Vash the Stampede belongs to the amazingly creative Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow, not me (*sigh*).

.

.

Anniversary

.

Year 1755 month 3 day 12

Naomi Ranita Saverem caught herself staring out the window for at least the 50th time today, with tears trickling down her face. She dabbed at her eyes. She'd spent the whole day trying to forget what day it was, but she had failed miserably.

Was it only weighing on her so heavily because her husband, Frank, was away tending emergency Plant repairs in December? Nicholas and Alex lived there, so she knew he had a place to stay and that he wasn't facing the crisis alone. Since Alex was also a healer, she wasn't needed there.

She reached out with her mind and emotions, to sense other kin, and found the same sorrow within each heart. Not surprisingly, one was suffering far more than any of the others.

I should go see Papa, she thought. If it's still hurting me this much, even after 40 years...

She picked up her wrap, as insurance against the cold of the coming night. She closed her door, but left it unlocked. Then she silently walked out into the evening under a sky red from the last rays of the setting suns.

As she walked, her mind wandered back.

It had been 40 years since that day. Nearly every living Plant on No Man's land had cried out in anguish. The Saverem family members, whether biological, adopted or in-laws, had all felt a loving farewell from two persons they held very dear.

Orb-sisters had cried out for "red-brother" and "blue-sister." Her favorite hue had always been the color of his eyes; she wore variations on that shade oftener than not, and it had become the method that orb-sisters used to identify her.

After Vash and his wife had been severely injured and were believed dead, more attacks had followed. Only a very few independent Plants had survived that massacre.

The humans had known nothing until they were told, but all the Plants had felt it immediately.

Ordinary humans, jealous of the prolonged lifespan that was such a mixed blessing to independent Plants, had attacked the two most peace-loving souls in No Man's Land. As a result, on that day, those two were dying.

The vindictive cultists had not spared any other independent Plant they could get their hands on, either. The only exception, where any mercy was shown by the misguided attackers, was for children two years old and less. They captured thirty sets of twins, slew one of each pair, and then proceeded with efforts to bend their young minds to their own twisted purposes.

Their father, who had believed he was dying (with good cause), had sent Naomi's twin sister Rem a more specific message. He'd asked her (as eldest, and a deputy marshal) to look after all the younger ones. His thoughts had faded even as he was sending the message. She'd immediately told Naomi, and they had literally flown toward the place that message came from.

What they found there still twisted up Naomi's insides every time she remembered it. There had been 62 attackers, who lay around the campsite sufficiently injured that they were unable to pursue her parents. Her parents had walked past two dunes, before stopping to bandage themselves. That was where her father's lung had collapsed, and they had gone into stasis without expecting that either of them would ever awaken.

She'd found the pair of them, clinging to each other, their bodies broken and bleeding even through their bandages. She had joined the stasis herself, hoping to save them.

It was only a short walk through the residential district of Seeds Village to arrive at her destination. In a few minutes, she reached the small house where her father lived alone, when he was in town.

Of course, today, he would be in town. He always came back on this date.

She opened the door softly, knowing that family was always welcome. She also knew that he needed her this evening, and that he might be too deep in grief or memories to hear a knock.

"Papa?" Naomi called softly. If he was revisiting her mother's memories, she did not wish to intrude telepathically.

She looked toward the couch. Sure enough, there he sat. Vash was staring vacantly toward the floor in the center of the room. Tears steadily dripped off his face.

Naomi gently closed the door, and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and then knelt by his knees. "Oh, Papa," she said softly. She began gently wiping his face with her handkerchief.

It was a few minutes before he blinked and seemed aware of her presence. His eyes still seemed dull and lifeless, compared to how they had been while her mother lived. It was as if the light had gone out of his eyes, and out of his life, when she was taken from him.

"Naomi?" he said, mildly surprised. He tried to smile, but it only reshaped his mouth. "What brings you here tonight?"

Naomi just looked at him, and gently wiped another tear off his face.

He abandoned his brief effort toward cheerfulness, and instead hung his head.

"I still miss her too, Papa," Naomi said softly.

He nodded without looking up.

Naomi laid a hand over his natural hand, so he could feel it. She did not move toward his right. She knew that, in his mind and heart, that place belonged to someone else. Sadly, that someone else was not available to sit there.

"Shall we visit her grave, together, before it grows dark?" she asked.

His head came up. "You haven't visited her today?" he said, sounding surprised even through his anguish.

"Yes," Naomi said. "Yet I'll visit there again, with you, if you'd like that."

His shoulders relaxed. "I would," he whispered. His chin quivered.

She quickly fetched his wrap, and put it around his shoulders. She knew he was likely to be absent-minded regarding his own care, especially when he was mourning her mother. She followed him out of his door, and closed it behind them without locking it. She knew that, tonight, the neighbors would watch over his house and her own.

Together, the two of them walked past the residential area and past the apple orchard. A few paces further, just before the memorial garden where Grandma Rem and her husband William Reeve rested, there was a large number of lilac bushes. In the center of the lilacs was a gravestone. There they paused with bowed heads.

Naomi held his prosthetic arm, and leaned her head on his left shoulder. She knew that linking her arm in his right arm, or hugging him from the right side, would only increase his ache for the one they both loved and missed so deeply.

After they stood there in silence long enough for all light to fade from the evening sky, Naomi hesitantly made an inquiry.

"Would you be willing to share some of her memories, or else some of your memories of her?" she asked.

"Yes, I'll share something about her," he said, so softly it was nearly a whisper. "That would be fitting, today. Let's return, and I'll compose my thoughts for you."

"Thank you, Papa," Naomi said gently.

They began walking back toward the house he'd reclaimed.

Again her mind flew back to revisit the past.

The surviving family, and Chronica, had attacked the cult's headquarters. They went to rescue thirty-three captive independent Plants, most of whom were children. They lost count of the number of cultists they injured in the process, but they were successful.

When they had safely escaped, they'd used their ear-loop radios to send for sheriff deputies and medics to round up the surviving cultists.

Chronica had shot and killed the leader, Kamila. Vash had been briefly unconscious at the time, from a combination of many minor physical injuries and severe mental strain caused by Kamila attacking him. They had hurried him out of the place while he was still partly in shock and before he got a good look at the corpse. He later learned that she had been killed, but, to the best of Naomi's knowledge, he'd never said a single about that in either thought or speech.

A few other branches of the cult had been discovered and cleaned up. Everyone hoped that was the end of it. The injured were physically healed, and then kept in monitored housing while given help to recover from the brainwashing. A few went completely insane and remained under medical care, but most of them had eventually recovered.

The family returned to Seeds Village. There they raised most of the thirty rescued Plant children, the youngest survivors of the massacre, in Vash and Shyla's large house. A few had stayed with herself and Frank, and a few others had stayed with Rem and Jared. The five of them had helped those thirty children to grow up as strong, happy and healthy as was possible.

After the rescued children were grown and scattered, Vash had chosen to give the large house to a family that needed the space. He had then gently asked about purchasing the small house where Shyla had lived when she first came to Seeds village. Seeing the depth of his grief, and his generous offer to buy or build them a different house, the owners at that time had been willing to let him have it.

Her father told her that he had almost as many happy memories from the smaller house as the larger one. He still wanted to live somewhere that Shyla had lived. However, since there could be no more children, the larger house was no longer needed.

Everyone still mourned the loss of those who had been killed. However, everyone also seemed to be healing... except, perhaps, her father. For him, Shyla's loss remained an open wound.

One of the few good things that resulted from the massacre of independent Plants was Sheriff Central requiring that, aside from only a few very small samples for testing purposes, all Plant corpses should be released for burial. Along with others, such as Frank's twin, her uncle Knives' corpse was finally reassembled and yielded to their care.

Vash had buried Knives' corpse, and all of the other Plant remains. He was assisted by the local clergy, undertakers, and other family members.

Since then, she and Frank had been busily filling out paperwork to adopt any "orphan" Plant children that needed a home. They requested all orphan Plant children, whether they were boys or girls. Her father had expressed a worry that someone would again cause baby boy Plants to "disappear," if a home was not ready for them. They were waiting to have their own children until there were adopted ones for them to grow up with.

Vash was also signing all of the paperwork, and promising his own assistance in the raising of all Plant children that she and Frank adopted. Naomi hoped that would be enough. She also hoped that the papers would finish processing before any Plant children appeared that needed adoption.

She and her husband Frank currently lived in the house where Grandma Rem had lived with her husband and children, only two houses away and on a lower tier from her father's. That arrangement placed them close enough to still feel like family, but allowed everyone his or her own space. Rem and Jared also lived nearby.

There were enough spare rooms among those three houses for their surviving kin to visit, when they were in town. It might get a little crowded if everyone came, but they always managed to find some method to fit everyone in.

Her meandering thoughts were recalled to the present when her father spoke.

"Actually," Vash said, "instead of going back to my house, why don't we go where she died? I always spend part of the anniversary evening there, anyway. I don't know why, but I always feel closer to her there than at her grave."

Naomi glanced sideways at her father, and then nodded. "Of course, Papa," she said. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do."

"Thank you," he said softly. "I usually go there a little earlier in the evening, but I got lost in memories. Then you came, and we visited her grave. I still want to visit the other place, though, and remember her there, too."

"Let's do that, then," Naomi said.

They turned their steps toward the Seeds ship.

"I never asked, but I have often wondered," he said as they walked, "when you couldn't wake her from stasis, did you let her stay beside me? She would have wanted to spend her last breath in my arms. I hope she had that."

"Oh Papa," was all Naomi could say, before suppressed sobs closed her throat. How could he possibly know that they'd been unable to wake her mother? Surely, none of her siblings would have told him.

Chronica wasn't likely to break her promise, either. Or, at least, she wouldn't break it without telling someone that she had done so.

Then Naomi mentally kicked herself. She sometimes forgot how smart her father was, since that was not a part of his personality that he emphasized. He had been around, peripherally, when Shyla trained other Plant healers. Sometimes he played the part of the patient for them. He'd been around while she trained them for stasis healing, too.

He would have known that they normally woke each other after a day or so. If Shyla had died, then it must have meant that they had failed to awaken her. There could be no other explanation. Nobody would need to say a word to him for him to know that. In her heart, she apologized to her father for underestimating him... again.

Vash gently squeezed her hand. "You probably tried to wake Shyla by putting her in contact with someone healthier than I was at the time," he said, "to try to save her life. I can't blame you for that. You couldn't have known that it wouldn't work. If only I'd been able to recover in time..." his voice broke, and they continued walking in silence.

Naomi was too choked up with grief to speak. (Don't blame yourself,) she pleaded in thought. (Kamila's brainwashed servants hurt you, and her, at Kamila's orders. Kamila's the one to blame: not you.)

(I should have stopped Shyla from going into that stasis,) he replied. (I knew it would kill her, if I didn't recover quickly enough. She wouldn't allow anyone else to wake her.)

Naomi felt as if her heart had fallen into her shoes, and at the same time, she felt dizzy from confusion. Stasis was stasis, right? She only knew of one kind. If there was another kind, her mother had never taught her. She wanted to ask what he meant about her mother "not allowing anyone else to wake her."

She couldn't find the courage or the words to ask the question, though. She wasn't sure she could face it if she learned, conclusively, that it was her fault. Could she live with herself if she was the one who, quite unintentionally, had completed Kamila's efforts to kill her mother?

And if he always spent the evening hours of the anniversary day in that room, then that might explain...

If it was the reason, that would mean she'd been wrong about that, too. It would mean that she, alone, was responsible for so much pain... How could she live with herself if she had been that badly wrong?