop crew, in a crude but surprisingly accurate style. Spike was a tall, skinny stick figure with floofy hair, smoking a cigarette. Faye’s red lips curled up in a small smile, and her hair, rendered in purple, framed her face. Jet, in the back, loomed protectively over the rest of them, with his scratched-in sideburns and his robotic arm drawn in metallic gray. Ein lolled at the bottom of the drawing, his tongue out, and he looked like he was smiling. Ed’s red hair was like a sunburst around her head, and her grin took up the whole bottom half of her face; her hands were thrust up into the air as if she was dancing.

“For the Swordfish II,” Ed explained, looking up at Spike with wide eyes and an ingenuous smile. “So you’ll always remember us all. Wherever you go.”

Dammit.

This was why he hated kids. You specifically told them you didn’t need gifts, that you were fine on your own, and then they went and did stuff like…

His hand that held the gift began to shake a bit, and a lump rose in his throat.

Stuff like this.

"I still think my head's too big," Jet jokingly protested, pointing at the plastic accessory.

Ed laughed, then turned to Spike, looking a little nervous. “Do you like it?” she asked.

Instead of answering, Spike set the gift down and sighed, closing his eyes. “Now I feel like an asshole. You got us all this stuff and we didn’t get anything.”

“Yes,” said Jet, smiling down at her affectionately and ruffling her hair as she giggled, “you’ve been a regular little Christmas elf, haven’t you?”

“And I don’t think any of us even remembered that it was Christmas,” said Faye, staring down at her gift morosely.

“That’s okay,” said Ed, smiling at each of them in turn. “Ed’s present is that Ed is here with all of you.”

“Jesus, Ed,” said Faye, blinking rapidly and rubbing at her eye, “you gotta stop saying stuff like that.”

Jet appeared to make a decision. He took the Santa hat, which was lying on the couch where Spike had dropped it, and put it on Ed's head as she beamed with pleasure. "It's not much," he said. "But I think we can all agree you deserve it."

“Well,” said Spike, leaning back on the couch. Ed clambered on too, in between Jet and Faye, and Ein rushed to jump into Ed’s lap. The five of them, in all, could barely squeeze onto the couch together. “What’s done is done. Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jet and Faye murmured in quiet satisfaction.

Ed leaned her head against Jet’s shoulder and rested her feet in Faye’s lap, all the while petting Ein, who had curled up on her legs for a nap. A peaceful languor settled over the five of them, with nothing imminent to do as the Bebop cruised through space.

“Merry Christmas to all,” she whispered in a quiet singsong, “and to all a good night.”