A/N: For the record, i do NOT own Trigun, nor the characters. :P Yasuhiro Nightow does. i am just the owner of the myriad plot-bunnies that live in my skull.
Nicolas D. Wolfwood murmured the appropriate things as the matron behind the wooden lattice confessed her sins. His mind was elsewhere, though. Not for the first time, he wondered what right he had to offer absolution to his congregation when he had so many sins weighing heavily on his own soul. But to whom did a priest confess his sins?
"What should my penance be, Father?" The slightly querulous voice shocked him back into reality, and he shook his head. "Um... say ten Hail Marys, and your sins will be absolved, my child." A soft shush as the door of the confessional opened, and for a moment, the priest imagined he felt the last rays of afternoon sun strike his face. Sunset would be coming soon, and he would perform the final mass of the evening and head to his room in the rectory to pray and sleep. The door clunked back into place, closing him back into the church's most effective sanctuary.
Nic closed his eyes and leaned back against the pine wall of the confessional. He listened to himself breathing for a moment. The soft sound seemed to echo off the wood surrounding him, enveloping him in a hush of his own making. The privacy screen between his booth and the confessee's was still open, and as he sat back up, he automatically reached to close it. Something stayed his hand.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." Nic jumped at the sound of the voice. Realizing it was his own, he chuckled softly. Until now, those words had always been spoken to him. "This is my first confession... and my last." His fingers stroked the silken wood of the panel before sliding it halfway shut. "I have taken the name of the Lord in vain. I have slept with people outside the sanctity of marriage. Not like I ever took the vows of celibacy the old church required, though, did I?" He kept listing his small sins, staring blindly at the space before him. "I drink, I smoke, I swear, I lust, I envy, I covet..." With each sin, he slid the panel further closed. With the last word, it clicked into place, and he gazed at it for a long moment. "I shouldn't be a priest."
Again, his eyes lidded slowly, until they were completely shut. His hands came up to meet in prayer in front of his face.
"I feel... as though I've been lying to my flock for a long time, Father. I have no right to offer them absolution. I have sinned. And I'll sin again. I carry my guns to protect myself, and the ones I care for." A shock of spiky blond hair above clear green eyes appeared in his mind, and he shook his head violently. "I killed a man to save my best friend. And he looked at me with such sorrow... he asked me 'What the hell kind of churchman are you, anyway?' How... how could I reply to that?" A lump of self-reproach blocked his vocal cords for a long moment. "He never kills... I envy him that." He tried to regain his composure. Slender fingers fiddled with cross-shaped silver cufflinks. "Vash has never killed of his own volition. He believes in love and peace... that no one has to die to save someone else." Black hair shifted against yellow wood as Nic rested his forehead against the wall of his confessional. Darker spots appeared where tears began to fall. "I... can't do that. To save the butterfly, one must kill the spider. You can never save both.
"I don't believe in suicide. I'd end up in hell..." Nic wiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket, not opening his eyes. "But... to save Vash, must I sacrifice myself? Must I die to protect the girls?" His tears soaked the fabric. "I don't know, Father. Will that be the penance I face?" Three very different faces flashed through his thoughts, each transforming from laughter to sorrow. "Do I have to hurt them to keep them safe?"
No response came from the other side of the wall. He laughed weakly. Had he really thought he'd get an reply from that empty space? "I didn't expect you to be able to answer these questions, Father. But thank you... for listening." As he stood, he opened the wooden lattice again, staring into the emptiness beyond. A few minutes of calming himself with the blank wood, and he became aware of the shuffling footsteps of his congregation filing in for the evening mass. "Guess I'd better get in there..." He opened the door, looking out over the pews as they slowly filled.
As he turned toward the sacristy, he could swear he heard a soft voice coming from the open confessional behind him. "We are nothing like God," it seemed to murmur. "We have no powers, Nicolas. And sometimes..." images of frightening destruction filled his mind.
"Sometimes, we are forced to become the devil himself," he whispered, closing the portal with a near-silent click.